Strategically Wed Read online

  Had he slept at all?

  His shuttered expression successfully discouraged her from asking.

  She searched for something to break the ice. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  “It’s past noon.”

  “So it is. What would you like for lunch?”

  “Is cooking in your job description?”

  “No. Is it in yours?”

  Griff grappled with his crutch and hauled himself to his feet. “I’ll take care of myself.”

  She gritted her teeth. He was determined to be obstinate. “Whatever.”

  “When is Wylie coming?”

  “He said he’d try to get away today. If he can’t, he’ll be here tomorrow.”

  The shadows on Griff’s face turned grimmer.

  As the silence lengthened, she sighed. “Was there something you needed?”

  “I’d like to get out of these clothes.”

  Maggie peered at him through her eyelashes. Did he feel as uncomfortable as he looked?

  Guilt cascaded over her as she recalled the ease of her own shower and the fact that she could move around on her own two feet. If she were in Griff’s place, she’d probably be every bit as surly as he was. Maybe even more so.

  She weighed her options and the possible repercussions. “The way I see it, you can stand there and growl at me the rest the day, making this situation more untenable than it already is. Or you can allow me to help you.” She paused to give him a chance to consider the wisdom of her suggestions, before adding, “It’s your call. How desperate are you to have a shave and wear clean clothes? Enough to lower your manly pride and let me help?”

  Griff’s gray eyes continued to be remote. He seemed to be trying to drill holes through her, perhaps to determine if she had any ulterior motives. She met his gaze, withstanding his silent assault. “What’s it going to be, Murdock?”

  Finally he said, “These clothes are starting to get ripe.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  He nodded.

  She pushed aside the peanut butter jar she’d pulled from the cupboard and braced herself. If she was going to help him, she intended to be as businesslike as possible. “Fine. I’ll help you get out of your shirt. Before we shave would you like to—”

  “I’ll take it from there.”

  “Right.”

  The tension writhed between them, tangible and menacing. Griff’s clenched jaw made Maggie long to run in the other direction.

  Neither of them moved.

  The clock struck one o’clock.

  Shoving aside her misgivings, she walked toward Griff. “Are you ready to escape that shirt? I’d like to get some work done while it’s still daylight.”

  He grunted.

  She began with the buttons, trying to ignore the heat of Griff’s body. She could feel his gaze on her face and struggled to keep her fingers steady.

  She searched for a neutral subject. “Why are you anxious for Wylie to arrive?”

  “He’s supposed to be bringing files of old cases.”

  “What cases?”

  “Just ours and BJ’s.”

  Her fingers stilled for a moment. “Why Dad’s?”

  “We need to cover every possible lead. It’s a long shot that the shooting had anything to do with your dad, but it’s a connection we can’t overlook since BJ was the common bond between both of us before the wedding. Besides, it’ll give us something to do.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Her voice sounded husky and unnatural to her own ears as she helped tug the shirt off his powerful shoulders and revealed the firm muscles.

  Aargh! He was too beautiful to be real. Hardly daring to breathe, her fingers shook as her skin bounced off his radiating heat. She unhooked the last button and released a long breath.

  For once Griff seemed fresh out of cutting comments, and she was profoundly grateful. She carefully pulled the shirt off his injured arm and noticed his breathing was even more jagged than her own. “Am I hurting you?”

  “Not in the way you mean.”

  Her gaze tangled with his. His eyes reminded her of Arctic glaciers. They were smoky and intense, making her much too conscious that she was a woman alone with a very attractive man.

  The shirt slipped from her fingers. She leaned down and snatched it up. “Where would you like me to put this?”

  “Toss it by the empty suitcase. I assume we’ll have to do laundry eventually.”

  “Yes.” She kept her head turned away from him. It was safer.

  He didn’t move away. Turning, her shirt caught on the edge of the table and exposed her midriff before she could tug it free.

  Griff’s good hand grabbed her arm. Without asking her permission, he lifted the edge of her shirt to reveal the purplish marks she’d striven to hide.

  “What the heck are these?” he asked. “Where did you get these bruises?”

  She dislodged his hand by stepping out of his reach. “It’s the price of the job. You weren’t the only one who came away with war wounds from the wedding.”

  “You never said anything.”

  “Why should I? Getting a cut or scrape on duty isn’t a big deal.” At his scowl, she sighed. “They’re fading now.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this?”

  “I did. I told you to get off me. Remember?”

  “You’re being flip.”

  “And you’re overreacting.”

  Griff’s lips pressed into a fine line. Finally he raked his hand through his hair. “Sorry. I guess I’m having trouble getting used to this whole situation.”

  She chose not to mention her own misgivings. They’d been here less than a day and already the tension was becoming unbearable. “Did you need something else?”

  “Could you hand me that crutch?”

  She did what he asked and then slipped past him to the kitchen. “I’ll make those sandwiches.”

  The door closed behind him. She flinched when she heard the sound of the crutch falling. The bathroom was tiny by any standards. With the size of Griff’s cast, he was doubly handicapped. But she wasn’t willing to bait his temper by offering to assist him.

  She heard a muffled curse, followed by the sound of water running. Only then did her muscles relax some of her tension.

  She hoped Wylie would get here sooner than later. They were going to desperately need someone to diffuse the electrical undercurrents between them. The danger was either they’d lunge for each other or kill each other.

  She wasn’t placing any bets on which one would happen first.

  Griff sponged himself off as best he could with his left hand. The scruff on his face was another story. He wasn’t fond of the caveman look, but there was no way he could control a razor without slicing his jaw open. The only other alternative was to ask Maggie’s assistance. He hated being beholden to anyone.

  Especially Maggie.

  He turned off the water and stared hard into the mirror.

  Maggie Bennington had always been a thorn in his side. Putting a razor in her hand seemed a foolhardy risk. Yet he wasn’t nearly as worried about a razor in her hand as he was about his reaction to her touch. He’d been in a state of arousal every time she got close. How much more pressure could he take?

  Gazing at his grizzled mug in the bathroom mirror, he considered his options.

  Could he stand looking like Paul Bunyan for the next six weeks?

  His face itched at the thought.

  Hell!

  Balancing himself, he yanked open the door. “Maggie?”

  She came cautiously around the corner and lifted an eyebrow at his query.

  “How steady is your hand?” he asked.

  Her eyes flitted from his face to the shaver sitting next to the sink. She didn’t look anymore comfortable with the notion than he did with asking.

  She tilted her head. “Some women are partial to furry men.”

  “I doubt it. Can you help me out?”

  She set down the knife she’d
been using to butter the bread. “There’s not enough room in there for both of us. Let’s do it in the kitchen.”

  “There’s not much room in there, either.”

  “No. But at least there’s the table.”

  “Right.”

  He hobbled across the floor and eased into one of the cushioned wood chairs, easing his arm onto the table.

  Maggie set the razor and shaving cream next to him and critically scanned his face. “You’d have a heavy beard if you’d let this grow. You could probably enter and win an old-timers’ contest.”

  “Looking for an excuse to get out of this?”

  His needling caused her to lift her chin. “Watch it, Murdock. I’m savoring the anticipation of putting a sharp blade against your throat, and I refuse to be rushed.”

  “Don’t get any ideas. I can still take you down, cast or not.”

  She didn’t respond to his baiting as she picked up the shaving cream and sprayed foam into her hand, then coated his face. “Lift your head.”

  Prudence won over the urge to badger her further. Griff kept his eyes trained on her face as she raised the razor and took a gentle swipe across his jaw.

  A reluctant admiration burned in his gut at her concentration and willingness to agree to this whole scenario.

  Throughout the weeks of the engagement, she’d enacted her role as the happy fiancé without complaint. But everything she’d been required to do had been in social situations that had allowed her to keep a respectable distance. Anyone else might not have recognized the polite façade that she’d hidden behind had masked a disdain for her proposed groom. They hadn’t needed to like each other, just act as though they did. Only he had been aware of the way she’d stiffen whenever he brushed against her or reached for her hand. It had amused him at the time. He’d enjoyed seeing the flash of irritation when he played the affectionate suitor.

  Now she had the upper hand.

  The enforced intimacy of the tiny cabin was a dangerous breeding ground, much more threatening than acting a role in front of all their peers at the bridal showers, bachelor parties and social events leading up to the wedding. Inside the microscopic quarters, there wasn’t anyone else to defuse the combustion between them.

  Griff watched Maggie place her cool fingers against his neck to tilt his head and sensed the tight lock she had on her emotions. She could feel the danger as much as he could.

  They probably would have been safer taking on the shooter face-to-face.

  How long would Maggie stick this out?

  She’d all but declared him her personal enemy years ago. She’d resented his relationship with her father. And that had led to a silent war between them, even though Griff had never had any urge to fight her.

  BJ had been his partner. They’d worked together well.

  But for all BJ’s strengths as a good cop, he’d never understood what it took to be a good father.

  Griff couldn’t deny that Maggie had all but been abandoned. When she hadn’t been able to get her father’s attention in a positive way, such as good grades, becoming a class officer or succeeding in school sports, she’d tried to get it by acting out. First there had been arguments. Then she started staying out late and sneaking off to forbidden parties. She hung out with kids who were on the fast track to becoming career criminals. BJ raged and threatened. But he didn’t give Maggie what she hungered for—his time.

  Griff had tried to stay clear of the family situation until Maggie was caught shoplifting.

  BJ had been out of the office when the call came in. Fortunately Griff knew the owner of the store. He worked a deal in which Maggie would volunteer her free time to pick up trash from the parking lot for two months. When they left the store, Maggie had balked about getting into Griff’s car until he threatened to handcuff her and lock her up. She’d gotten into the car. Then he took her home.

  Once they got there, he’d followed her into the house.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” She’d been defiant.

  There was less than ten years between their ages, yet Griff had felt old enough to be her grandfather.

  “Tough. I’m still carrying the handcuffs.”

  She’d kept her seat but didn’t bother to mask her hate for him. “Say what you have to say, then get out of here.”

  He stood up and walked to the refrigerator. “Want something to drink?”

  “I’ll take a beer.”

  He brought her a root beer instead. When she refused to take it, he said, “You’re going about this all wrong, you know.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “You want your dad’s attention.” He set the glass on the table next to her. “Hanging out with those losers who are stealing from hard-working business owners isn’t going to bring your dad home at night.”

  She lifted her chin. “You’re just saying that because you want Dad to spend all his time with you.”

  “That’s one possibility. Or maybe I’m just looking out for my own neck.”

  “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “He’s my father,” she raged at him.

  “He’s my partner.”

  “Big deal,”

  “It is a big deal if my partner is worried sick about his kid and doesn’t have his full attention on a punk brandishing a gun. Not only is that dangerous to me, it’s dangerous to your dad.” He paused only briefly. “Is that what you want, Maggie?”

  She straightened in the chair. The rebellious thrust of her chin quivered as his words hit home.

  Whatever his personal opinion of Maggie was, Griff had been right about her overwhelming love for her father. She never wanted her actions to put BJ in harm’s way. From that day on, she’d made a hundred and eighty degree turn.

  BJ had been pleased that Maggie suddenly became the model student again. Later, he’d been busting his buttons when his only child chose to go to the police academy and then join the department.

  But BJ never knew how to show that pride and love to Maggie. There were too many distractions and demands on her father’s time for Maggie to get what she needed or desired.

  Was that why Maggie ultimately left the department? Had she taken her revenge against her father?

  Even then Griff had tried to keep an emotional distance, until he’d seen his friend and partner fall apart after Maggie moved away. Griff didn’t hide his blame. When Maggie joined the police department she’d made a promise. Her reneging had killed her father.

  That’s what Griff had believed.

  Had he been wrong all those years ago to steer Maggie toward the department, building his partner’s hopes? BJ had been left with nothing when Maggie walked.

  Now as he watched her concentration and the careful way she handled the razor, taking care not to nick him, he wondered if there were more to the story than he knew.

  BJ had never tried to dissuade Maggie from leaving, which was very unusual for his blustering partner, who’d never made a secret of his opinions about his daughter’s choices, her slipups or her friends. Yet Griff clearly recalled the day he’d learned that Maggie was leaving.

  She’d been absent from the department for almost a week. He’d assumed she was on vacation. BJ had been short-tempered while she’d been gone.

  Griff and BJ were driving to Chicago to testify in an abduction and murder case when the older man tersely announced that Maggie wouldn’t be returning. She had decided to transfer to a small-town department. It wasn’t unusual for an officer to move into a different jurisdiction, but it was for a lower-ranking position with less money. And she was leaving her father. Had she given up her desire to get closer to her only parent?

  Griff, being true to his own convictions, hadn’t pressed for answers to the questions burning in his head.

  Now Griff wondered about the pieces of the puzzle that were missing. Neither Maggie or BJ had acted in character.

&n
bsp; Maggie stepped back and eyed her work critically. Being this close, he could see the softness of her lips that contrasted with the brilliant green in her eyes. If he were any other man, he’d want to make those eyes go dewy with fiery passion.

  “Do you know that you have one ear longer than the other?” she asked.

  Griff blinked, as her question pulled him from his lustful thoughts. He cleared his throat. “It’s part of my sex appeal.”

  “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  He ran a hand over the now-smooth edge of his jaw. “Let’s just say I’m not too worried about it one way or the other.”

  “Really?” She started cleaning off the table. “You’re not worried about what women think of you?”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment. Then he awkwardly found his footing and angled his crutch under his arm. “There’s always someone who doesn’t like something about you. If it’s not your looks, it’s the clothes you wear, the company you keep, the car you drive or the partner you have.”

  At the hint of her father, a curtain descended over Maggie’s face, wiping clear any hint of her emotions. She presented her back to him. “I think I’ll check the shed to see if there’s a couple of fishing poles.”

  “I’m not much of a threat to the fish.”

  “Then I’ll look for one pole.”

  Griff knew he should let her go. But the questions he’d brushed aside a year ago wouldn’t let him. “We’re going to have to talk about your dad sometime.”

  A familiar stubbornness took residence on her face. “I have a better idea, why don’t we talk about your personal life instead. What went wrong with your marriage?”

  “We ended it. There’s nothing to talk about it.”

  “Ditto.”

  Without waiting for his response, she jerked open the door and fled the cabin.

  He heard her descend the steps. If she thought this was the end, she was sorely mistaken.

  He wanted to know every secret that Maggie was hiding. His investigative instincts were the only talent he had that could quench the desire churning within him.

  What she didn’t realize was that his probing questions were safer than the other investigation he was hungering to spearhead.