The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(58)

As we walk inside the hotel, I give Kyoko an apologetic look. “I’m going to skip the next session or two. Can I borrow your notes later?”

Her expression is sly. “Of course. Does this have something to do with James?”

“Duh. I’ll need your help too, so keep your phone handy.”

We part ways in the lobby, and I’m already firing off texts, setting plans in motion. Whether I can pull this off in the next few hours is the big question. But I’m nothing if not up for a challenge. Especially where James Graham is concerned.

The realization scares me, but I decide, like with so many other things, to worry about it later.





TEXT THREAD





James: Where are you Winnie: Wouldn’t you like to know James: Yes. That’s why I texted James: ????

Winnie: I’m around.

James: Define around Winnie: Aw, you miss me that much?

James: Where are you Winnie: Taking care of some things. Can we meet up and go to the awards show together?

James: I was planning to skip Winnie: No way! I want the whole conference experience.

James: Have fun

Winnie: You’re really not going to come with me?

James: No

Winnie: Fine. I’ll sit with Daniel.

James: What time should I meet you





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE





James



If I thought I was miserable the first day of the conference, today is worse. Much, much worse. I’m not sure if it’s the fact I’m dealing with the aftershocks of kissing Winnie or the fact that I’m walking around smelling like her bodywash. Probably a combination of both. Add in the lack of sleep and I’m on edge.

Her body wash, for the record, is called Caramel Perfection. The scent of it is driving me mad. Every time I turn my head, it’s like Winnie is right there with me. Except she isn’t right there. She isn’t anywhere.

Not in our room, not in the exhibition hall, not in any of the sessions—and yes, I walked into every room during the middle of presentations—and not in the hotel bar. I even checked across the street at the little place where we ate lunch. No sharp-tongued blond looking like a pin-up dream. She is a ghost.

Yesterday, I managed to deal with the crowds, the noise, and the overwhelm by focusing on her. Just seeing a flash of her blond hair across the room, a sliver of her smile, the nervous way she pushes up her glasses. It amused me more than I care to admit watching her take notes in a little notebook. Even though Winnie didn’t know I was watching, she anchored me. Seeing her calmed the buzz in my head always caused by crowded events.

So, after today, the last place I want to be right now is waiting outside the big room for the award show. But when Winnie mentioned Daniel, I didn’t have a choice. I almost crushed the phone to dust in my hand when I read her text.

Someone bumps me, and I snarl. I feel like a train barreling its way off the track at full speed. The voices in the hall build to a fever pitch, and I’m rubbing my head when a singular voice cuts through it all, the only voice I care about hearing.

“There you are!”

Winnie. Her hand lands on my arm and all the air whooshes out of me.

She smiles up at me, causing all my muscles to loosen up and relax. Except the big meaty one in the center of my chest, which is beating double-time. My right hand slides into my pocket, touching the seed. It’s become like a weird talisman, though I’m not sure if it’s bringing me good or bad fortune.

A guy wearing sunglasses passes much too close to Winnie, and it’s all I can do not to drag her out of here. To somewhere quiet and private. Another elevator. Or a closet. Or our shared room, which we need to discuss before tonight.

“Hey.” I rub my eyes, suddenly feeling every bit of the exhaustion that’s been clinging to me.

Winnie studies me. “Did you get a nap today?”

I frown. “I’m not a toddler.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Adults take naps too, James. It’s a whole thing. You should try it sometime. Maybe it would help with this disposition.”

She pokes at my frown, and I push her hand away before I can act on the impulse to kiss her fingertip.

The urge startles me. Have I ever wanted to kiss a woman’s finger? Not that I can recall. But when I look at Winnie, there’s a whole laundry list of places I’d like to press my lips. There’s the inside of her wrist and each corner of her eyebrows. The tip of her nose. The freckle I’ve just now noticed on her forearm.

And, of course, her lips. Especially now that I know how they feel under mine and how she tastes.

“Come on, boss. Let’s get seats.”

Winnie begins dragging me and I let her, though the last place I want to go right now is this awards show. Winnie hasn’t mentioned it, so I’m guessing she doesn’t know I’m a finalist in two categories. She’s definitely the type to say—or do—something with that kind of information.

We’re in the middle of a crush of people, and I lean even closer to Winnie, letting our shoulders brush. I’m not sure if it’s more for her protection against the crowd or mine.

The feel of soft fabric against my forearm grabs my attention, and I realize that she’s changed clothes since I saw her this morning. “You’re wearing flannel?”