Forever an Eaton: Bittersweet Love

She gave him a level look. “Don’t try, Griffin. Just do it.”

He nodded in a gesture of acquiescence. “I’m going to change my clothes. I want to get to the school early enough so I don’t have to wait to be seen.”

Belinda turned back to finish cleaning up the kitchen. She didn’t have to be at the high school until eleven, which left her time to dust and vacuum. As the only person living in the house her house was always spotless. But she knew that was going to change because Donna hadn’t taught her daughters to pick up after themselves.

As a stay-at-home mother and housewife Donna didn’t mind picking up after her husband and children. Roberta Eaton had picked up after her four children, and Donna continued the practice. However, that would end with Belinda. As a certifiable neat-freak, the girls would either conform to her standards or they would forfeit their privileges.

She’d loaded the dishwasher and had begun sweeping the kitchen when Sabrina and Layla walked in with backpacks slung over their shoulders. Both had combed and neatly braided their hair into single plaits. The fuzzy hair around their hairline was evidence that it was time for their roots to be touched up.

“Before you ask, Aunt Lindy, we brushed our teeth,” Sabrina announced with a teasing smile.

Resting her hands on her denim-covered hips, Belinda looked at her from under lowered lids. “I wasn’t going to ask, Miss Prissy.”

“Who’s prissy?” asked a deep voice. Griffin stood at the entrance to the kitchen dressed in a lightweight navy blue suit, stark white shirt, striped silk tie and black leather slip-ons.

Belinda couldn’t contain the soft gasp escaping her parted lips as she stared at Griffin like a star-struck teen seeing her idol in person for the first time. Now she knew why women came on to Griffin Rice. He radiated masculinity like radioactive particles transmitting deadly rays. Her knees buckled slightly as she held on to the broom handle to keep her balance.

A nervous smile trembled over her lips. “Your daughter.”

Smiling, Griffin strolled into the kitchen. “Which one?”

“Sabrina,” Belinda and Layla said in unison, before touching fists.

Looping his arm around Sabrina’s neck, Griffin lowered his head and kissed her forehead. “Are you being prissy, Miss Rice?”

Tilting her chin, she smiled up at her uncle. “I don’t even know what prissy means.”

He ran a finger down the length of her short nose. “Look it up in the dictionary.”

Sabrina snapped her fingers. “How did I know you were going to say that?”

“That’s because you’re smart.”

Belinda propped the broom against the back of a chair. “Come give me a kiss before you leave.”

She hugged and kissed Sabrina, then Layla. “Remember we have hair appointments this afternoon.”

“Yes!” they said in unison.

Griffin shook his head. He didn’t know what it was about women getting their hair and nails done that elicited so much excitement. He got his hair cut every two weeks, but he didn’t feel any different after he left the hair salon than when he entered.

“Girls, please wait outside for me. I’ll be right out after I talk to your aunt.”

Belinda didn’t, couldn’t move as Griffin approached her. The sensual scent of his aftershave washed over her, and she was lost, lost in a spell of the sexy man who made her feel things she didn’t want to feel and made her want him even when she’d openly confessed that she hadn’t found him appealing.

She’d lied.

She’d lied to Griffin.

And she’d lied to herself.

“What do you want, Griffin?” Her query had come out in a breathless whisper, as if she were winded from running.

He took another step, bringing them only inches apart. “I just wanted to say goodbye and hope you have a wonderful day.”

She blinked. “You didn’t have to send the girls out to tell me that.”

“But I couldn’t do this in front of them,” he said cryptically.

“Do what?”

“Do this.” Griffin’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his body at the same time his mouth covered hers.

Belinda didn’t have time to respond to the feel of his masculine mouth on hers as she attempted to push him away. Then the kiss changed as his lips became persuasive, coaxing and gentle. Her arms moved up of their own volition and curled around his neck, and she found herself matching him kiss for kiss. Then it ended as quickly as it had begun.

Reaching up, Griffin eased her arms from around his neck, his gaze narrowing when he stared at her swollen mouth. Passion had darkened her eyes until no light could penetrate them. Belinda had called Sabrina prissy, when it was she who was prissy. And underneath her prissy schoolteacher exterior was a very passionate woman, and he wondered if her boyfriend knew what he had.

“Thank you for the kiss. You’ve just made my day.” Turning on his heels, he walked across the kitchen, a grin spreading across his face.

“I didn’t kiss you, Griffin,” Belinda threw at his broad back. “Remember, you kissed me.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. “But you kissed me back.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did. And I liked it, Miss Eaton.”

Belinda wanted to tell Griffin that she liked him kissing her. But how was she going to admit that to him when supposedly he didn’t appeal to her? The truth was she did like him—a little too much despite her protests.

“Have a good day, Griffin,” she said instead.

“Trust me, I will,” he called out.

Looking around for something she could throw at his arrogant head, Belinda realized she’d been had. Griffin hadn’t kissed her because he wanted to but because he wanted to prove a point—that she was no more immune to him than the other women who chased him.

Well, he was about to get the shock of his life. She’d go along with his little game of playing house until she either tired or lost interest. And in every game there were winners and losers and Belinda Eaton didn’t plan to lose.

* * *

Belinda stabbed absentmindedly at the salad with a plastic fork as she concentrated on the article in the latest issue of Vanity Fair. She glanced up when she felt the press of a body next to hers.

“What’s up, Miss Ritchie?” she asked.

“That’s what I should be asking you, Miss Eaton,” said Valerie Ritchie as she slid into the chair beside Belinda. “You didn’t come in yesterday, and when I saw a sub cover your classes this morning I was going to call you later on tonight.”

Closing the magazine, Belinda smiled at the woman whom she’d met in graduate school. Valerie was one of only a few teachers she befriended at one of Philadelphia’s most challenging inner-city high schools. Much of the faculty, including the administration, remained at the school only because they were unable to find a similar position in a better neighborhood. But she and Valerie stayed because of the students.

“The guardianship for my sister’s children was finalized yesterday,” she said softly.