LITMIR.BIZ

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seen that happen, too, but thankfully most are good kids.”

      “Speaking of good—you know the girls adore you, Griffin.”

      He lifted his eyebrows. “They don’t adore me any more than they love you, Belinda. I’m sure they see me as Santa or a magic genie that grants their wishes. It’s you who must deal with them twenty-four-seven, but instead of withering they’ve bloomed. I know they miss their mom and dad, but you’ve saved them.”

      Belinda didn’t know why, but she felt as if she was holding her breath and waiting for the time when one or both of the twins would experience a meltdown. “You have to remember that they were in therapy only days after we buried Donna and Grant,” she reminded Griffin. “I don’t want to think of what would’ve happened to them if they hadn’t had professional help.”

      Griffin shook his head. “Therapy aside, it’s you and how you relate to them that makes the difference. I overheard them talking about how much they love mani-pedies—whatever that is—and getting their hair done every week.”

      “A mani-pedi is a manicure and pedicure. I go every week, so I just take them along with me.”

      “Stop trying to minimize your importance in their lives, Belinda,” Griffin chided softly. “You’re not Donna, but she knew what she was doing when she asked you to take care of her children. In other words, Belinda Eaton, you are an incredible mother, and I hope Mr. Sunshine knows how lucky he is to have someone like you.”

      Belinda was caught off guard by the warmth in Griffin’s voice and wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to concern himself with Raymond Miller. “I need to tell you—” The chiming of the doorbell preempted what she was going to tell Griffin about the man who was her friend and not her lover.

      Griffin pressed his face to Belinda’s soft, sweet-smelling hair. “I’ll be right back.”

      She stood in the middle of the living room staring at the massive floral arrangement on an antique English pedestal table until delicious wafting aromas coming from the kitchen propelled her into action, and she turned and made her way toward the rear of the house.

      The night before, Sabrina had admitted that she liked staying over in her uncle’s house because it made her feel as if she’d stepped back in time. What the teenager liked in particular was that although Griffin had enclosed the back porch, it was still accessible through the French doors. When the doors were open the space was perfect for dining al fresco. Belinda viewed it as the perfect place for having tea or simply enjoying the landscape while rocking on the porch.

      She stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. A toque-wearing chef, wielding a whisk with a vengeance in a large sauté pan, ordered a waiter to bring him a platter. “Today, please!” he drawled impatiently.

      Leaving as quickly and quietly as she’d entered, Belinda reversed course, passing the dining room where the bartender was setting up. Griffin had decided on buffet-style service because it was more in keeping with the casualness of the gathering. His invitations stressed casual attire, and anyone wearing a tie or suit would be ushered out the door.

      Grant and Donna had been frequent guests at the social gatherings Griffin hosted at his house, but Belinda always had responded by politely declining. At first the invitations slowed in frequency then they stopped entirely. Donna always called to tell her who she’d met, or brag about the quality of the food, then ended the conversation with “You don’t know what you were missing.” Belinda’s rejoinder was always, “What I don’t know, I don’t miss.”

      Avoiding her brother-in-law had strained their relationship. She’d spent years believing what she read in the tabloids, and never bothered to ask Griffin if the stories about him were true. She’d fallen victim to a very human fault—believing what you read.

      A deep voice, on an even lower register than Griffin’s, reached her as she walked into the living room. Keith Ennis appeared taller, larger than the images she’d seen on television. She’d suggested Sabrina and Layla remain in their rooms until the ballplayer’s arrival.

      Griffin approached Belinda, beckoning. “Come, darling. I want to introduce you to a client who’s also a good friend. Keith, this is Belinda Eaton. Belinda, Keith Ennis.”

      Belinda was too starstruck to register Griffin’s endearment as she smiled at the larger-than-life superstar ballplayer. His sparkling raven-black eyes, shaved head, mahogany-hued smooth skin and trimmed silky mustache and goatee were mesmerizing.

      She offered him her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

      Keith raised the delicate hand that he had swallowed up in his much larger one. “I can’t believe Rice has been holding out on me,” he crooned, winking, his baritone voice lowering seductively. “Where has he been hiding you?” he asked Belinda.

      A rush of heat stung her cheeks. “I’ve been around.”

      Griffin looped a proprietary arm around Belinda’s waist. “Sorry, man, but she’s not available.”

      “If the lovely lady is unavailable, then why isn’t there a ring on her finger, Rice?”

      Belinda grimaced when she felt the bite of Griffin’s fingers as they tightened on her waist. She flashed Keith a tight smile. “Please excuse me. I’m going upstairs to get Sabrina and Layla so they can meet you before the others arrive.”

      Belinda mentioning his meeting Griffin’s nieces reminded Keith why he’d come to his attorney’s home. His team had played a Saturday afternoon game, and he’d planned to unwind at his condo with the woman who usually kept him occupied during home games. However, Griffin got him to change his mind and his plans when he gave him a generous check as a donation to his alma mater.

      Keith’s gaze lingered briefly on Belinda Eaton before coming back to rest on Griffin’s scowling face. “Look, man, I know I was out of line.”

      “You were.” The two words were cold, exacting.

      Keith recoiled as if he’d been struck. “Will you accept my apology?”

      The seconds ticked off, the silence swelling and growing more uncomfortable with each tick. Griffin’s face was a glowering mask of controlled fury. His client had stepped over the line. He’d taken Keith Ennis, a naturally talented athlete from a disadvantaged Baltimore neighborhood to instant superstar status with a five-year multimillion-dollar contract, along with high-profile product endorsements.

      Griffin was normally laid-back, quick to smile, slow to anger and willing to give anyone three strikes. Unfortunately, Keith Ennis had just used up one of his three. He angled his head. “That’s something I’m going to have to think about. Can I get you something to drink?” he asked in the same breath.

      Keith flashed a tremulous grin. “Sure.”

      * * *

      Layla and Sabrina stared at their sport idol, tongue-tied as Griffin snapped pictures of them shaking hands with Keith, flanking him when they posed as a group picture and when he autographed their brag books. The ballplayer, seeking redemption for his misstep, signed autographs for their teachers and fellow students. Clutching their treasured memorabilia to their chests, the sisters raced upstairs to text their friends.

      * * *

      Griffin and Belinda became the consummate host and hostess as they greeted guests with exotic cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. The Moroccan-style meatballs, deviled eggs with capers, mini crab cakes and beluga caviar on toast points were the highlight of the cocktail hour.

      It didn’t take Belinda long to understand why her sister liked socializing at Griffin’s house. Excellent food, top-shelf liquor, friendly, outgoing guests and an attentive host made for certain success.

      The thirtysomething crowd included college classmates, frat brothers and three newlywed couples. She knew a few of the guests were surprised to see her as hostess, but they soon got used to it. The music, which included old-school and new-school jams, had several

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