My stomach flips.
Graham nuzzles my nose.
“You still need me to kill someone?” He picks me up, cradling me briefly in his arms, and carries me to the sofa in the adjoining open living space.
The clock chimes midnight. My fairy-tale evening is over.
“No,” I whisper, draping over the couch armrest.
Maybe he knows something’s wrong. Maybe he doesn’t care.
“Let me make you something.”
“I had too much tonight. Too much rich food, way too much alcohol. Probably too much sex.”
“Which is why you need tea.”
He puts on the kettle. It burbles on the counter.
“Milk?” he offers.
“Yeah.”
Steam hisses as he froths milk on a fancy built-in espresso machine that I’m not sure he ever uses, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink coffee.
So I watch the most perfect man in the world, shirtless in the kitchen, making me tea.
“This is a special blend,” he tells me, setting the cup down on a coaster on the coffee table.
“Mr. Fancy Billionaire.”
“I don’t drink coffee. I like tea.”
“That answers that question.” I nudge him with my foot.
“It’s hot,” he warns.
“If it’s cool enough to drink through a straw, then it’s not hot enough.” I burn my tongue. “Ow,” I lisp.
He grabs my hand and takes the cup.
God, it feels so real.
“I want you to do that again while it cools. Just a little bit.”
“It’s going to be ice-cold by the time I’m done with you.”
36
GRAHAM
Her legs splay open for me on the bed.
I dip my head down and lap at her. It’s water in the desert, and I want all of her. I raise her up so I can eat out all of her. Her breathy gasps and the way her fingers tighten in my hair when my tongue laps at her?
I want to make you love me.
It’s plain on her face. She adores me. She’s obsessed with me. She’s addicted. She’s, well, she’s falling for me.
