“Gwen—”
“This never happened.” Pushing him back with all my might, I hopped off the table, grabbed my purse, and hurtled headlong toward the door.
“The fuck it didn’t,” he growled, prowling after me.
“Then we’re going topretendit never happened.”
“The fuck we are!”
“Graham. Don’t be stubborn.” I ran my fingers through my hair, hoping like hell it wasn’t all mussed from his roving hands. I pressed my lips together, knowing they were swollen from his fervent kisses. “We had a momentary lapse of judgment. I plead insanity.”
He made a choked sound of disbelief. “Youareinsane if you think I’m just going to let you leave after we finally—”
“Don’t you have an urgent call waiting for you?”
He cursed lowly.
I reached the door, but only managed to get it open a crack before his hand shot out and slammed it shut again. His words were a low, ominous rasp. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home.”
He fell silent, but I knew better than to mistake quiet for calmness. I felt the heat of his body hovering an inch behind mine, felt the rapid rhythm of his breathing against the nape of my neck. Anger and frustration and pure sexual desire were rolling off him in visceral waves.
“You’re fooling yourself if you think we’re finished talking about this,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “Go on. Run home. Convince yourself this was a — what did you call it?Lapse in judgment. But Gwen?” He pressed into me and my knees nearly buckled when I felt the rigid length of him against my ass. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to lapse again.”
Chapter Fifteen
They say you attract what you fear most… I am soooo scared of all-expense-paid vacations.
- Gwen Goode, dreaming of a white sand beach
I couldn’t go home. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. And, hell, I was half-afraid of Graham showing up at my front door to finish what we’d started on his conference room table before his perfectly put-together receptionist saw fit to interrupt. I should’ve been thankful she did so but, instead, all I felt was burning resentment that I’d finally,finally, after several eons of waiting, been essentially flat on my back beneath Graham Graves, only to have the experience cut short. Seeing as I had no plans to ever in a million years repeat said experience, I would’ve liked to at least get an orgasm out of it.
But I digress.
I speed-walked the five blocks from Pickering Wharf to Desmond and Florence’s place, which sat just around the corner from The House of Seven Gables, a local landmark made famous — at least, in literary circles and high school English classrooms — by Nathaniel Hawthorne. At first, I admit, my brisk clip was simply to put some immediate distance between me and Graham. But as I passed by the dark harbor, skirting around clusters of tourists and handholding couples, I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable sensation that someone was watching me from the shadows.
Followingme.
I glanced around, half-expecting to see Mickey O'Banion and his horde of batshit brothers barreling my direction, or the witchy trio of Sally, Agatha, and Eliza blocking my path or, scariest of all, Graham Graves charging down the sidewalk after me with mouthwatering desire in his frosty green eyes. Yet, no matter where I looked, I recognized no one in the crowd.
Chalking my frazzled senses up to the tidal wave of arousal still crashing through my system, I dismissed the paranoia, picked up my pace, and carried on my way. By the time I reached the yellow townhouse, I was practically running.
Flo answered the door after a single knock.
“Hey! This is a surprise.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” I fidgeted under the soft glow of the front porch light. “I was in the area, and—”
She waved away my apologies. “Come in, come in. We’re just about to sit down to dinner. Des made his famous mushroom risotto. I’ll set another place for you.”
“I made out with Graham,” I blurted.
Florence froze for five endless seconds, her mouth a perfectly round ‘O’ of surprise. Her wide eyes scanned my face, trying to discern if I was messing with her. I knew I was probably flushed with embarrassment and shock and — I wasn’t too proud to admit — a bit of residual lust from the feeling of Graham’s body against mine, his teeth nipping my bottom lip, his hands delving into my hair…
Focus, Gwen!
“Des, sweetheart?” Flo called down the hall toward his study, never looking away from me. “Eat without me, okay?”