Griff winced. What a bastard.
But he still didn’t understand what any of this had to do with her visit to Garwood’s house this afternoon. He told himself to be patient and listen.
Kinga tensed and Griff knew he was about to hear something he wasn’t going to like. “After her funeral, I was at home, alone... I can’t remember where my parents were. Mick arrived and he started yelling at me, telling me that I destroyed all his plans, that he’d intended to marry Jas, that she was his ticket.
“I didn’t know what he was talking about and I started yelling back, I was so sick of his crap. I told him that Jas had said they were done, permanently, and that she was glad to have him out of her life.” Kinga hesitated, then softly told him that she’d been punched.
It took Griff a few moments for the red mist in front of his eyes to clear. “I’m sorry,” he carefully asked, “did you say he hit you?”
“Mmm-hmm. He’s a big guy and I fell to the floor. It hurt like hell.”
Griff released a low growl. “Please, please tell me where I can find the prick so that I can rip his limbs off.”
Kinga placed her hand on his and squeezed. “He was the blond-haired guy outside the Garwood house today, talking to the press.” Kinga pulled her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger, deep in thought. A minute later she dropped her hand to speak again. “It’s all starting to make sense, actually.”
He was glad she thought so, because he didn’t have a damn clue. All he knew for sure was that if he was alone with Pritchard, one of them would die and it wouldn’t be Griff. Kinga was tall but slim, and the guy he’d seen earlier was six-four and bulky. God, even a pulled punch from him would’ve stung like a bitch. He could’ve broken her cheekbone, made her crack her head when she hit the floor...
“He’s the owner of a private security company with offices here and in Boston. On his website is a video promoting his services and telling the world why he got into private security, to help people because his, and I’m paraphrasing, love of his life was killed in a hit-and-run accident. In the video, he also names and blames me. Every year he emails or texts me on her anniversary to reinforce that message.”
The sniveling cockroach.
“I’ve been able to ignore him mostly, but now he’s back and he’s launching a bid for mayor, and he wants Seth’s endorsement. He ambushed me in a parking lot recently, telling me that I owe him, and demanding that I set up a meeting with the senator.”
He what? What the f—
“Now I think that back then, he was planning on using Jas to ride Seth’s coattails,” Kinga mused. “Seth can’t stand him because he’s refused to take that video down. We believe he’s capitalizing on Jas’s death. Mick went to see Viola today, Jas’s mother. She’s never fully recovered from Jas’s death and mostly stays at home. She told me he bullied his way into the house, and immediately demanded that she talk to Seth, that Seth owes it to Mick to endorse him for mayor. She was distraught and scared and it took me a while to calm her down.”
“Is the guy clueless?”
“He’s something,” Kinga admitted. “He tipped off the press and that’s why they were there. I bet you that he hinted at an announcement about him entering politics to tease them. He would’ve told them he was visiting Viola as Jas’s boyfriend, showing his respect on the tenth anniversary of her death. The press will pick up on the story—they love anything to do with Seth and Jas.”
Griff lifted his hand to hold her chin, making sure she was looking at him when he spoke again. He wanted no misunderstandings about this. “If he comes anywhere near you, I want to know about it, Kinga.”
Kinga shrugged. “I appreciate the sentiment but the last thing you can afford, from a PR point of view, is to get into a showdown with Mick Pritchard, Griff.” Kinga shrugged. “I can handle him.”
But she shouldn’t have to, and Griff wanted to make it very clear to Pritchard that any fight he picked with Kinga meant taking on him, too.
“I. Want. To. Know.” Griff enunciated each word.
“Fine,” Kinga huffed, but in that one word, he heard the exhaustion and emotion in her voice. She came across as tough and together on the surface, but his amber-eyed pixie was a lot more vulnerable than she allowed the world to believe. Feeling tenderness rise up inside of him—well, he thought it was tenderness—he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her in close and kissed the top of her head.
While he was in Portland, for as long as this lasted, she was his to protect.
Griff lifted his hand to stroke her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Kinga, so sorry that you lost your friend.”
Kinga blinked away her tears. “I still miss her, Griff. As much today as I did ten years ago.”
Griff nodded, understanding grief didn’t die over time. It changed, sure, but it never went away. He still missed his parents.
“I know what loss is like, how it can rearrange the world. Death, and the emotions it brings, is never simple and comes in so many different shapes and forms.”
Kinga rested her forehead against his. “I’m so grateful you are here. Thank you for staying.”
“Always a pleasure,” Griff murmured back. And it was. Honestly, there was no place he’d rather be than holding Kinga.
Pulling back, she looked into his eyes and he watched, fascinated, as sorrow turned to desire. His eyes darted to her mouth and back to her eyes and liquid want invaded his veins, warming him from the inside out.
Kinga straddled his thighs, lowering her head to position her mouth above his, but Griff’s hand on her shoulder stopped her from lowering her head. “Problem?” she asked, frowning.