The orphans cheered in utter captivated delight at those last words, and Chloe’s windpipe clamped shut with repressed emotion. She hadn’t really paused to think about this aspect of Graves’s personality. How he had grown to feel more comfortable with equipment—predictable, controllable, and reliable—than with the chaos he had grown up with.
Orphaned, from foster home to foster home, he’d been a runaway. He’d never had a real “education,” but he was so smart and so hell-bent to pull himself upward. He could’ve become a hacker. A thief. An alcoholic or a drug addict like the ones Danny said he used to “bunk” with at fifteen.
Instead, Graves had forged himself into a man of honor and character, keeping his eye on the ball and not on his empty basket. He didn’t drink so much as a drop of alcohol, having been surrounded by crazed alcoholics. He despised anything that even hinted at a remote lack of brain sharpness, much less a loss of control. He was organized, methodical, careful, and patient. Admirable, because despite his enormous power, he didn’t fuck up the people or institutions who had failed to provide him with safety as a kid. He was a man who looked to the future instead of the past. He was tough, street smart, and a fighter to the end. He was hard but fair, and always harder with himself than with anyone else. And just look at him now. He was so … perfect to her. Even if he didn’t like kissing, touching …
Chloe could not think of a man she admired more and wanted more.
In fact, she couldn’t see why she hadn’t thought of inviting him to the orphanage before. But he was such a reserved man—he didn’t enjoy attention like Luke did—that Chloe hadn’t wanted to put him on the spot. Silly, now that she thought about it. He’d turned out to be so motivating in such a real way, she was utterly dazzled. No makeup, no gloss, no Luke Preston bullcrap. Graves was real and raw.
The sudden thought of him as a little boy with the sad, lonely eyes in an orphanage crushed her.
While her insides burst with emotion, Tot began dancing to “Thriller” to wrap it up and the kids screamed in delight. Chloe laughed in surprise. She started edging in Graves’s direction as the kids jumped to their feet and formed a circle around the dancing robot whose moves could put MJ to shame.
Graves approached the circle to watch the robot’s feet, but Chloe continued advancing toward him, her eyes on his beautiful profile as she fervently wished those golden eyes would turn and acknowledge she was here.
She noticed he’d slipped the keypad into the pocket of his jacket, as though the dance routine had already been wired and programmed into the robot.
Her heartbeat accelerated. Then, she was there. Right beside him. Her elbow grazed his jacket sleeve, but with the music and the shouts all around her, she couldn’t really talk to him. She clutched the rose in her hand while at the same time moved her free hand the tiniest fraction in search of his. His knuckles brushed tantalizingly against the back of hers, and she held her breath.
Though he stood watching the robot at her side, Graves surprised her when he hooked his index finger around hers. Desire flooded her. The move was so unexpected it made her tremble with longing inside. He squeezed her finger meaningfully with his and then he gently tugged her aside. Chloe helplessly let him guide her weakened legs to follow him to the fringes of the circle, where the music wasn’t so loud.
He stopped at the very edge and positioned himself behind her, his hand sliding down her arm and resting at her hip. Her heart hammered and her skin tingled and her entire system went on hyperalert. And for a moment she just wanted to stand here and enjoy this. Being with him. His scent. The heat of his hand.
She kept her eyes on the robot as his front pressed intimately into her back. The heat emanating from his body spun through her. The smell of his aftershave teased her and dizzied her. His lips bumped her earlobe when he spoke, his voice a seduction of its own.
“When?”
She didn’t understand, and whispered, “What?”
His hand squeezed her hip. “When do you want me? When can I have you?”
A silence.
Her heart dropped and then jumped sky-high, and her toes curled in her Jimmy Choos.
“I … have social work tomorrow,” she forced herself to answer. “The children expect us to do handcrafts…”
“Saturday then. Your birthday.” His voice dropped to a thick murmur. “Do you think you can keep your hands off Preston until then?”
Thrilled with the possessiveness in his voice and words, she turned her head sideways and smiled tauntingly. “I don’t know. Do you think you can keep from handcuffing one of your ‘friends’?”