EIGHT
ELLE
I don’t know how long I stand there, rapidly blinking at the closed elevator doors, and feeling like someone just punched me in the stomach, but when strong hands come down gently on my shoulders, I jump.
I swallow hard when I look back and Graham’s sharp gaze lands on me.
“You’re not thinking about leaving already, are you, Ms. Courtney?” Even as he whispers this into my ear, he steers me through the open door of his apartment. It smells like him in here, cedar and sandalwood. My throat goes dry. “My assistant was supposed to cancel an appointment, but she’s playing fucking games today, and it was unavoidable that I couldn’t pick you up.”
His assistant who stared at me like I was a stain on her designer jacket, who shares the same last name as him. I wait until I’m standing in the entry hall, and I can hear music playing softly in the background—“Push” by Matchbox Twenty, if I’m correct—to face him with tightly narrowed eyes.
“Veronica Delaney?” I demand, fog swirling around my head. I refuse to leave this entryway until I know what the hell I’ve walked into. “At first, I was sure she was an ex-lover of yours, but Delaney? Were you married to your assistant?”
He closes the door and locks it. “She’s not my assistant, actually. She’s my Chief of Staff’s.”
“Okay, were you married to your Chief of Staff’s assistant, then?”
Leaning against the door, he hungrily rakes his brown eyes over me, and I glance away so I won’t openly ogle him, too. Wearing a stripped down version of the black suit he probably wore to work today—tailored pants, a white shirt with the top couple of buttons undone, and a loosened yellow tie—his dark hair is tousled, and he’s once again sporting a five o’clock shadow that’s too sexy for his own good.
Scratch that. Everything about Graham is far too sexy for my own good and I should have just stuck with my original plan and cancelled. Told him I came down with some fake illness that would’ve made his skin crawl.
“In your research about me, did you see anything about a wife?” he asks.
No, but that doesn’t mean anything. My brother has been married for several months, and thanks to keeping his social media so private, no amount of searching for Zachary Courtney brings up anything about his elopement to the man he dated in secret for years. I purse my lips, hugging my arms over my chest.
His eyes lower to my breasts, which are thoroughly covered by both my trench coat and my dress, before returning to my face. “Did you ever stop to think that Veronica might be my cousin, or perhaps my sister?”
I point my eyes toward the ceiling where two neat rows of recessed lighting beam down on my face. Catching my breath, I tilt my chin back down. “You don’t have a sister.”
As soon as I speak, I regret it. From the grin that splits his bronze face, I’ve given his ego something new to expand over. He’s enjoying this—that I’ve read up on him enough to know that he’s the youngest of three brothers. Bridging the gap between our bodies in one long stride, he frames my face with his large hands. His touch is light but stings my skin nonetheless. “No filter, dove?” he murmurs.
I gasp for air. “None. I just want the truth.”
“Seeing you like this, this jealous over someone you haven’t seen, nor, according to you, thought about the last four days, makes me wonder what you’ll be like after our bodies have become better acquainted.” When my mouth drops open, he says, “And you’ve not had the best part of me for another four days—or a week or two.”
“I meant no filter about Veronica,” I say through my teeth, but desire creeps through my veins. I pull away from him. “I didn’t ask you to talk dirty to me.”
He laughs. It’s deep and sensual and, paired with the seductive glint in his eyes, dangerous. I step around him, reaching out for one of the brass doorknobs so I can leave, but he stops me. His fingertips brush my shoulders, and the heat of his muscular body presses against my back buckles my knees. Twists my stomach into knots.
“Stay,” he orders, his warm, sweet breath stroking my ear. I turn my head to find his dark eyes penetrating mine. “Because my former sister-in-law is probably in her own fucking car by now.” Skimming his hand from my shoulders, he unfastens the top button of my trench coat, and then the second. “She’s probably already on her way to the airport for her long-awaited holiday vacation to New York.” He unties the belt, his knuckles brushing against my waist. “And besides, I have no plans of taking you anywhere until you’ve had dinner with me.”
He pauses before parting my coat and shrugging it off, and I reach up, stopping his hands with trembling fingers. “Would you hold it against me, Ms. Courtney, if I admitted I’m rather hopeful you’re naked underneath this? That it’s already a fantasy of mine when it comes to you?” He finishes removing the garment, his full lips curving upward as I turn around and he looks me over. He rubs his shadowed chin thoughtfully. “Fortunately, I have a vivid imagination.”
“Veronica’s your sister-in-law.” I avoid his erotically-charged question as he guides me into the spacious interior of his condo. It’s an open floor plan, with the kitchen, dining room, and living area all visible, decorated in sterile shades of white and gray, and surrounded by floor to ceiling windows. “She was married to your brother?”
Or was Graham married to her sister?
As if he can read my thoughts, he smirks. “I’ve never been married. Veronica was with one of my brothers and only for about fifteen minutes before my mother convinced Bennett what a mistake it was.” I don’t miss the sarcasm dripping from his voice. He stops me in the center of the room, right in front of a plush grey linen sectional. Tossing my coat on it, he bends his head so that his mouth is inches from mine. “Veronica has never been my lover, will never be my wife, and if she said something that makes you think that, I will have her ass.”
“No, no. She...” Maybe I had imagined the blonde’s chilly reception? Talking to my father is enough to screw with the strongest mind. Dad is like the Hannibal Lecter of Capitol Hill. Embarrassed, I flick my tongue over the corner of my lip. “I’m so sorry, Graham. I never react that way, I promise.”
He fingers the string of pearls around my neck that were a gift from my grandparents. I hold back a tremble when his thumb traces my collarbone. “I know you don’t.” He drops my necklace, backing away from me, and gesturing to a glassed-in balcony with a view of the city lights and the Washington Monument. There’s a table set for two out there, and my chest jolts. “Dinner, Elle, before I decide our time is better suited with my face against your…”
Tuning out that last little bit, I walk a little too hurriedly onto the balcony, but the clench in my thighs makes me stumble. He steadies me, gripping my hips from behind me, and pouring gasoline on the fire his words started. “Are you always so clumsy?” he demands.
Only when hot men who are a decade older threaten to go down on me in lieu of dinner. “No. Do you start all your dates like this?” I retort.
“No.” We sit down, and the look he gives me is downright predatory. “I normally fuck first, dine later. I usually prefer the dining to be done alone without all the awkward chit-chat.”
“Well, aren’t you a real winner.”
His grin widens. “Always.”
Flushed, I glance away from his face, focusing on an elaborate chess table, complete with tan and black marble pieces, sitting in the far corner of the balcony. Does he play? I’d learned from my grandfather as a child, but I’d undoubtedly get my ass taken to town now, especially by someone like Graham. And instantly, my thoughts go south, carnal, and I blame his suggestive words.
I sigh. “You know, you talk about sex so much it makes me question if you’re one of those all talk, lame action situations.”
“May I?” He extends his hand, gesturing for mine. Warily, I place my fingers in his and release a yelp when he pulls it under the table, pressing my palm against his zipper. He closes my fingers, one by one, around the unquestionable—and admittedly very, very impressive—bulge.
Wow.
“That’s not hard either,” he informs me in a low voice, “but if you’re doubtful of my ability to make you forget your fucking name, how to walk, how to eat—and everything else but yes, please, and more—it won’t take long for you to get me there.”
“So that’s why you invited me to dinner, huh?” I snatch my fingers back and grab a handful of my dress to ease the electricity under my skin. It doesn’t help, and I’ve got a feeling I’ll be undone for the rest of the night all thanks to what’s hidden under Graham’s zipper. “To screw me? I guess I had you all wrong.”
“If I wanted only to fuck you, Elle, it wouldn’t have mattered where I took you for dinner—or if I fed you at all.” He whips the plate cover off my food. “Hope you like steak.”
Somehow, I manage to steer our conversation away from sex. I’m amazed at how easily Graham, the senator from New York, comes out. Smooth and refined, he’s a different person from the man who teased me for being jealous of his brother’s ex and said things to me that made my body combust. Half an hour later, we’re talking about my post-graduation plans, and I’m wondering if I’ve turned him off, when he leans forward and says very slowly, “You lied to me, Ms. Courtney.”
“About wanting to go to the Cinque Terre?” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Sorry, Senator Delaney, but that would be a waste of a lie. That’s my dream destination.” It’s on the coast of the Italian Riviera, and it’s been on my travel bucket list since I was in high school—when my literature teacher explained that Cinque Terre influenced Montale’s “The Lemons.”
Graham shakes his head. “Not about going to Italy—I could’ve guessed that about you at first glance. You lied to me a week ago about why you were working at 202.” My smile fades, and I clutch my napkin in my lap as he taps his fingers on the smooth tabletop. “Why did your parents not pay your tuition for this semester? After all, it is your last term at GWU.”
The tiny hairs on the nape of my neck and arms stand on end. “How do you know that?”
“Answer the question.”
Biting my nails into my palms, I hold my head high and listen to my heart pound louder in my ears, drowning out the sound of Thirty Seconds to Mars’s “Hurricane” playing in the background. Despite Graham’s impressive taste in music, he’s just infuriated me by digging around in my personal life and I can only imagine where he got his information.
Fuck Dad. And fuck Graham, too.
“I’m waiting, Ms. Courtney.”
“Hasn’t he already told you everything you want to know?” He gives me a strange look, and I respond with a furious glance. “My father. That’s who you’ve been talking to, isn’t it?”
“For the last time, I’ve never spoken to your father about you. Now, answer the question.”
“My tuition wasn’t paid because they want an obedient child.” It isn’t a they, though, it’s a he, but I won’t tell Graham that the decision was solely my father’s.
“Every parent wants an obedient child. My own parents wanted children that didn’t speak, think, or for that matter, exist.” A chill courses down my spine at his taut expression, the flatness in his voice. I swallow hard as he continues, “You’ll have to elaborate.”
“My personal beliefs drive my father up the wall.”
“And what does Eleanor Courtney believe in?” When I don’t answer, he touches the inside of my knee beneath the table. “Don’t shut down on me.”
“I didn’t back my dad on a family issue he felt strongly about, and he basically told me to piss off. I got the job at 202 because I heard the tips were good, and they were.”
“What about student loans?”
That was the first thing I considered after Dad dropped the bomb on me. “Missed the application deadlines. And I don’t have the income for a personal loan.” I don’t mention that I gain access to a trust fund, courtesy of my mother’s parents, at twenty-five.
“Family members?”
“No, I’ve had enough of taking handouts. Besides, I have a new job now.” My chair scrapes across the floor as I stand, and Graham’s eyes glide unapologetically down my body again—from the top of my head to my Dulce De Leche-painted toenails. “I’m sure it won’t be a surprise when I tell you that I don’t really need you for that ride home either.”
“Sit down.” He points to my chair. “You’re not leaving because you don’t want to leave.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to leave?” I snap, gripping the back of my chair. I won’t give him the satisfaction of actually sitting down. “You. Looked. Into. Me.”
“Because you lied,” he says. “You said you have a new job? What is it?” And like an idiot, I tell him. He responds with a satisfied smirk that leaves my hand itching to slap his stupidly handsome face. “How much does that pay?”
Fifteen bucks an hour. “Enough.”
“It’s a never-ending flow of bullshit with you, Elle.” He sounds disappointed. It seems to be the general theme of the night. “I looked into you because I want to help you.” Reaching into the pocket of his pants, he tosses a folded sheet of paper beside my plate. I sit down and open it with shaky hands, anxiously running my fingers along the creases as I read. When I’m done scanning over the mess of words and numbers, I look across the table at him with wide eyes.
“These are instructions to your accountant in New York to cut a check to my school.” Saying it aloud makes it even more stunning. “Why would you do this?”
“Because I want to help myself more than I want to help you. Because I’ve wanted to be balls-deep inside of you since you first licked your lips at me in that shit-hole 202. Because I don’t want any other man thinking, or doing, the same thing.”
“You want me to sleep with you?” I already knew that much, but what’s on this sheet of paper... Gulping down a wave of panic, I glare down at Graham’s plan until it’s blurry. “You’re proposing to pay all this money just for me to sleep with you? This is D.C., Senator, not Nevada. I’m not a call girl.”
He laughs. “I don’t want to sleep with you, Elle, that would be too easy. I want to possess you. I want to end every dinner we share with my cock down your throat or in your cunt or your—”
“Graham!” I say in a hushed whisper, looking up at him, but he continues anyway.
“Or in that tight ass,” he finishes, a triumphant smile splitting his golden face. “I want to spend your last semester getting you out of those fucking pearls and on all fours. Close your mouth, Elle, because there’s one more thing I want.”
“What?” I whisper, curling my toes as the heat between my legs expands. “What else could you possibly want?”
“I want an answer. Right now.”