Chapter 13
13
For a moment, we are completely still, mouths locked together, as my brain struggles to catch up. But then our lips come alive, and my body ignites like a gas stovetop. His hands reach forward, catching my face between his palms, and when his tongue parts my lips, I let out an involuntary groan. Graham’s hands drop to my waist, and he drags me into his lap. I wrap my legs around his hips to straddle him and rock myself hard against him, savoring the delicious friction of his jeans. His body responds immediately, his excitement evident through the hard length of him straining against the denim as he pulls me flush against him. I rake my hands through his hair as his fingertips sweep up my back, leaving behind hot sparks in every place he’s touched me.
Then without warning, Graham pulls away so suddenly that I fall backward against the sofa cushions. He stares at me wild-eyed, his pupils blown out so far that his blue eyes look nearly black. His chest rises and falls unsteadily as breath escapes his bruised lips in ragged, shallow bursts.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he rasps hoarsely. “I don’t know what came over me.”
I stare back at him, my own breathing equally erratic. And even though I know that he’s right, that I really, really need to stop kissing him, the sight of him, all mussed hair and swollen lips, makes me want to abandon every one of my morals and resume jumping his bones.
“This was a mistake. We can’t do this.” His words are a splash of cold water, extinguishing the flames of my arousal instantly. Then, just as quickly, my lust is replaced by a slow swell of anger.
“It’s fine,” I say tightly, sliding to the other end of the sofa. The frown on Graham’s face deepens as he watches me move away. As if he wasn’t the one who just shoved my body off his like I was going to infect him with the plague.
“People kiss all the time,” I continue. “It didn’t mean anything.”
Deep down, I know that what we just did was wrong and totally inappropriate. But despite my words, I can’t quite convince myself that what just happened was completely meaningless. My chest aches at the idea that what just happened meant nothing to him.
A ridge forms between Graham’s brow and I can see in his face that he’s at war with himself, wrestling between two conflicting urges.
“Right,” he says after a beat. He drags a hand through his already tousled hair as painful silence stretches between us, the only sound the low hum of the television.
He glances at the clock. “Shit, it’s nearly 1 A.M. I know I said I’d get you back to your car, but I really don’t like the idea of you going home so late.”
I blow out an indignant huff. “I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of managing.”
Graham’s shoulders deflate. “I didn’t mean to suggest… I just meant, you’re welcome to spend the night here. Not with me, of course. I meant… my grandmother has a second guest room. I stay in the primary guest room but it’s a separate room than yours and…”
He trails off, looking like he wants to crawl into a hole and die, and his obvious mortification is a balm to my own bruised ego. On the one hand, I want to put as much distance between myself and Graham as possible. On the other hand, I do hate driving in bad weather. A quick glimpse out the window confirms that the snow and sleet have stopped but the dark roads will still be a mess.
“Fine,” I concede. “But you’ll take me to the gas station first thing in the morning?”
Graham nods, and relief floods his features. I’m not sure if it’s due to my decision to stay over or the fact that I’m not making a bigger deal out of the kiss, but I opt not to question it. I feign a yawn, even though I’m not the least bit tired.
“I think I’ll turn in. Where am I headed?”
I follow Graham up the staircase. At the top, he pushes open a door to reveal a guest room. The double bed inside is, predictably, covered in a tartan quilt. I swear, this whole house is straight out of an L.L.Bean catalog. The only thing that’s missing is a golden retriever.
Graham ducks into his own bathroom, returning a moment later with one of his T-shirts and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms in hand.
“You can change into this. To sleep in,” he says gruffly. He shoves his glasses up his nose and I feel a twinge of satisfaction over his tell of discomfort. A small part of me hopes that he’s imagining me undressing just a few feet away from him.
“I’m just next door, if you need anything.”
I level my gaze at him, a challenge in my eyes.
“What exactly do you think I’ll need?” There’s a throbbing between my legs that’s signaling exactly which of my needs are currently going unmet. Graham’s eyes are burning into mine, his dilated pupils like two smoldering coals. His lips part and I can tell by the flutter visible in his throat that his own heart rate is accelerated, that he wants me just as much as I want him. Pressure builds between us as our gazes hold, my blood humming in my veins.
But then the light behind his eyes extinguishes, and he breaks eye contact.
“We should get some sleep,” he says softly. “I’ll see you in the morning?”
My mouth has suddenly gone too dry to talk, so I simply nod. Turning, I head into the guest room, shutting the door behind me.
Once inside, I collapse face down onto the bed, groaning into the quilt. What the hell just happened back there? Now that we’ve managed to put some space between us, my arousal has died down (mostly), allowing my frontal lobe to take the stage. Which is unfortunate because logic is the last thing I’m interested in right now.
Because the facts are the facts. Graham is about to be married to someone else. Not only that, but he and Claire are my clients. I’m supposed to be orchestrating his nuptials, for fuck’s sake! This morning, we put a deposit down on a cake and now I’m sucking face with the groom? I feel less professional than a bartender on Vanderpump Rules. Not only that, but I happen to adore Claire. The last thing I want to do is hurt her.
Asha’s face floats to the front of my brain, her features awash with horror. If she thought I was unprofessional during the Shrek wedding, my present behavior might cause her brain to implode. I may only be an intern, but even I know that screwing the groom is against protocol. Besides, the last thing I want to do is create a situation that reflects badly on her. She put her reputation on the line by convincing Antoine to hire me and has since become my unofficial mentor. If Antoine finds out about my history with Graham, Asha’s reputation with the company will take a hit too.
I roll over, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to my chest. It’s official: moving back to Baltimore is ruining my life. If I was still living in New York, I’d be out in the city right now, crushing dick and enjoying a craft cocktail with my two best friends. The old Ali wouldn’t be caught dead wallowing over some guy.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s getting harder and harder to convince myself that Graham is just some guy. Not when my brain keeps replaying that tiny moan of ecstasy when he took a bite of that red velvet sample, or the way I felt when he tucked me against his chest in the basement freezer. As much as I want to deny it, I’m attracted to the man. I have been, ever since that fateful game of darts. Eight years have done nothing to temper that little dip in my stomach every time I’m in his presence.
But I need to get a grip. There’s no way I’ll ever succeed in this industry if I can’t maintain my professionalism around an attractive client. Graham is off limits, and the sooner I get that idea through my head, the better off I’ll be.
Sighing, I wiggle beneath the sheets and wrap the quilt around myself. I expect to spend the rest of the night lying awake, but within minutes, I’ve fallen asleep, dreaming of sky-blue eyes burning into mine.
The smell of brewing coffee rouses me from sleep like I’m in a damn Folgers commercial. When my eyes crack open, slivers of morning light are stretched across the unfamiliar bedspread, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am. But then, memories from last night jolt through me. Graham wrapping me in that warm, plaid blanket. The fragrant spices of shakshuka filling his grandmother’s kitchen. The press of Graham’s lips against mine and the confusing feeling of rightness that it evoked.
I pick my cell phone off the table to check the time, but the screen is black. Damn it. I completely forgot to borrow a charger last night.
I make a hasty attempt at making the bed and then grab my purse off the floor before heading downstairs. When I reach the kitchen, Graham is pouring coffee into a blue chinoiserie mug. The sight of him conjures a snort of amusement. At the sound of it, he turns to face me, his hair adorably rumpled, and I’m afforded a full view of his getup. He’s wearing a navy robe open over a matching pajama set, the bottoms of which are stuffed into a pair of bright red Wellington boots.
“Excuse me, but what in the Paddington Bear are you wearing?”
Graham looks affronted as he runs his hand over the blue striped fabric of his pajama top.
“What? It’s an old house, and it gets a bit drafty upstairs. Plus, the lawn was still damp when I let Genevieve out this morning and—” He pauses as he takes in my smirk and a smile twitches in the corner of his mouth.
“And you are taking the piss. Good morning. How do you take your coffee?”
“Cream and sugar, please.”
I slide into a seat at the kitchen table as Graham rummages through the fridge. A moment later, he hands me a steaming mug and then slides into a seat across from me.
“The outside temperature has warmed up and the roads look good,” he says. “As soon as you’re ready, we can head out to get you gas, and then you can be on your way.”
“Thank you,” I reply, taking a long, grateful sip from my mug.
Graham shifts his weight, his thumb tracing the curve of his own mug handle.
“Ali, about last night,” he starts.
“It’s fine. We don’t need to talk about it,” I say quickly, cutting him off.
His eyes are cautious as they trace over my face, as though assessing whether my words match my emotions. I give him nothing, staring down into my coffee. There’s not a chance in hell that I’m going to let him know the effect he has on me. That thoughts of our bodies pressed together infiltrated my dreams all night. That despite my best attempts at safeguarding my emotions, he’s already wormed his way beneath my shields. Last night was a mistake and the sooner we can forget it happened, the better off we’ll be.
He presses his elbows on the tabletop and takes a deep breath.
“The thing is,” he says slowly. “Claire is my best friend.”
“Graham, we really don’t have to—” I start to protest but he lifts a hand, stopping me.
“Please,” he says. “Just let me say this.”
I press my lips together and nod. Graham clears his throat before continuing.
“I was in a bad place when Claire and I met in New York. It was the first time I’d been in America for an extended period, and I didn’t know a soul. She found me in the audience after her stand-up set and insisted we go out for drinks. After that night, we were pretty much inseparable. And for the first time since the semester started, I didn’t feel so alone.”
I force myself to swallow the boulder-size wedge lodged in my throat. Graham, who seems to have clocked the malaise in my expression, pauses for a beat before continuing.
“When my grandfather died suddenly last year, it almost broke me. Claire and I had just moved in together, and when she found me on the kitchen floor, eight hours after I’d gotten the call from Granny, she completely took over. Packed my suitcase, booked us train tickets to Baltimore, and made sure I was able to say goodbye to my grandfather. I was too overcome by grief to properly look after myself. But she was there for me. She never left my side.”
He takes a deep breath, steadying himself.
“Grandpa adored Claire. He only met her twice, but he thought she was good for me. I told my grandparents we were just friends, but he always hoped I’d change my mind. He said I was too serious and needed someone who could make me laugh.”
“You, too serious?” I throw him a teasing smirk. Graham’s sol emn expression slowly cracks into a smile, and I feel a flutter of satisfaction in knowing I’m the one who put it there.
I shake off the feeling quickly. Claire is his fiancée; she’s the one who makes him laugh every day, not me. I wonder when their relationship shifted from friendship to something more.
His expression darkens again. “I thought I was okay, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t function for months after his death. I was sleeping all the time, couldn’t keep up with my work. My boss was on the verge of sacking me. But Claire refused to let me drown in my grief. She forced me out of bed and got me into therapy. I wouldn’t have my career if it weren’t for her. I owe her a debt I can’t repay.”
Behind his glasses, his blue eyes swell with emotion.
“I can’t let her down, Ali. I can’t hurt her.”
He looks so forlorn that I find myself reaching across the table to lay a hand over his forearm, mentally kicking myself for lusting after this man. I was so quick to pin him as a philandering jerk. In reality, he’s just a guy who wants to do right by the people who care about him. To be the type of person his own father never was.
“Listen, I get it,” I tell him. “Claire is cool as hell, and I’m committed to protecting her at all costs. What happened last night didn’t mean anything. We just… let our past attraction get the best of us. It was a one-off and now that we’ve gotten it out of our systems, we can move forward. Maybe even try to be friends.”
“Friends?” Graham raises his eyebrows. In fairness, I can understand his skepticism. Especially considering the way our bodies have begun unconsciously leaning toward each other during this conversation. “Friends” don’t experience this ever-present sense of hunger, this pull of unadulterated lust in the presence of a platonic companion. I bite down on my bottom lip as my gaze traces over the curve of his bottom lip, then down the square line of his jawbone.
Then I blink a few times, forcing myself to look away. God, this would be so much easier if he wasn’t an absolute smoke show with a soft spot for Disney classics.
I clear my throat as I lean back in my chair, recalibrating.
“Yes. But if we’re going to be friends, you’re going to have to ditch King Charles’s jimjams before we hit the road. I can’t be seen in public with you dressed like that. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Graham huffs out a laugh. “You got it, friend. But I’m keeping the wellies. They are the intersection of form and fashion.”
The click of tiny toenails in the doorway serves to announce Genevieve’s arrival. She passes by Graham with a low growl before hopping up into my lap. I drag my hand across the soft fur of her back as Graham shakes his head.
“What an unholy alliance you two share.”
“Your jealousy is unbecoming, Mr. Wyler.”
Graham snorts as he stands up to grab his keys from a hook by the doorway. He’s still grinning when he turns back to me, and despite myself, I feel a flush of warm pleasure in my chest.
“Ready?”