“That I am,” he chuckles. “We got to the third hole and it just cut loose out of nowhere. I had to ride in the cart back with Lincoln, hence the reason we are wetter than everyone else. He hit every puddle from there to here.”
Laughing, I notice he’s right. He’s almost completely soaked whereas most of the others aren’t quite so wet.
“How are things in here?” he asks.
“Things in here are great,” Danielle says, sliding up beside him. “I told her I’ve heard a lot about her.”
“That was nice of you,” Graham says, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.
“We made plans for two weekends from now. So mark that on your calendar, all right?” Danielle asks.
Alison comes up behind me. She must be mouthing something to Graham because I see him watching her over my head. He shakes his head.
“You two are as bad as my brothers,” he groans before turning towards me. “You would think a bright woman like you would’ve stayed away from those two.”
Our conversation is interrupted by Mrs. Landry. “Ladies—and gentlemen, I suppose—it’s time to open gifts.”
Everyone begins to shuffle towards the front, but Graham pulls me to the back and around a corner. There’s a nook there with a shelf that runs along the top of the room. We can hear the other guests down the hall, but there’s no one around.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, my breathing picking up.
His gaze is heated as he stands in front of me. “It’s more than okay.”
Our lips taunt one another, one of us leaning toward the other and then stopping before the other one begins. It’s a dance, a step forward, a step back, pure torture that is this close to falling over the edge.
“Mallory, I . . .”
I drop my chin.
“When I walked in here and saw you in the mix with my family . . .”
Lifting my eyes to his, I see them shine. Something is different with him. I can’t put my finger on it, but it seems like some of the burden he carries is gone.
His green polo shirt makes his eyes look brighter, his hair darker, his smile whiter. More beautiful and handsome than usual.
I tell myself not to. I try to resist. But my hand finds his cheek, and as soon as I touch him, he rewards me with a smile.
“Will you stay with me after the wedding?” he asks quietly.
“But—”
“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to remind me of our conversation at the house and probably reiterate all the things I said to you. But stay with me, Mallory. Please.”
I can say no. It’s on the tip of my tongue. But instead of just giving in to him, going along with the look in his eye because I have no other choice, I realize . . . I do have a choice.
Studying his features, I let myself pause. Gazing in his eyes, feeling the energy rippling between us, I know my answer and it’s because it’s what I want—not because it’s what he wants.
“Yes, Graham,” I say. “I’ll stay with you.”
His lips find mine in a kiss that has nothing to do with sex, nothing to do with being in an alcove away from his family. And that says more than any words ever could.
Mallory
“THANK YOU,” I SAY, HANDING a man in a tux my keys. He looks at my car and crinkles his face. “It’s just a few takeout bags. Don’t pretend yours doesn’t look like that.”
“Whatever you say,” he grumbles, climbing into the driver’s seat.
If today was any other day, I would rip him a new one for implying I’m less than a vision of cleanliness. Maybe I am. That’s not the point. The point is only assholes point it out.