His Pawn

by Emily Snow

  “Senator Delaney?” I murmur, placing my hands flat on the dashboard as if to steady myself for whatever he’s about to tell me.

  “I’m not sorry for going to extremes to get what I want.” Cocking his head to the side, he smiles wryly. “After all, didn’t you do the same when you agreed to our arrangement?”

  Raking my hands through my black hair, I let out an angry cry. “Are you kidding?” When his face remains remarkably calm, I grab him by the collar. One of the buttons pops off, tumbling to the floor, but he never breaks eye contact with me. “I agreed to our arrangement because you went to extremes to begin with! You told Chad I was taking an internship with the representative from Delaware. I don’t even know who the hell that is! And you—you knew nothing about me when you did it. What kind of … person … does that to someone they don’t know?”

  “A man who decides he wants a woman the second he sees her.”

  “You’re a psycho!” My head spins, so I clamp my eyes shut until the space around me stops whirling. I draw in a shallow breath. “Did you plan it like this from the beginning?”

  When I open my eyes, I find him staring back at me. The edges of his lips twist, but then his brow creases. Whatever he was about to tell me is forgotten as he drawls, “Fuck, you’re beautiful when your angry, Elle. Beautiful and vicious and mine.”

  I seethe. “Why would you want someone who doesn’t desire you back?”

  A smile breaks his bronze face. He rubs his thumb over the backs of my fingers clutching his shirt. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met, and I’ve met enough to fill hell a couple times.” Moving his hand to the back of my head, he buries his fingers in my hair. “I’ve felt your body, Elle. I’ve listened to you stutter through the flood of bullshit excuses you give yourself.”

  He pulls my mouth so close to his I feel the stubble on his chin and the flow of his breathing on my skin. My breath is shattered by the painful reality of my situation—I really do desire this man, this corrupt creature I know nothing about.

  Even betrayal hadn’t changed that, and I hate myself for that. Hate myself for being drawn to a man like Graham Delaney.

  Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “What if you’re wrong about me and there’s no going back now that I know you’ve fooled me?”

  “Have you gone back to work at 202?”

  “No,” I say, although Janelle has called me a few times since I last spoke to her. I lick my lips, and his tongue clashes with mine. When I inadvertently lean in for more, he chuckles, drawing me away from him by my hair. “What does me not going back to 202 have to do with anything?”

  “Have you gone to your school to try to get the money I paid back?”

  “Where are you going with this?” At his stern expression, I swish my head from side to side. “No, I haven’t. Because it’s Christmas break. I know you don’t understand that.”

  “I understand Christmas,” he says pleasantly, “it’s just not a happy time for me and I’d rather spend my holiday working.”

  It’s meant to be a joke, but there’s an edge to his voice that reaches inside me, grasping my ribcage and twisting my heart. “Graham, what happened to—”

  “We’re talking about you, Ms. Courtney, not me.” He smirks, and I swallow hard at the flash of emotion in his dark eyes. For the first time, it’s not smugness or irritation but something else. “So because it’s Christmas, I’m willing to discuss the terms of our agreement. Now, run back to Daddy and his camera crew and as soon as you’re done, get some rest. Tomorrow night you’ll come to my place. Nine sharp. The doorman will be expecting you as Ms. Sutton.”

  Wondering why he’s not demanding I come to his condo tonight, I nibble on the inside of my bottom lip. “And the terms we’re discussing—is it because you realize you’re wrong about me?”

  “But I’m not wrong about you.”

  “And what if I don’t come?”

  Tightening his grip on my hair, he trails his mouth down the column of my throat before tilting my gaze to look directly into his dark eyes. I gasp for air. “I’ll see you at nine tomorrow night.”

  After my volunteer work is complete, and my dad gives me another ultimatum about Christmas, my plan is to lock myself in my apartment for at least twenty-four hours. For the first half of the next day, Dad calls me back to back, but after the ninth or tenth time when I send his call straight to voicemail, he takes the hint. Despite talking to my brother and grandparents on the phone, this is the first Christmas I’ve ever spent alone. After what had happened Thanksgiving, it’s admittedly a welcome change—one that gives me plenty of time to make up my mind about Graham.

  When I finally venture into the outside world around eight o’clock, it’s not to crawl back to Senator Sexy-Ass but for sustenance.

  I’m starving.

  And I’ve decided that Graham can screw off.

  Blake calls while I’m driving. “You answered too fast. You didn’t spend the day by yourself, did you?” she complains. When I tell her that I had a very enjoyable Christmas with Bear Grylls, she snorts. “You should have just stayed in New York. Then you could have come home with me, to Boston. I would’ve loved having you here!”

  “I wish. My job with Mitchell Kyler doesn’t start until Friday, and I spent way too much money flying home from New York after what happened with that dick—” I cut myself off, mentally slapping the hell out of myself for telling her so much. Blake releases a noise that lets me know I’ve piqued her curiosity.

  “Ahh ... so you did come because of a guy?”

  “It was—” Desperately, I search my brain for a way to clean up the mess I’ve made. Sighing, I shrug. I opened myself up to her questions. The least I can do is be honest with my closest friend. “The reason I was there was business. I made a deal with someone, but it fell through.”

  “What kind of deal required you to go to New York only to leave a few hours later?”

  Inhaling deeply, I park my Fusion in the lot across the street from my favorite sushi restaurant. “The sexual kind,” I admit sheepishly.

  Blake makes a choking noise. “Fucking A, no wonder you looked at Colton like he was an ant! First the Bathroom Bandit and now business booty calls in New York?” Then she gasps dramatically like she’s just made the biggest breakthrough of her life. “It’s the same guy, isn’t it? And don’t you dare sugarcoat things!”

  Tapping my nails on the steering wheel, I give her the CliffsNotes version of my arrangement with Graham, leaving out his name and the fact he’s a senator. When I’m finished, she squeals. “I always miss the good stuff when I leave town! You’re all Julia Roberts-ing it up with some hot older guy, and I’m over here shoving more cake in my mouth. Why didn’t you just tell me what was going on the other day?”

  I roll my eyes, but it’s not hard to picture my petite blonde friend eating cake and swooning because she’s imagining every pivotal Pretty Woman scene with me as the leading lady. “Because he screwed me over. It’s over between us. As soon as I’m able to, I plan to get his money back so I won’t ever have to see him again.”

  Except for when I flip through channels. Or when his devilishly handsome face is on the front page of newspapers. Or if we happen to run into each other again while I’m having lunch with my mother.

  Damn. There really is no escaping Graham Delaney.

  “Aw, don’t be like that!” Blake pouts. “At least hear what the man has to say. Plus, you can kind of look at him getting you sacked from 202 in a positive way, you know?”

  I frown. “And that positive ray of light would be?”

  “Well, working at 202 would have given you enough to pay tuition, but what about other expenses? Now, all the money you earn working for Wes’s crazy dad can cover everything else.”

  Leave it to Blake to find the sweet spot in every bad situation. “Is this you reminding me that my part of the rent is due at the end of the month?”

  “No, but this is a roommate service announcement for you to
remember to be rational. Obviously, you’re attracted to the guy—no amount of money would have made you say yes to getting felt up in a bathroom if you weren’t—so go with it. When it’s all over, and you both have what you want, then you move on.”

  Remembering my chance encounter with Graham in the pink bathroom at Monroe’s while my mother and brother waited for me in the dining room, I twist my lips skeptically. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “It is.” She yells at someone in the background before groaning. “I better go. We’re about to do the white elephant gift exchange, and apparently, they can’t start without me. Just remember, think with your head and not your heart. You’ve got this, Elle.”

  Easier said than done.

  SEVENTEEN

  ELLE

  When I discover that the Mediterranean bistro I planned to eat at closed an hour ago, I go to another familiar spot. 202. Chad and staff have gone all out for Christmas—there’s a massive artificial tree sparkling with multicolored lights and glass balls by the bar and LED snowflakes dangle from the ceiling beams. And then there’s the music. During my week working here, I got used to Chad’s affinity for the Easy Listening station on Pandora, but Sam Smith serenades me with “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” as the hostess leads me to one of the only seats left.

  “I figured this place would be empty,” I murmur, and she lifts an eyebrow as she hands me the menu.

  “It’s been crazy all day, just like on Thanksgiving.” The bell on the door rattles, and she glances over her shoulder at the big group shuffling in out of the cold. “And it looks like it just got a lot crazier. Your waitress will be with you soon.”

  “Thanks.” Shrugging out of my coat, I start to skim the menu but then my phone vibrates on the table. I suck in my cheeks when I read over the message.

  Graham Delaney: I’ll see you in half an hour.

  His wording makes the muscles in my shoulders tighten. He’s not even asking if he’ll see me in thirty minutes, he’s just assuming I’ll show up. He probably supposes I’ve thought of him nonstop since last night. And if he does think that, he’s right. The asshole.

  I’m about to text him back but a voice calls my name, pausing me. I place my phone facedown and smile at the woman approaching me. “Merry Christmas!”

  “You too.” Janelle stops by the table, tilting her head to one side so that the white puff on the Santa hat she’s wearing brushes her shoulder. “I’m surprised you’re not celebrating with your family tonight.”

  Grabbing the pepper shaker, I shift it between my hands. “I saw them earlier.” It’s not exactly a lie. I did see them—twenty-four hours ago. “What about you?”

  “I spent the morning with them in Baltimore but I wasn’t going to miss the rush here tonight. The tips are too good and my car payment is due in a couple weeks.” She reaches into her apron pocket for her pen and pad. “You wouldn’t understand, I guess.”

  Although she’s still smiling, and I don’t think that’s sarcasm in her voice, my head flinches back slightly. “What?”

  “Um … because of your dad.” She laughs and shrugs. “I just meant it must be nice to be a Courtney, that’s all. Your dad’s probably the first to know about internships like the one you got, and then you’re friends with people like Senator Delaney so—”

  At the mention of Graham, my stomach hardens. It no longer matters she’s suggesting my father helped me score an internship—which I don’t even have because Graham made it up—but that she’s connecting me to him now. “I’m not friends with Senator Delaney. I don’t even know him.”

  “But I figured since he told Chad about your new job that—”

  “No.” Damn, my voice is harsh. Too defensive. I struggle not to grind my teeth, somehow working my mouth into a pleasant smile instead. “He knows my father from work, but I’ve only spoken to him once or twice.”

  Her reddish brown eyebrows arch so high they almost touch the white band of her hat. “Oh. Well, if that internship doesn’t work out, you know you’re always welcome back here.”

  If this were two weeks ago, I would have jumped at the chance. I would have volunteered to put on my uniform right now and work the holiday rush. But there’s the job with Mr. Kyler. And this conversation. If things at The Capitol Buzz don’t work out, I can’t see myself back at 202 because Janelle doesn’t look halfway convinced that I’m nothing to Graham.

  I clear my throat and yank my gaze from hers, focusing on the menu. “Thanks. I really appreciate all your help.”

  “Definitely.” She clicks the top of her pen and positions it over her notepad. “Decide what you want yet?”

  I ask for the first item on the sandwich menu—the Ham-ilton, which is a glorified club sandwich—and I release a sigh of relief when she takes off to put in my order. I’m grateful when my food is delivered twenty minutes later by another waitress and that Janelle seems too busy to make time to speak to me again. Especially after Blake sends me a text that almost causes me to choke on my fries.

  Blake Mayer: Did you make it to his place? Are you in his bathroom?! Does he have one of those body jet showers???

  When I text her back that I didn’t, I’m not, and that she should go back to exchanging gifts, she responds a few seconds later.

  Blake Mayer: Exchange is done. Some dick took my gift card and stuck me with a Celine Dion cd. Not a recent one but the one with the Titanic song on it. Be rational about the Bathroom Bandit. It’s easier to hear what he has to say than give his money back.

  While I finish dinner, I try to focus on everything but my current situation, but on the way home, it’s hard not to let Blake’s advice affect me. If this were any other man but Graham, rational would be my middle name. But he’s not just any man. He’s gotten under my skin since the night I first laid eyes on him. One look from him turns me into a blushing, stuttering fool, makes me defensive at the mere mention of his name, and we’ve yet to actually have sex. If we do this for another four and a half months, who the hell knows what will happen or if he’ll betray me again.

  Or worse, if I’ll betray myself.

  Even the thought of falling for Graham leaves a terrible sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach. Stopping at the red light, I focus my attention on the radio to hear Arctic Monkey’s “Do I Wanna Know?”

  I laugh bitterly at the irony.

  I want to know more about Graham Delaney. Enough that I stupidly take the next right turn and head in the opposite direction toward his luxurious condo.

  When he opens his door looking freshly showered with damp, disheveled hair and a designer white T-shirt clinging to his muscular upper body, my emotions ping-pong between lust and exasperation.

  “You’re late,” he growls, but he motions me inside.

  “I was at dinner,” I say, leaving out the part about dinner being at 202. I feel his eyes on my back as I shrug out of my coat, and I struggle to keep my body still when the sound of him locking the door ricochets through me. Coming up behind me, he takes my coat. He traces his finger around the V-neck of my red sweater.

  “No pearls today?”

  Contemplating him over my shoulder, I move my head from side-to-side. “Thought they drove you crazy.” I step away, twisting around once there’s just enough distance between our bodies. I swallow hard at the gleam in his eyes. “Merry Christmas, Graham.”

  Of course, after having just left the crowd and loud holiday music at 202, it doesn’t seem very merry in his apartment. While Blake and I had set up our Charlie Brown tree in our living room a month ago, there’s nothing remotely similar to that—or anything festive at all—in here. No lights, no red and green décor, nothing. And then there’s the fact that he’s alone. On a holiday.

  I guess I could say the same about myself, but something painful wrenches my chest when I think about him spending the day by himself.

  Don’t you dare feel sorry for him, the warning voice in my head snaps. He probably chose to be alone just to count his mi
llions, think of new ways to screw you over and make other people miserable. He’s the living, breathing, sexy version of Scrooge—Capitol Hill edition.

  “Merry Christmas to you, too,” he drawls, tilting his head to the side as he drags his stare over my body. “But mine won’t be very merry until after I’ve fucked you.” He walks toward me. “After I’ve bent you over and taken the only thing I want to unwrap this year.”

  I step backward, but I eventually stop when my back slams into the glass entrance to his balcony. “Do you ever think about anything other than sex?” I lift my chin. “I mean, in your line of work, there has to be something else you think about.”

  “Lowering taxes, rebuilding the military, bringing more jobs to ‘Merica.” When I tug in an agitated breath through my teeth, he sneers. “Need I go on, Ms. Courtney?”

  I wish I could be surprised by his sarcasm, but I’m certain that nothing Graham says or does can shock me anymore. He leans into me. I shove my palm against his chest, which I instantly regret because the sensation of his heartbeat thrumming wildly against my skin takes my breath away. “Do the people who vote for you know what a cynical dick you are?” I whisper in an unsteady voice.

  “And ruin the American dream for them?” He grabs my hands, pinning them above my head, drawing a gasp from me.

  I strain against him, and the pit of my belly flutters. He’s hard everywhere—all lean muscles that flex against my body as I move. I moan and run my tongue over the center of my lips. “What happened to discussing the deal?”

  He bends his head, pressing his mouth to my ear. I breathe in the spicy scent of his cologne, shivering at how good he smells. “I never said we weren’t discussing it, I just wanted you to know I’ll consider my holiday season merry and bright after you’ve gifted me your pussy.”

  Releasing my wrists, he rests one hand on my ass and motions out to the balcony with the other. I look at what he’s pointing to. The elegant tan and black chess set I’d noticed when we had dinner is set up on the table.