As he got in his car, the front door slammed shut. And Graham let his hands shake, as they’d wanted to for the last ten minutes.
He’d seen arrogance, and ego in the man’s face, then triumph. But it was what Graham saw last that told him half the battle was already won.
Fear.
Now to tell Kara what had happened, and pray she didn’t lose her shit on him.
CHAPTER
18
It had been a struggle to make the choice to get a babysitter for Zach at the last minute. Especially when she’d spent way more time than she’d anticipated talking to Tasha, and had to brace herself for the inevitable battle that would come along with taking a stand—finally—against Henry and his reign of parental terror. But for tonight, and tonight only, she was going to be frivolous and do it.
Zach had, of course, begged to come along. Knowing she got to see Graham one last time before he left, and Zach didn’t, burned her son’s biscuits. But when she had explained they still had adult things to work out, he’d seen reason and worked on his homework so he could watch an extra movie with the sitter.
Some battles weren’t worth fighting in a ten-year-old’s mind.
She pulled into Graham’s driveway and soothed her nerves along with her skirt front. The dress had a full skirt that wrapped around her legs when she walked, and a tight bodice that she’d worn a sweater over when leaving the apartment . . . because it was almost indecent without one.
Perfect for what she wanted to accomplish now. She’d ditched the sweater the minute she’d pulled out of her apartment’s parking lot.
She knocked on the door, then rang the bell when nothing happened. Not a sound. She rang again, just in case, and waited for two minutes before she heard a muffled thump and a curse. The pause told her Graham was looking out the peephole seconds before the front door flew open.
“Kara!”
He stood there in a towel, dripping wet and covered in nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, held up by one hand fisted in the fabric at his side.
“Well.” She chewed on her lip a moment, giving herself the chance to really take in the whole picture. “And what if I’d been the Avon lady?”
“I wouldn’t have opened the door for the Avon lady. I wouldn’t have opened the door for anyone but you. Get in here.” He reached out with his other hand and pulled her in, shutting the door behind her and kissing her senseless. “God, I missed you.”
“It’s been less than twenty-four hours,” she reminded him, ridiculously pleased. Her fingertip traced down one pec, following the line of a drop of water as it rolled over his smooth skin.
“Sorry, I’m getting you wet.”
“Yes, you are.” Her voice was husky, unintentionally, but he caught the note of lust.
His hand came down to pull at the skirt a little, baring her thigh. “You look gorgeous. Edible, almost.”
“Graham?”
“Hmm?” He busied himself with nuzzling at her neck. The scent of warm, damp male mixed with his body wash and filled her with longing. As his teeth scraped over her tendons, she shivered, and her nipples puckered painfully beneath the bodice.
“This is a new dress.”
“And I’m getting it wet,” he said again, though he didn’t move away from her. Just slid his lips along the underside of her jaw and chin to reach the other side of her neck.
“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not what I was going . . . oh, don’t stop.” He bit gently on her earlobe.
“What?” he whispered. “What were you going to say?”
“Only that . . .” She took a shaky breath. She was the same woman who’d had insane, wild animal sex on his kitchen counter not long ago. She could say this. “Only that, I bought it without trying it on. And as it turns out, it was too tight to wear anything underneath.”
Her skin burned with embarrassment when he froze, taken aback.
“You’re . . .” He cleared his throat, then held her at arm’s length with one hand. “You’re not wearing a bra.”
“Or panties.” She swished the skirt around a little and did her best to look irritated. “The darn thing was too tight to get them on.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” he said dryly. “Shame.”
“I’m assuming you’re also naked under your, uh, outfit.” She dipped a fingertip between the towel and his skin, loving the power she seemed to hold over him. “We’re a matching set.”
“Not yet,” he muttered, pulling and tugging at the zipper behind her. “But we will be.” And with that, he abandoned any pretense of holding the towel in place and used both hands to unzip her dress. The towel fell to their feet, along with the dress as he roughly shoved it down her breasts, over her hips and off to pool around her ankles.
“Matching set,” he said with satisfaction, then gripped her butt and lifted.
“Shoes,” she gasped as he kissed her and walked her over to the couch. “My shoes . . .”