TWENTY-SIX
ELLE
Alex doesn’t call back, but I’m not surprised. He never was much for confrontation. He’d probably get in touch with my father, though, just to complain that the man I’m with told him to fuck off—after insulting his seduction skills. Which means Dad will eventually reach out, too, shouting demands. He’ll want to know who I’m seeing. If whoever it is will cast a shadow on the Courtney family name. I’ll be ready for that, prepared to tell him to mind his own business.
I think.
Graham and I continue through Times Square. He’s moved his hand, now it’s tucked in the back pocket of my jeans, warm and possessive against the curve of my butt, but the close contact and our lack of words no longer have a calming effect. The conversation he had with Alex plays on repeat in my mind, agitating me a little more with every tap of my feet on the concrete. My distraction has reached an all-time high by the time we make it back to his apartment.
I stand across from him in the elevator, legs crossed at the ankle, scuffing the rubber toes of my Converse together.
“Cheer up, Elle,” he says, “we’ll get back to all the fun stuff in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
I watch his expression change in the gleaming elevator doors, and when I drop my gaze to my feet, he demands, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“We’ve already established that I can pinpoint when you’re bullshitting.”
The elevator doors open, so I step off. When the heat from his body coasts over my back, I pivot and look into his eyes. “You accepted his call.”
“Yes,” he drawls. “Because he’s a prick, and I’ve already told you I don’t play well with others.”
“You knew his last name.”
He reaches for his doorknob. “I knew the balance you owed to GWU and you’re worried because I know your ex-fucker’s last name?” His brows squash together and he laughs. “Priorities, Elle. Learn them. But for what it’s worth, it was on your screen the night he sent you that D.T.F. text.”
Oh. The pit of my stomach knots as I realize what a fool I am for jumping to conclusions. I’m about to speak up and address the issue of him answering the call again, but then he lifts a hand and jerks his head to each side. The muscles in his back and neck go rigid as he twists the knob to find it’s unlocked.
“Don’t move,” he mouths.
Panic sets in as he creeps into the foyer, and I take a few steps in the opposite direction. My phone is out, fingers ready to call 9-1-1, but then I hear Graham mutter a sharp curse. Then he says, “I swear to God, I really am going to break your arm one of these days, you idiot son-of-a-bitch. Did you stop to think I might have shot you?”
Another voice joins his, just as deep, but it’s tinged with amusement. “That bitch is your mother, too, and your jeans are as tight as those One Direction shits, so I doubt you’re packing anything.” I take this as my cue to go inside, and I round the corner just as the other man says, “You weren’t answering my calls, and I wouldn’t be very brotherly if I didn’t check up on you to make sure some random skank hadn’t—” He gulps hard as I step between the open living room and kitchen and smiles sheepishly, rubbing a hand through his wavy blond hair. “Hi.”
I give the tall, elegantly dressed man making a bloody mary at the kitchen island an awkward nod. “Hello.”
Graham leans against the opposite end of the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “This idiot bastard is my brother, Bennett.”
“His favorite idiot bastard brother,” he interjects with an easy smile. With his light hair and blue eyes, Bennett doesn’t look much like Graham except for when he does that. Quirks his lips. Now it’s impossible to deny the relation because they’ve both mastered that self-assured smirk. “You’ll have to excuse what you heard. I’m still under the weather from last night.”
“No, it’s fine.” Graham snorts as I stretch my hand across the island toward his brother. “I’m Elle Sutton. Graham’s random … friend.”
He brings his bloody mary to his lips, peering curiously at me over the edge. “The Elle?” He flicks his gaze over me, from my shoes to the top of my messy bun and does it again. That Delaney grin. “Now I can see why baby brother’s ignored me.”
“Why the fuck are you here, Ben?” Graham barks, and his brother turns in his direction, sipping leisurely at his drink. My cheeks are on fire as I back away from the island. I point toward the hallway.
“I’m just going to—I should pack.” My flight doesn’t leave until three AM—plenty of time to brush my teeth before I stumble into work—but I’d rather fold and refold my belongings than listen to this conversation.
Graham nods briskly, his gaze still warring with his brother, so I make a hasty exit. I pause just long enough to give Bennett an awkward look. “It was good to meet you.”
“Pleasures all mine, Elle.”
Once Graham’s bedroom door is closed, drowning out the discussion between him and Bennett, I blow out a harsh breath. Had he mentioned me to his brother? It seems so out of character for him that my head spins. After all, he’s the one who insisted that our situation is strictly between us. And what the hell was with Bennett calling me the Elle?
God, what the hell has Graham been saying?
I pace across the room, over clothes and foil packets from last night, worrying. It’s not until my phone vibrates again that I stop, and I’m breathless when I answer Blake’s call.
“Ooh, someone’s been busy.” I can tell she’s wearing a wide grin. “I’ve got a good guess on how you rang in the New Year.”
“It was … fun.” God, that word seems too weak to describe the events that went down from the moment I stepped off the plane yesterday. Stepping out onto the bedroom balcony, I lean against the railing, ignoring the rush of cold air that hits me square in the face. “But enough about me. What did you get into?”
She goes into details about the party she went to with a group of girls we were close with during our freshman year—where she met some guy she swears looks just like The Weeknd. When she finishes, she makes a sound of disapproval. “You almost had me, Elle, changing the subject and shit. Obviously, your night was a lot more interesting than getting puked on by a two-faced bitch who can’t handle her liquor.”
“But you met The Weeknd’s twin.”
“After I got puked on. I smelled like a disgusting conglomeration of Arby’s, Fireball, and backstabbery, so I doubt he’ll call me. Now … back to you.”
“His brother knows about me,” I blurt out.
“And?” She laughs, and I hear the water running and then the scrape of a toothbrush across her teeth. “Although, it does make me jealous because I don’t know about him, but why does it matter if—” She makes a choking noise and after she spits, she comes back, winded. “Are you seeing a professor?”
“No!”
“Then why does it matter unless you’re, I don’t know, fucking a guy who wears socks with flip-flops or the president or one of those suits your dad…” She trails off, and I cringe. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Blake,” I start, but a flash of something moving on the other side of the French doors stops me. I twist around and press my back to the railing as Graham strides across the floor. He shrugs his shirt off and my throat goes dry as he reaches past the V of his torso to his belt. Lifting an eyebrow, he gives his head the shallowest of nods. Issuing me an invitation. “L-let me call you back.”
“Ahhh! I hate you, Elle! You better actually call, too, or I’ll blow your phone up all night and ruin your sexy times with the Bathroom Bandit.”
“I will,” I promise, but I hardly recognize my own voice. My legs seem to take on a life of their own as I step back inside the bedroom just as Graham’s belt comes off. “Is everything all right with your brother?” I ask huskily.
“I’m not interested in Bennett right now.” He draws my phone from my fingertips, discarding it on the floor along with his belt. “You know what the fuck I want, Elle.”
“I do.” He closes the space between our bodies. He tangles a hand in my hair, knocking my updo loose. His other hand nestles between my legs and circles my sex through my jeans. There are two layers of cotton between his fingers and me, but the fire raging through me is just as strong as last night.
Stronger. Damn near the point of being out of control.
So I let the flames consume me.
It’s dark outside by the time I finally find out what it is Bennett wanted with Graham. I’m dozing off on his couch, when he comes out of the shower, a white towel hanging low on his hips. He’s carrying a large pink and black box that he hands to me.
“Agent Provocateur?” My brows arch. “Fancy, Senator Delaney.”
“I’d planned to watch you wearing this around here all night but duty calls.” I pause from tugging the tape off the bottom of the box and look up at him. “I have to make an appearance at Ben’s annual New Year’s shit show.”
“Oh.” I flip the cardboard open and blink at the nude and black number resting against a backdrop of pale pink tissue paper. I hold up the bra, dangling it from my fingertip. It’s nothing but sheer and lace and is quite possibly the sexiest article of clothing I’ve ever touched. “Where’s the rest of it?” I rasp.
He stares at me long and hard, his Adam’s apple dropping. Then, he shakes his head and laughs. “It’s when you say things like that, dove…”
“That you what?”
He gathers a handful of my hair in his fist and lifts my face to his. “That makes me want to do stupid things.”
“Like forget your brother’s party?” I tease. An unreadable emotion passes over his eyes before he presses his lips into a tiny smile and backs away from me. He sits on the coffee table facing me, tapping his long fingers along the edges.
“Something like that.” He follows my hands as I return the bra to the box, placing it on top of the matching panties. “I know you’ve got a penchant for white cotton, but I want that under whatever prim get-up you walk out of here in tonight, Elle.”
I start to argue with him over his opinion on my underwear choices, but then I snap my mouth shut. Re-evaluate what he just said. My fingers work anxiously over the lace and sheer as I suck on my bottom lip. “You want me to go with you?”
“Where the fuck else would you go?”
I offer him a one-shoulder shrug. “It’s just that … you’re revising your terms. When we agreed to our arrangement, you said that it was between us, remember?”
“The arrangement is between us, Elle. I’d prefer not to have it broadcasted that I paid an exorbitant amount for pussy. No matter how tight and wet it might be.” He smirks when my bare toes curl into the hard floor beneath them. “I think you’re safe coming with me to Bennett’s, where nobody knows you and doesn’t care enough to get to know you.”
He’s already getting up and padding toward his bedroom, so he doesn’t see me flinch at those words. And to be honest, I’ve got no idea where that reaction came from. It’s not like Graham and I are … together. For all I know, his brother wasn’t kidding earlier and he’d entertained himself with half the women in Manhattan before I even made it here this trip.
Which boils my blood. Confuses me even more.
I say nothing to him as I get dressed, but I do as he’s asked.
I wear the filmy, sexy lingerie beneath my royal blue cocktail dress. I feel like a sexpot—a sexpot in pearls and nude heels—when I meet him in his foyer and he grins at me as he fingers my necklace. “That’s my girl. You look like the American dream.” He bends, crushing his lips to mine. His kiss is fierce and hungry and he’s looking at me through half-closed eyes when he pulls away.
“And fuck, I’m going to enjoy ruining that dream later tonight. Running your mascara.” He presses his lips to my temple. “Spreading your hair around my pillows.” He blows his warm, sweet breath into my hair, which I’ve pulled away from my face in a low, sleek ponytail. “Smearing that lipstick with my tongue—and my cock.”
His mouth comes down on mine again, his tongue parting my lips and taking. Demanding. I’m moaning, my stance unstable when he draws away. He steadies me with his hands, hiking my dress around my hips. He examines the panties, and his eyes darken. He plucks my clit through the flimsy fabric. I buck my hips against him.
“I’m going to love ripping these off of you the most,” he growls in my ear before letting the dress fall around my hips and escorting me out the front door. As if nothing had happened at all.