His Pawn Read online

  Being back at square one blows just as much as that awful habit of saying what’s socially correct.

  After I agree to drop off my dry-cleaned uniform next week, I do the walk of shame to the break room on the other side of the busy kitchen. I grab my belongings from the row of red lockers on the back wall, making sure I leave nothing behind. After I dress in the white blouse and black ankle pants I wore tonight over my tank top and hot shorts, I pull on my pea coat and check my phone. My stomach pitches while I read the last text my roommate sent.

  Blake Mayer: Stab me, please. Please?! My grandma keeps asking when I’ll bring home a decent man. I’m about to whip out my mini wand and introduce her to the love of my life, my muse, my inspiration: Buzz. Ugh. How’s work?

  I don’t want to respond, no need to bring Blake’s mood down another notch with my failures, but then I let out a heavy sigh. If the roles were reversed, I’d commiserate. I know she feels the same way. Slinging my purse strap across my shoulder, I walk to the break room exit, typing, Work is non-existent. Tell you about it in the morning. For now, tell your grandmother you’re with me. She’ll be too scandalized to harass you anymore tonight. Message sent, I tuck my phone in my coat pocket and head back into the bustle of the main restaurant.

  I feel like every eye in the place is following me. It’s silly, of course, and the complete opposite of the way things really are. It’s Friday night. There are other things—food, drinks, the prospect of sex with a complete stranger—that are far more interesting than a waitress none of them will be able to recall a week from now. One person does notice me, however, and it’s Janelle. She looks up from the order she’s taking to give me a nod. It’s not her fault that I turned out to be a shitty waitress, so I wave.

  “Thanks for all your help,” I mouth in earnest.

  Striding by the section I was scheduled to work tonight, I pick up my pace, wanting nothing more than to reach the front door and get home. To regroup, to figure out what to do next. I want...

  Graham Delaney.

  Graham Delaney is sitting in what used to be my section, dark eyes penetrating mine in a powerful crash of brown and blue. With the red booth as a backdrop, he’s every bit as imposing and drop dead sexy as I’ve built him up in my head. I’m so distracted by him, I almost run headfirst into a couple being led to their seats.

  “Excuse me.” I step aside for the scowling hostess to get by. My gaze wanders back to Graham. He’s smiling. God, why is he smiling at me like that? It’s like he can see right to my core. And why, of all the times for him to return to 202, had he picked tonight? Couldn’t he have come any other night this last week, when I still had a job and could ogle him under the guise of working?

  For a moment, I consider joining him. It’s not like I’ll be breaking the rules anymore. He looks to be alone—he’s looking right at me. Fortunately, good sense finds me before I can make a mistake. “Don’t be a fool,” I warn myself under my breath.

  Ripping my eyes from his, I pass the hostess station and maneuver through the crowd waiting to be seated. Stepping outside, I’ve never been more thankful for the bitter December chill and the crowded Barracks Row sidewalk. I tighten my coat around me and catch my breath, giving one last glance at the red and white striped 202 sign before I hurry to the other side of the walkway and head toward the lot where I left my car.

  While I weave through the mass, strolling beneath street lights decorated with Christmas wreaths, I try to decide if I’m winded because I just lost my job or because a stranger had twitched his sexy lips and stole my breath away.

  Either way, it sucks.

  I make it nearly a quarter block when his voice stops me cold. “Elle?”

  In life, there are so many shoulds and should haves. I should have spent just another ten minutes exercising. I should work a little harder in school. I should have broken up with that asshole a long time ago. The list goes on and on.

  Well, I should ignore the deep, sensual voice behind me and keep walking.

  But I don’t.

  I face him, curling my toes in my crimson flats the closer he gets to me. My first assessment of him hadn’t done him justice. Senator Delaney is just tall as I thought he was, easily six foot three, but his body...

  Sweet baby Jesus, his body.

  Coatless and dressed in dark jeans and a blue check shirt with rolled up sleeves, he’s got that perfect physique—that sweet spot between Brad Pitt in Fight Club and Troy. The breath explodes from my lips when he stops inches away from me, the frigid breeze ruffling his thick brown hair, causing it to look more grab-worthy.

  “Did you need me for something, Mr. Delaney?”

  Without warning, he grabs my upper arms and pulls me closer to the building, closer to him. Pressed against his body, I feel muscles I didn’t know existed, and when I look up at him with wide eyes, a heart-stopping grin tiptoes across his face.

  Being against Graham’s body is a shock to the system—like I’ve been doused with both ice and lava. I drag in a ragged breath. He tightens his hold on me, his touch warming me through layers of clothing. “What are you doing?”

  “Saving you.” He turns his head, and I do the same until I’m staring at the group stumbling down the sidewalk. The middle guy is being supported by friends on either side as he howls “Despacito.” “That drunken shit was about to run you over. It would be remiss of me to let that happen.”

  “Apparently chivalry isn’t dead.” I let myself get lost in his dark eyes before I say, “Do you ... did you need something back at the restaurant? I know Janelle would be happy to help you.”

  Even if you do leave bad tips, I silently add.

  “I don’t want Janelle.” He loosens his grasp on my arms but makes no effort to distance his body from mine. Stepping away so that my back is up against a brick wall, I do it for him. “It’s dangerous for you to be out here so distracted.” It’s animalistic—the way he says “dangerous”—and I stifle the shiver that crawls from the base of my spine. “I came out here for you. To make sure you were safe.”

  That’s why he followed me? To make sure I’m safe? My heart pounds—an aching, hot and heavy thump, thump, thump that sounds more like the drum solo in “The Perfect Drug” than anything that belongs inside someone’s body.

  “I’m distracted because I just lost my job,” I admit. “But I’ve lived here my whole life, so I promise I’ll be fine.” I wander past him and the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end as our bodies brush. He’s affected, too. I catch a brief flicker of desire in his eyes as I dart away from him. “Thank you for checking up on me.”

  Again, his words follow me. “Then, I changed my mind.”

  I peek over my shoulder. “Excuse me?”

  He’s by my side before I can stop him. “I’m taking you out for a drink.”

  I point back in the direction of 202. “There are drinks in there.” I stuff my hands into my coat pockets so he won’t see how badly they’re shaking. “Aren’t you cold?”

  Not that I mind him without a jacket. I make a mental note to start tuning in to Senate floor proceedings, just to imagine Senator Delaney looking the way he does tonight in those jeans and the pec-and-bicep-friendly shirt.

  “I’m from New York,” he says, the corners of his eyes creasing with amusement. “The weather here is tame—in winter and summer. And I’m aware there are drinks back there. They just wouldn’t be with you.”

  A rush of adrenaline tingles through me, and I raise my chin until we’re eye to eye. He’s hitting on me. Senator Sexy-Ass is inches away from me on one of the busiest sidewalks in the city, openly staring me down and hitting on me.

  Is this real life?

  “Your face is red. Didn’t take you for a woman who’d blush at such a simple request.”

  “How can you take me for anything? You don’t know me.” He responds with a half-smile that makes me groan. I might as well wear a big sign on my forehead broadcasting I’m Robert Courtney’s reluctant offsp
ring. “How’d you figure it out?”

  “I overheard one of your co-workers say your last name last week. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, so yes, I know who you are, Eleanor.”

  This time, I can’t hold back my tremble. Did he tell my dad he saw me working at 202? I’ve told myself I don’t care what my father thinks, but the idea of that man judging me turns my stomach. Stopping at a crosswalk, I jab the pedestrian button. “Did he tell you to check up on me? Is that why you came out here after me?”

  He frowns. “If we’re talking about your father, then no. I’ve never spoken to him about you, nor am I anyone’s lapdog. My wants and needs are my sole motivation.”

  “Your wants and needs?”

  “Tonight that would be you.” He pauses, giving the sharp fluttering in my stomach time to go completely out of control, then adds, “Your company, that is.”

  The light turns green. I rush across the intersection, and Graham is right by my side, so close that when I drag in a breath, the force of his spicy cologne hits me square in the face. He smells good. Good enough that thinking clearly is more difficult than it should be. “Isn’t that kind of a forward thing to say? Especially in your line of work.”

  “Forward. What decade is this, Elle?” He laughs. “Do you want me to lie to you? Tell you that I don’t find you attractive?”

  “Of course I don’t.” Fortunately, my phone rings, preventing me from saying something that will make me look like a fool or an asshole—or both. “I mean, you don’t exactly know me.”

  “We’ve already established that; hence, the invitation to share a drink.” He zeroes in on my vibrating pocket and nods to it. “Don’t you need to answer that?” When I don’t make an effort to take the incoming call, a satisfied grin splits his dark features. “I don’t have to know you to take you out for a drink. People have known far less about each other and have done much, much more than share a drink.”

  The suggestive lilt of his voice would thaw the most frigid woman, and heat spirals from my face to the rest of my body. “I’d better get home. The classified ads are calling to me.” To my disappointment, he lifts his shoulders indifferently.

  “I won’t get down on my knees and beg.” No, he wouldn’t have to. There’s a better chance of hell freezing over several hundred times before Graham Delaney isn’t able to find a willing volunteer to sit across from him and hang on to his every word.

  He must think I’m a freak.

  Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, he glances around. “I’d be an asshole if I didn’t at least walk you to your car. Do you remember where you parked?”

  Now it’s my turn to look at our surroundings. I squint up at the street signs, and I almost want to tell him I took the bus to work tonight. At his insistent stare, I eventually lift my shoulders and quietly confess, “Five blocks back.”

  The smiles he’s given me before—the knowing grins and sexy smirks—they have nothing on this one. It’s triumphant and reeks of confidence. “Then I’ll walk you five blocks back.”

  My phone rings again, and I take advantage of the interruption. I speed past him and pretend I’m more interested in what’s on my screen. Instantly, I regret that decision. I have a missed call and a text from my ex-boyfriend—the one I should have broken up with months before I did over the summer. I grip the phone tightly as I read the message.

  Alex Landry: Leaving for Cancun on Monday and need to see you. Movie at my place tonight?

  I’m aware that Graham is behind me a few seconds before he opens his mouth, but I still have no time to react and switch off my screen before he leans down to drawl in my ear, “D.T.F. text messages, Ms. Courtney? Tell me you’re not going to humor that little bastard.”

  “D.T.F.?” I repeat. “What on earth does that mean?”

  “Down to fuck. That’s what he’s asking you, by the way. Naked Netflix. Horny Hulu. Ass-Out Amaz—”

  “It does not say anything like that!” Dumping my phone into my pocket, I shiver at the way his breath feels against my ear. I turn my head slightly and lock eyes with him. “And you also don’t know him. Not well enough to make judgment calls about him, Senator.”

  But he’s right. Alex’s invitation to watch a movie at his apartment is a thinly veiled attempt to get into the little blue spankies under my pants. We haven’t had any contact in two months, since our last post-breakup tryst where I left his place feeling like shit. I had tearfully promised myself there would never be a repeat.

  “Drinks, Elle?” Graham’s fingertips brush the sensitive spot between my shoulder blades. Thank God the street is so busy tonight—otherwise, people would pay attention to us. They’d see my fluttery hand movements and bewildered expression. The flick of my tongue over my lips. “Unless you’d rather spend the night listening to a boy quote his favorite lines from The Hangover while fumbling to put a condom on.”

  “Or I could just go home, like I planned, and ignore you both.” He doesn’t remove his hand from my back, and his dark, almost-black eyes don’t lower from mine. Before my cautious side can kick in and run screaming in the other direction, I clear my throat. “Fine, Graham. One drink.”

  FOUR

  ELLE

  “Why were you working at a place like 202?”

  Although I should’ve expected this question the moment we sat down at the intimate piano bar on Pennsylvania Avenue over an hour ago, it catches me off guard. One drink had turned into two, and I hadn’t been able to pull myself away from the force that is Graham Delaney. Looking up from the green onyx tabletop, I see that he’s rubbing his chin thoughtfully, the candlelight casting an amber glow on his face. In the background, the pianist plays a moody version of “Do You Think I’m Sexy.”

  I pretend I’m more interested in humming along with the melody than answering his question. “I love this song.”

  He’s not having it. He leans as close to me as the table between us will allow. “You don’t know shit about this song, so stop acting like you care just so you can get out of answering me.”

  “They catch a cab to his high rise apartment,” I croon, but the flash in his eyes makes me swallow the next line. Lust. That look is definitely lust, and I regret choosing that particular line to sing.

  “Careful or I’ll think you’re issuing me an invitation. Just so we’re clear, I don’t even know where my remote is, so there would be no movie-watching.”

  I blink. Then glimpse the other way to gather my thoughts. I’m not innocent, but when he says things like that—in a growl that makes me feel like he means every word of what he says—warmth floods my body. “It wasn’t a lie. I really do like this song.”

  “You’re the only twenty-one year old in this city that does.”

  “DNCE does a cover of it, and I’m twenty-two,” I say. “For what it’s worth, your thirty-three-year-old ass could learn a thing or two from my eclectic musical tastes.”

  His lips do that sexy, smirking thing, the one he needs to trademark, STAT. “We’ve talked about everything from my apartment in Manhattan to your Zuma Beach article published in “Destination Surf” last summer. We even talked about your love of blackberry cocktails.” He circles a long finger around the rim of my nearly empty glass, his movements drawn out to give my imagination something new to go crazy over.

  “You’ve told me at least ten times you should get home, and I’ve told you all ten you’re full of shit.” He touches his finger to his lip, tasting my berry drink, before returning it to my glass. “But not once have I mentioned my age. Have you been doing your homework on me, Ms. Courtney?”

  “For starters, stop calling me Ms. Courtney. It makes me feel like my mother.” I picture my mom, Stepford Wife smile and all, and shudder at the thought. “Secondly, your age is public record.”

  “Public record you thought was important enough to research.”

  So, I’d looked him up, once, after the night he asked me to grab his check at 202. I read enough to learn he’s the s
on of a filthy rich real estate developer, that he’d followed his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather’s footsteps when he graduated from Harvard Business, and that he’s independently wealthy thanks to smart investments and a no-nonsense attitude. My research also confirmed what I already knew just by looking at him—having just turned thirty-three a couple months ago, he’s the youngest senator in his party.

  The youngest senator, period.

  Now that I put all that in perspective, I could write a Graham Delaney research paper and ace it without even trying.

  Prying my glass from his fingers, I tip it to my lips and polish off the last splash of the vodka bramble. “I was curious, and I might have Googled you. No big deal.”

  “You looked me up, Elle? I find that to be highly...”

  He’s been doing this since we sat down. Trailing off. Leaving me to fill in the blanks and try to figure out what he means to say. In this case, it could go several ways. Highly flattering. Highly creepy. Highly adorable in a sort-of-stalkerish way. Returning my glass to the center of the table, I tap my nails against the tea light centerpiece.

  “Do you do that on purpose?”

  “Do you really want me to finish?” he demands.

  I carve my hand through my hair in frustration. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  “Why were you working at 202?” He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “There’s no need to lie to me.”

  I suck on the inside of my bottom lip then release it and a sigh. “Because I’m a journalism student, and this is—was—an assignment.” Needing something to grasp as I lie to his face about my financial woes, I grab a cocktail napkin.

  His eyebrows draw together, and I decide he looks even sexier when his strong features are worked into a scowl. He must do that. A lot. “Your assignment was to jiggle your ass and pass out drinks to horny fucks in business suits? And I’m guessing the travel portion of that specific assignment was to find a destination you’d have never stepped foot in otherwise?”