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He takes my hand in his. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You did exactly what you should have. You honored your dreams, you reached for more, and I’m fucking proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you, too,” I tell him.
He rolls his eyes. “Really? What for, exactly? Because I’m famous for my biceps and hair? Or because I’ve got overpriced athletic shoes in stores all over America? Or maybe it’s because people are more interested in my sex life than my relationship with Race for the Cure.” He laughs dryly and sits back in his chair and faces forward. My heart sinks at his words. How can that be all he thinks of himself?
“I’m proud of you because you’re a survivor. I know how far you’ve come. And yes, you’re famous for your gorgeous hair and your hot body, but why is that something to be diminished? You work hard. You’ve seen your mother through the fight of her life, and you’ve built a business you can be proud of.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks for saying that; I just thought my life would turn out differently.”
“You’ve still got lots of time. If you want something, go after it. I’ll be with you no matter what. I promise.”
He gazes at me and then he yawns. I burst out laughing. “Sorry I couldn’t make this more entertaining.” I chuckle.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” he says, and suddenly I can see the fatigue around his eyes.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes on my mouth as he leans forward. I put a hand on his shoulder and stop him from coming any closer.
He quirks an eyebrow at me, and before I know what’s happening, he wraps an arm around my waist and takes me with him as he stands up again. His arm holds me tight to his chest.
I’m suddenly aware that the only noise in the room is the music. No one is talking. My head whips around the room and every single eye is trained on us. I look around and see the entire event has stopped and everyone is watching us.
“Graham. We’re making a scene,” I say, but I’m giggling, too.
“Apollo. I don’t give a fuck,” he says before he lowers his head to press his nose into the side of my neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling me and stroking my neck with the very tip of his nose.
The simultaneous rush of heat in the hollow of my the gut and explosion of gooseflesh all over my skin makes me shudder, and I can’t do anything to stop.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t loosen his grip, doesn't take his piercing gaze off me.
“I want you to fucking kiss me.”
He cups my neck and leans in. “Now.”
I gaze into his eyes. I can see
the truth plain as day. He’s all in. He’s mine. And I’m his.
I lean forward, rise up on the tips of my toes and press my lips to his.
It’s a light kiss. But there’s so much promise and passion in it.
“Damn, I hate that I have to leave tonight,” he murmurs and brushes my hair off my forehead.
“Me, too.”
“But, babe, when I get back … This is happening.”
Finally
Apollo
This last week had been one headache after the other. Lucas was pissed that I’d kissed Graham in public. I told him I was sorry and that maybe he could start taking the blonde he’d been fucking to functions instead.
The gallery had become a hangout for people trying to take my picture. I closed it on Wednesday and hadn’t been back all week after someone tried to follow me inside.
The day after the event that started all this ruckus, Graham flew to LA for whatever meetings he had. He’d been gone all week.
Reena was preparing for a big hearing, and we only spoke in snatches.
