Besides, she was a strong and independent woman who could handle herself.
And don’t you dare forget that, Ryder-White.
Griff turned his head and looked at Kinga’s delicate profile, soft and vulnerable and relaxed. This trip to NYC was an unexpected pleasure. After they were finished with work, he planned on taking her to a little restaurant in Brooklyn, a ten-seater Italian joint that served the best shrimp and lemon risotto he’d ever tasted. And amazing tiramisu. Maybe they could get takeout and have another threesome...
The last one, with the cheesecake, had been a bunch of fun.
Griff hoped he’d be able to fly under the radar in the city and, if he took the normal precautions, ball cap and sunglasses, hopefully nobody would know he was there. He knew Kinga had booked a suite at the hotel but he wondered if that was wise as chambermaids and bellhops were a frequent source of information for the paparazzi.
And if the press found out he was sleeping with Kinga Ryder-White, their lives would be untenable. She was a good girl, Portland’s princess, and he was Hollywood’s favorite bad boy. It wouldn’t be the first or the hundredth time his love life was dissected for the titillation of the public, but he was pretty sure Kinga—or her father or grandfather—would not appreciate the invasion of her privacy.
Nor would her family appreciate the fact that she was mixing business with pleasure...
Kinga was so different from anyone he’d dated before. She was supersmart and very independent, sophisticated but not hard. A little more vulnerable than he was comfortable with. All his previous lovers understood that, by being at his side, there was always the chance their affair would hit the tabloids. For some, the notoriety was an added inducement, hoping they’d be able to leverage the publicity into something bigger and bolder.
Kinga was not like that. She was different, in a hundred ways, all of them pleasurable. Griff looked at her, blonde and beautiful but not in a centerfold pinup type of way, and his heart thumped against his rib cage, while his stomach attempted a backflip.
He’d been in lust before—many times—but no one had ever made his internal organs quiver.
Not that he was in love with Kinga Ryder-White—it was an unrealistic, silly concept, but she affected him in ways no woman ever had. He didn’t like it.
Then again, there were a million things he didn’t like but couldn’t change.
Griff heard the ding of a message landing on his phone. It was a video clip of Sam on the beach, chasing seagulls and whooping like a banshee. Seeing Kinga’s curious expression at the noises coming from his phone, he angled his screen and pushed Play again.
“That’s Sam, my nephew.”
Griff almost looked around to see who had said his words, who was using his voice. Astounded that he’d told her something so incredibly personal, he immediately turned his head to look out the window, unable to meet her eyes.
“Sian has a child?”
He’d opened the door, allowed her to walk inside; he couldn’t shut her out now. He wanted to but manners dictated that he had to, at the very least, give her a small explanation.
“Yes, but I’ve helped raise him since he was born. Sian lives on my Kentucky ranch and Sam and I are very close,” Griff added, pushing his hand through his hair, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.
“He’s very cute.”
“He’s my world.”
And he was sharing his existence with Kinga.
His stomach dropped, as heavy as an iron bar.
He’d just exposed himself. Worse, he’d exposed his family to a woman he barely knew and wasn’t sure he could trust. Not because Kinga was untrustworthy but because he didn’t trust anybody, not with information about Sian and Sam. He’d never even brought a woman home to meet his family; the thought had never crossed his mind. It wasn’t what he did, who he was.
He and Sian had had their fights because he was so very protective—she’d, on more than one occasion, accused him of smothering her—but it wasn’t because he didn’t trust or respect her. She was his sister, damn it. The person he shared a womb with; he couldn’tnotlook out for her. “He looks like you. How old is he?” Kinga asked. He looked at her and saw more questions in her eyes, including the one she most wanted to know but dare not ask...
Who was the father of Sian’s child?
He dropped his head to look at the floor, unsure how much to tell her. He quickly tallied up the pros and cons. If he said nothing and she let the information slip about Sam, he might be able to refute her words, to dismiss her claim.
But if he gave her more, and she let all of it slip, the media’s interest in Sian would be reignited. And if the world found out Finn was Sam’s father, the internet would explode.
And Sian would be hounded... His sister wasn’t ready, might never be strong enough, for so much concentrated attention.
It all came down to whether he trusted Kinga or not. And really, how could he? He liked her, her body enthralled him and he enjoyed her quick mind. But realistically, he hadn’t spent enough time with her to trust her with his most explosive secrets.
“You don’t trust me.”