But instead of kissing her, Griff’s warm, whiskey-tinged breath drifted over her cheek before stopping an inch from her ear.
“Just to be clear, I wasn’t trying to pick up a random woman. I was trying to pick upyou. See you soon, darlin’.”
Kinga stared at his broad back as he walked away, wishing that she could give in to her impulse to throw the heavy crystal tumbler at his head.
Maybe she should just order another drink. She sure as hell could use one.
Feeling a little shaken, Griff strode across the lobby, helmet tucked under his arm. Looking around, he realized that instead of heading for the exit, he’d walked deeper inside, to a reception area dotted with comfortable couches and...
Holy crap, a Fazioli Aria.
Griff immediately crossed the harlequin floor to the piano and watched the pianist’s elegant fingers dancing across the keys. She was young and pretty but all of his attention was on one of the most luxurious, insanely expensive pianos in the world. He was a Gibson guy, but he’d taken piano lessons and knew his way around the keyboard.
The redhead saw his approach, her eyes widening when she recognized him. To her credit, she didn’t stumble or stop, but simply raised an eyebrow. Her mouth lifted into a half smile. “Griff O’Hare, hello. Do you play?”
Griff nodded. “Guitar is my first love but I’ve been known to lose hours massacring Mozart or Bach.”
She segued into Henry Mancini’s “Moon River” and her smile turned flirty. “Feel free to join in...”
Griff looked around and grimaced. That would attract more attention than he was looking for. “No, thanks. It’s a beautiful instrument.”
“They have another in the ballroom.”
“Two Faziolis?” Be still, his beating heart.
“The owners of this place don’t spare any expense. I’m Alice, by the way. Are you checking in?”
“I’ve just come from a meeting,” Griff replied and internally grimaced at the flirtatious glint in her eye. He knew what was coming next—it was as predictable as the sun rising in the east.
Three, two, one...
“Would you like to meet with me as well? I’ll be done in ten minutes.”
He was such a freaking genius. “Thanks, but I can’t,” Griff told her, allowing his hand to skim over the upraised lid. “Nice meeting you, Alice.”
Conscious of eyes following his progress across the lobby, he fought the urge to walk back into the Ryder International bar situated in a prime position just off the main lobby and engage Kinga Ryder-White in some nonbusiness conversation.
I-wonder-what-you-taste-likeandI’m-desperate-to-see-you-nakedconversation. But her frosty looks and don’t-go-there attitude told him he had more of a chance of becoming pregnant than he did of persuading her into his arms and his bed.
And maybe that was life’s way of telling him he should put all his energy into this comeback performance. Deep in thought, Griff nearly ran into the back of a petite gray-haired lady. After muttering an apology, he stepped through the lobby doors and headed to where he’d parked his Ducati a few blocks away. He liked walking, and riding his loud and powerful bike up to the valet station was just asking for unneeded attention.
Jamming on a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap he’d tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket, he dodged tourists and New Yorkers, walking swiftly, still deep in thought.
His thoughts, as they often did, centered on his sister, his twin. It had been nearly ten years since the doctors first diagnosed Sian with schizophrenia, yet it felt like yesterday. Directly after the diagnosis, and because she’d wanted out of the industry, Sian had retreated to his horse ranch in Kentucky, shunning company and raising a lot of gossip in the press.
After some salacious speculation about his sister, Griff and his manager, Finn, had agreed that they needed to divert press attention from Sian. Finn accepted that Griff’s transformation into a bad boy was the way to go. He also insisted that Griff embarking on a “Raising Hell” tour was necessary. Griff hadn’t wanted to leave Sian, but Finn promised to look after his twin while Griff toured. Yet, while he was away, what Griff had believed to be a father-daughter relationship had turned sexual and Sian had gotten pregnant.
Griff still struggled to believe that the man he’d considered to be his second father—his parents had died when he and Sian were in their early twenties—and his mentor could have turned an avuncular relationship with Sian into something sexual, especially knowing how vulnerable his sister was.
Bastard.
Sian didn’t see it the same way he did, and frequently told him that her liaison with Finn had been consensual, that she went into the affair with her eyes wide open. But Griff, deeply protective of his twin—to her immense frustration—couldn’t help but think that Finn had taken advantage of her need for comfort and reassurance. Her need to feel normal and attractive and like the sexy woman she was before she was diagnosed.
A lot of advantage...
But, on the plus side, Griff had managed to keep the press away from all of Sian’s private life. Nobody knew Finn was Sam’s father, that Sian had mental health issues or that she was a mother. He’d managed to snow them all and that had been, after all, his primary objective. Given the same set of circumstances and presented with the same choices, he’d do it all over again.
She was his twin, the person he shared life with before life and he’d rearrange the heavens for her if so required.