Stiff_A Graves Family Romance

by Kim Linwood

  “She looks up to you.”

  “Yeah, right. Axton maybe, but me and Bran? It’s more like she studies us for ideas on how to drive our parents crazy.” I snort. “She doesn’t know how good she has it as daddy’s little girl. He barely remembers I exist, and he wants to kill Bran half the time.”

  “It might not be that easy to live in the shadow of three older brothers,” Sadie notes. “So, Axton’s the responsible one, Brandon’s the wild child and Danielle is the princess, but who are you? Where does Carter fit in?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, but if I drive us into that ditch you were talking about, can we change the subject again? I wouldn’t mind getting back to something involving the way your legs look in that skirt. I liked that one.”

  “I’m sure you did,” she says, not sounding ready to give up poking at my sore spot. “But, come on, really. I’ve seen you with your siblings and it’s obvious they see you as more than a face on a billboard.”

  I think about it, pressing down on the gas to pull around a couple of slowpokes, before easing back into cruise speed. Tapping the steering wheel for emphasis, I look right at Sadie. “I bought this myself. None of Dad’s money. Nothing I have, my townhouse, my suits, nothing I own has cost Dad a cent since I moved out at eighteen. I’ve fucking worked for all of this.”

  There’s something in her gaze, but I can’t tell if it’s admiration or she just thinks I’m an idiot. Maybe both. “That’s what you have, not who you are. Why is that so important to you?”

  “You try growing up with two brothers and not developing a competitive streak.”

  She laughs, a sound that I could listen to every fucking day of the rest of my life. “You know what I think? That’s a bunch of BS. You’re the glue that holds them together. If you tried to be like Axton, you couldn’t work together. If you were like Brandon, nothing would work at all. So you put on this easygoing face and fill in all the gaps, holding everyone together even if they don’t see it.”

  Fuck, this is getting way too close for comfort. “Do you have any siblings?”

  She raises an eyebrow at my deflection. “No, I think Mom and Dad always wanted more kids, but it never happened. Zoe comes close, though. At least she thinks so. She acts the way I imagine an older sister would.”

  “I’m sure she’s awesome, but it’s not quite the same.” How do I even explain this? “No matter how close you get, it’s not the same as growing up in the same family and having to figure out where you fit. I’m the third boy. Sometimes it’s a struggle to stand out and feel unique, you know?”

  “You aren’t really selling me on this big family idea. Your parents love you the same, right?”

  “I’m sure on some level they do, but it’s impossible not to get measured against each other. On second thought, maybe you’re right. Maybe one kid is enough. I’m pretty sure I can avoid messing one kid up.”

  “Oh! You’re the weed!” She turns to me, her brown eyes wide with sudden understanding.

  “What?”

  “In your tattoo!”

  “You got that from me bitching about my family? And more importantly, I must not have been working hard enough if you had time to memorize my tattoos.”

  “I’m an artist, remember? Spill. I want to hear the story.”

  I’m half tempted to deny it and claim it was just a random choice out of a book, but I sigh and try to figure out how to express what I’d been feeling when I chose it without sounding like a pretentious idiot. “You need to hear the backstory in order for it not to sound totally ridiculous. My mother is… she’s completely obsessed with our yard. It’s so micromanaged that I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew how many blades of grass there are per square foot. Except one year I was mad about something or other—I don’t even remember what, I was only six or seven—and I planted this little seedling in the middle of her fancy stone path down the center of our yard. It wasn’t anything special, just one of those little spinners that end up everywhere. It should’ve been mowed down, or plucked out or just poisoned to death, but it survived, and that year we came back from summer vacation and there was the start of a little tree, right where it shouldn’t have been.”

  “She didn’t just pull it up?”

  I chuckle, remembering how much drama that plant started. “I wouldn’t let her. I threw myself on the ground and slept outside for two days to protect it. Brandon still calls me Treehugger occasionally, but it was worth it, because that tree was everything I wanted to be. Tough, persistent and impossible to ignore.”

  “So what happened?”

  “It’s still there, making a huge mess every fall. She caved in and they landscaped around it. So when I was eighteen, half drunk and flipping through the book at the tattoo parlor, I saw a picture that reminded me of my tree, I worked with the artist and ended up with this.” I pat the spot where my shirt is hiding the tattoo. “My weed.”

  Sadie looks like she’s about to cry.

  “Oh, for fucks sake. It’s just a tattoo.”

  She sniffs and nods. “I like it. It’s good that it means something. Mine just means getting tattoos should be illegal during spring break.”

  “You still haven’t told me where it is. Unlike you, I was a bit too caught up to remember to look for it when I had you naked.”

  She returns her gaze forwards. “Then I’m not telling.”

  “It’s on your ass, isn’t it?”

  “What? No!” Her blush says otherwise.

  “It is!”

  “Well, not exactly. A little higher.”

  “Hah! You’ve got a tramp stamp.”

  She groans and hides her face in her hands. “They were the height of fashion when low rise jeans were hot, okay?”

  “I bet you had your bellybutton pierced too, didn’t you?”

  Her face turns an even deeper shade of red, but she’s saved from more embarrassment when I see the road I was looking for and head off the main route.

  “Where are we going? There’s nothing around here.”

  “Hang on. I know what I’m doing.” The road curves before turning back on itself, taking us higher and higher in a zig zag up the wooded mountain until we run out of pavement and things get bumpy. It’s not too much farther before we’re passing under a gate with a big wrought iron sign that reads, “Carrington Cemetery.”

  Sadie gives me a skeptical look. “You’re taking me on a date to a graveyard? I know I’m in the business, but that’s a little morbid, isn’t it?”

  “Shh. Trust me.”

  “Ooookay.” She doesn’t look convinced.

  “You’ll see.”

  30

  Sadie

  Carter pulls his car onto the patch of dirt and gravel that must pass for a parking lot out here. I’m familiar with most of the cemeteries and graveyards in the area, but I’ve never been up here before. It looks well maintained but old.

  I reach for my door, but Carter’s already out of the car and opening it for me.

  “I can get out of the car on my own, you know.”

  “Humor me, I’m feeling romantic today. You can send me flowers later if you want,” he says with a teasing smirk.

  “You’re feeling romantic so you took me to a cemetery?” Looking around, I have to admit that it’s a pretty spot, but I’m still not convinced.

  He leads me through the gate and we walk along between the headstones. It’s a small cemetery with a chapel that looks like it’s been locked up for years. We head towards the top of a hill at the far end.

  “My family has a plot over there.” He gestures to the side, where a low, iron fence surrounds a section of ground with a mix of smaller, ordinary headstones and a few more impressive statues.

  Surprised, I stop walking. “I knew your grandmother lived in the area, but I didn’t know the connection went deeper than that.”

  “Oh, we go way back, but aside from some distant cousins, there aren’t many of us left. When the business started taking off, my grandparents
moved to be closer to Philly.”

  “So this is what? A tour of the Graves’ graves? That’s… different, and a little ominous.”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “No. It’s just how I knew this place was here and I couldn’t think of anywhere else to surprise you with on short notice. Trust me, it’s not much farther.”

  We get to the top of the rise and walk out onto a recently clipped plain of grass. At the far end, some things are arranged on the ground. As we come closer, I realize it’s a huge picnic basket on a blanket and an easel, holding a large canvas.

  “What the heck?” I drop his hand and walk ahead, but then something other than the weird picnic in the middle of nowhere stops me dead in my tracks.

  Wow.

  The mountain drops off steeply at the edge of the lawn, the slope dotted with trees and boulders until it reaches the main road far below. Beyond it, the whole lake stretches out like a sparkling blue sheet under the afternoon sun. Boats and the occasional Jet Ski cruise back and forth, leaving foamy white trails on its placid surface. From up here, they look like toys. The forest frames the setting, and even Wittville looks picturesque from up here, curled up around a stretch of the lake. It’s a breathtaking view.

  I tear myself away to gesture at the picnic supplies. “Carter, this is beautiful… When were you able to set this up?”

  He holds up his phone. “I made a few calls. We left earlier than I’d planned so I wasn’t sure they could get it ready in time, but thanks to the Graham funeral, my PA knew exactly who to call. Your friend Lena’s a miracle worker.”

  The picnic basket is just the kind you’d expect from a movie. Big, with two lids that open either end. A bottle of my favorite wine sticks out one side. Of course Lena would remember something like that. Next to the easel is a box holding a whole rainbow of paint tubes. My heart melts a little, even as I realize I’m going to be grilled like a fish later about how this date went.

  “I can’t believe you did this.”

  He runs a hand over his hair, looking embarrassed at his own thoughtfulness. It’s adorable, but he probably wouldn’t appreciate me telling him that. “Nice spot, right? Grams and I come up here a few times a year to visit my grandfather’s grave. I know it sounds strange, but I always liked it. It’s quiet. A great place to sit and think for a while after we pay our respects.”

  I run a hand down his arm, acknowledging what he shared. “I’m glad you brought me, and what a coincidence that someone left their painting supplies behind.”

  Carter chuckles. “Must be fate.”

  “Mmhm. Of course it is.”

  “If you won’t let me admire your painting at the office, I thought maybe you’d let me watch you here.”

  “Yikes. No pressure, right? I’m really not that good, besides, do you really want to watch paint dry on a date?”

  “Fortunately,” he says with a grin. “We have plenty of food and wine, not to mention this huge blanket with room for plenty of—”

  “Stretching out?”

  “I hear stretching is good for flexibility.”

  “Maybe you should stretch out now and take a nap while I’m painting. Doing it while being watched is too embarrassing—don’t say it!” I cut him off before he can make the obvious joke.

  “I was just going to say that you won’t even know I’m here.”

  “Yeah, right. You’re probably planning which body part I should paint next.”

  His eyes light up, full of heat and trouble. “Well, now that you mention it…”

  Actually, that’s not a half bad idea. “Okay, I’ll paint, but only if you model.” It’s win-win. He won’t be able to see what I’m doing, and the embarrassment gets shared around. “I could use the practice on body proportions anyway.”

  “Uh, is that your way of warning me that I might end up looking like a deformed Ken doll?”

  “Oh, not a chance. You’ll definitely have all your parts.”

  The laugh that bursts out of him is contagious. I loosen a few buttons on my shirt and kick off my shoes. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Fine.” He pulls off his suit jacket and after a quick look around, starts stripping.

  My mouth drops open in shock. “I was kidding!”

  “I wasn’t.” He winks and starts undoing his belt.

  I look around, but the only sign of life is us and the occasional squirrel. We’re alone, and this place has probably already seen more action today than it does most weeks. Besides, it’s not like I’d be the one getting caught with my pants down. Literally.

  As he strips, I watch with both artistic and personal interest. He’s a beautiful subject, and doesn’t seem to have a shred of concern about parading around completely naked. Not that he has much to be self-conscious about. My mouth goes dry as all the moisture migrates to other areas of my body.

  Carter stands up straight, stretching slowly before arranging himself on the ground. “All right, paint me like one of your French girls.”

  “Why, Kate Winslet, you’re much more…. muscular than I remember.”

  He flexes his six-pack. “Those doors don’t get clung to by themselves, you know. You’ve got to put in the work if you expect to make it to shore.”

  I laugh weakly, distracted by the way his cock bounces as he flexes. He watches me watching him, and his already considerable length grows longer. And thicker. Crap, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Is this alright? Or would you prefer something a little showier?” He wraps a hand around his shaft and gives himself a lazy stroke.

  “No, nope, that’s just fine.” We’re in the shade, but I’m definitely feeling the warmth. “How about you pour me a drink and we get started?”

  “Good idea.”

  Chilled white wine out of an insulated glass isn’t very fancy, but it’s practical, I’m going to have to thank Lena later. I take a sip while Carter gets in position. He stretches out on the blanket, putting his well-toned physique on display in a distractingly attractive pose.

  With a stick of charcoal I sketch out his general shape. There’s no way we have time to really finish something like this today, but if I can get most of it in place, I can finish off the details later.

  Not to mention that it’s nearly time for lunch and I’ll only be able to resist seeing what my friend packed in that basket for so long.

  Once I start, the lines seem to draw themselves. He’s a wonderful subject, and while I know my portrait skills are at best middle of the road, it’s fun to stretch my artistic muscles. Not quite as fun as it would be to trace his, though. I take another sip of wine, mourning the fact that I didn’t have the foresight to find a pose that could include both his back and his front in the same sketch.

  Another time maybe.

  I get lost in my work until my stomach finally rumbles so loudly it makes Carter jump. He half sits up, looking around confused.

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “No.” He shakes his head and then wipes a hand across his face. “Maybe. Fuck, I’m stiff, and not in a good way. How long was I out?”

  Glancing at my phone, I find it’s been nearly an hour. Wow. Good for him it’s warm out today. “Long enough that it’s definitely time for lunch. I have a good start, I think. It’s actually not half bad.”

  He stands up and walks towards me, stretching. “Really?”

  I’m too mesmerized by the sight to react right away, but I grab the canvas in time and shake my head. “Not yet! Food first. I’m starving, remember?” My stomach growls again in agreement.

  For once he doesn’t argue, just settles back down on the blanket and reaches for the basket. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  “Um, aren’t you going to put some clothes on?”

  He grins at me while pulling out a bottle of sparkling water, a loaf of bread and a tray made up with a fancy selection of fruit and cheese. My enthusiasm dips a little. Bread and cheese is fine and all, but I’m hungry.

  “Ah, here we go.
” He pulls out a bag with a couple of long, foil wrapped shapes that open up to reveal meat and cheese stuffed meatball subs.

  “Palermo’s? Remind me to ask Lena to marry me later,” I say with a grateful moan.

  Carter plucks a meatball from the mix and pops it in his mouth. “Hey, now. I’m the one who arranged this whole thing.”

  “Yes, and I love you for it,” I say without thinking, leaning over and kissing a spot of sauce off of his lips.

  He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes warm and I become very aware of how strange it is to be sitting on a picnic blanket with a totally naked man. Strange, but I think I’ll manage.

  I let my eyes trail down the length of him and back up, pausing exactly where you might expect. His expression’s soft, but that’s the only part of him that is. The rest is gorgeous, hard, man.

  “Sooo,” he draws out. “Don’t you feel overdressed?” There’s a definite glint of mischief in his eyes.

  I look up and tilt my head a bit to the side, like I’m considering. “Nope, I think I’m good.”

  “Really?” The skeptical tone in his voice makes me laugh.

  “Yep, just enjoying the view.”

  “Suit yourself, but you’re going to get marinara sauce all over that nice, clean blouse of yours.”

  He’s got a point, though I’m pretty sure he’s not really concerned about my wardrobe. I look around. The grounds are just as empty as they have been. We’re completely alone.

  Carter senses my moment of weakness. “It’s only us. I’ve seen it before, remember? Though the memory is growing dim. I think I need a reminder.”

  I don’t know what’s gotten into me, and I can’t even blame it on the one glass of wine. Maybe I just want him to see me undressed. “Fine.” Drawing a breath, I quickly unbutton my blouse and pull it off, laying it down with the rest of our clothes. I’m left with just my skirt and underwear. Instinctively, I cover my chest with my arms, but then I can’t finish my lunch.

  “Come on, it’s no worse than a bathing suit, is it?”

  Forcing myself to relax, I put down my arms and take another bite of sub.