Like her best friend, Griff was a charismatic, pull-to-a-flame creature. She had to be on guard around him. Her attraction to Griff, to the wildness she sensed in him, was dangerous. If she lowered her guard, she could make a mistake that could have enormous consequences.
To her ball, to her reputation and, if she weren’t very, very careful, her heart.
So, no more kissing, touching or wondering what he looked like under his clothes.
Kinga yawned and closed the lid to her laptop. It was way after midnight and she should climb the stairs and go to bed. She had a long day tomorrow. With O’Hare invading her dreams and providing her with some X-rated fantasies, sleep wasn’t something she was getting a lot of lately.
Kinga placed her laptop on her coffee table, switched off the table lamp and stood up. She padded over to the door to check that all four locks were engaged—she knew they were locked but she wouldn’t sleep unless she’d checked. About to turn to walk up the stairs, she heard a sharp rap on her front door. With her heart trying to escape through her throat, she stood statue-still, wondering who could be banging on her door at—she glanced at her watch—twelve thirty in the morning.
Another knock and Kinga heard Griff’s soft voice calling her name. Kinga bent over, placed her hands on her thighs and breathed deeply, trying to push the panic away. God, maybe she should’ve stayed longer in trauma counseling.
Pulling in a deep breath, and telling her heart to calm the hell down, Kinga checked her peephole and sighed. Even distorted, Griff looked lovely. She flipped open her locks, pulled the door ajar and immediately inhaled the divine scent of garlic, melted cheese, herbs and fresh tomato.
Griff held a pizza box in his hand and a cake box in the other, both bearing the logo of the famous restaurants in New York.
He’d heard her request and had made the effort to fulfill it.
Holy crap, who was this man?
Kinga opened the door and took her time examining Griff. He wore faded blue jeans and a light blue open-neck shirt. His buttoned waistcoat was a deep brown and his jacket a rich cream. Classic, brown Oxford leather shoes covered his feet. His coat and scarf lay on the wooden bench pushed up against the outer wall of her apartment.
He looked amazing, as yummy as the pizza smelled.
Kinga lifted her eyes to his face and her stomach lurched at the now-familiar half smile she saw on his face.
“You brought me pizza and cheesecake,” Kinga stated. She reached for the pizza box, suddenly conscious of how hungry she was. “Thank you. That’s sweet... Gimme.”
Griff flashedthatsmile, the one that revealed those amazing dimples and, after a bit of tugging, allowed her to take the flat box from his hands. Kinga turned and walked back into her apartment, flipping open the lid. In a well-practiced move, she held the box with one hand, lifted and folded a slice of pizza, and had the slice in her mouth before she reached the sofa.
Sinking to sit cross-legged on her coffee table—she didn’t want the greasy pizza anywhere near her silk sofa cushions—she closed her eyes as the intense flavors hit her tongue.
If there was no New York–style pizza in heaven, she wasn’t going.
Kinga heard Griff close her door, heard the locks turning and then saw him cross the room to sit on the sofa in front of her. He placed the box of cheesecake on the table and tried to tug the pizza box from her tight grip.
“You dined at Frodo’s. You shouldn’t be hungry.”
Griff scoffed at that statement. “Geraint’s portions are bite-size and, while stunning, were just enough to satisfy an overweight flea.” He tugged at the box again. “Have a heart, Ryder-White, my stomach is eating itself.”
Kinga released her grip on the box and Griff helped himself. Like her, he folded his pizza in half and took a huge bite, demolishing half the slice. Without talking, Kinga and Griff steadily made their way through the bulk of the pie, only talking to murmur their approval of their late-night treat.
There were two slices left in the box and Kinga picked up a napkin to wipe her greasy hands. She still wanted cheesecake, but was rapidly running out of room. Griff, big and bold, didn’t have that problem. She leaned back on her hands and dropped her legs off the coffee table, her knees on the inside of Griff’s. She felt sated and a little sleepy, and her eyes wandered over Griff, taking in his strong neck, the stubble on his cheeks, the intensity of his eyes. He had a tiny drop of tomato sauce on his lovely, pale blue shirt and Kinga used her index finger to scoop up the drop before it stained.
Except that the stain was dry.
She frowned and sat up straight, her eyes narrowing. “Mine wasn’t the first pizza you ate tonight, was it, O’Hare?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Griff’s innocent look didn’t fool her for a second.
Kinga leaned forward and bent to the side to look in the direction of his ass.
“What are you doing?” Griff asked, puzzled.
“Checking to see if your pants are on fire,” Kinga retorted. “Mmm, let me guess. While you were at Frodo’s, you and Stan sent a minion to Lombardi’s to order a couple of pies. One or two of which you ate on the plane on the way home. Or in the taxi on the way to the airport.”
Griff grinned at her. “Busted.”
“And then you ate half of mine!” Kinga pointed at the box, struggling to keep from smiling. “You jerk!”