Ryder's Bride (Brides Bay Book 1) Page 2

  “Uh, okay.” His cold hand really was no problem, but Ry wasn’t about to say no to the thoughtful gesture. Though Claire’s hands were half the size of his, they were silky smooth and the friction of her vigorous rubbing quickly did the trick. And damned if he couldn’t help thinking of returning the favor by warming her up, since she had to be pretty chilled from the water that had leaked onto the top of her dress.

  That enjoyable train of thought was derailed a moment later when he heard an ominous creak and glanced over to see the yacht starting to slide off its base.

  Chapter 2

  Thank God for Griffin. He’d saved her ass twice in one day.

  First, he’d been Mr. Handyman with his manly toolbox, helping her deal with the problem hose. Then his quick reaction had saved the ice sculpture from catastrophically sliding off its base. Her tugging and banging on the hose had combined with the ice’s uneven melting to knock the yacht off-kilter. When the tilt had morphed into a topple, Claire had been briefly paralyzed.

  Fortunately, Ry had reacted with an athlete’s instincts, leaping forward and steadying the yacht with his big hands and muscular arms. Scrambling into action, Claire had grabbed a couple of knives off a nearby table and used them to temporarily steady the sculpture. At that point, one of the waiters had dashed over with a few of the small wooden shims they’d used to level the legs of the rented tables. Claire and Ry had strategically placed them under the sculpture to get it squared away, averting yet another crisis.

  He’d waved off her attempts to thank him, making another goofy hockey joke about how he was a pro when it came to dealing with ice. By that time, the folks in the wedding party were making their way into the tent, so Claire had slipped out and raced to her apartment to change. She’d made it back within fifteen minutes, and ever since had anxiously kept an eye on the rapidly accelerating rate of the yacht’s melt. While still worrying, she took some comfort in knowing that the damn drain was finally working properly.

  Note to Brides Bay Concierges: never volunteer to organize an ice sculpture.

  Thank God her personal hero had been on the spot to lend a much-needed assist.

  Aside from being a handy guy to have around in a crisis, Ry Griffin was also one seriously talented guitarist. After dinner ended, he’d taken a seat on a stool just below the bridal dais and launched into a display of jazz guitar wizardry. Derek had kept his friend’s performance a secret from everyone, including Betsy. The wedding planner had stood there slack-jawed when Derek rose from the head table and told the guests that they were in for a musical treat to compensate for all the boring speeches and toasts.

  Hockey player, handyman, and now epic guitarist—Ry Griffin was almost too good to be true.

  As his fingers flew over the fretboard of his gorgeous and very expensive guitar, Claire couldn’t take her eyes off him. Nor could Meg, who was was practically boneless with lust in the chair beside her.

  “God, what a total hottie,” Meg said with a soft sigh. “That bad boy can strum my little guitar anytime he wants.”

  Claire choked back a laugh. “Now, that’s just gross,” she whispered.

  It was hard to disagree though. Ry’s awesome body looked liked it had been chiseled out of one of the granite cliffs on Promise Island. He had to be at least six-four and was so muscular that neither the cut nor the fabric of his suit could hope to disguise all the impressive bulges. His jet-black hair was thick but short, and the scruff on his face along with the scar on his right cheekbone added to his tough guy look.

  And his hands…don’t even get her started on them. She’d spent considerable time rubbing his broad palm and long fingers after the ice sculpture crisis. It hadn’t taken much effort to fantasize about how those hard, calloused hands might feel on her body.

  But his musical talent laid her flat.

  “He’s an awesome guitarist,” Claire said. “What I’d give to get my hands on that beautiful Martin of his.”

  She had a Martin guitar of her own, but it was a model several light-years in quality behind the costly version Ry Griffin was playing. His sweet baby must have cost more than her new Hyundai.

  Meg shot her an amused smile. “Actually, I can think of other things of his I’d rather get my hands on.”

  “Enough with the lusting,” Claire said, gently digging an elbow into her friend’s side. “We should be thinking about Ry Griffin as a potential client, not dating material. And don’t forget that I’ve got first dibs on trying to land his business.”

  Meg scrunched up her nose. “Yeah, damn that coin flip.”

  “It’s not guaranteed, you know. The guy may not need a concierge. So far he hardly leaves his property.”

  “It’s still early days,” Meg said, her attention once more on the dais. “I don’t know anything about jazz, but he’s awesome.”

  “That’s the damn truth.” In fact, the crisp, lovely notes and ringing chords snatched her breath away. She leaned forward, desperate to catch every moment, wishing he could play all night.

  But way too soon he strummed a final chord and stood to warm applause that quickly became a standing ovation. Ry actually grimaced as he took a half-hearted bow.

  “Bravo!” Claire shouted, clapping so hard her palms stung. “Encore! Encore!”

  “Yeah, encore!” Meg yelled over the din.

  The other six people at their table gave them surprised looks. But those amused looks were nothing like what Ry Griffin shot her.

  If he’d been a dragon, he would have fried her on the spot. Claire’s cheeks flushed hot, and she had to work not to cringe with embarrassment.

  After another quick bow, Griffin turned and headed toward the back of the tent. She’d spotted him stashing his guitar there earlier, just before the reception got underway.

  Derek stood up. “Wasn’t that amazing, folks? How about another hand for my buddy? You’ve seen him score some beautiful goals, but I’m sure you’ve never seen anything like what you just saw here tonight. What a guitar player, and what a guy.”

  Ry Griffin was also a guy who clearly didn’t like a lot of public adulation, despite the fact that he’d been a superstar athlete. Claire applauded again, just like everyone else, but with a lot less enthusiasm.

  Instead of enjoying the limelight, Griffin quickly slipped out the back of the tent.

  * * *

  “Earth to Claire—look who’s coming our way,” Meg hissed in a stage whisper.

  Claire shot a glance sideways. Sure enough, the hottie guitarist was coming toward them, and he looked like a man on a mission.

  After he ducked out of the tent, he’d headed across the park and down to the shoreline, looking like he wanted to escape the party. Unable to resist, Claire had snuck to the back of the tent and watched him. He’d been instantly surrounded at the beach by the ten-year-old Macy twins and their visiting cousin. He’d chatted easily with them and signed their ball caps. A bit later, as guests crowded onto the small temporary dance floor, Claire had taken another look and spotted Ry and the boys enthusiastically skipping stones over the calm waters of Brides Bay under a glorious setting sun. It was a scene out of a Rockwell painting, and it made her go all soft and gooey inside.

  That image stood in stark contrast to his response after she’d shouted her request for an encore following his kick-ass performance. Given that she’d embarrassed him with her overly enthusiastic response, she worried that she might have lost any hope of landing him as a new client.

  Note to Brides Bay Concierges: no shouting encouragement at prospective clients in public.

  Maybe she should start putting a manual together—she’d certainly had enough screw-ups today to warrant one.

  She took a gulp of champagne. “Oh, I wonder what he wants?” she said, hoarse from the burn of the alcohol.

  Maybe Griffin intended to chew her out for her encore gaffe. Or maybe he wanted to ask her why she’d been staring at him like some goofy fan girl—or stalker—the entire time he was on stage.<
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  “Hi again,” Griffin said, as he came up to them. He nodded at Meg. “I’m guessing you’re Claire’s partner, Megan Reilly?”

  Meg blushed, something that rarely happened. Through their work, Claire and Meg had met some seriously attractive rich guys, but Ryder Griffin was in a class by himself.

  “Yes, I am, but please call me Meg. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Griffin.” She beamed a thousand watt smile as she offered Ry her hand.

  Claire found herself having to squash a little flare of jealousy when Griffin returned her partner’s smile.

  Stupid.

  “Okay, and you should call me Ry,” he said, shaking hands with Meg. Then he zeroed back in on Claire with a dark, intense gaze. “I know you take care of Derek’s place. He gave me your card. Brides Bay Concierges—Claire Maddox and Megan Reilly.”

  Wow. Not what she’d been expecting from him. The man had just given her a perfect opportunity to pitch their services.

  “Actually, Claire and I both take care of Derek’s place, though she’s the first option,” Meg piped up.

  Griffin nodded but kept his focus on Claire. His gaze traveled down her body and back up again. Now she was the one who blushed.

  “Well, okay, then,” Meg said after a couple of moments, obviously remembering the results of the coin flip. “It’s time for me to get my dancing shoes out of the car. It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Griffin. I mean Ry. I’m sure we’ll see each other later this evening or around town.”

  His only response was another nod as Meg backed away with something approaching a smirk on her face.

  After an awkward few seconds of silence, he grimaced. “Look, I’m sorry for glaring at you like that when you called for an encore. I just…uh, I don’t much like…” He shook his head. “In any case, I wanted to say that it was nice of you to be so enthusiastic.”

  “Thank you,” she said, relieved. “I’m guessing you don’t much like being on display, which I completely understand. I’m sure you greatly value your privacy. ”

  His gaze narrowed. “I suppose people have been gossiping about the new guy in town?”

  The sarcastic undertone to his voice told her how little Ry would appreciate any gossip about him. Thank God she could answer his blunt question truthfully. “I don’t know about that, but it is a very small town. And it’s named Spy Hill, after all.”

  He sighed, his dark gaze briefly rising to the top of the tent. That told her what he thought of both her joke and the town’s reaction to him.

  She really couldn’t blame him for being annoyed. Why would he want to have locals pointing fingers as he walked or rode by? Why would he want to have to listen to whispers at the grocery store or the gas pumps or, worse yet, be stopped on the street to chat or sign autographs? All those things either had happened already or would soon enough if he started frequenting the local restaurants and pubs. Given his supposedly reclusive tendencies, it was no wonder he stuck close to Promise Island.

  “Yeah, I get it,” he finally said. “But I don’t have to like it.”

  “I understand. I’m sure people will leave you alone after a while.”

  Eventually, they were bound to get the message if he kept giving off that leave me alone vibe. A vibe like that was the antithesis of life in the three little communities surrounding beautiful Brides Bay, including her town of Spy Hill.

  He flashed her a rueful, charming grin. She mentally blinked at the rapid change in expression and how her heart rate had just charged into overdrive.

  “Everyone’s been fine so far, so I’d imagine it won’t be a problem.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Claire hoped she didn’t sound as if she’d just run a marathon. While his glare could be dangerous, his smile was an absolute killer.

  “I want to talk about hiring you,” Ry said, getting serious again. “I need somebody to look after my place, because I expect to be gone a fair bit, mostly on weekends. Derek recommended you, and that’s good enough for me.”

  Claire squashed the silly impulse to throw herself into his arms or jump around like a nut. Landing one of Promise Island’s rich, part-time homeowners always felt like huge win. Then again, this job would be different, because his place wasn’t just any property. While she looked forward to seeing her old house again, there was going to be pain involved in that experience too.

  “Well, I’d be very pleased to take care of all your needs in that regard,” she said, adopting her best professional manner. Her sneaky hormones suggested what some of those needs might entail, but she told them to shut up.

  He nodded. “Great. I’ll be away for a couple of days at the end of the week. I know it’s not much notice, but are you available? I’d rather not leave the place completely unattended, even though I’ve got a top of the line security system. I have to do more to get things where they need to be in that regard. Stuff like installing more cameras and motion detectors on the driveway and around the exterior of the house. Besides, you never know what can happen with an old house, right? Everything’s pretty ancient or run down. The plumbing, the wiring—almost everything, really.”

  She resisted the impulse to flinch. The house had been old and creaky even when she was growing up, so she couldn’t fault the accuracy of his assessment. “Brides Bay is probably one of the safest places on the planet, but I don’t blame you for going all-out on security. Some of my clients on Promise feel a little vulnerable living out there, even with the best systems.”

  As a kid, Claire had loved the feeling of space—the near isolation—on Promise Island. She’d felt like her family had a whole world to themselves. However, if she lived on the island now, with all the mansions that had gone up, she’d certainly buy herself a good security system and at least one big dog.

  “Would you like to discuss the details now or later?” she asked. “I’d be happy to swing by your place anytime that’s convenient. I can go over our fee structure with you, and you can show me around your property.”

  Of course, she already knew every nook and cranny of the house and practically every tree and bush in the big, heavily wooded yard. The last time she’d visited had been about a year ago when her friend, real estate agent Jordy Kemper, gave her a tour just before it went on the market. Claire had no hope of being able to buy the place back anytime soon—or likely ever, the way things were going. But she hadn’t been able to resist seeing her beloved old house. Unfortunately, it had been a jarring walk down memory lane, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to react the next time she entered what was now Ryder Griffin’s home.

  “Your fees don’t matter, Claire. All I care about is having somebody I can trust. And I mean completely trust. I need to know you’ll be on top of everything whenever I’m away.”

  His narrowed gaze told her he wasn’t messing around. “And I only want to deal with one person,” he added. “And that’s you. Not your partner. Not anybody else.” He shrugged as if it were half apology and half not giving a damn what she thought. “That’s just how I work.”

  It sounded like the mysterious Ry Griffin was not going to be the easiest of clients. That didn’t matter, because she’d handle whatever he threw at her. After all, that was what the job was all about. “Sure, we’ll make that work. Unless I’m sick or have to be out of town, you can have me every time.”

  Oops. That didn’t come out quite right. “When would you like to discuss the dates you’ll be needing us?” she added quickly. “Uh, I mean me.”

  “How about coming over for coffee tomorrow morning at, say…”

  “Seven-thirty? Or would that be too early?” She was usually up with the sunrise.

  “Done. We can go through the house and maybe take Stanley for a walk while we tour the grounds.”

  She frowned. “Stanley?”

  “My dog.”

  “Oh, okay.” She loved dogs. This man certainly had a lot of surprises up his sleeve. She just hoped he didn’t have a girlfriend stashed in the house too.

  B
ut why would she even care about that? The guy was totally off limits for a dozen reasons, starting with the fact that he was a client and ending with the near impossibility that he would ever be interested in someone like her, despite the few appreciative looks he’d given her tonight. Even more important, he was not the kind of man who could ever make her feel safe.

  To Claire, safety would always and forever come first.

  Chapter 3

  “Claire, meet Stanley.” Ry hauled on the dog’s collar as Claire stepped through the door into the kitchen.

  He’d only had the sweet, goofy Newfoundland for three weeks, and training definitely remained a work in progress. More work than progress, so far, actually. He should have known that the heavily panting young bruiser would want to jump up on Claire. Hell, he was tempted to leap her bones himself. In her slim-cut jeans and tight little T-shirt, with her golden hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked just as beautiful and sexy as she had at the wedding. Whether she was in a sleek dress or blue jeans, Claire was hot.

  “Welcome to my humble home,” he added.

  Although the smile remained pinned on her face, her gaze turned oddly blank. Had he said something wrong? Maybe she thought it was stupid for a guy to refer to any of the homes on Promise Island as humble. By the island’s standards, his place was more or less a dump. But compared to most of the places he’d seen so far in Spy Hill and the other little towns on Brides Bay, the house was a palace. The main thing to him was that the land on which it stood was worth every penny he’d paid.

  When Stanley made another snuffling lunge at her, Claire glanced down. The big guy had deposited a significant blob of drool on the front of her jeans, right in the most potentially embarrassing spot. Man, he and his dog weren’t exactly covering themselves in glory this morning.

  Stanley’s little mishap clearly didn’t bother Claire, since she simply bent over to give the top of his head a vigorous rub. “I like you too, Stanley, but you’re far too big a boy to be jumping up on people.”