Stuck-Up Suit(21)

My heart started beating out of control at the sight of Graham in the doorway.

Oh. My. God.

He was dressed nothing like I’d ever seen before. There was no suit. Instead, he was wearing a black polo shirt that fit his chest like a glove made for pectoral muscles along with a pair of dark jeans. His hair was slicked back off to the side in a way that made him look younger. And he was wearing glasses. God, the bespectacled look really worked for him. It worked for me. A little too much.

My body reacted more with every step he took toward me, the punch of his signature scent nearly knocking the wind out of me. While I had been trying to restrain myself, Graham pulled me into an easy hug and buried his mouth in my neck.

“I missed you so f*cking much, Soraya.”

The strained sound of his words against my skin were enough to do me in. The night hadn’t even started, and my panties were already wet. I was ready to pull him into a supply closet.

Jesus. Grab a hold of yourself.

Graham’s brown eyes were searing into mine from beneath the lenses. They trailed down to my cleavage and back up again. I had dyed the ends of my hair purple and wore a similar color dress to match. He took a fistful of strands and gently tugged, whispering seductively in my ear, “Purple, huh?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

“You told me the red signified anger. What does the purple mean?”

“What’s with the glasses?”

“Answer me first.”

“Purple represents confusion or a dilemma.”

He smirked. “I see.”

“So, why the glasses?”

“Honestly, I haven’t slept well. I’ve been worried about you but trying to give you space. When I don’t get my sleep, my eyes dry up. The glasses are more comfortable than contacts.”

We stood there gazing into each other’s eyes for nearly a full minute before Delia interrupted our moment.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Big Prick…”

Crap.

Graham’s eyes widened as he offered her his hand before looking at me with an amused expression. “I guess my reputation has preceded me. I’ll choose to believe that Soraya came up with that nickname based on the literal and not figurative translation of prick.”

“It was what I called you before we met…back in the days when I was holding your phone.”

“And what made you come up with that name specifically?”

“You reminded me of a jerkier Mr. Big from that show Sex and the City. Thus, Mr. Big Prick.”

Graham slid his hand along my waist. “And who would you be…slutty Samantha?”

I squinted in surprise. “You’ve watched that show?”

“My mother used to watch it.”

“That’s funny.” I smiled.

“Now that you know me a little better, do I still remind you of that guy?”

“Well, you do have a driver. So, I guess there are some similarities.”

He wriggled his forehead. “Although, there’s no sex in our city, is there?”

When I glared at him, he playfully kissed me on the cheek then ran his hand down my back, causing a shiver to run through me. This was going to be a long night.

After introducing Graham to Leroy and a few of the other guests, I brought him over to meet Tig. My friend had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth when he offered Graham a handshake. “Mr. Big Prick…how the f*ck are ya?”

Graham rolled his eyes. “I’m well. You must be Tig.”

“Anyway, I don’t know if Soraya told you, but she’s like my sister. And seeing as though she doesn’t have a blood brother or even a father who’s worth a piece of shit in her life, that means that if you hurt her, I’m gonna have to be the one to kick your ass. Just wanted to get that out of the way.”

Graham nodded his head slowly in understanding. “I appreciate you looking out for her.”

“Glad we cleared that up.” Tig snickered. “I would ask you if you want a tat on the house while you’re here…but something tells me you’re not into ink.”

“I’m into her ink.” Graham winked at me then scratched his chin, looking like he was pondering something. “Actually, I might be interested. Do you fix tattoos as well?”

“Yeah. What do you mean specifically?”

“I have one that I don’t want anymore. It was a mistake, and I’d like to ink over and around it, change it into something else.”

He had a tat? No f*cking way.

“Let’s take a look.” Tig waved his hand, prompting us to follow him.

My eyes were glued to Graham’s ass, which looked amazing in those jeans. My hands longed to squeeze it. I wondered how he’d react if I did.

The muffled sounds of the guests faded into the background when we entered the quiet of the back room. My breathing quickened as Graham slowly lifted his shirt over his head, tousling his hair. It was the first time I had ever seen his rippled chest in the flesh. His physique was beautiful beyond my imagination. It was clear he worked out hard. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his six-pack. His skin was so smooth and tanned. It was everything I had fantasized about and more. My hands tingled with a desperate need to feel his skin. My eyes traveled down the thin, happy trail of hair that led into his jeans before my gaze scrolled up again and landed on it: the tattoo on the left side of his torso. I squinted my eyes. It was a name written in script: Genevieve. My heart dropped. Swallowing my jealousy, I specifically chose not to ask the question I was dying to.