I FOLLOW GRAHAM THROUGH A short hallway and into a wide open kitchen. Dark wood floors and cabinets make the large stainless steel appliances pop. Light flows in from the bright moon outside the windows, but the room also glows from soft lights under the cabinetry.

His house is in a subdivision bordering a golf course, which surprised me when we arrived. I expected him to live somewhere more private, maybe even out of town, but he doesn’t. Still, it’s incredibly peaceful here, almost like you leave the city and step into another place altogether. It smells of his sandalwood cologne mixed with something crisp. Clean. Intoxicating.

Graham takes my coat and lays it over the back of one of the tall stools lining the island along with his suit jacket. “Can I get you a drink? Something to eat?”

“We just had dinner,” I remind him.

“I know. It’s just years of manners embedded into me by my mother. Never invite someone over and not offer them food and a drink.”

He watches me in the way he does for a long moment. I feel the ripple of uncertainty that’s been wedged between us since our talk of the yoga studio and families. Dessert was nice and our conversation flowed like normal, but I could feel something a little heavier on our minds.

The car ride here was quiet, soft music playing in his SUV, the only words really spoken were him asking if we could swing by here for some papers before he returns me to my car at Landry Holdings. Now, looking at him over his kitchen island, I’m not sure what to think. Maybe he doesn’t either.

“Thank you for going with me to dinner tonight,” he says finally.

“It was nice. Thank you for asking me.”

He roughs his hand down his face before reaching for my hand and leading me to a set of French doors. He slides them open and we step out onto a patio.

The air is chilly and I shiver. He immediately pulls me into his side and runs his hand up and down my arm. “We can go back in,” he offers.

“I just thought you’d like it out here. Watch this.” Grinning, he goes to a large stone fireplace and flips a switch. Flames begin to dance inside.

“That’s awesome,” I laugh, curling up on the love seat facing the fire. The fence has a row of thick pine trees on the inside, creating a barrier from the homes on either side and the golf course behind the house. It creates a little nook of privacy that feels like a fairytale. “I could get used to this.” As he sits beside me, the flames shooting shadows over his face, I realize just how breathtakingly handsome he really is when the stress of the day is gone. “This is how you relax, isn’t it? Sitting here by the fire.”

“Sometimes.” With a gentle hand, he takes my arm and pulls me against him. My breath catches in my throat at the contact. It’s more intimate, more connected, than I’ve been with him before, and on top of our conversation earlier, I’m not sure what I think of that.

My head on his chest, I gaze past the patio and onto the golf course. “Do you golf ?”

“A little. It’s a good place to hammer out business deals,” he says. “Dad golfs pretty well. Barrett hates it. Linc is an asshole to golf with because he’s so fucking good and doesn’t even try.”

“What about Ford?”

“Ford can. I mean, he’s decent. He just doesn’t really spend his time on those things.” His hand runs up and down my arm again. If I didn’t watch it, I could pretend this was more than it is. “Ford takes serious things seriously and fun things for what they are. He really is probably the best out of us all.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“What do you not know?” he says, angling his head to look at me.

His eyes shine in the low light.

“I happen to think you’re the best out of them all.”

He chuckles, letting his hand fall to the small of my back. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“It’s true. Barrett is so charismatic, Ford charming, and Lincoln is so . . .”

Graham flips me a look, almost a warning. “He’s so what, Mallory?” he goads me.

“So Lincoln,” I try, giggling. “But you are all of those things.”

“I don’t think I’m charming.”

“You are so charming,” I smile, tapping his cheek until he faces me. “And kind. You think of everyone but yourself, which is why you need yoga,” I wink. “Want to know my favorite thing about you?”

“No. This is starting to make me uncomfortable,” he cringes.

“I don’t care,” I whisper, teasing him. “Besides seeing you naked and being on the receiving end of your smile, my favorite thing about you is how smart you are and how passionate you are about the things that matter to you.”

He huffs, clearly embarrassed, and looks away.

“Do you want to know what my favorite thing is about you? It might surprise you,” he says, tapping my nose. “It’s not how insanely gorgeous you are or how good you are at your job or how I can talk to you about anything and you know a little something about it.”

My cheeks flush and I try to look away, but he doesn’t let me. Instead, he holds my gaze in place and smiles.

“My favorite thing about you is your heart.” He says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that it takes a second to process it. “At first when you would ask me how I am in the morning or if I needed something before you left work, I’d assume it was a part of your role. But I’ve come to learn you really are asking. You really do care if I’m okay.”

“And if not, I’ll bring you a soda and a protein bar,” I say, nestling my head against his chest as the warmth of the fire snuggles me in.

“I love that you care, Mallory. And it comes from such a good place. You don’t ask because you want something from me. Just like Donnie tonight. You were worried he was upset. That’s pretty incredible.”

“That’s called having a heart.”

“That’s called being a lady.” He wraps his other hand around me, fastening them at my hip. “This is nice.”

“Mhmm . . .” I say, unfastening a couple of the buttons on his shirt and slipping my hand inside. His tight chest, rough and warm, sends a blast of energy right through me. “You know what?”

“What’s that?”

“I thought you were going to say your favorite thing about me was my punctuality.”

He laughs and I can feel the reverberation in my hand. His heart quickens. “No, but I could’ve said something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like the feel of your pussy wrapped around my cock.”

His words, coupled with the grit in his tone, makes me weak. As he stretches back, I see the bulge in his pants, and I know, right or wrong, ready or not, I’m going to come.

“I know what you mean,” I say, skimming my palm down his chest and cupping him. “I love the way my body stretches as you put the tip of your—Ah!”

Before I can finish my sentence, I’m flipped on my back. Graham hovers over me, his eyes dancing with mischief.