“I’m glad you’re up, Maylee-darlin’,” Mama called out. She juggled a paper bag of groceries. “I forgot the sausage at the store. Can you put on some jeans and run back out there for me? I need to start breakfast. Your Nana and Pepaw are coming over.”
“I will, Mama,” Maylee said, and snapped her fingers to call Bubba over. The dog trotted back to her, and the two women went inside the small trailer. Maylee went into the bathroom to change, and when she got out, she grabbed the keys to the truck and headed out for the store.
Twenty-five minutes later, she pulled back into the driveway of her home to a shiny black sedan with tinted windows in the driveway.
Her heart began to drum a frantic beat and she wasn’t sure if it was terror or excitement.
It wasn’t him . . . was it?
A short man in a sport coat leaned against the side of the sedan, smoking a cigarette. It wasn’t Griffin . . . not that she wanted to see him, anyhow. This man was short and balding, unlike her lean, scholarly, and snobby viscount. The stranger cast her a bored look as she pulled up next to him.
Maylee got out of the truck with her grocery bag and gave the man a friendly smile. “Hi, can I help you?”
He took another drag on his cigarette and gave her a dismissive look. “I’m just waiting on someone.”
She frowned, confused. “Are you lost? This is a private drive.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Wish to God we were.”
That funny feeling began to bubble in her stomach again, but she ignored it and offered her hand. “I’m Maylee.”
“Kip,” he said.
Maylee’s eyes widened. Oh, no. No, no, no. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?” There was a wealth of derisiveness in his tone.
“Oh, no,” Maylee breathed, and rushed up the steps of the single wide.
When she got into the house, she tore through the small kitchen into the tiny dining room. There, sitting next to her two pajama-clad sisters, was Griffin. His hair wasn’t its normal slicked down look but a messy sort of tousle. He wore his Bellissime court regalia and one hand was wrapped in a fluffy white towel. And he peered through his glasses at what looked to be a bowl of grits set in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” Maylee exclaimed.
“Maylee,” her mother said. “Be nice. We have a guest.”
“I don’t have to be nice to him!”
Griffin got to his feet and stood despite the cramped quarters, hugging his towel-covered hand close to his chest. The sight of that made her heart flip-flop painfully. Had he somehow injured himself? Why did she care, damn it? As he stood, he adjusted his glasses with his free hand and then gave her a sharp nod. “Miss Meriweather.”
Her sisters looked over at her with wide, unblinking eyes.
Maylee handed the bag of sausage to her mother and refused to look Griffin in the face. “You need to leave, Mr. Verdi. I’m done with being your assistant.”
“This gentleman needs a burn talked, Maylee,” her mother said in a do-not-argue-with-me voice. “He came here because of that.”
Guiltily, Maylee glanced at his hand, still swathed in the towel. She couldn’t tell anything from it. How badly had he hurt it? And could she ignore a man in need, even if he was the one who broke her heart and made her feel like she was less than dirt? “All right. Come on.” She waved him forward.
“Thank you,” he began, but she shot him a scathing look and he stopped. “Right. No thanking.”
“Exactly.” Without stopping to check if he was following, Maylee went out onto the porch and sat down on the first step. A moment later, Griffin eased his body down next to her, medals and braids clinking on his ceremonial coat.
She didn’t look over at him, staring off into the distance so she could compose her thoughts. “Nice jacket,” she said, and was proud of how nonchalant her voice sounded.
“It gets me places,” he admitted.
Like into my mother’s trailer, Maylee thought but said nothing. With a long sigh, she braced herself and then turned to face him. “All right, show me the hand.”
He held out his wrapped hand to her, his gaze intent on her face.
Maylee took the bandaged hand in hers, holding it gingerly so she wouldn’t hurt him worse than he already was. “Okay,” she murmured softly. “You know how this works. Whatever you do, you can’t thank me for this.”
“Very well,” he said in a voice so soft that it made shivers go up and down her skin.
She held the thick wrappings for a moment. “Talk to me about the pain.” The first step was always to get the person talking and concentrating on telling her what was wrong.
“It’s with me day and night,” Griffin said in a low voice. “Won’t go away no matter how much I try to distract myself. And I keep saying it’s my own fault, but somehow, it doesn’t help things. All I know is that you’re the only person who can fix it for me.”
“Mmm.” Maylee gently took the wrappings and began to undo them, ignoring the flutter of her heart at his words. “What did you do?”
“I was an idiot and wasn’t paying attention to where I should have placed my hand.”
It was hard being so close to him, she realized. Maylee could smell the clean, spicy scent of his cologne, could feel the warmth of his big body next to hers, felt the heat of his gaze on her face. Her stupid body remembered his touch, though. Her ni**les reacted, hardening under her bra, and she wanted to hunch her shoulders in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice. This man had been terrible to her—so why was she still attracted to him?
She pulled the last of the fabric free and was surprised to see his hand was curled into a fist. She put her fingers on his and began to gently uncurl them. “Oh, Griff, you really should relax your hand if you’ve hurt it—”
He flattened his hand and revealed pink, perfect skin.
On his palm, he’d written This hand is the property of Maylee.
She frowned down at it, then looked up at him. “I don’t understand. You’re not hurt?” Why was she so relieved? And confused?
Griffin’s face was solemn as he gazed down at her. “I’m a prat, Maylee. An unthinking prat who hurt your feelings over and over again. I should have held your hand when you asked me to, and then maybe you wouldn’t have assumed the worst when you saw those tabloids.”
She shook her head, releasing his hand as if she was the one scorched. “I don’t understand. How did you—”