by Queen, Roxy
“Come on,” Audrey says with a wide smile, willing to put our awkward conversation behind us. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
I nod and follow her, noticing other tourists wandering the grounds, including our group. All that’s left is a ruin of brick and stone; everything else is lost to fire and time.
“I wonder how many fireplaces it had,” she asks, gazing up at the crumbling chimneystacks. We stop near the lower steps. Signs warn visitors off the physical building. “Want to try to get closer to the horses?”
“Sure, although they said not to touch them.”
We stick to the outskirts of the house, pausing under a palm tree for shade. The wind blows warm, whipping Audrey’s hair from its twist at the top. I catch a strand and push it over her ear, earning a quick smile. I snatch my hand back quickly and walk away.
This is hard. Too hard.
“Let’s sit on this wall; and maybe, they’ll come closer,” she suggests.
I offer my hand so she can get up on the stone wall. I hop next to her and blurt, “Why is this so weird?”
“Because I’ve seen you naked?” she says, glaring at me behind her ridiculously huge shades. “And you’ve seen me naked and other stuff.”
“I’ve seen a lot of girls naked,” I argue. “It’s not the first time I’ve been through this.” That, of course, is a lie. I’ve hung around with girls I’ve slept with, sure, but not ones I’ve connected to on other, personal levels. Not ones that make me feel like Audrey does.
“Graham, I won’t pretend I’m not attracted to you,” she says. “But I’m also aware my body reacts to you like Pavlov and his bell. That’s just a side effect of the experiment.”
“Good analogy.” I look toward the house and rub my forehead. I finally get the nerve to ask what’s been bothering me. “Are you sure about Dylan?”
“About having sex with him?”
“Yeah.”
“Graham, Dylan is pretty much the reason I finally went to therapy. I don’t want to lose him.” Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why would you even ask that?”
“What if I said I wish you wouldn’t?”
She inhales sharply and grips the wall with both hands. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know. Not exactly,” I laugh darkly. “I know that thinking about you with another man makes me a little crazy. That thinking about you in general makes me a little crazy.”
“Side-effect,” she says in a quiet voice.
I glance over and see that she looks terrified. Moving slowly, I rest my hand on her neck, a spark flares between us. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“I don’t want to let that go.”
“And my being with Dylan will make that happen? What about you? What about your date for the weekend? Do you plan on explaining everything to her?”
“My date? Well, that’s complicated.”
“Of course it is,” she snorts. “You’re not making sense.”
No. I’m not. My brain is fuzzy, and I can smell Audrey’s hair. I want to touch her body. I want to bend her over this wall and fuck her senseless. I want her. But I have no idea what that means or how to go about it. I’m in wild, uncharted territory.
She sighs and rests her hand on top of mine and the feeling of heat intensifies. “This is too much to deal with right now. I can’t even begin to process what you want, if you even want something.”
“I do.” I think. I don’t know. What I do know is I don’t want her fucking Dylan or any other man. Not yet. Not now. I take a chance, pulling her close. I touch my mouth to hers and she doesn’t fight back. Her hands clasp my face and her lips part, opening for me; and it’s as if every pent-up emotion I’ve carried for days pours out into that single moment of contact.
“Shit.” The curse is low, under her breath. She wipes her mouth and jumps down from the wall, trying to get away from me. The horses are closer now and she reaches for her camera stashed in her back pocket. Like nothing transpired between us, she says, “Here they come.”
“Be careful.” I also hop down, chasing her, but also not liking the way the horses are so close. They’re skittish, wild. Much like Audrey.
Five horses trot nearby, engaged in what looks like some sort of game. Two are large, one dark brown, the other almost black. The smaller three are a mix of white and brown.
“What are they doing?” she asks.
“Playing?” I guess; but in an instant, it seems to be something more. The two males butt heads and neigh loudly. “Move back, Audrey. The stallions seem to be fighting for territory. For those three females, the odds aren’t right.”
“They sound good to me,” she says, forehead drawn.
“There can only be one Alpha; stallions have their own herd of mares. One of these guys is poaching.” I wrap my hand around her arm and push her behind my back, closer to the wall. The two stallions rear up and get in a small scuffle, the larger kicking the smaller in the side. The females take off at a run, moving away from danger.
“Oh, my God,” Audrey cries. “Did you see that? He kicked the other one.”
“Yeah,” I say, wary that they’re so close. The other tourists have stopped to watch the fight, cameras flashing. To my relief, the stallions trot toward the open field and the mares.
When I turn back to face, her she says, “That was intense, right?”
“The kiss or the horses?” I ask, not willing to let this go.
Her arms cross over her chest. “The horses.”
We’re not going to resolve this today; that much is true. I have Margaret to deal with; but I take one last stab at my request. “Just think about it, with Dylan. Think about holding out until we get back home.”
“Are you going to hold out?”
I swallow, not wanting to lie to Audrey; but saying no to Margaret is not so easy. “I want more with you.”
“Jesus, Graham.”
“Just —” I start, but the light in Audrey’s eye falls and her jaw drops open.
“Graham!” she shouts. I glance over my shoulder and see the side of a horse, massive and muscular, running straight at me. With both hands, I push Audrey out of the way. That takes away any time I have to brace myself and I’m knocked to the side, straight at the stone wall. Hoof beats echo in my ears, combined with Audrey’s voice. I feel a sharp crack on the back of my skull and everything fades.
*
When I wake, I’m surrounded by a loud, comforting sound. Audrey’s voice muffles against the rumble of an engine. I try to move; but my body feels like stone. So instead, I open my eyes (seems I should have tried this first) and find Audrey’s face hovering over mine, upside down.
“Hey,” she says, brushing back my hair. Trees tops flash overhead.
“Hi.”
Relief and concern are the only expressions on her face. My eyes flutter again when she presses the back of her hand on my forehead. “We should be back at the inn soon.”
I struggle to a sitting position, even though Audrey protests. Lying on my back makes me feel worse, but my head swims when I finally get upright. It only takes a second to find the tender knot on the back of my head and a puffy spot near my eye. “I guess the horse won,” I joke. That’s when I notice a scrape on Audrey’s cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Thanks to you,” she says. We’re riding in the back of an ATV driven by a park ranger. “That horse would’ve crushed me. I’m just hoping you don’t have a concussion.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, just sore.” She won’t look at me, so I know I have to let it all drop for now. She’s right. Nothing can happen while we’re here; and I have no right asking her to change her relationship for me.
The ranger pulls up to the inn and Audrey helps me up. I’m easing my feet to the ground when Margaret rushes down the steps. Her hands fly to my eye and cheek, cool and soft. I don’t dare look over at Audrey. I can’t.
“Oh, Graham,” Margaret says. “They called me, when t
hey asked for the ranger to pick you up. Do you need a doctor?”
“No. Just some aspirin and maybe a beer,” I say with a tight smile. What I need is a nap. “That’ll teach me to get in between a rock wall and a horse.”
Margaret continues her assessment of my injuries; but eventually, she grows satisfied that I’m just banged up. She shifts her attention away; unfortunately, acknowledging Audrey is still here. She maintains a tight grip on my bicep and surprises me by saying, “Audrey, you’re hurt, too.”
Audrey looks between the two of us, eyes narrowed in curiosity. “I’m fine, just a scratch. Graham saved the day, but I suppose that’s typical.”
Now it’s Margaret’s turn to study us closely. Shit. I may as well get this over with. I clear my throat. “It seems you two have already met. Audrey and I worked on a project together,” I say to my date. “And Audrey, Margaret is a close friend. She invited me to the wedding.”
“What a fun coincidence,” Margaret says, flashing a perfect grin. Her fingers tighten on my arm, sharp nails marking her territory. She needs this; I know it. She can’t feel threatened, not by anyone else or she’ll crumble.
“I really should go get ready for dinner,” Audrey says. “Hope you feel better.”
“Thanks.” I keep my eyes away from her as she walks away. Touching my cheek, I say, “I think I should clean up, too, and maybe rest.”
“Good idea.” Her hand links with mine; and I can’t help but notice it lacks the spark from my earlier contact with Audrey. “A shower will help,” Margaret says, quietly in my ear. “I’ll take care of you.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
Chapter 37
(Audrey)
“Hey, Jess,” I say, cornering her. “Can I ask you something?” I’ve been trying to do this for hours; but because it was her big night, it’s been almost impossible to get her alone.
“Sure.”
“What’s the story with Margaret and the guy she’s with?”
We both glance across the room, to where Margaret and Graham are sitting at a table with the Whitmores and Bart’s family. Graham’s arm is around the back of her seat and she’s leaning into him while holding a glass of wine. I see a very domestic scene, one that brings out a disturbing sense of territorialism in me. I can’t forget what he said to me earlier.
“You know him, right?” Jessica asks. News about the accident and our arrival back spread like wildfire in the wedding party. Reese was waiting in my room when I got upstairs. She was as shocked as I was that Graham came with Margaret. The smug grin on her face told me she wasn’t as surprised about him asking me to hold back on my relationship with Dylan, but she kept her mouth shut.
“We worked on a school project together,” I say, using the lie he’d told earlier. Not so much a lie, really. “So are they dating or something?”
“I have no idea. Last I heard she and her husband were fine.”
Right. The massive diamond. Graham said date, not wife. What the hell was going on here?
“As far as I know.” Jessica takes a sip of wine and her face lights up as her eyes land on Bart across the room. He returns the look and I’m struck by their affection for one another. So easy. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if they had some sort of open arrangement. My mother has mentioned some of the weirdest shit when it comes to her friends and their lives. Margaret’s great, but you can tell from the boob-job and Botox, she has some self-esteem issues. Please, even my mother can’t keep away from her plastic surgeon. I’m sure we’ll be the same way.”
“God, I hope not.” I try to peek at Margaret across the room without staring. Her dress is sparkly and low-cut, designed more for a woman my age. Her breasts are perfect; and no, there isn’t a line on her face. I can’t help but wonder what the hell Graham is doing with a woman like this. A married woman. Has he no problem with cheating? That may be why he couldn’t commit to cutting things off with her. He’s right; things are complicated.
“Can’t say I blame her for giving him a shot,” Jessica says, making no effort to hide the way she’s observing him. Like he’s a piece of cake. “He’s very good-looking. If I had one last shot, I’d totally do it with a guy like that. Plus, I doubt Margaret would waste her time on someone not worth it.”
I glare at my friend in false shock. “Um, hello, new bride? Stop ogling other men. And God, you make it sound like he’s an object.”
She shrugs. “I’m getting married, not dying. Don’t even pretend you haven’t checked him out. And holy shit, he looks even hotter with that bruised eye.”
She’s right about that. The purplish welt under his eye gives him a sense of ruggedness, or even danger. It’s a side of Graham I’ve never seen; one I want to go over and investigate, touch and explore. A spark burns in my belly and I swallow my drink in one gulp. Despite my mental war, this increased libido thing isn’t something I’m used to and it seems to be getting the best of me. Having Graham so close doesn’t make it easier, either.
I manage to keep my distance for the rest of the evening, even if I can’t stop watching them. With each refill, Margaret becomes more handsy, and to my irritation, Graham does little to discourage it.
“You’re not as discrete as you think you are.”
As usual, Reese goes straight to the point. “I can’t help it, they’re just so…”
“Disgusting? Horny?” she offers. “Like a bad episode of Real Housewives?”
“I’m just surprised, I guess.”
“Are you really?” She asks, picking up a cupcake from the dessert tray and peeling off the wrapper. Her husband, Mark, is at the bar watching baseball with a group of guys. “Because you told me he’s a sex god. A literal fucking, sex god. He didn’t gain those skills just to work with you.”
A lump builds in my throat. She has a point, and I think back to all the stories he told me about his upbringing. Sex with older girls and the lack of supervision. He told me how open his mother was about it all, including handing him a box of condoms after his first time. For god-sake, he doesn’t even know who his father is. Realization hits hard. Graham is a sexual creature. He grew up with zero boundaries. No wonder he’s asking me to do one thing, while he’s doing another. No wonder he’s with a woman like Margaret, one that can fulfill his needs.
Not a timid scaredy-cat, like me.
“I guess it’s just weird seeing him like this.”
“Welcome to the world of sex, Audrey. Running into an ex with their new girlfriend is something we all experience. Even if you’re over him, or frankly, even if you were never into him, it always sucks.”
I accept that as a rational excuse for the sick feeling lodged in the back of my throat, and say, “You know I’m really tired from the last couple of days. I think I’m going to head up to bed so I don’t look like hell tomorrow and ruin Jessica’s pictures.”
“Good night, babe,” Reese says, with a sympathetic hug. “It doesn’t always feel this way and Dylan being here will make it so much better. I promise you.”
I feel a sense of relief, even a twinge of revenge, at the idea of Dylan being here and having my own support. “Night,” I say, looking for Jessica to tell her I’m heading upstairs. When I don’t find her in the party room, I search for her in the bathroom, passing a small sitting room along the way. Quiet voices catch my interest and I stop cold when I hear Graham’s name. I peek in the room carefully and see Margaret and Mrs. Whitmore talking.
“How long have you been seeing this guy?” Marci asks; her voice slurs and it’s not hard to gather they are both a little drunk.
“I met him eighteen months ago. A friend recommended him.”
Recommend?
“That long? I would think you’d be bored by now.” Marci laughs and I press my back to the wall in the hallway. “I’m assuming he’s worth it.”
“I’m going to be honest. Before Graham, I was a shell of the woman I used to be. John was never around; the kids are in boarding school. I spent all my time on
yoga retreats and juice fasts. I’d lost a sense of who I was personally and sexually. Graham changed all that.”
“Just by being good in bed.”
“Oh, honey,” Margaret scoffs. “He’s fantastic in bed. It’s as if he knows exactly what I need, when I need it, and how hard I need it. He does things I never even knew existed. Dirty, wonderful things. He makes me feel powerful.”
Her confession made me sick to my stomach and I wrap my arms around my chest. I knew every word was true because he made me feel the same way.
“But come on, Margie, you’re paying him; doesn’t that take away from the romance?”
Oh, God, what? What is she saying? I crane my neck to hear every word.
“This isn’t about romance. He’s a college kid who needs some money. Sometimes, I pay him to fix my leaky faucet or mow my lawn. Other times, I pay him to eat me out. It’s win-win.”
She pays him.
Mrs. Whitmore burst out laughing. “You’re a mess, girl; a total mess.”
That’s all I can absorb and walk away before I do something stupid. Something inappropriate. Did Dr. Markson set me up with a whore? At that thought, my world crashes down. Graham is a whore. He whores himself out for Margaret and he whored himself out for Dr. Markson and me. No wonder, I thought he was a sex god. I’m no better than that crazy cougar in the other room; in fact, I may be worse because I’m a fucking idiot and had no clue what I’d gotten myself into.
How dare he ask me to step back from Dylan?
Just then, I spot him in the stairwell, and I freeze with one hand on the wall in an attempt to stabilize myself. He walks in my direction, a concerned look on his face but I hold up my hand before he can speak.
“How much did she pay you?”
He blinks and his lips part, but all I really notice is how the gears turn in his mind. “Who?”
“Dr. Markson, how much did she pay you to do the experiment?”