Easier, she admitted. Because the one time she had let him in, the one time she had let herself open her home and her heart, he'd been taken away. And she had suffered.
This time she would do something. She would do whatever was right, whatever was best. She wouldn't allow herself to become too emotionally involved, however. After all, he wasn't her child. If Gloria retained custody, he would still move out of her life again.
But she would make the effort, take the time, see that he was situated well. Then she would get on with her life and her work.
Satisfied, she saved the document and shifted to another to continue her notes for her book. Before she could begin, the phone on her desk rang.
"Yes. Dr. Griffin."
"Sybill. It took me a great deal of time and trouble to track you down."
"Mother." On a long sigh Sybill closed her eyes. "Hello."
"Would you mind telling me what you're doing?"
"Not at all. I'm researching a new book. How are you? How's Father?"
"Please, don't insult my intelligence. I thought we'd agreed you would stay out of this sordid little affair."
"No." As it always did when faced with a family confrontation, Sybill's stomach pitched. "We agreed that you would prefer I stay out of it. I decided I prefer not to. I've seen Seth."
"I'm not interested in Gloria, or her son."
"I am. I'm sorry that upsets you."
"Can you expect it to do otherwise? Your sister has chosen her own life and is no longer a part of mine. I will not be dragged into this."
"I have no intention of dragging you into this." Resigned, Sybill reached into her purse and found the small cloisonné box she used to store aspirin. "No one knows who I am. And even if I'm connected to Dr. and Mrs. Walter Griffin, that hardly follows to Gloria and Seth DeLauter."
"It can be followed, if anyone becomes interested enough to pursue it. You can't accomplish anything by staying there and interfering in this situation, Sybill. I want you to leave. Go back to New York, or come here to Paris. Perhaps you'll listen to your father if not to me."
Sybill washed down the aspirin with water, then dug out antacids. "I'm going to see this through. I'm sorry."
There was a long silence ripe with temper and frustration. Sybill closed her eyes, left them closed, and waited.
"You were always a joy to me. I never expected this kind of betrayal. I very much regret that I spoke with you about this matter. I wouldn't have if I'd known you would react so outrageously."
"He's a ten-year-old boy, Mother. He's your grandson."
"He is nothing to me, or to you. If you continue this, Gloria will make you pay for what you see as kindness."
"I can handle Gloria."
There was a laugh now, short and brittle as glass. "So you always believed. And you were always wrong. Please don't contact me, or your father, about any of this. I'll expect to hear from you when you've come to your senses."
"Mother—" The dial tone made Sybill wince. Barbara Griffin was a master at having the last word. Very carefully, Sybill set the receiver on the hook. Very deliberately, she swallowed the antacid.
Then, very defiantly, she turned back to her screen and buried herself in work.
Chapter Five
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since sybill was always on time and nearly everyone else in the world, as far as she was concerned, never was, she was surprised to find Phillip already sitting at the table he'd reserved for dinner.
He rose, offered her a killer smile and a single yellow rose. Both charmed her and made her suspicious.
"Thank you."
"My pleasure. Sincerely. You look wonderful."
She'd gone to some trouble in that area, but more for herself than for him. The call from her mother had left her miserably depressed and guilty. She'd tried to fight off both emotions by taking a great deal of time and putting a great deal of effort into her appearance.
The simple black dress with its square neck and long, snug sleeves was one of her favorites. The single strand of pearls was a legacy from her paternal grandmother and much loved. She'd swept her hair up in a smooth twist and added sapphire cabochon earrings that she'd bought in London years before.
She knew it was the sort of feminine armor that women slipped into for confidence and power. She'd wanted both.
"Thank you again." She slid into the booth across from him and sniffed the rose. "And so do you."
"I know the wine list here," he told her. "Trust me?"
"On wine? Why not?"
"Good." He glanced toward the server. "We'll have a bottle of the number 103."
She laid the rose beside the leather-bound menu. "Which is?"
"A very nice Pouilly Fuisse. I remember from Shiney's that you like white. I think you'll find this a few very important steps up from what you had there."
"Almost anything would be."
He cocked his head, took her hand. "Something's wrong."
"No." Deliberately she curved her lips. "What could be wrong? It's just as advertised." She turned her head to look out the window beside her, where the Bay stretched, dark blue and excitingly choppy under a sky going rosy with sunset. "A lovely view, a pretty spot." She turned back. "An interesting companion for the evening."
No, he thought, watching her eyes. Something was just a little off. On impulse he slid over, cupped her chin in his hand, and laid his lips lightly on hers.
She didn't draw away, but allowed herself to experience. The kiss was easy, smooth, skilled. And very soothing. When he drew back, she raised an eyebrow. "And that was because?"
"You looked like you needed it."
She didn't sigh, but she wanted to. Instead, she put her hands in her lap. "Thank you once again."
"Any time. In fact…" His fingers tightened just a little on her face, and this time the kiss moved a bit deeper, lasted a bit longer.
Her lips parted under his before she realized that she'd meant it to happen. Her breath caught, released, and her pulse shivered as his teeth scraped lightly, as his tongue teased hers into a slow, seductive dance.
Her fingers were linked and gripped tight, her mind just beginning to blur when he eased away. "And that was because?" she managed.
"I guess I needed it."
His lips brushed over hers once, then again, before she found the presence of mind to lay a hand on his chest. A hand, she realized, that wanted to ball into a fist on that soft shirt and hold him in place rather than nudge him away.
But she nudged him away. It was simpl
y a matter of handling him, she reminded herself. Of staying in control.
"I think as appetizers go, that was very appealing. But we should order."
"Tell me what's wrong." He wanted to know, he realized. Wanted to help, wanted to smooth those shadows out of her incredibly clear eyes and make them smile.
He hadn't expected to develop a taste for her so quickly.
"It's nothing."
"Of course it is. And there can't be anything much more therapeutic than dumping on a relative stranger."
"You're right." She opened her menu. "But most relative strangers aren't particularly interested is someone else's minor problems."
"I'm interested in you."
She smiled as she shifted her gaze from the entrees to his face. "You're attracted to me. That's not always the same thing."
"I think I'm both."
He took her hand, held it as the wine was brought to the table, as the label was turned for his approval. He waited while a sample was poured into his glass, watching her in that steady, all-else-aside way she'd discovered he had. He lifted it, sipped, still looking at her.
"It's perfect. You'll like it," he murmured to her while their glasses were being filled.
"You're right," she told him after she sipped. "I like it very much."
"Shall I tell you tonight's specials," their waiter began in a cheerful voice. While he recited, they sat, hands linked, eyes locked.
Sybill decided she heard about every third word and didn't really give a damn. He had the most incredible eyes. Like old gold, like something she'd seen in a painting in Rome. "I'll have the mixed salad, with the vinaigrette, and the fish of the day, grilled."
He kept watching her, his lips curving slowly as he drew her hand across the table to kiss her palm. "The same. And take your time. I'm very attracted," he said to Sybill as the waiter rolled his eyes and walked away. "And I'm very interested. Talk to me."
"All right." What harm could it do? she decided. Since, sooner or later, they would have to deal with each other on a different sort of level, it might be helpful if they understood one another now. "I'm the good daughter." Amused at herself, she smiled a little. "Obedient, respectful, polite, academically skilled, professionally successful."
"It's a burden."
"Yes, it can be. Of course, I know better, intellectually, than to allow myself to be ruled by parental expectations at this stage of my life."
"But," Phillip said, giving her fingers a squeeze, "you are. We all are."