“Oh no,” I exclaimed, holding up my chopsticks in the shape of a cross, like a priest warding off a demon. “That’s yourhave-a-serious-discussion-with-Gwendolynface.”
He laughed. It was a good laugh. My whole stomach turned to butterflies at just the sound of it. (I don’t even want to tell you what happened to other parts of me.)
“Seriously, Graham, we’ve entered theexcellent-food-after-excellent-sexportion of the evening. I don’t have the mental capacity for a serious discussion.”
“Relax. I’m not going to attempt a rational conversation with you. I know better by now.”
Rude!
His lips twitched at my lethal glare. “I was just surprised.”
“Surprised?” My brows lifted. “Why?”
“You’ve never asked me a question before. Not outright anyway, not without a reason behind it. That was the first time you’ve ever wanted to know something about me just because it means something to you to know it.” He leaned forward and kissed me, a light brush that promised more. “I like that, baby. Like you being curious about me. Like you wanting more instead of running away.”
“Oh.” I tried to breathe steadily, but I’m pretty sure I failed. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was hyperventilating.
“It’s Seaton by the way,” Graham continued conversationally, picking up his dumpling again.
“W-what?” I asked, feeling dazed.
“My middle name. It’s Seaton.”
“Seaton,” I repeated, lifting my egg roll back to my mouth. “Graham Seaton Graves. Sounds rich.”
“Babe. Iamrich.”
I choked on the bite of egg roll. “Excuse me?”
“I’m rich. Rolling in it.”
My eyes bugged out of my head. I could only repeat, “Excuse me?”
“Not sure what part of this you’re struggling to comprehend.”
“Um, maybe the fact that you just announced your lofty financial status like it’s nothing of consequence.”
“Because it isn’t.” He was staring at me like I was the crazy one in this scenario — which wasclearlynot the case. “It’s just money. It doesn’t matter.”
“Spoken like someone who grew up with it.”
“Yeah, can’t fight you there. My family was well-off. But I haven’t taken a dime from them. Earned a full ride to Harvard with a football scholarship. Haven’t touched the trust fund my parents set up for me, mostly ‘cause that comes with strings attached, strings I have no interest in. Everything I have, I earned. Not saying I’m a billionaire, but I make enough to keep my men well compensated. I have enough socked away to retire on a white sand beach somewhere warm whenever the time comes that I get bored of fixing other people’s problems. I own my loft. Own the whole Gravewatch building, in fact.”
My eyes were wide. Overwhelmed by the font of information, I could only manage to murmur, “You want to retire to a white sand beach?”
He nodded. “Ever been to the British Virgin Islands?”
“Never been south of the Jersey turnpike.”
“Babe.” He shook his head in disgust. “That’s just sad.”
“I’ll add it to the bucket list. If you’re lucky, I’ll send you a postcard from the beach — right after I apply for a passport and save enough money for a plane ticket, that is.”
“No point sending me a postcard, seeing as I’ll be sitting on that beach next to you,” he informed me. “But if you want to waste the postage, it’s no skin off my back.”
I sucked in a sharp breath at the thought of vacationing with him. It was a good thought. So good, I forced myself to change the subject, for fear I’d blurt out something truly idiotic. (Something regarding a decades-old fantasy about Graham Graves in a bright red lifeguard suit.)
“Did you know I own The Gallows building?” I asked, tilting my head to the side. “There’s an apartment upstairs. Aunt Colette used to rent it out a million years ago, but I haven’t been up there in ages. Probably not since she died. If business ever turns bad, I guess I could renovate it, find a tenant to bring in some extra income.”