Page 34 of Back to Me

While I’m waiting for his response, he calls me on my work phone.

“Hey,” I say cheerily. I’m hoping the lightness in my voice will somehow ease him a bit.

“Hey.” There’s a sadness to his voice, but he’s not angry with me.

“I’m so sorry. I completely forgot today was the twenty-fifth,” I blurt out.

He sighs into the phone, and I can hear a tapping in the background, which I can only assume is his paintbrush.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

I wince, knowing he can’t see me. “Are you sure it’s okay? Will we fall behind on our schedule?”

“No, I already had some pieces stored away, and I’m just now finishing up this painting. Also, we have two out of our five done, so we should be good.”

“I can’t wait to see what you painted.” I smile against the phone, hoping Graham can somehow feel my happiness.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait until you come home, won’t you?” he teases.

Laughing, my skin tingles from the deep, velvet tone of his voice.

“Hey,” he says. “Why don’t I just come down to the showing? You said it starts at seven, right?”

I fold over the corner of a hot pink post-it note. “Yeah, but you don’t have to do that, Graham. It’s just going to be a bunch of rich, stuffy people talking about rich, stuffy things.”

“Oh. Okay.” Disappointment fills his voice.

It’s not that I don’t want Graham to come, I just don’t think he would enjoy it. I only put up with it because it’s my job.

“I mean if you really wanted to come, I wouldn’t mind,” I don’t want Graham to think I don’t want to see him. Why would I pass up on that opportunity?

He hesitates. “If you’re okay with it. I don’t have to stay long, just thought you could use a friendly face.”

“Oh, you’re definitely a friendly face,” I say, resting my chin in my hand.

“Sara Andrews,” he perks up, “are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” I drag out. I love this side of him. My stomach flips, wondering why we didn’t do this sooner.

“Alright, I have to finish this painting, and you need to get back to work,” he says authoritatively.

“No, I don’t want to,” I whine, wishing I was wrapped up with Graham in his dark grey sheets. I’m beginning to hate my job.

“Go back to work,” he demands, then adds, “I love you.” He hangs up before I’m given a chance to respond. I really do love that man.

At seven o’clock, the gallery is already filled wall-to-wall with prospective customers, the men dressed in fancy crisp suits, the women draped in four-hundred-dollar cocktail dresses.

I’m standing in front of my desk, discussing one of Allison’s newest paintings with one of Dallas’ most prominent litigation lawyers. Now and then, his voice fades into the background as I constantly find myself glancing at the front door, waiting for Graham to walk in.

Finally, just as I’ve sold the lawyer on the painting, I excuse myself and elbow my way through the crowd. I find him standing near the front door, his eyes scanning the room for me. My heart flutters seeing him here. He’s not wearing a suit like all the other men. He’s dressed in a white, collared button-up shirt, no jacket, a black tie, and his black boots. His shirt is untucked, lying flat against his dark blue, skinny jeans. His sleeves are rolled up onto his arms, exposing the muscles of his forearms. And his dark brown hair is slicked back and to the side, the deep blue shade of his eyes shining against the golden overhead lights.

When I reach him, a grin spreads across his mouth, revealing his straight white teeth. My thighs tingle and tense, remembering how those same teeth have grazed and bitten the skin of my legs.

Standing up a bit on my toes, I quickly press my lips to his and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in close. “You made it.”

Burying his face into my neck, he inhales. With his lips pressed against me, he says, “Of course.” He moves his mouth from my neck to my ear. My thighs tense again, and I’m forced to remember where I am. He whispers in my ear, “Do you think people would miss you if I took you away for a few minutes?”

My heart races and the blood rushes from my head to my toes. Who knew Graham Ward was such a scandalous creature of a man?

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