Kinga pulled in a deep breath. Picking up a teaspoon, she held it to her mouth, mimicking holding a microphone. “Has Stan Maxwell forgiven you and Ava? Do you regret kissing your best friend’s wife in that New York nightclub?”
Like the rest of the world, Kinga believed his and Ava’s excellent acting. If there was one story he deeply regretted manufacturing, the Manhattan club episode would be top of his list. It had all happened so fast, triggered by a reporter who’d continuously hassled his then-publicist for a response to allegations that Sian was both depressed and pregnant.
They needed a massive story to counteract the one the reporter was planning on publishing and, desperate, Griff had sought Stan and Ava’s advice. Trusting his two best friends implicitly, he’d explained that his bad boy routine was just a ruse and that Sian was, indeed, suffering from serious mental health issues. And that she was three months pregnant.
They’d immediately asked how they could help, and it was Ava who suggested they anonymously tip off the reporter, that he be the one to catch them cuddling. Ava and Stan’s relationship was fantastically secure, and as one of the world’s golden couples, they could withstand gossip. The reporter got the scoop, Sian was ignored and Griff became, in the eyes of the world, a class A prick.
He desperately wanted to explain to Kinga that he wasn’t the disloyal, marriage-wrecking bastard the press portrayed him to be.
But he couldn’t. Nobody could know...
“Back off, darlin’,” he quietly suggested.
Kinga snorted, not at all intimidated. “They are going to ask.”
In his previous life, when he spoke in that tone of voice, people—including his ex-manager—immediately backed down. Not Kinga. And he liked that about her. He just didn’t like her nosiness.
“I can deal with the press.” He saw that she was about to argue, and spoke before she could. “Have I pressed you about your panic attacks? Demanded to know who is the dark-haired girl in the silver frame? Asked why you can’t bear to look at her?”
Kinga wrinkled her nose, something she tended to do, he realized, when she didn’t have an immediate answer or solution.
She sat down and slumped back in her chair. “Fair point. I just don’t want you to be caught flat-footed this morning.”
Griff hid his smile. It was a decent excuse and he admired her quick mind. But, bored with the interrogation—he was about to do this again in a couple of hours—Griff decided to give her something else to take her mind off business.
And her panic attack.
Walking around the kitchen island, he gathered the material of her thin sweater in his fingers. Wrapping it in his fist, he gently pulled the fabric, silently asking her to stand up. Once on her feet, she inched closer. She might not want to work with him, but she was attracted to him.
As he was to her...
“What are you doing?” Kinga asked as he closed the gap between her mouth and his.
“I’m tired of arguing with you and I’d much rather do this. Wouldn’t you?”
When she nodded, he kept his kiss gossamer soft, giving her the choice to take their kiss deeper or not. Only she would know whether she wanted hard and intense or light and lingering, so he didn’t push. Kinga placed her hands on his chest and tipped her head to the side, her body taut. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, and on a puff of sweet air, her lips parted and invited him to take the kiss deeper.
Pulling her into him, Griff wrapped his arms around her and felt her body liquefy, her tension dissolve. It would be so easy to light that fuse—to take their kiss deeper, to fall into passion—but Griff knew that wasn’t what either of them needed.
Sometime in the future, God willing, he’d have her naked and panting, but not this morning. Beneath her prickles and her snark, she was tired and vulnerable and no man with any honor took advantage of that.
And despite what the world thought, honor was still important to him.
Griff eased back with great reluctance, his mouth lifted from hers, and his thumb slid against her bottom lip.
“Let’s get moving, Kinga. And we’ll pick up this discussion later.”
Kinga stepped back and smoothed down her sweater. When her eyes met his, they were, once again, filled with annoyed determination. “We most certainly will. For the record, I don’t like your high-handed manner of changing the subject, O’Hare.”
Griff smiled at her. “And just for the record, I still want to know why you have panic attacks.”
Her mouth opened and snapped closed, and when she remained silent, Griff thought he just might have won this round.
But with someone as intriguing, enigmatic and plain sexy as Kinga, who the hell knew.