“They must be proud of you.” Zoey nudged his stomach with her toe. “You’ve done so well.”
“Have I?” he wondered quietly. “I’m not so sure sometimes.”
Leaning over, he brushed the hair from her eyes, those same tendrils that always got stuck in between her nose and her glasses. Finally letting his gaze drift over her features, Graham didn’t try to hide how mesmerized he was by her.
“I should have kissed you in the ice cave,” he murmured.
“Mmm. You should have kissed me on the boat.”
“Yeah, but that would have been a cliché.” His lips curved with affection for this woman, an affection he never expected to have. “Pretty much the same as a first kiss in the bed of a guy’s pickup truck.”
“First kiss? I remember a kiss on the beach, mister.”
“You kissed me. I didn’t kiss you. And upside down first kisses don’t count. We could work on that if you were interested.” Graham waited patiently, giving her the chance to decide what she wanted. When she scooted in, his breath caught in his chest, his stomach tightening.
“Oh really?”
Lips mere centimeters from hers, he nodded. “Really.”
“Did you ever see Lady and the Tramp?”
“I’m not rolling a Hot Pocket toward you with my nose,” Graham said, voice husky with desire. “My nose isn’t clean.”
“You’re not making the best case for yourself,” Zoey observed, but her eyes had started to close as she leaned into his touch.
“I’ll work on making a better one.”
“Oh, look! Graham, I think I can see—”
Then he kissed her, beneath what wasn’t even a hint of the northern lights, threading his fingers into her hair and drawing her close.
Slender hands traced up his chest, and he wondered if she could feel his racing heart. This one had stolen his heart: hook, line, and sinker.
“You taste like Hot Pockets.”
Smiling against her lips, Graham kissed her again. He’d take whatever advantage he could get.
* * *
They’d eaten her picnic and listened to a bubbling brook until Graham’s bladder protested the torture. But he wouldn’t have moved for anything, not with Zoey leaning against his chest, curled up in his arms as they stared up at the sky. One kiss had turned to two, then to more, but he almost liked this most. Having her resting against him, a quiet companion drinking in the beauty of the place he loved.
“You know, Zoey,” he murmured into her ear. “There’s a scene in The Last of the Mohicans where—”
“Book or movie?”
“Does it matter?”
Zoey nodded emphatically. “It definitely matters.”
“Movie. I couldn’t make it through the book. Too boring.”
“You don’t stop reading a classic because it’s boring,” she argued.
“Maybe you don’t stop reading a classic because it’s boring. I do it all the time.”
“Was there a point?”
“I’m getting to it.” Inhaling the scent of her hair, Graham rested his chin against her shoulder, then placed a single kiss to the side of her neck. “There’s this scene in The Last of the Mohicans.”
“Is it a good scene?”
“It’s the best scene. They’re sitting like this, and he’s holding her, like this.” Graham wrapped his arm across her chest, his hand covering her stomach. “And then she’s dramatically craning her head off to the side while he stares into the distance.”
“Like this?” Giggling, Zoey tried to stretch her neck out, head tipped.
“Almost, but I think there was more postcoital, heaving bosom action.”
She heaved as best she could.
Graham squeezed her into a hug, resting his chin on her head. “Good try, but you look like you’re having an asthma attack.”
“No, I’m sexy. I promise.”
She was more than sexy. She was perfect. And like a bad karaoke song with interpretive dance, she was one hundred percent real.
“Hey, Zoey? How many more days?”
“Seven,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his own. Graham held her tighter, and when her smile slipped, he found it again with soft kisses and gentle teasing. But inside, Graham knew the truth, and he knew why this was a terrible idea.
A week would never be enough.
Chapter 12
The line for the Tourist Trap started early. Zoey knew Graham didn’t open for lunch until eleven, but when she drove through town at half after ten, she couldn’t resist going past.
To her shock, the line was a solid twenty people deep already. Zoey parked behind the building next to Graham’s truck because there wasn’t much room in the parking lot, then she pulled out her phone. Fiddling with it to try to get at least one bar of reception, Zoey stood in the back of a growing line. On the third attempt, her call finally went through.
“Hey, darlin’,” Graham greeted her in his lazy drawl. He sounded sleepy, which was to be expected. They hadn’t come back from their picnic until almost dawn. “Tell me you’re coming to save me from the masses.”
“Technically, I’m part of the masses. This is nuts, Graham.”
“You’re outside?”
“And way back in line. I was just coming by to say hi, but…” Zoey looked at the line, already shifting and grumbling to themselves. “They seem to be an aggressive group today. Might not be the best idea to get in the way of these people.”
“Just cut the line. I’m at the door.”
Easier said than done. With every “excuse me,” “sorry,” and promise she wasn’t actually cutting line, the looks grew meaner. When she reached the front of the line, Zoey found a man with legs braced outward glaring her down with the determination of one who wanted lunch and would be getting it. The door swung open, and in that moment, Zoey worried as much for Graham’s safety as she worried for her own. She was already regretting this idea.
“Just her,” Graham told the crowd in a deep, authoritative voice. “We open at eleven. Back off, man.”
Graham stepped forward, his sheer size and hard frown forcing the belligerent crowd to give way. Zoey squeezed in the space between his rib cage and the door, grateful for his bulk between her and the angry muttering accompanying her entrance.
“Wow. I knew your place was popular, but this is ridiculous.”
“That’s what I keep saying.” Turning the dead bolt on the front door, Graham pulled a shade down so they were out of view of prying eyes. Then he turned, leaning a shoulder against the door, arms folded over his chest.
“Hey.” One single word and those warm eyes sliding over her was all it took to roll a shiver of anticipation down Zoey’s spine. “What’s the plan today?”
That was a normal question. There was no reason to feel like this, except for the fact Graham was standing close, voice lowered and attention completely on her.
“I didn’t plan anything. Today was supposed to be an unscheduled spontaneous adventure day.”
“Tell me you have unscheduled spontaneity written in your planner.”
“Maybe…probably.”
Graham was extremely handsome, but somehow just standing there, gazing down at her, reaching over and tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, he was the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Momentarily overwhelmed, Zoey took a step back, retreating to the safety of somewhere not within arm’s reach.
Just because they’d kissed the night before didn’t mean Graham wanted her to launch herself at him in the middle of the morning with a mass of hangry customers outside.
It wasn’t so much like being hunted as there was an invisible rope between them. Zoey moving back meant he was going to follow. And she was fairly certain if he had gone a different direction, she would be following him. When Zoey’s
hips bumped the table, it occurred to her that she may have deliberately lured him somewhere she could shove him down and have her way with him.
This morning was becoming increasingly confusing.
“What do I owe the pleasure of your company, darlin’?”
“I wanted to make out with you.”
Had that actually slipped out? Zoey tried to cover her slip-up with a laugh. What came out was a strained little squeak.
“You didn’t mean to say that.” Graham shifted in closer, thumb tracing the curve of her jaw with the lightest touch.
“Nope. I think. I have no idea. I accidentally probably meant to say it.”
A smile curved his lips, a softer, far sexier smile than she had ever seen him give. Graham’s eyes searched hers, his voice low and husky. “If you did mean it, you should know I’ve been thinking the same thing since last night.”
Did she mean it? “Umm, I actually had a legitimate reason for bothering you at work…I think.”
Warm breath brushed the rim of her ear. “Trust me. You are all the excuse I need to be bothered at work.”
Oh, screw it.
Graham was a lot taller than she was, but when she pulled him down to her, the height difference wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d expected. Especially when Graham wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her up to her toes.
Last night had been soft, sweet, the slow burn kind of kiss that had made her heart flutter and her defenses weaken. This kiss burned her alive.
Twisting in place, Graham sat back on the edge of the booth’s bench, hauling her into his lap.
“We still good?” he asked, placing warm, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.
“As long as you stop talking,” Zoey promised.
His voice softened, emotions she couldn’t read flickering across his features. “Whatever you want, gorgeous.” He gazed down at her, eyes flickering from her own, then down to her lips. Shivering in anticipation, she leaned in, but still Graham held back, his mouth centimeters from hers.
As if counting. Deciding. One. Two.
With a groan, he kissed her before she reached three.
Keeping her hands off him was impossible. Every inch of his neck, his chest, his arms was wrapped in rock hard muscle, softened only by the worn white T-shirt between them. He smelled like bread, because he always smelled like bread, but also of shampoo and deodorant. Every time her palms slid over his chest, down his stomach, across his sides, the muscles beneath her hands would flex as if subconsciously trying to impress her. But when her fingernails dug into his shoulders, that strong body shivered beneath her hands, pressing into her touch.
Even as desire tried to wipe out every coherent thought from her, it occurred to Zoey maybe Graham was as starved for human contact as she was.
“This is a lot better way to start my day than coffee,” Graham murmured. Unlike her wandering hands, his had stayed firmly glued to her hips, but his eyes were drinking her in.
Zoey knew it the instant Graham’s control cracked, because it was the instant after her own did. Moaning in appreciation of his hard body against hers, Zoey wrapped her arms around his neck, plastering herself all over him. With a jerk of his hands, he hauled her tight to him, mouth slanting over hers. That slow burn between them flaring hotter with every breath they couldn’t catch.
A bang on the door jolted her back to the present, causing her to jerk in his arms.
“Shh,” he murmured when she started to turn around. “Ignore them.”
“It’s past eleven. They’re breaking down the door.”
“You’re breaking me.” He carefully pushed her glasses back in place on her nose. “Two more minutes.”
“One more minute.”
“Okay, Zo. Just one.”
The things this man could do with a single minute…especially when that minute turned to four and a half.
“We know you’re in there!”
“Then you should know I’m busy!” Graham growled back.
Biting her lip failed to hide her mirth. With a groan of defeat, he rested his forehead to her chest. The same hands that had traced fiery patterns over her skin now wrapped around her like she was a teddy bear.
“Why me?” he groaned. “Why can’t they just leave me in peace?”
“Because then you’d be unemployed like me,” Zoey joked, sliding off his lap. “All right, handsome. Time to earn a living. You already played hooky enough this week.”
“You’re unemployed? And yet able to jaunt off to a vacation of a lifetime?”
“Jaunting off to the vacation of a lifetime is the reason I’m currently unemployed.” Zoey offered him a wry look. “They promised the vacation time and then went back on it. They said if I left, I wouldn’t have a job to come back to.”
“And you left.”
“They pay me,” Zoey told Graham, going up on her toes to press a kiss to his strong, stubbly jaw. “They don’t own me.”
“You’ve got balls of steel, darlin’.” He walked her to the door, then caught her hand. “Hey, Zoey. A friend of mine is in town. Want to have a late lunch with us after I close?”
Did he just ask her on a date? Lunch with someone else didn’t count as a date, right? Because Zoey was ready for an actual date with him. To see where this could—
Nowhere. This could go nowhere.
“Uh-oh. What did I say wrong?” Focused on her, Graham didn’t miss her hesitation.
“Nothing,” Zoey promised. “I’d love to. When and where?”
“I’ll meet you at the resort at two thirty.” With a quick kiss to her temple, Graham opened the door, letting the line trample past them first so she could slip out unharmed. “Poor schmuck has to stay there too.”
* * *
The first time Graham met Jackson Shaw, he’d punched him in the face.
Maybe they’d only been in kindergarten, but to this day, Graham maintained Jackson had it coming.
As an only child, he’d never learned to share well. Take a Barnett’s Transformers sticker at your own risk.
In the years since kindergarten, Graham’s relationship with the son of the resort owners had been far more positive, even if the face punching had sort of become their thing. So when he heard Jackson was back in town, the first thing Graham always did was hop in his truck and drive up to the big house to see him.
The fact that gave him an excuse to see Zoey was only an added bonus.
She was waiting for him near the gift shop, staring longingly at the jewelry displayed in the window while resolutely ignoring the brochure dude edging toward her.
“Diego.” Graham nodded in greeting to the other Moose Springs local before stepping up behind Zoey and wrapping his arm around her waist.
“What are we drooling over?” he asked her, pressing a kiss to the rim of her ear, knowing his breath would tickle her neck. Graham liked knowing that. He wanted to know more, every little bit of information he could about her. Including what had her gazing so intently through the glass. “Is it the earrings?”
“No, although those are pretty. Stupid expensive though. Do you see that piece of old newspaper they’re using as decoration in the display? That’s from the 1920s, Graham. It’s almost a hundred years old. It should be in a museum.”
“No one goes to the Moose Springs Museum. It smells like formaldehyde.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s in the same building as the taxidermist.”
“You’re lying,” she accused, but Zoey was giggling as she turned around and stepped out of his arms.
Graham opened his mouth to proclaim his innocence, but then he saw stars. Everything blurred for a moment, but as he staggered back, he could hear Zoey yelling.
“Hey! Get off him!”
Vision clearing, Graham saw who had sucker punched him. Jax always
could get the jump on him. But Zoey had planted herself between them, hands up and stance ready, like she was prepared to kick Jax’s head off.
Someone had taught this girl some serious self-defense, because Graham was still working his jaw, trying to keep his feet, when Jax moved in for the hug that always followed their ritual greeting. Zoey, his tiny slip of a perfect person, grabbed Jax by the wrist and did some sort of Jedi thumb trick thing that had him yelping in pain and jumping backward.
“Trust me, buddy, I have had a long morning, and I’m not in the mood to watch a friend get attacked. So back off or I will go full spider monkey on your ass. Security!”
Her only weapon was a worn water bottle, but she brandished that sucker like a broadsword, braced and ready.
Grinning, Graham stepped behind her, draping his arm around her collarbone and pulling her shoulders back into his chest.
“Jax, this is Zoey. She’s cute, right?”
“She’s mean. I think she broke my thumb.”
When Zoey twisted her face around to look at him, Graham caught a glimpse of actual concern in her eyes. Graham rested his chin on the top of her head, hugging her tighter to him. “You’re not mean. He’s a baby.”
“He hit you.”
“It was his turn.”
“That makes no sense at all.”
Groaning, Zoey leaned back into him, just a little. The smallest of actions, just an involuntary need to take shelter from a stressful situation, but Graham liked her leaning into him for comfort.
“Mr. Shaw?” A blond, curly-haired hotel worker with massive eyes stared at them in concern. “Are you all right? Do you want us to escort Ms. Caldwell off the grounds?”
Zoey’s own eyes went wide with horror, even if not nearly as big as the blond’s eyes. “No, Quinn. I was just…argh.”
“Naw, it’s fine,” Jackson promised. “Graham’s taste in women has always been off.”
The Tourist Attraction (Moose Springs, Alaska) Page 21