romance books

G+B Chapter 11: Undeniable

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

The crack of the axe split through the quiet morning. 

Again. And again. And again. 

My fingers tightened around my colored pencil, the tip ripping through the paper. I tore the page out, balled it up, and tossed it aside. It rolled across the kitchen table, joining the rest of the crumpled pages I’d already ripped from my notebook. There had to be at least ten pages now.

I groaned and dropped my head to the kitchen table. 

Graham had been in the front yard since I’d woken, hacking away at log after log, each strike of the axe further chipping away at my resolve. 

Don’t look, Bambi. Do. Not. Look!

I lifted my head from the table anyway and immediately regretted my decision.

Graham stood in the yard, his shirt clinging to sweat-soaked skin as he raised the axe overhead. His forearms flexed as he brought the axe down, splitting the log into two perfect halves.

He propped the axe against the stump, then dragged the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face. The movement bared a stomach that was all hard angles and fluid strength, each block of muscle gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat that caught the light. My traitorous eyes snagged on the deep V disappearing beneath the low waistband of his jeans.

My thighs clenched.

In one smooth motion, he hooked the shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground. He swung the axe again with effortless precision, buried it deep into the splitting block, and exhaled a heavy breath. 

I bit my bottom lip, just barely holding back a whimper.

God, he should not be allowed to be this attractive at nine o’clock in the morning. It’s entirely unfair.

Graham turned, his eyes meeting mine through the window. His chin lifted, one corner of his mouth tugging upward like he knew exactly what he was doing.

He tipped his head toward the front door, silently telling me to come outside.

Shit. Well, now you’ve gone and done it, Bambi.

I slid my chair back from the table, my nerves tying themselves into knots as I walked out the front door. I stopped at the edge of the porch, suddenly too nervous to take the final steps down to the yard.

Graham leaned against the axe, resting an arm across the top of the handle. “You just going to stare all day, Bambi?”

There was a retort ready at the tip of my tongue. I swear there was. But my eyes caught on a bead of sweat trailing from behind his ear and down his neck. I tracked it lower. And lower. Until it settled in the hollow of his throat. 

“Well?” 

My eyes snapped back to his. 

“You wanna give it a go?” 

My eyes flicked to the axe still buried in the stump, then back to him. “You know you can just buy the wood at the store, right?”

“And why would I do that?” he asked, pushing off the axe.

He stepped closer again. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “When I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Graham didn’t look at the trees. Not once. Instead, he held my gaze, and my throat went impossibly dry. 

“Come on,” he laughed. “Give it a try.”

He took my hand and led me down the three steps into the yard. 

He placed a new log on the stump, then moved behind me. His hands settled firm and steady on my shoulders, and he turned me toward the stump. His chest hovered at my back, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of my shirt as if there were nothing separating us at all. 

His hands slid from my shoulders and down my arms until he reached my hands. He covered my hands with his, then guided them to the end of the handle, adjusting my grip. 

“Good,” he said. “Just like that. Now, don’t let go.”

He released my hands and took hold of my waist. 

“Move back just a little.” He eased me backward until my back was pressed firmly against his chest. He leaned in, his voice low but steady. “Feet shoulder-width apart.”

I adjusted my stance, sucking in a sharp breath as my bottom brushed against the front of his jeans and the noticeable ridge beneath. 

His fingers tightened around my waist.

Oh fuck.                                

I slowly turned my head toward him. His eyes were fixed on mine, his gaze darkened and his jaw clenched.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Then he said, “Raise the axe above your head. Follow the line down.”

I faced forward and tried to focus on the instructions he gave, but I was too aware of him to move. His breath at the back of my neck. The solidness of his chest. His hold on my waist. 

“Bambi.” 

I almost jumped at the sound of his voice. 

“Right. Sorry,” I rushed out. 

Graham let go of my waist and stepped to the side.

I lifted the axe above my head and swung. It was heavier than I expected, and my foot slipped, throwing me off balance. 

Graham reacted instantly. His arms locked around my waist, pulling me into his chest.

I braced my hands against him, steadying myself. His heartbeat hammered beneath my palms, his breath coming in short, choppy bursts. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

I glanced back at the stump. The axe had missed the log completely and was lodged in the ground.

“I think I’ll leave the wood chopping to you, though.”

“Yeah. Good idea.”

When our eyes met, his gaze dipped to my lips, lingering there before sliding back to my eyes. 

My mind immediately wandered to last night’s kiss, reigniting the desire I’d been trying so hard to ignore.

I looked away, hoping he couldn’t see the effect he had on me.

“So, lunch?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m starved.”

I swallowed hard. Somehow, I had a feeling he meant for more than food. 

“Great,” I said, my voice coming out more high-pitched than intended.

His hands eased from my waist as though he didn’t want to let me go. When he stepped back, cool air rushed into the space between us, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

I felt his eyes on me as I headed toward the cottage, the weight of his gaze following me across the yard. I told myself not to turn around, but halfway up the porch steps, I paused and glanced behind me. Graham was still standing where I had left him, watching.

I don’t remember him ever openly watching me like this before. A glance here and there, maybe, but never like this—with the sort of heat in his gaze that made me feel like I could melt on the spot. Had our kiss really changed things between us so much, or was I only now noticing what had always been there?

“Let’s go, you big lumberjack.” I turned away and continued inside. 

While I washed my hands at the sink, I heard the front door open and shut. His boots thudded across the floor as he made his way through the living room to stack the chopped wood in the rack by the fireplace. 

I walked to the fridge and peered inside. “How do sandwiches sound?” I called out, grabbing the deli meats and condiments.

When I turned from the fridge, Graham was already standing in front of me. 

“Geez, man, I thought you were still in the living room.”

“Sorry,” he said, his lips quirking upward. He moved past me to pull two plates down from the cabinet. “Sandwiches sound good.” 

We stood side by side at the counter, each layering meat and cheese onto our bread. His elbow brushed my arm as he reached for the mayo. My hip brushed his as I reached for the lettuce. Every point of contact between us sent a spark skittering through my nerves.

“You almost had it, you know,” he said.

“Had what?” I asked, bringing my plate to the table. 

“The log.” He brought his own plate to the table and sat in the chair across from me. “You were pretty damn close.”

“Pfft. Hardly. Did you forget that I buried the axe in the ground instead of the stump or the log?”

“We’ll make a lumberjack out of you yet.”

I arched a brow at him. “Please don’t. The lumberjacking is all you.”

“We’ll see,” he said. “Pass me a napkin?”

“Sure.” I plucked a napkin from the holder and held it out to him. 

His fingers grazed mine.

God, was he doing that on purpose?

“Thanks,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

Yeah, he definitely was. 

“Yep.” I brought my sandwich to my mouth and took a bite.

I focused on chewing. On the table, as if the grain of the wood were suddenly fascinating. Anything to keep myself from looking at Graham across from me. 

Leave it to him to make something as ordinary as lunch feel charged with a few small touches.

He shifted in his seat, his boot bumping mine beneath the table.

My hand stilled, my sandwich halfway to my mouth.

I waited for him to move his foot, but instead, it settled more fully against mine. 

This motherfu–

His foot slid against mine again. 

I bit into my sandwich. More focused on chewing, swallowing, breathing than ever before.

I finally looked up. “Graham.”

“Bambi,” he said coolly, sliding his foot lazily over mine once more. “Problem?”

I held his gaze as I set the rest of my sandwich on my plate. I did not move my foot.

His foot glided over my boot until it reached the back of my calf, then drifted down in an unhurried stroke before doing it again. 

I bit the inside of my cheek, shifting slightly in my seat to alleviate the pressure building between my thighs.

His gaze dipped below the edge of the table for half a second. When he met my eyes again, he wore a barely-there, corner-of-his-mouth, I-know-what-you’re-doing smirk.

Then Graham abruptly pushed his chair back from the table and stood. 

“I’m gonna shower,” he said, stepping away from the table like nothing had happened at all. 

I glared at his back as he disappeared down the hall. 

Fucking. Bastard. 

I exhaled a slow, shaky breath and slumped back in my chair, staring at the empty seat across from me. 

The pipes groaned as the shower turned on down the hall, and my mind, traitorous as ever, supplied me with images I should not have been thinking about. 

I slumped deeper in my chair, pressing my thighs together harder. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered, dragging my hand down my face. 

I slid my chair back from the table and escaped to the living room. I flopped onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. 

Do. Not. Think. About. It. 

In the end, though, my efforts were futile. 

I covered my face with a throw pillow and groaned into it. “Damn it.”

Chapter Twelve →

G+B Chapter 10: PB&J’s and Bonfires

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

I stood in the center of my bedroom, running my fingers over the pink sweater Graham had bought me. My sweater. Not a raggedy old, hand-me-down one full of holes and two sizes too big. 

My very own, very pink, sweater. 

It was the last item from today’s shopping trip that needed to be put away. I held onto it a little longer, wishing I could preserve the feeling it gave me, before setting it inside the drawer. 

I threw on a different sweater, a loose tan one with a wide collar that hung off my shoulder, pulled on some new leggings, and left the bedroom. When I wandered into the living room, Graham was just finishing up his work and was gathering his papers and files together. 

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”

“Give me five, and I’ll get something going.”

“I can do it,” I said. 

He arched a brow at me and cast a worried glanced behind me at the kitchen. 

“I won’t burn it down. I promise.”

A smile pulled at the edges of his lips. “I’m not sure I believe you, but I’m too curious to say no,” he said. 

He started making his way toward the kitchen, but I threw my hands out and pressed them against his chest to stop him. He was solid beneath my palms. It felt like I was trying to push back a brick wall. 

“No, no, no. I got it. Just go and do… whatever it is that you do. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

He wrapped his hands around my wrists, and leaned toward me. For a split second, I thought he might kiss me, and my pulse skipped beneath his fingers. “Fire extinguisher is under the sink,” he said just above a whisper. 

He chuckled, then turned and left me to my own devices. 

“Jerk,” I mumbled under my breath. 

When I was sure he was gone, I got to work. Five minutes later, dinner was on the table. I stood there, hands on my hips, satisfied with my handiwork.

“Graham!” I called out. “Dinner’s ready.”

The door to his office opened a second later.

He made it halfway to the table before abruptly stopping. He looked from the table to me, then back to the table again.

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”

“The best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you’ll ever have,” I said.

Graham was silent for all of five seconds before laughter erupted from him.

I might have been offended if I hadn’t been so caught off guard. 

He was laughing. Genuinely laughing.

I don’t think I’ve seen him laugh like that… well, in forever.

His laugh was rich and deep, the sound of it seeming to vibrate through my whole body. 

I decided then that this… this was something I wanted to hold onto instead. There were a million sweaters in the world, but Graham laughing? That beat sweaters any day. 

Graham’s laughter faded, and when he looked up at me, I noticed something I hadn’t before. I had gotten brief glimpses of it when we were out shopping, but now it was all so clear. 

The constant tension I’d gotten so used to seeing wasn’t there anymore. The tight set of his jaw had softened, and his shoulders no longer looked like they were carrying the weight of the world. There was a lightness to him. To every part of him. 

“What?” he asked, his head cocking to the side. 

I blinked. “What?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

Oh god. I had been staring at him. Heat rushed to my cheeks before I could look away. 

“Never mind,” he said, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he pulled out his chair and sat down. “These look great. PB&J’s were always my favorite.”

“I remember,” I said, taking my seat. “I told you. I remember a lot of things.”

Like how he always wanted a freakish amount of peanut butter on his sandwiches. “The more the better,” he’d always said.

I could see it so clearly. The two of us back then. Sitting at the little kitchen table in the apartment, eating PB&J’s and arguing over whose were better.

It made my heart ache for how things used to be. For what we’d been. 

I looked up from my sandwich, watching as he took a bite of his own, peanut butter smushing out at the sides. 

I smiled. Maybe we weren’t as far from that as I’d thought. Maybe we were already finding our way back. 

After we finished eating, we took our plates to the kitchen. Graham washed them, and I dried them and put them away.

“It’s a nice night,” he said after handing me the last plate. “The sky is clear.”

I glanced out the kitchen window. It was the first time since the blizzard that we had a full view of the night sky. “Yeah.”

“Perfect night for a fire. Join me?”

“Sure,” I said, setting the plate in the cabinet. 

He grabbed the flannel blanket from the back of the couch and headed to the back door. His hand paused on the knob. “Come on.”

The cool night air nipped at my skin as we stepped onto the porch, making goosebumps rise along my arms. Above us, stars glittered against the blue-black sky.

I settled onto the bench in front of the firepit. Graham draped the blanket across my lap before crouching beside the firepit to start the fire. The first flames flickered to life, sparks spiraling upward into the night as the fire crackled and grew.

Once the fire was burning steadily, he lifted the edge of the blanket and slid in beside me.

The bench grew impossibly small beneath his broad frame. His shoulder and thigh pressed against mine, radiating a heat that had nothing to do with fire.

He stretched his arm along the back of the bench, his fingertips grazing the slope of my neck. His arm lowered, his fingers sliding down the curve of my shoulder, his palm settling against my skin. 

I forced myself to stay still, fixing my gaze on the fire, on the way flames curled and twisted into the night. But I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel the weight of hand or the heat of his body beside me, bleeding through the thin fabric of my sweater and leggings. 

“You okay?” Graham asked, looking down at me.

I tried to tell myself that this was no different than when he held me in the shack, in the shower, or in front of the fireplace. 

But it felt different. 

It was different.

Because he wasn’t looking at me the way he had then. Maybe it was the firelight, the way it carved soft shadows along his jaw and made the flames dance in his eyes. Maybe that was why they looked softer, gentler, like there was something in them that hadn’t been there before.

Something that looked an awful lot like… affection. 

“Yeah,” I said, my voice coming our much more breathless than I’d intended.  

Graham’s head lowered, just a fraction, and I forgot how to breathe. 

His eyes held mine, almost searching, and his fingertips pressed more firmly against my skin.

I relaxed in his hold and leaned in toward him. 

His hand lifted, gently cupping my cheek as he lowered his head another inch. Close enough now that I could feel his breath coasting across my lips.

My head tilted back, my eyes falling closed as the faint touch of his lips whispered against mine.

An indescribable warmth unfurled in my chest and spread through every part of me. 

Graham pulled back a fraction, but his hand still rested on my cheek, his thumb softly stroking my skin. 

The arm around me tensed, his fingers pressing harder into my skin, so at odds with the gentle way he was touching my face. It almost seemed like there were two halves of him pulling in opposite directions.

He rested his forehead against mine, his chest rising and falling more quickly than it had been before. I placed my hand on his chest, his heart drumming quickly beneath my palm.

He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, then pulled away just enough that I could see the smallest smile on his face. His other hand came up to cup my cheek, and he pressed his lips to mine again.

This kiss was firmer. More deliberate. It set every nerve in my body on fire.

My fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt. Whether it was to pull him closer or hold on for dear life, I didn’t know. Maybe it was both. Either way, I didn’t want him to stop.

One of his hands slid from my cheek and came to rest at the back of my neck to angle my head just so. His tongue swept along the seam of lips and my lips parted for him on a soft exhale. His tongue brushed against mine as his mouth moved slowly, luxuriously over mine. Like he had all the time in the world and wanted to savor every second of it. 

When we finally broke apart, our breaths were heavy between us.

“What was that for?” I asked, still a little breathless.

Graham slipped his arms around my waist, his hands settling at the small of my back. He closed his eyes and dropped his head, brushing the tip of my nose with his. 

“Everything.”

Everything?

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I knew deep within me that whatever it was, he meant it. 

I leaned into his side and rested my head against his chest. 

Around us, the fire crackled softly, pine branches swished gently in the breeze, and every so often the distant call of an owl drifted through the night.

The fire burned lower and the chill returned to the air.

I shivered and tucked myself a little closer to him.

“Cold?” Graham asked.

“Just a little chilly.”

“Let’s head in, then,” he said. “It’s getting pretty late, too.”

Graham got up first, then helped me to my feet. He took the blanket and draped it around my shoulders. “Come on, my little icicle. Let’s get you inside.” 

“Okay,” I laughed, following behind him. 

 We made our way down the hall and stopped outside Graham’s bedroom door. 

“I never thanked you for today,” I said. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yes. I did. So, thank you. It really meant a lot to me. Anyway… Goodnight, Graham.”

“Night,” he said. 

I turned to head toward my room. 

“Bambi, wait.” His hand shot out, catching my wrist. 

“Yeah?”

He held my gaze and took a single step forward, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. He gently lifted my chin with his other hand and pressed a featherlight kiss to my lips. 

“That’s better,” he said, his lips hovering so close to mine I could feel his words against them. “Goodnight, Bambi.”

He released my wrist and stepped into his room, closing the door softly behind him. 

I stood frozen in the hallway, my cheeks burning.

When I finally managed to get my feet moving again, it felt like I was floating to my room, suspended somewhere between bliss and disbelief. 

If anyone had asked me how I thought today would end, it wouldn’t have been with Graham kissing me.

For four years, I’d thought he didn’t care about me. He’d left, so… I assumed he didn’t. I never believed that he’d share the same feelings for me that I had for him. 

But now, with the touch of his lips still lingering on mine, I knew he did.

Though I still didn’t know why he’d left, and if I let myself dwell on the thought for too long, it still hurt. I hoped that one day he’d share the truth with me. 

For now, though, in this moment, it didn’t matter why. 

Because Graham was here. And he’d kissed me. 

I threw myself backward onto my bed, and covered my face with my hands, fighting the urge to squeal and kick my feet. I blew out a shaky breath, dropped my arms behind my head, and stared at the ceiling, unable to keep myself from grinning like an absolute lovesick fool.

Chapter Eleven →

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