The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(52)

I give James everything I can in this kiss. There’s no conscious thought as to why, only that this matters, he matters, and I don’t want to hold back the way I always have with everything else in my life, with everyone. I have never given anyone as much as I give James in this kiss.

It’s risky. It’s reckless. And I really don’t care.

He pulls back just slightly, his pupils dilated, lips brushing mine as he says, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about kissing your smart mouth.”

Well, then.

“You say the sweetest things,” I say before fusing my smart mouth to his again.

There’s a jolt as the elevator reaches the lobby, and when the doors open this time, it’s to an unignorable amount of noise. James and I jerk apart. We end up on separate sides of the small elevator car, both of us breathless. His eyes are practically black, but now, it’s not with desire.

No—he looks panicked. My stomach bottoms out as the panic shifts into something more like regret. Which shouldn’t surprise me. It’s exactly what I should expect from James. But that doesn’t ease the sting of it.

My eyes narrow. Oh, no. Don’t you DARE to take back what just happened. We are going to discuss it like adults and finish our conversation and maybe even do that again and—

A whole crowd of women pile into the elevator, oblivious to the tension between us. As they get on, James manages to slip out into the lobby. I’m trapped against the back wall in a crowd of perfume and leggings and hands holding cocktails in plastic cups.

I’m still glaring at James—well, half glaring and half squinting since I can’t see—as the doors start to close, torn between letting him go and chasing after him to tell him what a coward he is. Just before the doors slide shut, he mouths, I’m sorry one more time.

Yeah, well. I’m not sure I forgive him this time.

“Are these yours, hon?” One of the women bends to retrieve my glasses, holding them out.

I almost wish they were broken. Then they’d match how I feel.

“Thanks.” I slide them back into place, blinking as things become clear.

“Girl,” another woman says, looking me up and down with heavily lined eyes and smiling ruby lips, “you look like you were just thoroughly kissed.”

My fingertips brush over my lips, which can’t possibly be swollen but certainly feel that way. My cheeks are tender from the rough graze of James’s stubble.

“It was nothing,” I find myself saying, and it feels like the biggest lie I’ve ever told.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN





James



I open the back door of the house to find something no man wants to ever see: my dad, standing in the middle of the dark kitchen in nothing but his briefs.

And as far as briefs go, they are brief.

“Dad! Where are your pants?”

Tank doesn’t seem nearly as startled by my presence as I am by his. He smirks, then takes a sip of water before answering. “It’s my party. I can wear pants if I want to.”

I groan at his twisted-up song reference. “No. That’s … no.”

“Fine. I’ll grab something so I don’t offend your delicate sensibilities.”

Chuckling, he disappears into the master bedroom. If possible, from the back, his briefs are even briefer. Is this what I have to look forward to? Growing older and my choice of underwear growing proportionally smaller?

I grab my own glass of water and drink like I’ve been running a marathon. Not just … running away, which is absolutely what I am doing. I squeeze my eyes closed and set the empty glass down, gripping the counter.

“I thought you were staying at the hotel,” Tank calls.

And I thought you’d be asleep. Thought, hoped, maybe even wished as I pulled in the driveway of the home where I grew up. The house was dark, so it seemed like I had a good chance of sneaking in and going to bed. The plan was to get up before Tank woke, heading back to the hotel like I’d never been here at all.

“Everything okay?” Tank calls, sounding closer.

Not even remotely.

I’m not the kind of guy who kisses and tells, and I most definitely do NOT want to tell my dad about what just happened with Winnie. He would, of course, be thrilled. Winnie seems to have won him over, and I know Dad has been ecstatic seeing Harper and now Pat getting married.

Even if I wanted to share, I don’t know what to say. There is zero processing happening in my scrambled egg of a brain. Only the memory of those few minutes in the elevator where the world, including all my worries, disappeared.

When my mouth met Winnie’s, when I had her in my arms, the connection was more than any kiss, more than anything physical I’ve had with a woman.

I loved formulas in chemistry, the same way I love finding the right combination when developing flavor profiles. Words aren’t always my thing, but to put it in terms I understand, our kiss was like beer that’s been barrel-aged and complexly developed. Not something new. Not a first. It was like working for months or years refining a recipe, letting it age and develop to perfection.

With Winnie it was instant, immediate, unquestionably amazing. We were perfectly melded flavors, an unexpected pairing.

We had something no one has from the start. It was … undeniably amazing.