Page 86 of Stolen Vows

I step closer to his desk, idly shifting my weight, when his left monitor catches my attention. Half-hidden behind a few open windows is a camera feed. Of my bedroom.

I minimize the open windows, revealing nine security feeds that cover what looks like the expanse of the house. The front door to the back patio and everything in between. Including my bedroom.

I blink at the screen, my stomach flipping. “Is that my room?”

Graham exhales, slow and measured. “It’s not what it looks like.” His tone is steady, but I hear it. That barely perceptible edge.

I stare at the monitor, at the grainy black-and-white image of my bedroom. The bed I just left, sheets rumpled from my tossing and turning. Something twists in my stomach, a confusing mix of unease and . . .intrigue?

I turn toward him fully, perching on the edge of his desk. “Then what am I looking at?”

He holds my gaze, unwavering. “The entire house is on this feed. It’s not personal, Francesca. They’ve been up since I moved in.”

I glance back at the screen, noticing the camera labels. One of them, in bold white text, reads:Francesca.I arch a brow. “You titled that camera Francesca.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I’m not watching it.”

His voice is firm. Unapologetic. I believe him. I do. I study Graham’s face, searching for any hint of deception or ulterior motive. But all I see is steadfast honesty. He meets my gaze head-on without a flicker of hesitation.

I swallow, planting my palms on the desk behind me and leaning back. “Why do you have security cameras in the house at all?”

He relaxes in his chair, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s a precaution. Part of my job is assessing threats and mitigating risks. The cameras are just one layer of security.”

I glance at the monitor, at the camera feed labeled with my name. My mind spins with the implications, but beneath the initial shock, something else stirs. Something darker, more illicit.

The thought of Graham watching me, even unknowingly, sends a shiver down my spine. I imagine him sitting here late at night, his eyes drifting to the feed from my room. Would he linger there, transfixed by the sight of me sprawled across the bed?

I picture myself lying there in nothing but a thin camisole, the sheets tangled around my bare legs. My hand disappearing beneath the covers, beneath my panties. Would he watch, riveted, as I touched myself? Would his breath catch, his fingers tightening on the armrests of his chair?

When I meet Graham’s gaze again, there’s a knowing glint in his eyes, like he can read my thoughts. Heat crawls up my neck and I shift on the desk, lifting one of my legs and resting my toes on his chair, on the thin triangle of space between his thighs.

“And my bathroom? I don’t see that view.”

Graham’s breath catches. His eyes flick to my lips, then lower, over my shoulder, and back to my eyes. His fingers curl slightly at his sides, a small but telling movement.

“You won’t.” His voice is lower now, rougher.

I tilt my head, watching him. “There are windows in my bathroom. Could be dangerous not to have eyes in there.” My tone is innocent. The air between us is anything but.

He leans toward me, just a fraction, but I feel it. The slow drag of his gaze down my legs. The way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. The tension coiling between us, stretching tight. His eyes snap back to mine, dark and intense. “I would never violate your privacy like that, Francesca. You have my word.” His voice is low, sincere. A vow. And I believe him. Completely.

I wet my lips, watching as his gaze drops to follow the movement. “What if I wanted you to?” The words leave my mouth before I can second guess them.

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, a subconscious reaction. “Wanted me to?” His voice is a rumble, barely above a whisper.

“Do you want to watch me, husband?”

His voice is barely above a growl. “You’re playing with fire, sunshine.”

I lean forward, my leg sliding higher between his until my toes brush against the growing hardness in his sweatpants. “I can take it.”

Graham’s hands come down on my bare thighs, his fingers digging into my skin. He drags me to the very edge of the desk until I’m practically in his lap, my breath mingling with his.

“You sure about that?” His voice is a low rasp, his eyes burning into mine. “Because once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

My heart hammers against my ribs, desire pooling hot and thick in my veins. Graham’s hands are a brand on my thighs, the barely restrained power thrumming just beneath his skin.

I lean in closer, my lips a hairsbreadth from his. “Then don’t stop.”

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