Pawn: Volume One

by Maya St. James

  He fingers the string of pearls around my neck, and I hold back a tremble when his thumb traces my collarbone. “I know you don’t.” He drops my necklace, backing away from me, and gesturing to a glassed-in balcony with a fantastic view of the city lights and the Washington Monument. Squinting, I see there’s a table set for two out there. “Dinner, Elle, before I decide our time is better suited with my face against your—”

  Tuning out that last little bit, I walk a little too quickly onto the balcony, but the clench in my thighs makes me stumble. He steadies me, gripping my hips from behind me, and pouring gasoline on the fire his words started. “Are you always so clumsy?”

  Only when hot men who are a decade older than me threaten to go down on me in lieu of dinner. “No. Do you start all your dates like this?” I retort.

  “No.” We sit down, and the look he gives me is downright predatory. “I normally fuck first, dine later. I usually prefer the dining to be done alone without all the awkward chit-chat.”

  Flushed, I glance away from his face, focusing on an elaborate chess table, complete with tan and black marble pieces, sitting in the far corner of the balcony. Does he play? I’d learned from my maternal grandfather as a child, but I’d probably get my ass taken to town now, especially by someone like Graham. And instantly, my thoughts go south, carnal, and I blame his suggestive words.

  I sigh. “You know, you talk about fucking so much it makes me question if you’re one of those all talk, lame action situations.”

  I release a yelp when he pulls my hand in his under the table and shoves it against his zipper, closing my fingers around the unquestionable—and admittedly very, very impressive—bulge.

  Wow.

  “That’s not hard, Elle,” he tells me in a low voice, “but if you’re doubtful of my ability to make you forget your fucking name, how to walk—and everything else but yes, please, and more—it won’t take long for you to get me there.”

  “Is that why you brought me here?” I snatch my fingers back and grab a handful of my dress to ease the electricity under my skin. “To screw me?”

  “If I wanted only to fuck you, Elle, it wouldn’t have mattered where I took you for dinner.” He whips the plate cover off my food. “Hope you like steak.”

  Somehow, I manage to steer our conversation away from sex. I’m amazed at how easily Graham, the senator from New York, comes out. Smooth and refined, he’s a different person from the man who had just teased me for being jealous of his brother’s ex and said things to me that made my body combust. Half an hour later, we’re talking about my post-graduation plans, and I’m wondering if I’ve turned him off, when he leans forward and says very slowly, “You lied to me, Ms. Courtney.”

  “About wanting to go to the Cinque Terre?” I laugh, rolling my green eyes. “Sorry, Senator Delaney, but that would be a waste of a lie.”

  “You lied to me a week ago about why you were working at 202.” My smile fades, and I clutch my napkin in my lap as he taps his fingers on the smooth tabletop. “Why did your parents cut you off?”

  A jolt snaps through my body. “How do you know that?”

  “Answer the question, Elle.”

  Biting my nails into my palms, I hold my head high, and listen to my heart pound louder in my ears, drowning out the sound of Shinedown’s Burning Bright playing softly in the background. Despite Graham’s impressive taste in music, he’s just infuriated me by digging around in my personal life.

  “I’m waiting, Ms. Courtney.”

  “Because they want an obedient child.” It isn’t a they, though, it’s a he, but I won’t tell Graham that the decision was solely my father’s.

  “Every parent wants an obedient child. My own parents wanted children that didn’t speak, think, or for that matter, exist. You’ll have to elaborate.”

  “My personal beliefs drive my father up the wall.”

  “And what does Eleanor Courtney believe in?” When I don’t answer, Graham touches my knee. “Don’t shut down on me.”

  “I didn’t back my dad on a family issue he felt strongly about, and he basically told me to piss off. I got the job at 202 because I heard the tips were good, and they were.”

  “What about student loans?”

  “Missed the application deadlines. And I don’t have the income for a personal loan.” I don’t mention that I gain access to a trust fund, courtesy of my maternal grandparents, at twenty-five.

  “Family members?”

  “No, I’ve had enough of depending on other people, so I have a new job now.” My chair scrapes across the floor when I stand, and Graham’s eyes glide unapologetically down my body again—from the top of my head to my Dulce De Leche-painted toenails. “I’m sure it won’t be a surprise when I tell you that I don’t really need you for that ride home either.”

  “Sit down.” He points to my chair. “You’re not leaving because you don’t want to leave.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to leave?” I hiss, gripping the back of my chair. I won’t give him the satisfaction of actually sitting down. “You looked into me.”

  “But you lied,” he retorts. “You said you have a new job? What is it?” And like an idiot, I tell him. He responds with a satisfied smirk that leaves my hand itching to slap his stupidly handsome face. “How much does that pay?”

  Fifteen bucks an hour. “Enough.”

  “It’s a never-ending flow of bullshit, Elle,” he says, sounding disappointed. “I looked into you because I want to help you.” Reaching in the pocket of his pants, he tosses a folded sheet of paper beside my plate. I sit down and open it with shaky fingers. When I’m done scanning over the mess of words and numbers, I look across the table at him with wide eyes.

  “These are instructions to your accountant to cut a check to my school.” Saying it aloud makes it even more stunning. “Why would you do this?”

  “Because I want to help myself even more than I want to help you. Because I’ve wanted to be balls-deep inside of you since you first licked your lips at me in that shit-hole you used to work at. Because I don’t want any other man thinking, or doing, the same thing.”

  “You want me to sleep with you?” I already knew that much, but what’s on this sheet of paper . . . . Gulping down a wave of panic, I glare down at Graham’s plan until it’s blurry. “You’re proposing to pay all this money just for me to sleep with you? This is D.C., Senator, not Nevada.”

  “I don’t want to sleep with you, Elle. I want to possess you. I want to end every dinner we share with my cock down your throat or in your cunt or your—”

  “Graham!” I say in a hushed whisper, looking up at him, but he continues anyway.

  “Or in that tight ass,” he finishes, a triumphant smile splitting his golden face. “I want to spend your last semester getting you out of those fucking pearls and on all fours. Close your mouth, Elle, because there’s one more thing I want.”

  “What?” I whisper, curling my toes as the heat between my legs expands. “What else do you want?”

  “I want an answer right now.”

  Chapter Ten

  19-December

  I don’t want to sleep with you, Elle. I want to possess you.

  Graham’s words—spoken in that soft, carnal whisper—are still the first thing on my mind a couple days later as I dress for lunch. And he has possessed me. He’s been in my dreams, mentally in my bed, ever since he took me home following our date. Untouched.

  Trying to shake all images of Senator Sexy-Ass from my head, I focus my thoughts on the tedious, boring tasks I have to do before the New Year, things that don’t start a party in my panties:

  Renew the Jeep’s registration.

  Eventually see my father.

  Laundry.

  I roll a lint brush over the midriff burgundy sweater I’d pulled on over a black skater dress then bend to zip up my brown leather boots. As I smooth my hands up my black tights, something else Graham had said hits me hard, causing my legs to tremble:

&nb
sp; I want to spend your last semester getting you out of those fucking pearls and on all fours.

  Settling my lips in a grim line, I catch my reflection in the mirror and swallow hard. “Stay out of my head, Delaney.”

  Then, grabbing my bag and throwing on a black pearl necklace just for the hell of it, I leave my apartment.

  When my brother called me yesterday to invite me to lunch, I was ecstatic by his unexpected visit to D.C., if not a little confused by his choice of restaurants. He’s a lot like me—uninterested in the D.C. elitist scene that our parents frequent—but he’d asked to meet at a vaunted Capitol Hill steakhouse that seems more Cheryl Courtney than Zach or Elle.

  And sure enough, as I’m escorted to my brother’s table, the sight of my mother sitting beside him makes me want to turn tail and run. I almost do, but then she points in my direction. My brother turns, his blue-green eyes lighting up at the sight of me. Sucking in a breath, I power on, the plastered smile on my face softening to a genuine grin the closer I get to Zach.

  “I’ve missed you, kid.” He wraps me in a bear hug, and I hold on to him tightly. He’s taller than I am, but I’m still able to give my mom a cautious look over his narrow shoulder. Blake has always joked that my mom has a severe case of Resting Bitch Face, but today, it looks like she’s putting a lot of effort toward looking pleasant.

  She smiles, so, hesitantly, I return the gesture.

  Backing away from Zach, I put my hands on my hips and look up into his eyes. Even though he’s four years older than I am, Zach and I have always been close, and I was more than a little heartbroken when my marketing executive brother traded in his Alexandria position for one in Rhode Island earlier this year.

  The way I see it, he wanted to get far enough away from our father and his iron fist, so who can blame him for leaving?

  “If you miss me so much, you should move back to Alexandria,” I tease. When he ducks his head, and a couple locks of his jet black hair flop over his eyes, I drop my stance and playfully punch his arm. “I hate when you give me that look because it always means no.”

  “Then stop asking me questions you know I’ll say no to,” he laughs, taking his seat. I slide into the chair right beside him.

  “What changed?” I ask, and he lifts an eyebrow. “You said you weren’t coming home until after New Year’s Eve.”

  “And now you’re complaining.” He snorts. “I’m glad to see you too, Elle.”

  Narrowing my green eyes, I shoot him a dark look to which he responds by making a face that will likely give our mother a seizure. “You know I am always, always happy when you come to town. I was just asking why you came. Did Jameson come to town with you?”

  My mother clears her throat, pulling our attention across the table to where she’s daintily sipping a mimosa. “Zachary is here, alone, because I asked him to come.” When I tilt my head to the side, she holds up her hands defensively. “I come in peace, Eleanor. I have no reason for asking him to visit other than wanting my beautiful children together for lunch before Christmas. Thanksgiving was . . . unfortunate.”

  I release a heavy sigh. What had been unfortunate was Mom’s reaction during Thanksgiving, when she was nothing more than a zombie at the dinner table while Dad relentlessly drilled into Zach and then me. I had looked across the candlelight at her, willing her to chime in and defend Zach, but she’d just looked ahead—staring listlessly at the sterling silver gravy boat.

  Still, in her way, she looks remorseful today, even though she probably won’t say much else about Thanksgiving. With her head bowed just enough for her auburn bob to brush the wool shoulders of her grey sheath dress, her blue eyes focused down at a napkin, and her smooth hands now clasped together in her lap, this is as close to an apology as my brother would get. Which rips my heart to shreds.

  I look over at Zach, who shakes his head and presses his lips together in warning. “Let it go,” he finally mouths, and I draw in a long breath through my nose before I address our mom.

  “You’re right, Thanksgiving wasn’t the best, but it’s good we can talk now.” When our waiter stops by our table, I request a blackberry margarita, and once he’s gone, I ask the question burning on my mind. “Will Dad be joining us?”

  This time Mom gulps her drink. “He’s golfing today.”

  I know my father well enough to realize it’s far too cold for him to golf, but I also don’t want him here, ruining lunch with his snide remarks and frequent reminders of how disappointed he is in his children. Mom I can deal with, but Dad . . .

  Not today.

  Hopefully not even until after Christmas.

  “Tell him I’m sorry I missed him while I was in,” Zach tells her, and she offers a closed-lip smile that tells me that she won’t tell Dad anything because he doesn’t know she’s here. It also makes me wonder why she’d picked this place, of all the eateries in D.C., where she’s likely to run into someone from their circle.

  “Of course I will, Zachary.” Then, turning her sapphire blue eyes to me, she says, “I’ve talked to Father about your schooling, Eleanor, and he wants to help you.”

  I groan. “I’m fine, Mom, I swear.”

  “It’s not fine, Eleanor,” she snaps in a voice just soft enough not to be heard. “Your grandfather is more than willing to give you an advance on your trust since I can’t take care of it without your father knowing.”

  “Wait.” Zach lifts a hand and gazes back and forth between Mom and me, his features wrinkling in confusion. “Elle, what’s going on?”

  By the time Dad decided to inform me he was withdrawing his financial support, Zach was long gone, smart enough to escape Dad’s tyrannical bashing. I hadn’t planned to tell my brother what had happened because it was pointless to give him more to worry about. I figured Mom would do what she does best—pretend it never happened—rather than be proactive, but this is one of those rare times in my life where she proves me wrong.

  “Elle?” Zach leans closer. “Did something happen you didn’t tell me about?”

  Resting my elbow on the table, I ignore Mom’s sound of disapproval as I work the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “Dad decided he and Mom aren’t going to pay for my final semester.”

  “Are you,” my brother starts loudly, but then he inhales and continues in a hushed whisper, “Are you fucking with me? He did that?”

  Lifting my gaze, I meet his sea blue gaze, laugh, and shrug. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Really, Mom?” he asks her.

  “I can’t control what he does.” She forces a smile and shoots us both a warning glare, as our waiter approaches the table with my drink. “Can we have just a few more minutes before we order?” she asks him sweetly.

  As soon as he’s gone, she points a perfectly manicured finger first to me, then to Zach. “We’re not going to do this here. We’re going to have a nice lunch. Eleanor, you’re going to tell me about what has gone on in your life the last few weeks while you’ve ignored my calls, and Zachary, you will tell me about life in Providence with . . . Jameson.”

  This is probably the firmest I’ve heard my mother in years, but I’m not listening as the spicy, decadent scent of a cologne I can’t help but recognize blows against my face, startling my senses. Damn Graham for pushing his way into my thoughts now, when I absolutely should not think of him, or his scent, or the bronze ripped body he covers in that aroma.

  Turning my face just slightly enough to see the hostess leading a drop dead gorgeous brunette woman and two men toward a table in the back, I feel my muscles go taut when dark, dark eyes lower to mine. My chest goes up in flames as Graham—passing me by in all his suit-wearing, hedonistic, masculine glory—looks down at me.

  Oh. My. God.

  Two nights ago he’d assured me he’d be in New York by now, so why in the world is he still in D.C.? At the same damn restaurant as my family and me.

  At first, those dark, golden features twist into a look of sheer surprise, but as he looks straight ahead toward the
festive tree decorating the back of the restaurant and continues walking, I see his lips twitch into a wicked grin.

  Tuning back into my mother and brother, I flinch when Mom narrows her eyes at me. “Eleanor Sutton Courtney, did you hear a word I just said?”

  Gulping down the extra moisture in my mouth, I move my head to each side, praying my hair will fall in my face and shield my burning skin from my family. “No, I’m sorry, I . . . I don’t feel so well.”

  Zach frowns, but she continues. “I said that after lunch is finished, Grandfather Sutton will wire the money to your bank account.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  “Eleanor,” Mom says exasperatedly, “please don’t be difficult. Even Zachary agrees this is for the best.”

  I offer my brother my best attempt at a reassuring smile as I shake my head again. “No, I mean, it won’t be necessary because I’ve already gotten a scholarship. A last minute thing. I was . . . I was fortunate to get it.”

  I look past Mom’s surprised expression and my brother’s congratulatory one, and my gaze once again locks with Graham’s. The emotion coursing through him is impossible to ignore.

  Pride.

  Impatience.

  Conquest.

  With my heart jammed in my throat, I stand up shakily. “Excuse me, I have to go to the restroom.”

  If you’re still wondering if I told him to go fuck himself after he gave me his ultimatum—if the night ended with me slapping that smirk off his face—none of that happened.

  Instead, I decided to be practical.

  I told Graham yes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Graham

  Fucking Eleanor Courtney.

  I haven’t been able to get her or that tight black dress she wore to my place off my mind since I took her back to the little shoebox she lives in the other night. Since she’d been in such a hurry to get home after she gave me the answer I knew she’d settle on, I’d given her my terms on the way to her apartment:

  She’s mine until the end of the semester.