Page 84 of Rush of Jealousy

I must have dozed off when Graham enters the room, because it is the flames coming from the stone fireplace that cause me to stir. His muscular body looks even more appetizing in the flickering light. He is only wearing pants, and if I wasn’t so emotionally and physically exhausted, I would want to be intimate with him, to erase all memories of—

“If the light from the fire bothers you while we sleep, I can try to put it out or find a scarf to put over your eyes.”

I nod and whisperthanks. I pull back the comforter to welcome Graham and roll farther to my side—my back to him. The bed dips as he gets in. I feel his arms circle me and rest against my midsection. I thought it would bother me more, with Graham taking initiative to touch me, but it is exactly what I need. My body craves his possession. He is my safe haven.

His body is warm and molds easily to mine. My eyes grow heavy. I listen to the crackle of the wood, and it lulls me into a much-needed slumber. It is in the half-awake and half-asleep phase that I pray my own lingering pain doesn’t become a fuel source for my nightmares.

* * *

I fall asleep and wake up without the hovering backup of an alarm clock. Usually on weekends, I program my phone with a later wake-up time. Except today. Today I allowed my internal clock to decide for itself when it was time for it to get up.

Foggy memories from last night sift through my head with only a few details recalled. There was lots of cuddling and the disentangling of limbs. I remember at one point my arm falling asleep because it was tucked so deeply under Graham’s weight. The heat that radiated off of his body was more powerful than any fireplace could have offered. At one point, I was ripping blankets off of me from being so hot.

It could have just been my hormones. Perhaps it was the way he whispered my name in his sleep-drunk state.

My eyes flutter open, but I don’t need to look over to know that Graham isn’t here. The bed is back to being cold. The only sound I hear is my own steady breathing. The room is so dark with thermal curtains pulled across the windows that it is difficult to even tell what time of the day it is. Based on how rested I feel, I imagine the sun has been up for a while now.

I stretch and grimace over my growling stomach. How can I possibly want to eat when there is so much still on my mind? I roll out of bed and move into the bathroom. I slide on a bra that is part of a new stack of clothing, folded perfectly on the edge of the vanity, but keep my original pajamas on. They are so comfy.

I dig through the hygiene bag, pulling out all the items I need to appear human.

Sunlight beams down through the skylight, casting a warm glow throughout the room. If Graham is anything, he is thorough and accommodating; the man thinks of everything. Everything that I could possibly want or need is at my disposal, even though we are tucked away at a secluded lake house—sequestered from the rest of the world.

At the sight of my blotchy face, I quickly dig out the regimen of cleanser, scrub, toner, and moisturizer and go to town repairing the damage. I dust on makeup to cover my bruising as best as I can. The reddish-orange hued rays warm the air in the chilly room. I sit down on the edge of the huge bathtub and give a quick brush to my teeth and hair. After I feel human again, I make my way to the bedroom door. The quiet of the house does not give away the time. Not knowing frustrates me. I need to find my phone.

I open the door leading out to the huge two-story living room and hear the muffled low toned voices coming from a hallway. I quietly tiptoe across the large area rug and through another corridor until I find a more formal living space. And it is there that I find him.

Dressed in a pair of black low-rise drawstring pants and a royal blue fitted crew neck T-shirt, it is obvious even clothed that Graham’s body is that of an athlete. I allow my eyes to coast lazily down his body, enjoying my view with the freedom to linger longer on my favorite zones. His back muscles, the strength of his torso, and the pull of the fabric over the front of his crotch.

I rarely see Graham this dressed down, so it is a welcomed treat for my senses. His feet are bare and his hair looks sexily tousled—most likely washed and left to dry as is.

Damn, this man is hot. Ten out of ten, I recommend.

Graham is more captivating than any man I’ve ever met. But he also exceeds every book boyfriend I ever fantasized about. Hundreds have made naughty appearances in my dreams, so I have a lot of comparison data.

If it wasn’t for the periodic tic of his jaw, I would actually think he was relaxing. However, I know better. He doesn’t relax. Even in his sleep, he seems tightly wound.

Graham and Collins sit adjacent to one another with all of their electronics on display. Laptops are open on the coffee table, iPads are in hand, Bluetooths are in ears, and phones are plugged into chargers.

At the sight of my phone, I open my mouth and then quickly shut it, not wanting to be caught. I am not shocked it is being babysat, but that doesn’t remove my desire for wanting it back.

“Figure it out. Now. I hired you for such matters. Do not disappoint.”

I cringe and shimmy back a few steps as if the venomous tone that Graham gives to the poor person on the other line catapults me away from the scene. After last night, I know his capabilities when it comes to a physical fight. His heavy sighs cause me to stay rooted in my spot, if just to gain information so I am less in the dark.

“I damn well know you provided me the information on her. I need more. Dig. Give me a fucking address, bank statements, some sort of timetable.”

Her. As in, me? Or anotherher?

“Yes, I know I have it! Well, you aren’t in any position to be making the demands. Pretty sure the day I step away will be the day I also get my life back.”

What does he mean? Who is Graham talking to on the phone?

“Fine, I’ll look at it and consider my options when I please. You aren’t me! Remember that.”

I watch behind a huge decorative column in awe as Graham turns to the side, snatches a folder off of the coffee table, and shuffles through a series of papers.

“Get me everything you have. Summon the workers, witnesses…I don’t give a fuck how you do it. Get me the damn information!”

---