The World: According to Graham (10 page)

“Uncross your arms, Rachael. Wipe the scowl off of your face. I want to share with you how the next two weeks are going to go.” He has the nerve to punctuate the end of his statement with a gorgeous smile that makes that damn dimple under his eye appear. I hate the dimple, and I hate what he does to me.
Will our baby have that same dimple?

I do uncross my arms, but the scowl is permanent until I’m on solid ground. “I know exactly how the next two weeks and months are going to go. I’m leaving tomorrow for Texas. I’m staying with Caroline and Colin until I determine where I want to live.” He’s so smug that I wish I could throw something at him, hitting him right between the eyes. Yes. That would make me feel better.

Just as he opens his mouth to respond, I add, “And I’m going to write a book on how I broke the glass ceiling in D.C. politics, and why women should just say no to player pretty boys with dimples and seemingly normal jobs because they turn out to be assholes.” Where did that come from? I haven’t seriously considered writing my biography.

He smirks. “Like my dimple, do you?”

Have I called him a bastard in the last five minutes? Doesn’t matter. If the term fits . . .

The smile fades and his face becomes stoic. His shoulders tense and the muscles in his sculpted arms bulge unnaturally against his skin. Damn him for not putting on a T-shirt this morning. My pregnancy hormones make it hard for me to remember why I’m so angry with him right now.

Oh yeah! Refrigerator. Focus on where you are and not looking at his abs.

But they’re so pretty.

“Seriously, we need to talk about us,” he begins. His tortoiseshell glasses enhance his serious demeanor, and I contemplate why he doesn’t wear them more often. He looks like freaking Clark Kent and images of him taking me from behind in a phone booth penetrate my brain.

“Are you listening to me, Rachael?” he asks, while I try to remember where I’ve seen a phone booth recently.

“I’m at too high of an altitude to listen,” I reply with a shrug.

He sighs. “This is serious.”

“I’m sure it is. Serious enough that my feet can’t touch the ground because I might bolt.”

“Fuck,” he yells, as his hands slap the counter. I jump, startled by his behavior. Okay. That got my attention. I sit up straight and pay attention. “Will you just let me speak?”

It’s at the tip of my tongue—a sarcastic response—but I keep it to myself, and instead just nod.

“Good,” he says, shooting me a dirty look. He stands up and walks around the bar and sits on the kitchen counter across from me. “First I want to apologize to you for how I reacted when you gave me the news about the baby. I have to say, Rach, when you asked me to meet you at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere, a baby never crossed my mind.”

“Yay. Imagine my surprise when I—”

He cuts me off. “I’m talking. You’re listening,” gesturing back and forth between us.

I roll my eyes, but shut up.

“I’m not saying for a second that I don’t want our baby. So hear that. What I am trying to tell you is that I just . . .”

“I know. Needed some time and space to think,” I helpfully offer with a wink.

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Yes, I needed to process the news. You’re right. I wish this baby was coming under different circumstances. I wish that I wasn’t committed to an eighteen-month tour, but well, I am. I’ve been doing some thinking . . .”

His phone rings somewhere in the house, and I wait to see if he’ll get me down before he answers it. He ignores it and keeps going. “Here. I’m just going to say it.” He pauses too dramatically for my taste, and then states, “You’re not going to stay with Caroline and Colin. You’re—”

“The hell I’m not. My things are being shipped to Texas as we speak. I have an overnight bag and plane ticket that says otherwise.”

“No, you don’t. I canceled your plane ticket and well, you know that your closet and other stuff moved to my house.”

It all becomes perfectly clear now why I’ve been manhandled and stored on top of this refrigerator like the sugary cereal that a mom wants to keep away from her snotty-nose five-year-old. He knew if I could reach him that I would kill him. He’s also trying to bribe me with the fantasy closet and lovely desk. It wasn’t a peace offering; it’s manipulation.

I’ve explained to him why I can’t stay in D.C. The former White House Chief of Staff can’t be pregnant and unmarried strolling through the halls of the West Wing. President Jones ran on a family values platform. I look down at my stomach. Family it is. Values would be greatly debated by the religious leaders that have the President’s ear.

“Just listen,” he pleads. My face becomes unnaturally warm, and I debate how I can safely get back to the ground. After all of my theories end with me flat on my face, I become resigned to hear him out.

Normally, I would be immune to the desperate tone of his voice, but there is something about his body language that makes me believe I should at least not ignore him. I don’t see the confident, in control, man who I met and fell in love with. Instead, I see someone who appears to be at his wit’s end. What I’ve learned from my time in navigating Washington politics is that sometimes it’s best to shut up, listen, observe and then judge.

I do exactly what he asks and not say a word. His phone rings again and he continues to pretend that it doesn’t exist.

“Rach, I’m not asking for sympathy or for you to even give a damn. I know you despise the Sons of Liberty, but I am the father of this baby, and that at least gives me the right to be a part of this pregnancy. It will not be easy. I signed a contract that says that I will be in a different city each week, but I’ve managed to shuffle some priorities and I think that I can make it work.”

He doesn’t seem to be talking to me anymore. His eyes are focused somewhere else—a place where maybe I listen. He’s talking to the universe or himself, I’m not sure.

“. . . I mean it’s not going to be ideal. But, we’ll get to know each other, Rachael. I’ve screwed so many things up, and so have you. Let’s try to do this right.”

He pauses long enough for me to realize that it’s my turn to speak. “I really have no clue what you’re saying. You know why I can’t stay in D.C. I need to go to Texas until the President’s term is over at least.” Mentally, I’m calculating what it’s going to cost to purchase a last-minute one-way ticket. Then I’m curious how he could have canceled my ticket. I hope to God that he’s bluffing. As for my clothes and other things, well, they will just have to move again.

“That’s just it. I’ve come up with the perfect way for us to be together and for you to keep the pregnancy out of the media.”

“Really? Call me skeptical.” My eyebrow cocks uncomfortably high.

A horn blares from somewhere in the distance. It’s a loud horn. Much deeper than a regular car horn.

Graham’s eyes grow wide and he looks towards the front of the house as if he has X-ray vision and can see what’s making the noise.
I think in the cartoon Clark Kent had to remove his glasses to use his x-ray vision.
Then he glances back up at me. “Want to see your new home?”

One side of my lip curls up. “I can’t from on top of a refrigerator.”

He stalks towards me and looks up at me with pleading eyes. His voice is soft with a twinge of desperation. “Please give this a chance, Rachael. Please.” Then he drops the worst, most guilt-ridden line in the history of lines. “Don’t do this for us. Do it for our baby.” Even he can’t deliver that cheese without a little smirk.

My heart skips a beat when he reaches for me and I scoot into his outstretched arms. My body connects with his and I slide down his chiseled chest, not wanting my feet to reach the ground. As hard as it is to admit to myself, in his embrace is where I’m the happiest and most content.

“You are so beautiful.” He compliments me as he brushes the hair out of my eyes.

I lean in, craving more contact. Nestling into his pecs, I turn my head so I can feel his soft chest hair against my cheek. His long arms pin me against him. For a brief second I ponder how I can be so damn angry at him one second and desperate for him the next.
This must be love
.

He steps out of my embrace and places his hands on my shoulders. His eyes are heavy with lust and his pulse is beating double time against his smooth, olive skin. His full, red lips part and his tongue darts, swiping around his mouth before his teeth bite the corner of his bottom lip.

I look into those clear blue eyes and melt for the father of my baby. Me being manhandled like a child is forgotten. I lick my lips and watch his complexion flush with desire. The pull between us is magnetic. I’ve never wanted more for him to be inside of me without an agenda. Not him-reminding-me-of-how-good-we-are-together sex, or jealousy sex. I just want to make love to him with passion and intensity, knowing that we no longer have any secrets between us.

Rising on my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his neck bringing him down for a kiss. He lets me lead him toward my needy lips. As our mouths are just about to touch, he pulls away, breaking our moment.

I’m left feeling lost. Why did he do that? Why would he deny me? Am I still being punished for my crime of wanting to keep our relationship a secret?

He turns away and walks towards the ringing of the phone that hasn’t stopped. Even though the sound is high-pitched and annoying, Graham’s silence is deafening.

Finally, I can’t take it any longer. “What have I done?” I throw my arms up in frustration. It sounds much more like a plea than I wish it did.

He shakes his head, as he turns the corner. He’s not gone long, but when he returns, he ignores my frozen body in the middle of his kitchen and drops to the chair I had vacated at the kitchen table. Once he’s seated, he turns his phone off and replies stoically, “I’m just not ready yet.”

I explode. “Not ready? How can that be? Is it because Veronica is helping to give you the time and space you need?” I stalk towards him and lean down so we’re eye to eye. “I couldn’t stand the thought of another man near me. Yet, you? You sleep with your adolescent assistant, whom I’m sure earned the job for her excellent typing skills. Well fuck you, Graham, you take all the time and space that you need. In the meantime, I’ll be growing our child and focusing on making a home for him or her.”

I’m on a roll now and couldn’t stop if I tried. I take a step back from him and put my hand on my hip, looking to the floor, before I meet his eyes again. “You know, when you told me that you loved me yesterday, I believed you. However, I think you just said it to calm me down and get me to agree to have my things moved here. Is this some sick revenge you have planned? Make me want you, then fuck me over? Have your baby mama in D.C. and your fling on the road? Because, if it is . . .”

Before I can calculate what’s happening, my back hits the side of the refrigerator, and he growls “shut up” before his lips slam against mine. My mouth willingly lets his tongue slide against my teeth. It’s such a demanding kiss. Graham is not asking for permission, he’s taking what belongs to him, and I gladly allow him full access to my body.

“Does this feel like I’m fucking you over?” he growls.

“No,” I breathlessly reply as my tongue meets his.

Graham parts my legs with his flannel-clad thigh as he raises the dress shirt which is draped over my body so that it bunches under my breasts. His hands tangle in my hair. I wrap my arms around his hips, cupping his firm ass, and pull him closer to me. His erection is hard against my abdomen and I gasp as I feel it twitch.

Like the hormonal, crazed woman I am, my pelvis begins to grind against his thick thigh. God, the friction feels so good. It’s not lost on me that I’m dry humping his leg, but in this moment I don’t care. I just want the intense pressure building in my lower stomach to be expelled. I want Graham to hold me while I come, even if it’s just on his leg.

“That’s it, Rach,” he coaxes though frantic kisses. “I can feel your wetness and how much you need this.”

My hips rock back and forth until I find the perfect angle and ultimately my release. My head drops back, separating our lips, as I bang it against the refrigerator. A throbbing pain shoots through my skull but soon the pain is lost on me. The orgasm is so intense that it reminds me just how much better it is when you experience it with someone you love.

“That’s it,” Graham whispers softly in my ear as he supports my weight. “That’s what my girl needed.”

When I open my eyes, I look at his beautiful face. His features are soft and relaxed, and his lips are puffy from our bruising kiss.

“Hi there, gorgeous,” he says as he kisses my forehead. “See? Isn’t that better than you yelling at me?”

I nod like a stupid bobble-head doll. “Now, it’s my turn,” I state as I reach between us, grasping his throbbing cock in my hands.

He captures my wrist, halting my movement. He brings it up to his mouth and kisses my palm. “Not right now,” he says.

I’m so perplexed. His body is definitely ready for my touch. Emotionally he was just as much into our make-out session as I was. There were no walls between us. What happened between then and now?

“Is it because of the baby?” I ask out of desperation. It’s the only thing that I can think of that might be an issue for him. I remember when my best friend Caroline was first pregnant with her daughter Ainsley. She worried that her husband, Colin, would not want to have sex with her out of fear of hurting her. Fortunately for Caroline, that wasn’t the case. Maybe that’s what is going on with Graham.

“It’s perfectly healthy for us to have sex. The baby is so well insulated that . . .”

He shakes his head, silently stopping the conversation. I wait for him to share with me why exactly it’s okay for me to ride his leg to orgasm, but I can’t touch his cock.

He pulls me to him, pressing our bodies together. I want to lash out at him. I want to demand that he tells me what’s going through his head, but I don’t. Instead, I open my heart just a bit and let him take what he needs from me.

Then he does something so unexpected that it causes me to gasp. He steps away from me and places his hand over my barely there protruding abdomen. No one but me has touched the sensitive skin protecting my child. My immediate instinct is to move out of his reach until I look up into his sparkling eyes. A soft smile curls his lips, and a look of wonderment dances across his relaxed features. “You have a bump.”