Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“You don’t consider yourself a good guy?”
He scrubs at the back of his neck with his palm. “I have my moments.”
“Like when you ordered me to marry you,” I quip.
His smile widens. “Ordered?”
“Bribed?”
“Persuaded,” he settles on that. “I persuaded you to marry me with a hefty payout.”
We haven’t spoken about the money since our wedding day. I try not to think about it too much because I’ve struggled with the amount and the guilt that will always be attached to it.
“You persuaded me by confiding in me about Lloyd’s condition,” I add. “How is he doing?”
He takes another sip of water. “He’s stubborn. He won’t let me set him up with a specialist here. It’s fucking frustrating.”
I see the frustration etched in his movements. He fists his hands on the table.
“Maybe he’ll change his mind in time,” I say before I think it through.
Time is the one thing that Mr. Abdon doesn’t have.
Graham shoves a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should have ordered something stronger.”
“But you didn’t. Why?”
His gaze searches my face. “I want to have a clear head. We need to talk about what happened in the library the other night.”
This is what I feared would happen when we crossed the street and walked into this bar for a drink. “We don’t need to discuss that. It happened. It won’t happen ever again.”
Graham’s hand is on mine before I have time to react. He lowers his voice as he stares into my eyes. “It damn well will happen again. I want it to. Fuck it, Trina. I want more.”
Chapter Thirty
Graham
My wife stares at her martini as I confess that I want her.
Since she has nothing to say to that, I keep talking, “I know I fucked up.”
That brings her gaze to mine. She waits for a full two beats of my heart before she sighs. “Drop it, Graham. It’s in the past.”
The past.
The fucking past.
I avoid it at all costs, but tonight, I want to dive headfirst into it. I want to right my wrong.
“I shouldn’t have left you the way I did,” I continue, ignoring the fact that she has clearly stated that she doesn’t want to revisit what happened. “I’m sorry, Trina.”
She studies me, tilting her head to the left. “I’ve never heard you apologize to anyone for anything.”
Because I try damn hard not to fuck up so profoundly that my actions require an apology.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, so she knows there is weight in the words. “If I could go back in time to change it, I would.”
“But we can’t go back in time,” she points out. “We can only go forward, and we need to do that with the understanding that intimacy is off the table.”
Like hell we do.
I crave her. I’ve tried to convince myself that it started when I touched her body, but it began before that.
Hell, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve always wanted her but brushed the need aside because she was strictly my assistant until I put that ring on her finger.
“Are you attracted to me?”
My direct question lures a soft smile to her lips. “I plead the fifth.”
I laugh. “I take that as a yes.”
“Take it as a non-answer.”
Shaking my head, I press on, “I know you’re attracted to me.”
She takes a large sip of her martini, drawing out the silence sitting between us as I eagerly wait for her to respond.
“You’re cocky,” she finally spits out. “Your ego is huge.”
“You’re not saying that’s a bad thing, are you?” I ask with a raised brow.
“I’m saying it’s a thing,” she states simply. “It’s the truth.”
I nod in agreement. “I’m confident.”
She tugs at the lobe of her ear. “It’s more than that. You have this air about you…I can’t explain it, but it’s as though you know your worth, and you don’t care what anyone else says about it.”
If that’s how she views me, I’ve come a hell of a long way from where I was ten years ago.
I sip from my water glass to give her the chance to continue.
She does. “When we first met, I was surprised by how good-looking you are.”
Now, we’re getting somewhere.
“You were?” I ask, wanting to keep her on this track because, yes, it fucking feeds my already stuffed ego.
“From what Lloyd told me, I had painted this mental picture of you that didn’t compare to the real thing.”
As tempted as I am to ask what Lloyd said about me, I skip past that because there are far more important matters to discuss.
My wife’s attraction to me tops that list.
“Let’s just say that I didn’t expect that when I arrived to work on my first day.” She punctuates the words with a circle of her index finger in front of my face.
I mimic her movement by trailing one of my fingers in the air directed toward her. “That feeling was mutual. I can’t say I ever had an assistant who looked like you.”