Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(72)

She loved the Southern honey of his voice, now so clear in his teasing command. She pasted on a contrite expression. “I’m very, terribly sorry—” And tilted just enough to throw him off balance. With her clinging to him like a burr, he couldn’t right himself, and down they went, her on top of him.

Mud splattered all over them. She was laughing too hard to even finish her sentence, falling flat on his chest as she fought to catch her breath.

He was shaking his head, his eyes narrowed. “You’re in big trouble now.”

She leaned close, her muddy hair drifting down over his face. “What are you going to do about it?” The flirtatious words were out before she could even consider them. When was the last time she’d flirted, for God’s sake?

His mouth opened, perhaps with unbidden words of his own ready to roll out.

Suddenly, she became aware of a presence to her right. Trent had his camera aimed right at them. Whatever Griff had been about to say, he changed his mind, taking advantage of the distractions to flip her over and squish her into the mud beneath him. His thighs tightened against her hips, pinning her thoroughly.

“That,” he said, the playfulness gone even as his crooked smile was still in place. He glanced at Trent. “Good hook?”

Trent was all smiles as he pressed a button and lowered the camera. “Awesome sauce.”

Griff got to his feet and gave her his hand to help her up. As Trent sloshed through the mud to the bank, she said, “So that was all about the hook?”

Damn if he didn’t give her a guileless look. “Of course. We have to sell this if we’re going to lure this sicko in.”

She was so mad at his lie—it was a lie, wasn’t it?—that she took one lunging step and fell forward.

He caught her around the waist, lifting her easily and carrying her toward the bank, her body flush against his. Her hands had gone to his shoulders, and she was high enough in his hold to look down on his head. His hair was a wet, muddy mess, revealing the ruined shell of his ear that was usually hidden beneath it.

And since her chest was at his face level, if he looked through the netting, beneath the mud, he’d see her scars. He held her with one arm, the other out for balance. He lost his footing, making them wobble, before regaining it as he reached the bank. The other couples were over by the showers, and she realized she’d forgotten about everyone else there.

Damn Trent. But yes, that’s what they were there for. Not to fall in love or like or anything even close to it.

But right now, she was in Griff’s arms, both of them now that he’d reached solid ground, and it felt darned good. He looked up at her, no trace of a smile now.

“Sorry ’bout that,” he said, all contrite. “I got carried away. I shouldn’t have—”

She placed her finger against his lips, feeling the ridge of scar tissue. “When I look at you, I don’t think, ‘Aw, poor guy, how sad for him.’ I think, ‘What a strong man to endure what you did and still be here.’”

His breath hitched, and she felt his arms loosen enough for her to slide down his body to her feet. She could see his struggle: shut her out or let her in?

“I thought the same about you,” he said at last. “I read the articles about what this guy put you through.” He swallowed. “I want to do everything I can to help you go back to your life.” He released her, and she nearly stumbled.

Julian, Risk, Addie, and Mollie returned, the women swathed in towels. “We’re going to hit that BBQ restaurant down the road after we get properly showered. You guys in?”

Griff shook his head. “I don’t go out much. But ya’ll go on, enjoy. Try the pulled pork. It’s good. I have it delivered every Friday.” He’d included Kristy in that send-off as he swept them all with his gaze.

She watched him head over to where the muddy Jeeps were parked. Her heart tugged in his direction. She turned back to the group as Chase reached it, trying to find a diplomatic way to make her request.

“Chase, can Kristy hang here with Griff while we hit that BBQ place we saw on the way in?” Addie gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Are the sensors wired yet?”

“Yes, they’re in place.” Chase met Kristy’s gaze. “You don’t want to get out of here for dinner?”

She lifted a shoulder, trying to play it casual. Despite the fact that it must be friggin’ obvious that she wanted to spend time alone with Griff. Sheesh. “I’d like to talk to Griff a little more. I have a friend whose cousin is a plastic surgeon. Maybe he could, you know, do some pro bono work.”

“Already tried,” Chase said. “I told Griff I’d made some arrangements in repayment for his help here, but he turned me down.” He gave her a curious look. “Maybe you could provide him with different motivation. I’ll be at the lodge in case the sensors go off, but I don’t anticipate any problems.” He looked at his people. “Let me know when you leave and when you get back.”

“You bet, chief,” Risk said. “Let’s go. I’m famished.” He glanced back at Kristy, trying to maintain a serious expression. “Must have been all that laughing.”

She flung her hand, sending tiny bits of mud at him. “Brat.”

Addie thunked him in the back of his head. “Big time. You ought to live with him!”