Defy the World Tomatoes by Phoebe Conn Page A

faults, and Darcy reached up on her tiptoes to kiss him. She was soon lost in his embrace and, once again, he was the one to end the dozen kisses that had followed the first. She couldn’t think clearly with him so near, only long for more, but she refused to beg.
    Griffin waited for her dazed gaze to clear and then stepped back. “I can see what you’re thinking, but I doubt I’d fit in your bed.”
    “Your imagination has to be better than that.” Darcy struggled to stifle a yawn and failed. “I’m sorry. We had a really busy day.”
    Griffin caressed her cheek tenderly. “Why don’t you come home with me? Then you’d be there tomorrow morning.”
    Darcy shook her head. “It’s too soon.”
    “Can’t be soon enough for me,” Griffin whispered against her kiss-swollen lips.
    The man always smelled good and tasted better. She slid her arms around his waist and held on as his kisses melted away all thought of resistance. She was dizzy with desire when, with a gentle hug, he briefly lifted her off her feet, while he scarcely seemed affected by her affection.
    “Come to my house at eight o’clock, and I’ll make breakfast for us. We can eat out on the terrace and pretend we’re in Italy.”
    Darcy tried to breathe deeply enough to form a coherent reply. “Fine, but the view of the Pacific will be enough for me.”
    He squeezed her hands and this time made it through the door before he looked back. “Don’t stay up too late.” He winked and was gone.
    Darcy slumped back down in her chair. Griffin turned her insides to jelly, but her head was still telling her to slow down. She knew it was wise to make romantic decisions with her heart and business decisions with her head, but he mixed her up so completely she couldn’t separate her emotions from her anxious thoughts.
    “It’s the damn brown eyes,” she finally swore, and it took her a long while to gather the strength to do their few dishes.
     
     
    Darcy awoke a dozen times during the night. In an attempt to soothe her jangled nerves, she got up and made herself another cup of tea. But when she crawled back into bed and fell asleep, she was awake again within the hour.
    It was all Griffin’s fault. What he offered was adventure of the most intoxicating sort, but as she lay in her rumpled bed, she longed for a steady soul mate rather than a famed pianist who would surely use her up and spit her out before she’d learned the names of his favorite composers.
    By the time her alarm went off at seven, she was relieved to get up. She made her bed, showered and washed her hair, then searched her closet for something Griffin hadn’t already seen. At last she found a pale green velour sweater and matching jeans she’d worn last spring and forgotten.
    Enormously relieved not to have to visit him in overalls, she pulled on pale lavender lingerie, slipped on the green outfit with bronze flats and thought she looked pretty cute. Unfortunately, as she walked to her office, she felt like unraveled yarn.
    She usually loved the stillness of the new day in Monarch Bay, but that morning the seagulls were noisily circling overhead. She picked up the promised sketches and noted the eight o’clock appointment on her wipe-off board. Her hand shook so badly she had to erase the message twice and try again, but the third effort was clearly legible. As she left for Griffin’s, she glanced up at the gulls and hoped their raucous din wasn’t a dire warning.
    She hadn’t been so nervous around a man since high school when she’d had a desperate crush on a popular football player, and her friends had pressured her to invite him to the winter dance. It had taken her a week of stomach-churning torment to work up the nerve to dial his telephone number.
    When he’d answered, she’d issued a well-rehearsed but stammering invitation. He’d sounded surprised to hear from her and, as unsophisticated as she, he’d told her how excited he was to be going to the dance with one