Page 89 of Rush of Jealousy

“You feel this?”

Umm, your cock?Why, yes sir, I do.

“Angie, this thing,” he says, moving his hand through the minimal space between us emphatically. “It’s not going away. It’s definitely not getting any easier. Nor do I want it to.”

“I know,” I whisper. My butt bumps against the island’s base. “I know.”

“You are scared, sweetheart. I’m aware of that. Saving you last night did not help my cause. But when I found out you were with Tanner”—his eyes look away for a second and then return—“I lost it. All I could focus on was getting to you. I knew within my soul that you were in trouble. And I had to keep myself together long enough to teach Tanner a lesson but get you out of there with minimal harm.”

I nod, eyes on the floor, ashamed of the position I put myself in. Graham’s anger is palpable as he attempts to express his thoughts.

“I wanted tokillhim for getting as far with you as he did. I should have cut off his hands.”

I gulp but do not question the authenticity of his words. If given the chance, I bet Graham would resort to archaic methods to punish his enemies. “I acted impulsively. I never wanted or planned to have any type of physical encounter with him. Looking back, I know I acted stupidly and should have seen the signs that he was full of bullshit. I was terrified and helpless and repulsed. Then when you arrived, I feared you were going to murder him and go to prison for life.”

“That’s the only reason I left him breathing. Remember that,” he growls, anger sparking off of him, making him back away from me. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing back stray strands. What a sight. Like a model stepping right off the advertisement for—

Toothpaste.

Or fitted shirts.

Or male enhancement pills.

Hell, the man could sell tampons or anti-fungal cream, and I would buy it. I clear my throat at that wayward thought.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter absentmindedly, if only to fill the silence and end my blatant eye ogling.

He quirks an eyebrow and crosses his hands at his chest.

“I don’t even know exactly what for.” I grimace at my pathetic excuse for an apology, but decide to continue. “I guess for getting myself involved in something that only caused me more pain in the end. I feel stupid and compelled to keep saying sorry.” I peek up at him through my lashes, catching his eyes softening on me. “I guess if I’m really being honest with myself, then I have to admit that not seeing you or talking to you for a whole week—” I furrow my eyebrow as I gather my thoughts.

“Tell me.”

“I missed you.” My three words come out in a rush, as if saying them out loud makes me weak.

“I missed you too, baby. I wanted to contact you. I did. I just am trying so hard not to smother you. But like I said last night, I’m done with going against my better judgment and allowing you to put yourself in impossible situations.”

His gaze moves away from me and focuses somewhere behind my head, then refocuses back. He looks surprised that I even said as much as I did in one turn; it is not in my character to bare myself this much. Perhaps his lips on me double as a truth serum.

“Let’s go relax,” he says softly. “I have some place I want to show you.” His hand on my elbow guides me out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into a heated sunroom with three walls of glass windows. He moves me to line myself up with a wicker cushioned seat and then presses down on my shoulders to get me to sit—never saying a thing. I shake my head at his still controlling nature, even though he improvised and adapted.

“Give me a minute.” He turns and leaves the room in a hustle.

The lake glistens with the sunlight—golden rays peeking out over the hill on the other side. The blinds are pulled up, and the windows are so clean that it feels like we are in the open air. There is a stone patio down below and a private outdoor pool and hot tub. It is like a lakefront spa. Floating out in the water is a small dock with two boats attached to cleats with rope. The boats do not look extravagant and are probably the least expensive of all his possessions.

I still don’t know what time it is, and the minor issue is making it easier to give in to living in the moment.

Graham is gone for about five minutes. When he returns, he sets a large bag down on the end table and flops into a chair next to me. “Okay, I have a proposition for you.”

Huh? “I think I should refrain from any more propositions. We know how badly those have worked out for me in the past.”

Graham breaks out into a laugh. My attempt at a joke works and lightens the mood. “So, how about you hear me out?”

I nod and he continues. “How about we play your favorite strategy game?”

I sit up straighter in my seat and eye the bag with curiosity. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a tad bit intrigued. From the playful gleam in his eye, I know he is up to something. “We are playing Monopoly?”

“Of course,” he says proudly, pulling out the game board.

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