Where You Are by Tammara Webber

Talk about harsh. I don’t just want to screw Graham, you know.”
    “I guess I don’t know. Especially considering your MO.”
    For half a second, I consider hurling my phone at the wall. “ Look , I’ve had it with the snide comments. I’m not any more of a slut than you are, so just lay the hell off .” Dammit, there goes my stupid twang. I can be a cold bitch all day long and sound like the perfect LA native, but get me actually pissed and I go all Texan, which just pisses me off more. If he mentions it, I swear to God…
    “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. And Brooke?” His voice has turned husky, and the sound of it slams me right in the solar plexus. “That accent still gets me hot , damn you.”
    I take a deep breath and shake it off. I’m not playing that game with him. “Enjoy your last night of freedom, ha ha. I’ll set up reservations for both of us at the hotel. Our story is that the studio wants us there with everyone else. No one will question it. Text me once you’re in tomorrow morning and we’ll review strategy. You remember morning, right? That brightish space of time between eight and noon when you’re usually sleeping off a hangover?”
    “I’m saluting, in case you’re wondering.”
    I imagine clearly the exact gesture he’s making. “Put your middle finger down, asshat, before someone thinks you’re flipping them off and drives your ass off the road. I need you.”
    “No comment.”
    “None expected.”
    *** *** ***
    GRAHAM
    It’s been a long time since I’ve been this content. Not that I don’t want more. Because God , I do. But I’m not desperate enough to forsake the need to hold her close, to feel her heart beat against me, to require nothing more than the exquisite fusing of our mouths and the stroke of our fingers over each other.
    We lie entwined in the center of the bed, spent from a couple of hours of kissing that set fire to every emotion I’ve ever felt for this girl. I know she can tell that I’ve held myself in check a couple of times, physically—a small crease appears on her forehead, or she affects a marginal withdrawal of her own. I hope she knows there’s no need for her worry. As much as I want her, I’ve been falling in love with her for months, and sleeping with someone you’re in love with shifts everything to a more complex level. I can’t go there alone. I have to know she’s going with me.
    As if sensing my heavy thoughts, she turns her face up from my shoulder and stares into my eyes, silent. My fingertips continue caressing her arm, up and over her shoulder, down her back, and I shamelessly examine the distinctive facets of her gray-green eyes, savoring the unguarded way she allows me to study her. My head tells me it’s far too soon to tell her everything my heart wants me to blurt out. The last thing I want to do is scare her away. I’ll take as long as she needs, be more patient than I’ve ever been, if it means she’ll be mine in the end. I’m not afraid of my own feelings. I’m only afraid of misjudging hers.
    The words lay on my tongue, unspoken. Waiting. My fingers have wandered up her back, rising and falling over each tiny arch of vertebrae until I reach her neck. Shifting, I lean over her and kiss her gently. My lips are sore and I know hers must be, too, though I’ve tried to use restraint. I smile now, knowing that any restraint I’ve employed didn’t last long. I’ve practically devoured her for the past two hours. From the bedside table, our phones have beeped and buzzed a couple of times each, but neither of us made any move towards them.
    “What are you smiling about?” she asks, her voice rasping between regular speech and a whisper, a tentative answering smile on her red, red mouth.
    “I was thinking about how sore my lips are, and wondering if yours are, too.”
    She nods, her smile expanding. “I don’t think I can feel them.”
    “Can you feel this?” I ask, leaning closer to run my tongue over her swollen lower