Darcy’s shoulders slumped sadly. “I suppose there’s no point in hiding it,” she began, and hurriedly explained their impending disaster. “I keep telling myself that we’ll cope somehow, but right now, I don’t see how.”
George shook his head in dismay. “At least the bastard will be able to sit in his Zen garden and contemplate the havoc he’s created.”
“Are you trying to put a positive spin on this?”
“Hell, no.” George raised his drooping hat to scratch the remaining fringe of gray hair above his right ear. “But you could use a boyfriend. Do you like him?”
Darcy’s gaze raked the sky. “That’s really not the issue, and believe me, he’s way out of my league.”
“That wasn’t my question,” George insisted.
Darcy backed away. “I need to make some telephone calls. I can haul the cypress, bench and rolls of plastic in my truck, but I want to make certain the sand and boulders are delivered in the right place.”
Certain he had his answer in her abrupt change of subject, George chuckled to himself. “Don’t forget to sell him a new rake.”
“I’ve got the deluxe wooden model all ready to go,” Darcy replied.
Darcy didn’t know how she was going to face Griffin, but when she arrived at his house the next day, he wasn’t home. It was her experience that homeowners usually stuck around. The worst argued about the placement of every flower and shrub. The best merely peered out their windows and waved.
She set her crew to work leveling the ground and spreading out the plastic liner that would keep weeds from sprouting up through the sand. Once the sand and boulders were delivered, the men spread the pale white sand evenly and shoved the boulders into place. Then they planted the cypress and moved the bench to the edge of the sand.
As far as landscaping jobs went, this had been an easy one. Darcy dismissed the crew and began raking the sand into a wavy pattern on her own. When she paused to survey the result, she noticed Griffin leaning against the corner of his house. Startled, she wondered how long he’d been watching her.
He was casually dressed in gray sweats and running shoes. He wasn’t smiling and, as he came toward her, she had to fight the urge to hide behind the largest of the new boulders.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Moore. Is this what you had in mind?”
“I think so, but let’s sit on the bench and give it a try.” He took the special rake from her and slid it under the bench, out of their way.
She’d brought a bench large enough to suit his proportions and, when she sat, her feet dangled off the ground. With no hope of achieving any measure of tranquility, she glanced up at him.
“You been working out?” she asked.
“I try to get to the gym every day. Now that I’m thirty-six, it’s not as easy to stay in shape.”
Darcy assumed he must be joking, because if there was an ounce of fat on him, it sure wasn’t noticeable. She tried to concentrate on the sparkling ocean in the distance, but Griffin was simply i
mpossible to ignore. His hair was damp, and he smelled of spicy soap. His breathing was slow and regular, as though he was enjoying the quiet moment, but she squirmed unhappily.
“Tell me why you chose to become a landscape architect.”
He’d used that soft, inviting tone Darcy was sure must capture everyone’s attention, but she feared she was particularly susceptible to his resonant baritone. “Have you ever been to the Hotel Del Coronado just south of San Diego?”
“Yes, it’s a remarkable place. I understand Thomas Edison strung the lights.”
“That’s what they say. A woman named Kate Sessions did the landscaping. She was born before the Civil War and was way ahead of her time in her regard for ecology. She traveled the world to import plants which would thrive alongside those native to California.
“I must have been about twelve when I visited the hotel with my parents. We took a tour, and the minute the docent described Miss Sessions’ work, I knew what I wanted to be. I went to Cal Poly San Luis Obispo to study. That’s where I met Christy Joy. Now, you tell me something.”
Griffin turned toward her and smiled. “Anything,” he promised.
His smile, his husky voice and his darkly compelling gaze were mesmerizing, and the question she’d meant to ask fled her mind. “Are you a vampire?”
Greatly amused, Griffin responded with a rich, rolling laugh. “Vampires don’t exist, and even if they did, I’m sitting out here in the afternoon sun, and it hasn’t turned me to ashes.”
Somehow Darcy didn’t find his proof all that convincing. “Well, there’s something damn odd about you,” she blurted.
Griffin sighed. “Yes, I know, but perhaps it’s merely the European influence. Tell me, do you find me lacking in warmth?”