by Megan Hart
Julia and Graham had shared a booth with several people neither of them actually worked with. There had been drinking and music and flirtation she couldn’t ignore. His thigh had pressed hers beneath the table. She had reached to brush a non-existent piece of lint from his collar. They hadn’t been alone but nobody else had mattered.
Last call came and with it, a decision. They’d taken the Great Glass Elevator together, tension thick and sweet as honey between them, but when the doors opened and let them both out, Julia had mumbled something about it being late and turned. She’d walked away.
Would he have said yes if she had asked him to go with her back to her room? She would never know, because she hadn’t asked. She’d wanted it desperately, fiercely, the need of it a physical force that had dried her throat as it moistened her palms and dampened between her thighs – but she hadn’t asked.
Their flirtation had begun casually and grown exponentially each day until that last night there should have been no doubt of her intentions or his, but despite the fact he had looked into her eyes and she could almost feel the heat his gaze was giving off like it was an actual flame – despite all of that, Julia, in that last moment, had faltered. Chickened out. Because he might have said “no.” More frightening, he might have said “yes.”
And then what would she have done? Taken him to her room, used his tie to bind his hands or to cover his eyes. Ordered him to service her with his tongue until she came. Ridden him like a mother-fucking pony until he screamed her name. The possibilities had been as endless as her fantasies, but they all came back to one, single theme. Graham Tremaine on his knees in front of her, doing whatever she pleased.
It was what she wanted, but not what she allowed herself to take. After five days she liked him too much to risk disappointment. She hadn’t even held out a hand for him to shake, afraid that simple touch would give away the sheer force of her desire and embarrass her. She had simply wished him “good night” and turned on her heel to walk away without daring to even look back. She hadn’t dared look across to see him going into his own room, either. She’d swiped her key through the lock and gone inside, closing the door tight and leaning against it again, her heart pounding like she’d run a mile with wolves chasing her.
She’d never seen him again.
She had his business card and his company email address, but had been unable to manufacture a business-related reason to use it. A couple weeks after the conference, though, he’d friended her online at Connex. No message, just the friend request in her inbox.
She hadn’t accepted it right away. For four days she’d looked at his user picture and thought about his smile and the feeling of his hand in hers. She’d hovered her cursor over the “accept” button and pushed it aside, until finally she clicked on it. Nothing amazing had happened. Her computer didn’t catch on fire. Neither did her pussy. A few days later he sent her an email and she answered, bland messages fraught with unspoken emotion – at least on her part, every word agonized over to make sure she said neither too much nor too little.
Unlike most of the users on the network, Julia was careful to keep her Connex blog bland and impersonal. She had no illusions about the anonymity of the internet, and she didn’t fancy the idea of just anyone being privy to her particular kinks. Yet every once in a while when writing about what she’d done over the weekend, the places she’d gone and the people she’d been with, something managed to slip through. Subtle, or at least she hoped, but there for anyone who might understand it to interpret it.
Sometimes, he commented on what she had to say. Sometimes, he didn’t. Julia checked his page often, reading his infrequent but always dryly humorous blog entries and unashamedly looking at the photos he posted of trips and holidays. Sometimes she didn’t comment to him and sometimes she did, but eventually their semi-occasional-casual blog replies had turned into a semi-occasional-casual instant message.
And then, more than that.
They chatted online more days than they didn’t, though it was all still mostly bland and friendly and eventually, Julia began to think the heat between them had been in her imagination. It had to be, didn’t it? Because Graham never said anything that could possibly be considered flirtatious.
At least until they’d talked about cake.
She’d written about diets and self-discipline and the seduction of chocolate cake. She’d been thinking about sex when she wrote it, about how it seemed she always wanted what was bad for her the way she always wanted chocolate cake rather than a piece of fruit. She wanted long nights and red flags instead of fields of flowers and poetry, and what kind of woman wanted that?
There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want and having it, Graham had replied.
As in having my cake and eating it too?
As in a woman who knows what she wants and takes it instead of worrying about whether or not it’s good for her is sexy.
The conversation had veered away after that, but Julia had thought a lot about Graham’s words over the past few months. She’d known what she wanted for a long time, but taking it was something else entirely. She’d tried, in the past, but it was hard finding men who weren’t intimidated by a strong woman.
And now here she was in a Texas airport, her flight cancelled and an undetermined layover trapping her here, and who was the only person in the entire world she knew who lived in Texas?
Graham Tremaine.
Who was, she saw, with a jolt of anticipation, online right now.
Maybe it was the extra-large cup of coffee she’d consumed while waiting to find out if she’d make the next leg of her trip home. Maybe it was the devil-may-care attitude that seemed to have taken over many of the travelers whose flights were being cancelled due to the horrible weather back East and were looking at spending the night camped out on the airport floor. Or maybe it was something as simple as the long, lonely passage of time and the anonymity of the internet that made it possible for her to take the step she’d been unable to make when faced with it in person.
She typed quickly before brain could catch up to her fingers. Unexpected layover. I’m stuck in the Hobby airport. Bad weather back home.
She hit send and sat back, with nothing to do now that the message had gone out into the ether.
It was harmless enough, she told herself. She was bored, needed a way to pass the time. He was online, so was she. It was only an email, not a marriage proposal.
The line had gotten much shorter, and she slipped her phone into her bag and took her place in it, mostly so she wouldn’t torture herself by constantly checking to see if he’d replied. The woman behind the desk looked tired and ready to break. Her fingers tapped the keys, her brow furrowed, and when she looked up, Julia could see her visibly bracing herself.
“I’m sorry, but the Philadelphia airport is still closed to all incoming and outgoing flights. We had another flight scheduled for eight p.m. tonight, but it’s booked solid. You could take a seat on standby, but…” the woman drew in a deep breath. “Well, honestly, I doubt that flight’s going to get out, either. It’s mess out there.”
“Yes, I know. That’s okay.” Julia’s smile seemed to surprise the woman and relieve her at the same time. “What about tomorrow?”
The woman’s fingers flew again. “I can get you on a three-thirty flight tomorrow afternoon, if that’s all right, assuming of course the weather allows it. And we’ll be able to give you a voucher for a room tonight at the Hilton right here at the airport.”
“And my luggage?”
More tapping, then a pause. “You won’t have to re-check it. It will go on to Philadelphia as planned.”
Uh huh. Julia didn’t quite believe that would go off without a hitch, but she had everything she needed with her, anyway. There was no point in getting upset by any of this. Besides, she’d get a free night in a business-grade hotel, and though she really would rather have made it home to her own bed and sheets and shower, she wasn’t going to make this woman’s l
ife any harder by being a bitch about it.
“That’s fine.”
“Really?” The woman’s entire body relaxed as her fingers tapped again. “Just let me get all this information entered.”
“No problem. Take your time.”
The woman looked over Julia’s shoulder at the rest of the line, and hurried anyway. She printed out new boarding passes as well as the voucher for the hotel, and gave Julia all the instructions.
“Thanks,” Julia told her.
“Thank you,” the woman said sincerely. “For being so understanding.”
Julia shrugged. “Stuff happens. It’s not your fault.”
With one thing and another, it was almost an hour before she made it from the airport to the hotel, checked in, and made it up to her room. She tossed her overnight bag on the bed and unzipped her computer case to pull out her computer. Her phone was great and kept her connected to the world, but for advanced web surfing Julia preferred the bigger screen of her laptop. She opened the lid and powered up, not thinking twice about paying the fee to log on to the hotel’s wireless internet. She had to be here overnight, she didn’t watch much television, and internet access was more than a luxury, it was a necessity.
Her email pinged softly with two pieces of junk mail, a couple of forwarded surveys and photos from her sister… and a notification from Connex about a message from Graham.
Her heart thumped and she relished the anticipation as she clicked the link in the message that took her to the login page at Connex. She positioned the cursor over the message but didn’t click it right away. His answer would probably be as innocuous as her message had been. She checked the time received, noting it was only moments after she’d sent her message. He’d replied fast, but that didn’t mean anything other than he’d happened to be online.
J – That’s what you get for living in a place that gets cold instead of here. Still love snow, now? G
She laughed out loud at that even as her heart thumped. Graham was a stereotypical Texan, proud as all get-out of his home state. During the week they’d spent together in Houston they’d traded quips about who had the better state, but she knew she’d never been able to convince him a Keystone could ever be better than a Longhorn. He was still online, according to the blinking notice beneath his user picture, which accompanied his message.
She opened up her message box and saw his name. She typed. No snow. All ice.
His reply came a moment later. You’re not on your way home, yet?
No. They put me up in the Hilton here at the airport. Can’t get a flight out until three-thirty tomorrow.
Nothing. Graham’s name went gray. He’d gone offline, she thought, but in the next moment another response came through.
I can be there in an hour.
Her heart bungee-jumped and her breath hitched. Her fingers hovered over the keys and she took her hands away to fold them in her lap. She watched the screen, the blinking cursor, the garish, irritating ads surrounding her inbox and her list of messenger friends. He was on the other side of that box, their computers like some sort of Alice in Wonderland pair of looking-glasses. The question was, what was on the other side?
It would be simple enough to say, later, when she’d gone back home and there was no threat of her being able to take him up on the offer, that she’d logged off. That the hotel internet had been wonky and cut out on her. It would have been easy enough to lie.
Instead, she told the truth.
I’ll be ready.
Chapter 2
When her answer appeared in the text message box, Graham let out a low whoop he covered up by coughing into his fist. Not that there was anyone around to hear him, and not that Julia could see his response. He could do nothing to hold back the grin, though, so broad it crinkled his eyes at the corners. He sat back in the chair and spun it slowly in a circle once before getting back to the keyboard.
Fuck looking too eager. He wasn’t going to play those games. If she thought the speed of his reply meant he was interested in her, she’d be right. And Graham wasn’t going to let this chance pass him by. Not like he had a year ago, or all the months since.
I’ll meet you in the lobby. He gave her his cell number.
Hers came through a moment later, and Graham stared at it with another grin so big it almost hurt his cheeks. Now he could call her. All he needed was an excuse.
Graham pushed away from the computer again. He’d told her an hour. It would take him forty minutes to get to the airport, unless he hit mad traffic. Which meant he had twenty minutes to shower, shave and change.
Graham looked down at his raggedy sweatpants and ran a hand through his hair until it stood on end. He’d better hurry. He brushed his teeth as he ran the shower, but it was barely hot when he jumped in it. No time to luxuriate in hot water. The clock was ticking.
He took his time with the shave, though. With his skin still prickled from the cold water, it was going to be hard not to cut himself. He managed, then smoothed aftershave over his skin. Ten minutes gone, shit. He was going to be late.
Clothes were an issue. Graham stared at the shirts, one in each hand, he’d grabbed from the closet. Dress up or down? He went with up, not caring that she might notice he’d made an effort. Hell. He wanted her to notice.
Dressed, he grabbed his wallet, keys and jacket and took the steps two at a time. He was already backing out of his driveway as he buckled his seatbelt. He dialed a minute later, eyes scanning the traffic as he listened to the sound of ringing and waited with his heart in his throat for Julia to answer.
“Hello?” Her voice was the same, pitched low and without the subtle slow drawl infused in the voices of women around here.
He’d only been with her in person for five days, but he’d never forgotten her voice. It had been the first thing he’d known about her, before her face. Even before her name. He’d been blind and waiting for someone’s words to lead him, and the next thing he knew, her voice had been telling him where to go. Graham had heard plenty of East Coast women speak. Most of them sounded clipped and harsh to him. Hurried and just this side of snappish. Not Julia. Words didn’t shoot from her mouth like bullets. They slipped from her lips like drops of honey. She was a woman who meant what she said and said what she meant, and her silences could say more than a dozen chattering women ever could.
“Hi. Julia? It’s me.”
“Graham. Hi.”
She hadn’t asked “who?” and he grinned again. “I just wanted to tell you I’m running a little late.”
“That’s all right. I wanted to freshen up anyway. Why don’t you call me when you get here?”
“Sure.” He didn’t want to hang up. “I should be there in twenty minutes. I thought we could go to dinner, if that’s all right?”
“Oh, good. I’m starving.”
Graham eased onto the highway. “I was thinking about Italian.”
She liked Italian food. He remembered that from before. He remembered lots of things.
“Sounds great.”
He heard shuffling and imagined her running a brush through her thick, dark hair or peering close in the mirror to slide on some mascara. His ex had often finished getting ready to go out while she talked on the phone. The ability of women to multi-task never ceased to amaze him.
Traffic had slowed, and Graham muttered a curse. Julia laughed. “Oh, really?”
“People drive like idiots,” he explained.
“I’ll still be here,” she said. “Slow down. Be safe. Don’t get a ticket.”
The murmured warning would have annoyed him from any other woman. Yet when faced with Julia’s dripping-honey voice, her slow and easy command, Graham found himself wanting to do as she said just as he’d instinctively followed her command the first time they’d met.
“Call me when you’re here,” Julia said and disconnected before he could say more.
For a year they’d been emailing and messaging, but none of that compared to listening to her spea
k. Graham had no doubt none of it would compare to seeing her again, either. He eased into an opening in traffic but didn’t let the speedometer creep up higher than five miles over the limit. He could afford a ticket and would have risked it the cost, but he wasn’t going to risk her disappointment.
He hadn’t yet figured out what it was about her. Flirtations, the road not taken, lost opportunities, chance meetings. He’d had them all before. You couldn’t be a single guy hitting the bar scene with your buddies and not have a few “what-ifs” along the way. All he knew was the five days they’d spent together had been the most intense he’d ever spent with any woman.
Even now when he closed his eyes at night, just before he drifted off to sleep, he sometimes heard the low murmur of her whispers, telling him which way to turn and how many steps to take. She’d led him through the maze without a single false step, and Graham had been unable to stop thinking about it ever since. How it felt to put himself in her hands that way, and know she wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
It wasn’t something he could tell his friends. They were guys who mocked each other without mercy as “pussy-whipped” if any of them bought their girlfriends flowers or chose to stay home instead of going out to drink over-priced beers and watch sports. He never told them he thought a man who didn’t put his woman first was the worst sort of pussy, but not because he was afraid of what they’d say. He just knew they wouldn’t get it, and it wasn’t worth his time to try and explain.
Julia wasn’t his woman, but Graham intended for that to change. No more hiding behind blasé comments on her posts, trying to play it cool. No more pretending he didn’t think of her every time his hand wandered to his cock, or that her voice didn’t haunt his dreams. They’d stood in a hallway with the promise of potential tying them together, and he’d let her walk away. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
Ahead was the turn-off for the airport. He was almost there. He dialed her number. “I’ll be there soon.”
