Graham

by Chance, Logan

  York smirks beside me at Zoe’s damn good response. I push back my chair and head over to the spot where Lindsey sits next to Zoe. “Can I sit by my fiancée?”

  Lindsey gets up without saying a word. I slide into the seat, and take Zoe’s tiny hand into mine and bring it to my lips and give it a kiss.

  “I agree with Graham,” my mother says, “we’re not here to talk about work.” She turns her attention onto Lindsey and asks her a question about the girls, effectively ending the discussion.

  And then the whole table comes alive with easy conversation, and I know one thing is for sure, Trudy does not look happy. And that makes me very happy.

  * * *

  The next day, I’m not so happy. After Trudy’s little breakfast debacle, Zoe seemed to be avoiding me the rest of the day. And night. I knocked on her door, only to get a crack with her eye peeking out telling me she was fine, just needed to rest up for her entertainment extravaganza today.

  “I never thought I’d see the day,” York says, patting me on the shoulder.

  “What day is that?”

  “The day you’d become pussy-whipped over some chick.”

  “Ok, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not pussy-anything. She’s my fiancée.”

  “So, you’ve told us. I don’t care how much I love someone, I wouldn’t wear an ugly Christmas sweater for anyone,” he says as we watch my mother, sister, nieces, and fake fiancée all drive away to shop for Zoe’s entertainment day—an ugly sweater party.

  “Well you will be,” I inform him. “It’s her day, and you’ll be participating.”

  We step back inside and move to the family room.

  “Ugly sweater party.” York takes a seat on the sofa, raises his hands behind his head and leans back, propping his feet on the coffee table. “I repeat, she’s going to get you an ugly sweater.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t mind him,” my father says, dropping down into the recliner, “he’ll be single for the rest of his life. I think I like Zoe for you.”

  I meet his eyes, a little shocked by his statement. “Oh really? Why’s that?”

  “She’s lively.”

  Ain’t that the truth. I’ve never met anyone like Zoe before. And I find myself loving that about her, loving the fact she’s unique, like the engagement ring around her finger. “Yeah, I kind of like her,” I let slip out, forgetting the moment. “I really kind of like her.”

  My father chuckles, loud and deep. “Well, I sure hope so, son.”

  Before I mess up any more, I excuse myself to take care of business. When they arrive back a few hours later, giddy and laden with bags, I pull Zoe to the side. “What’s my sweater look like?”

  She dabs my nose with her index finger and then digs into a white bag. She pulls out a red and green sweater, unravels it and holds it against her chest.

  Horrified, I stare into the button eyes of Santa, and well, she’s got to be kidding. “Umm, what is that?”

  “It’s an ugly Christmas sweater.”

  “Ugly is right. I’m not wearing that.”

  “Why?” Her face twists into an adorable pout of disappointment, complete with big eyes and plump bottom lip. My dick hardens instantly, and all I want to do is kiss this girl.

  My hands land on her hips. “I just can’t wear tinsel.”

  “I think you can.” She inches closer.

  I stare at the sweater again, then at her lips. And I lean in. “Fuck it, for you I’ll do it.” Our lips meet in an instant.

  I’ve never been one for PDA’s—yeah, I’m that guy—but, with Zoe, I can’t keep my hands off her. At this point, I don’t really care who’s around, so I keep kissing her. Until a familiar cough interrupts us.

  “Guests will be arriving soon,” my mother says.

  Guests? How big of a party did they plan? An hour or so later, I find out a pretty damn big one. The house is alive with friends of my parents from the club, and community. My mother doesn’t do small intimate affairs. Go big or go home is her motto.

  Everyone is having a great time in an ugly sweater, and I glance around looking for the one person responsible for it all. Zoe. Her sweater takes place in outer space with kittens wearing Santa hats and eating pizza. It’s god awful. How she can look so beautiful in such an ugly sweater is beyond me.

  “Graham, haven’t seen you around in a long time,” Mr. Vesterlane, Trudy’s father, says.

  His sweater is atrocious. A fuzzy reindeer protruding from his belly bumps me as I shake his hand. “I’ve been busy with the resort, sir.”

  His brow rises. “Quite a spunky little fiancée you have.”

  “Yes, she sure is.” It comes out like I’m talking about her spunk in the bedroom, but I don’t care. She is spunky, both in and out of it.

  He walks away after patting me on the shoulder, and I can’t say that I miss him. I know the Vesterlanes aren’t happy I came home with a fiancée on my arm. Mr. Vesterlane has been trying to get his hands on my resort for a long time. And if I marry his daughter, that’s one step closer to his hands in my business.

  My mother saunters over in a gaudy green cardigan dripping with garland and tiny ornaments, still managing to somehow look couture. “You must really love this girl if you’re willing to wear that in public.” She points to the Santa sweater I’m wearing, like she has any room to talk.

  I laugh. “I guess I do.”

  My mother lifts her champagne to her lips and takes a sip. “The Vesterlanes won’t be happy about this.”

  I face my mother. “Who would you rather see happy? The Vesterlanes or me?” I walk away and head straight for the bar. I grab a bourbon, and then I spot Zoe heading right for me.

  “You look upset,” she says, concerned.

  I throw an arm around her shoulders, putting on a show, but not really. “I’m great now that you’re here.” I lean in to kiss her. “Want to get out of here?”

  She nods.

  I know this is her event, but my mother always plays the gracious hostess, and I doubt anyone will even miss us.

  After grabbing our coats, we slip out the back door, and I fire up the SUV and speed away before anyone even notices we’re missing.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  “Not far.” I turn onto the gravel road that leads down to the lake. “I want to show you something.” My headlights illuminate the frozen lake as I park along the riverbank. I cut the engine and step out into the cold stillness.

  She exits the car as well, and I grab two lanterns and a blanket from the back of the SUV, meeting her on the other side. “This way,” I say, taking her hand.

  Her warm tiny hand fits so perfectly in mine.

  “Where are we going?” she asks as I lead her into a wooded area.

  “You’ll see.” I squeeze her hand as we walk just a bit further until what I want to share with her comes into view.

  “What is that?” Zoe asks, peering with wonder at the old wooden bridge and small deserted bridge house next to it that time passed by and left untouched.

  “Isn’t it cool?”

  I open the door, following in after Zoe.

  “Wow.” She spins around, slowly, taking in all the wood detailing and carvings.

  “I used to come here a lot over the years.” I point to some of the woodwork. “Whoever built this place took their time with all the details. They hand carved all the designs into the walls.”

  She traces her fingers over some of the intricate wood carvings. “These designs are so amazing. Look at this flower.” Her fingers flow along the petals of a hydrangea carved into the wall. “What is this place?”

  “A long time ago this little house would be a place for passing boats to stop and take a break as they traveled through the lake. I think they would sell ice fishing gear here as well.”

  “Ah.” She faces me. “And you use to come here?”

  “Yeah, growing up whenever I wanted to get away from life, or my family.”

/>   “I love it here.” Then she turns to face me, her eyes growing serious. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “I’m happy I brought you.” I step closer until we’re toe-to-toe. Her eyes flutter closed as I graze a finger along her cheek. I like touching her. She’s so soft and feels like silk and happiness. “This place is really special to me.”

  Her eyes open, their vibrant blue color shining up at me. “You’re special to me,” she whispers.

  And damn if that doesn’t do things to me. I pull her in, capturing her lips with mine. Fire blazes through my veins when she moans.

  I can’t think about anything but taking this girl, making her know just how special she is to me. Is it possible I could be falling for her?

  No, it’s too soon, too risky. Here’s the thing, though—I want her. And not just sex. I like being around her. Holding her today on the couch while my family decorated the tree, felt all too domesticated. But, I liked it.

  I deepen the kiss, running my hands all over her body as she clings to me.

  “We shouldn’t…” she doesn’t finish her thought, because I kiss her again. Oh yes, we should. Fuck the negativity. I lay the blanket at our feet and kneel down, bringing Zoe with me.

  There’s way too many clothes in the winter time. She removes her coat, sweater, bra, and then pulls me in until I’m up close and personal with her tits. I trail my tongue along the stiff peak, sucking her nipple into my mouth, and then doing the same with the other.

  Her intense gaze, trembling body, and little moans tell me she likes the way I touch her. And that thought makes me greedy for more, so I rid her of her jeans and panties to run my tongue over her silky thighs. Chills erupt along her skin. I spread her legs and stare at her, and not at her eyes. She’s ready and wet. Her cheeks blush and she tries to close her legs, but I tsk her. “Don't be embarrassed.”

  And then I drop my body, settling on my elbows between her legs, and plant a few kisses over her thighs, making my way to her sweet spot. I swipe my tongue over her wetness and her legs try to close again. “Relax, Zoe, let me enjoy all of you.”

  She closes her eyes, and leans her head back.

  I bring my hands under her ass, cupping each cheek in my palms, and feast, sucking and nibbling against her heated skin. It’s heaven, and she moans, grinding her body against me. Fuck, she’s so hot.

  She rocks forward, her hands in my hair, leading me exactly where she wants me, and I don’t disappoint. I take her in all the ways I can. I lick at her skin, playing with her clit between my lips and teeth. She gets louder and louder, and I keep fucking her with my tongue, my face, and then my fingers. And my fuck, she’s so turned on, and so am I. My body is iron, my cock made of steel, as I hum my lips along her skin. The moment she loses control is a beautiful sight. I wrap an arm beneath her, squeezing tighter, as if I can hold onto her forever by not letting go.

  “Graham, oh fuck,” she whispers as her body calms after her orgasm.

  I don’t want the moment to end, I want to drag it out for fear of never having the chance again. So, I bring my lips to meet hers, kissing her until I can’t stand it anymore. A ragged groan tears from deep within my throat as I push my way inside her. Goddamn I can’t get over how tight she is. And how good she feels.

  Her legs grip around my back, and I keep pushing, keep trying to go in as deep as I can. Until I can stop the incessant want and need of this girl. But, it’ll never end. I have a feeling I’ll keep wanting her more and more after each time.

  I lean my forehead against hers, our lips a millimeter apart, and whisper her name again and again.

  Her eyes crash into mine, owning me. Completely fucking owning me. My orgasm rips through me as she tells me how she’s never had it so good. My heart beat ramps up, and I know in this exact moment, I am completely fucked over this girl.

  Chapter 10

  Zoe

  The next morning, I sleep in. And it’s heaven in this big comfy bed with thoughts of Graham swimming in my head. Sounds like a Christmas rhyme. What happens next, is exactly what’s in the poem. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

  I look out the window and this can’t be happening. I mean this really can’t be happening. What the Hell? Eleanor has a thingy, an actual wedding thingy, assembled in their backyard. An arch, with white flowers snaking around the frame of the trellis. The only thing missing is the wedding officiant underneath.

  I get dressed in a hurry and fly down the stairs.

  “What do you think?” she asks as I step outside.

  “What is it?” I rub my hands along my arms to warm up.

  “Well…” she draws out, “I was thinking why not have the wedding here and now while the family is all together?”

  She can’t be serious. I grasp at straws. “I’d want my mother here, so I don’t think that’ll work.”

  At that precise moment, Graham steps outside, and like a saint has my winter coat in his hands. He helps slide it over my arms, and then smiles at his mother. “What is this?”

  “A wedding. It’s already decided,” his mother exclaims, nodding at me.

  My mind can’t comprehend all of this. I glance over at the deer-in-the-headlights look Graham has on his face, waiting for him to step in and explain everything. Or to come up with an excuse as to why we can’t get married this weekend.

  He doesn’t. Instead, he strides over confidently to his mother, places a kiss on the top of her head, says, ‘perfect,’ then walks back inside the house.

  What the…? Men.

  I turn back around to face Eleanor and try to lift my lips. “I love it.”

  Ugh, I guess I’ll play along until Graham tells everyone the truth, preferably before my mother shows up.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do, Zoe.”

  Oh my god. My mother. She’s here. I blink to make sure the petite woman with a dark bob stepping onto the patio isn’t a hallucination. It’s not.

  I can tell by the tone of her voice she’s not happy. And why should she be? Her only daughter didn’t even tell her she was getting married.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” Eleanor says with a smile, moving around us to go inside.

  “Zoe, you’re marrying Graham Steele?” my mom asks, once we’re alone. “I searched him on the internet. How did you end up engaged to a man like that?”

  “Mom, it’s a long story. It all just sort of happened.”

  I know this is so wrong, and I’m probably going to Hell, but I’m actually beginning to like the lie. I’m kind of believing it too. Just like the kid says in that movie, ‘Oh fudge.’ I decide to sit on my throne of lies a little longer. “I’ll explain everything later. Let’s go inside; it’s cold.”

  We step inside to find Eleanor and Lindsey sitting on the couch with a million bridal magazines. Graham is nowhere in sight. And I’m not in the mood to plan a wedding I’ll never get to enjoy. A wedding to a man who doesn’t truly want me. I think it’s this thought that depresses me further.

  But, then I remember our deal and plaster on a fake smile, because, let’s be honest...the only way to put on a fake smile is to plaster it on. Right?

  I move closer, feigning interest. “Are you looking at dresses?”

  “Yes, and this one would look so perfect on you,” Lindsey says, pointing to a form fitting gown with a low back. “Mother knows the owner of Fantasy Dresses, Pierre Von Ludwig. Yes, the Pierre Von Ludwig. And he’s coming...here...today.” Her voice rises on each word.

  Eleanor taps away on her phone. “Yes, what’s your dress size? I’m texting him now.”

  I tell her my dress size, and then sit on the red wingback chair before my legs give out. Pierre is a legend in the wedding arena. Well, in the famous socialite wedding arena. He designs all the top dresses of all the top brides. Ugh, put it this way, I’m so out of my freaking league here.

  There’s no way Graham will let this happen. I just need to pretend u
ntil he reappears to fix this.

  A few hours later, it’s not fixed, and I stand in the middle of my room, wrapped all in white, looking like a bridal nightmare. That’s basically what I’m in right now. A nightmare.

  This just doesn’t feel right anymore.

  Flutes of champagne are passed around as everyone waits to see me in the dress Pierre has brought over. Pierre has basically brought the whole store with him. He says it’s because this will be the event of the century because I’m marrying one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. And I haven’t even been able to find that most eligible bachelor anywhere, let alone talk to him.

  Hopefully he’s planning our escape.

  I close my eyes and count to ten, taking a deep breath for good measure.

  It’s like a fairy tale gone rogue. How do I say I love the dresses and not actually have them purchase one?

  Lindsey and Eleanor sit like jurors in the high back chairs waiting to judge me in the next greatest creation of Pierre’s. And somehow, Trudy has managed to weasel her way in to this fashion show. She looks disgustingly pleased with the way each dress isn’t the right one.

  “You look like a giant snowball,” my mom says in regard to the silk organza mess of madness that I can’t even figure out how to sit in.

  Lindsey laughs a little, and Eleanor gives a dismissive shake of her head. “That’s not the one,” she says.

  Pierre prances over to his portable rack. “I have another.”

  Of course, he does. This is more than a ‘few’ dresses. I’m on my fifth fiasco. Each one more extravagant than the one before. If this were my real wedding, I’d want something simple and elegant, not full and frilly. But, no one listens to me.

  I step inside the bathroom with my mom as he hands me another dress.

  After mom zips me up, I study myself in the mirror of this makeshift dressing room. I twist and turn, admiring the dress from all angles. This dress is kind of perfect. It’s classy, with art deco beadwork on the bodice. Sometimes less is more, and the drop back ends in a tasteful v.