The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(60)

How? How did she do this so fast? And when?

The bigger question I don’t want to consider is why. I don’t deserve this. Not after the way I’ve treated her. The clipped responses. Firing her. Ditching her at the conference. I definitely don’t deserve this after the way I responded to the kiss.

And I absolutely should have dragged her up there on the stage with me. The regret is as instant as my resolve to do better. To be better.

I am intensely focused as I make my way back to her. Determined.

Try, Tank said. Risk.

My gaze captures hers, and I don’t let go. I’m lucky not to trip over anything. But I suspect any and all things would have moved out of my way, not daring to get between me and Winnie.

When I reach her, I do not hesitate or second-guess. I don’t worry about being the caveman my family accuses me of being. I simply grab Winnie around the waist and lift her straight off the chair she’s standing on. She squeals, then laughs. I lower her down so we’re face-to-face, but her feet still don’t touch the ground. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, her hands wrap around my neck.

“I don’t deserve you,” I mutter.

“Few men do,” she says lightly. “Now put me down, you Neanderthal.”

“No.”

“Sit down,” some guy mutters from behind us, and I send him a look that makes him cower.

“Come on, boss,” Winnie says, patting me twice on the shoulder like this is a cage match and she’s tapping out. “Let me go.”

“Not a chance.”

Instead, giving my amused family members a nod, knowing they’ll follow, I march Winnie up the aisle and right out of the room, ignoring everything but the weight of her in my arms.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO





Winnie



“Who knew you were a secret party animal,” I say, squeezing James’s hand. Then, because I’m taking full advantage of the fact I’M HOLDING JAMES GRAHAM’S HAND, I give his fingers another squeeze.

We’re walking back to the hotel—strolling is a more apt word—and I’m trying to avoid feeling like Cinderella at the end of the ball. Instead of a nonexistent carriage turning into a pumpkin, I’m fully expecting the James who has been touching me nonstop since he carried me out of the awards show to turn back into the James who runs away after giving me the best kiss of my life.

He gives me a playful side-eye. “I hate parties.”

“Let’s not forget people,” I add.

He grunts and nudges me. “Not all people. Some of them I actually like being around.”

Though it’s a roundabout compliment, I can’t fight the goofy grin on my face.

I bump him right back. “Still, you seemed to mildly enjoy socializing back there.”

“Mild being the operative word.”

After he won his award and carried me off like a less hairy King Kong, Tank suggested we all catch a late dinner. And wouldn’t you know it? The pub we walked to was hosting the conference afterparty. More like a duringparty, since it was already in full swing with conference-goers like us who had skipped out early.

James looked for a moment like he was going to bolt, until a few guys walked over to offer congratulations. I watched his face move from suspicious to a little more open and maybe even pleasant. His family bowed out pretty quickly, as the Grahams all together can’t help but make a scene. They tower over normal humans and carry a sort of unignorable gravity with their presence.

Even I felt inexplicably starstruck. Harper must have noticed because she smiled and said, “You should see how it is when Pat’s here too.”

I could only imagine. Of all the Graham men, Pat has the biggest personality. Not to mention the size of his mouth. I could picture him pausing at various tables to autograph napkins without being asked, posing for photographs, kissing babies. Not that there are babies in the bar, but the point stands.

After they left, I thought I’d fade into the background, watching James. But his gaze sought me out, landing on where I stood against the wall. He held out a hand to me, I took it, and he hasn’t let go since.

His possessiveness turns to awkwardness when we arrive back at the hotel. For the first time in hours, James takes his hands off me, putting them in his pockets, giving me distance I don’t want. And there goes my pumpkin carriage.

“I should probably see if there’s an available room,” he says.

James looks unsure. I feel unsure.

I consider telling him to forget it, just to stay in the room with me. But I don’t. I’m not that brave or sure of what I want. I’m torn between wanting to follow this wherever it takes us or running for the hills.

“Okay.”

We’ll let fate decide. If there are extra rooms, that’s that. And if not … we can be adults. Adults who kissed the night before, don’t regret it but also may or may not do it again. No problems or complications there.

I realize I’m staring at his mouth (not for the first time today) and jerk my gaze away. “I’ll just be in the room, watching your bag.” Well, that sounds weird. “Not that it needs watching. It’s not a dog. Or a child.” Even weirder, Winnie. Well done. “I’ll be upstairs.”

A more normal thing to say, but my tone sounds more like someone who will be waiting upstairs to ax-murder you.