Stuck-Up Suit(22)

Who the hell is Genevieve?

It felt like my ears were burning. The only thing worse than worrying about Graham being a manwhore was the possibility that there was someone out there who had actually meant something to him—meant enough to permanently mark his body with her name.

Tig looked at me, sensing my discomfort then turned to Graham. “Who’s Genevieve?”

Graham looked at me when he answered, “She’s an ex-girlfriend. Like I said, the tattoo was a mistake.” His expression lacked humor, and it made me even more curious about what might have happened between him and this woman.

Tig took out a book that featured all sorts of designs with details that could mask the letters of the name. Graham chose an intricate tribal design.

I stood there mesmerized, listening to the sound of the needle. The tension in the air was thick as Graham would look over at me from time to time. Tig was able to color in and shade over the name so that by the end, it looked like it was never there. The new tat looked super sexy against Graham’s olive skin. To be honest, I wanted to run my tongue over it.

Tig placed a clear bandage over the design and gave him after-care instructions before Graham put his shirt back on.

“Thanks, man. How much do I owe you?”

Tig held out his hands. “Please. It’s on the house.”

“I insist.”

“Just take care of my girl. That’s all I need from you. Nothing else.”

Graham looked at me. “I can do that.”

Placing his hand on the small of my back, Graham led me through the door and back into the main room.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’ll take some of that punch over there.”

Graham returned with two glasses of the spiked juice, and we both gulped them down swiftly. A stream of red liquid dripped down my cleavage. Before I could wipe it off, I felt Graham’s long finger running a line up the middle of my chest.

“Messy girl,” he said as he licked the punch off of his index finger.

That one single swipe practically did me in. I was so incredibly attracted to him, but never had I wanted him as badly as tonight. The casual clothes, the glasses, the way he was looking at me, seeing him shirtless like that…it was all too much. But more than anything, the lingering jealousy over “Genevieve” was driving me nuts the most. A foreign and uncontrollable sense of possessiveness came over me. My reaction was a wake-up call. I was already in too deep, destined to get hurt. Take that realization, add a little rum punch, and you got one hot mess.

“You’re deep in thought tonight, Soraya. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

What felt like a hot flash started to permeate my body. Never in my life had I ever reacted to a man this way. Never had I felt so much fear and desire at the very same time. Certainly, never had the jealousy monster reared its ugly head. I didn’t want him to sense it. I needed to cool off.

“I’ll be right back,” I said before making my way to the back of the shop. Before I could get very far, I felt a firm hand on my waist. Then, he pulled me into Tig’s office and shut the door, backing me against it with his arms locking me in on each side.

“You think you’re the only one who is f*cked up by what’s happening here?” he groaned.

I stayed silent, trying to catch my breath.

There was no light, and he didn’t attempt to find one. In the darkness of the office, I could barely see anything. I could only feel his chest against mine and his breath against my lips as he said, “You’re driving me crazy. I need to touch you. Please just let me taste you… just once.”

Bending my head back, I pressed his head into my chest as he ran his tongue slowly down my cleavage, moaning over my skin. He pulled the top of my dress down, exposing my breast and took my nipple into his mouth, sucking so hard that it caused me to squeal. The muscles between my legs were pulsating with need. Even though I wanted him inside of me, I was terrified. I suddenly moved my face away from him and began to cover myself.

Panting, he buried his nose in my neck and placed his hand over my heart. He pulled me closer to him. “God, listen to that heartbeat. You want me. I can feel it. But you’re so goddamn scared of me. Why?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

He pulled back and cupped his hands around my cheeks. “Talk to me. Please. Whatever happened to make you so distrusting?”

“I’m just afraid to get hurt.”

“Who hurt you?”

It was hard for even me to understand where this was coming from. I hadn’t even had a boyfriend who’d shattered my trust or broken my heart. It made no sense. I’d never really been in love before. The feelings that I had for Graham were new to me, but I didn’t want to admit that to him. The one thing I knew for sure was that my father was somehow at the root of my paranoia. So, I decided to tell Graham a story that might explain my fear of rejection, although I couldn’t say I truly understood it clearly myself. Anything was better than admitting to him that I’d never felt this way about anyone before, though.

“When I was about ten years old, my parents divorced. My father ended up marrying a woman from the neighborhood. Theresa was a widow. She had three daughters, one of whom was my age and went to my school…Brianna. Anyway, my dad pretty much became their father and spent less and less time with my sister and me as a result. There was this father-daughter rose ceremony and dance that the school was putting on for girls in my age group. The dads were each supposed to buy a dozen roses for their daughter and then take pictures together at the dance. Anyway, my mother had asked my father if he was available to take me. He never got back to her. So, I ended up showing up at the school, all dressed up and hoping he would turn up. And he did…with Brianna. There she was, holding the big bunch of pink roses in one hand and my father’s hand in the other. I ran home crying, and when my mother confronted him, he said that he didn’t realize I was interested in going. He said that since Brianna’s dad was dead, it was important that he be there for her. He said he thought I would understand. Anyway, this has nothing to do with you, Graham. You asked why I have trust issues, and my father is really the only reason I can think of.”