The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(51)

James turns away, totally dismissive, and holds out a hand to me. When I don’t immediately respond, a low, rumbling sound comes out of him, rattling my chest like a tiny echo.

I’m a lot of things—awed, angry, confused, irritated, and absolutely turned on. But I slide my hand into James’s larger one, and he pulls me to my feet with a gentle strength totally unlike what he just used to throw Daniel into the pool.

On the way to the elevator, as I scramble to keep up with James’s long stride, he pauses long enough to direct a bearded man’s attention to the pool. “Don’t let him drown.” The man nods quickly, eyes wide, and James continues tugging me along.

The elevator doors slide open, and though a whole group is waiting to get on, one look from James has them stepping back and away.

As the doors close, I settle on a single emotion—anger—and yank my hand out of his. Whirling on James, I give his impressive chest a shove, which moves him exactly nowhere. Because he’s a Marvel superhero, not a mortal man.

“That was—this is—completely out of line!”

He crosses his arms, his eyes never leaving my face. A single muscle tics in his jaw.

“Half the time you ignore me. The other half, you’re actively dismissing me. And then the rest of the time—and ignore my bad math because I know I’m over 100%—you’re acting like some possessive beast who thinks he has some right to claim me!”

I’m breathing heavily when I finish shouting, and still, James stands there, expression infuriatingly blank.

“Well? Aren't you going to say anything?”

“I’m sorry.”

“The least you could do is—wait, what?” I think my emotions must have shorted out my brain, because did James just apologize?

“I’m sorry.”

Nope, there it is again. An apology.

“You’re right,” he continues, “and I’m sorry. For all of it.”

As I try to dissect his soft words, for once devoid of all growling and grumping, and attempt to make sense of the sudden heat flaring in his eyes, James steps forward, crowding me against the elevator wall. His big, rough hands cup my cheeks with a tenderness that knocks the breath straight out of me.

“I’m sorry, Winnie,” he says again, and I could listen to him say my name with that sweetness all day, every day, for the rest of my life.

His eyes drop to my mouth, and all the air leaves my lungs. “May I—” he starts to ask.

“Please.”

And then my eyes flutter closed as James drags one hand into my hair and fuses his lips to mine.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





Winnie



Bliss. The kiss is sheer, complete perfection. A fifty or maybe hundred-and-fifty out of a possible high score of ten. No, make that a thousand out of ten. Infinity.

James’s lips are softer than I would have expected, yet firm enough to completely direct mine, to urge them into compliance.

Not that I’m fighting him. Nope.

The kiss feels inevitable, like this is where we were always headed, despite my shock that it’s actually happening.

James Graham is kissing me.

After apologizing.

But—more importantly, HE’S KISSING ME.

At first, his mouth is as tender as his hand is on my cheek, each brush of his lips sweet and gentle. It’s as much a caress as a kiss, a gentle exploration, an extension of his apology, a request for forgiveness.

I’m not sure how long we’re kissing before the elevator stops and the doors slide open. I start to pull away, but James says, “We’re full,” in that deep growly voice of his, and there’s a rushed apology before the doors close again.

I yank him by the shirt back to my mouth, where he belongs. Where it feels like he was made to be.

The sweetness gives way to something a whole lot stronger. We’re both more aware of the time limit. At some point, we’ll have to get off this elevator and deal with what happened inside of it. But I’m in no way ready for that, so I focus all my attention on James.

The kiss becomes more of an argument, one made with lips and teeth and tongue rather than words. We’re battling now, the push and pull we’ve had since the start of our relationship exploding into motion. James gives my hair a soft tug, and I scrape my nails over the back of his neck. He presses closer to me, and I press right back.

My glasses keep bumping his face and I rip them off, tossing them in the corner. Who needs eyesight? Not this girl.

James drops his hands to my waist, squeezing gently, and I drag my hands roughly through his hair. He growls against my mouth. I grab his shirt more tightly, yanking him around so he’s the one with his back against the wall. He doesn’t put up an ounce of fight, letting me control the speed and intensity of the kiss.

I slow things down. Wayyy down.

I want to savor the heat of his body, the bite of his stubble on my cheeks, the heavy press of his hands as they slide up my back. This is the most loose, the most unfettered and unguarded James has been since I’ve met him.

Except maybe when he was firing me.

And it’s this thought that makes me want to enjoy every millisecond of this kiss, which I feel certain has an expiration date. James will flip the switch on me again, which will not be easy to take now that I’ve had his mouth on mine.