by Tessa Layne
“I prefer to say I have ovaries of steel.”
“How soon can you start?” I like this woman, and she’s got just the kind of attitude that will have people lining up outside the gates.
“I can be on a plane in three days,” she offers.
“Text me your email and I’ll have my lawyers send over a contract.”
She hangs up, and I head down Main with a spring in my step. I slow as I reach Emmaline’s shop. My conscience pricks at me again. I should at least apologize, maybe offer to take her to dinner. But the door’s locked, and it’s obvious no one’s inside. I should let it go, chalk it up to bad timing and call it a day. I should feel grateful that I’ve dodged a bullet with someone who could so easily peel back the layers of my psyche.
But the sinking feeling in my chest surprises me. I want to see her again. Strike that. I have to see her again.
Chapter Fifteen
I’m a glutton for punishment, I decide as I pause in the dress shop doorway holding a grocery bag filled with red wine, spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread and Caesar salad from Gino’s Trattoria. In my other hand, I carry a bouquet of white chrysanthemums and blueish hydrangeas. The combination reminded me of Emmaline’s eyes. My pulse thumps erratically. I’ve never attempted to make amends before. I haven’t cared enough to want to. I push open the door, and above me the bell jangles merrily. As I wait, I’m struck by the emptiness. The space is classic and clean - perfect for a dressmaker. But it feels overwhelmingly lonely. There’s no staff, no shopkeeper or extra tailor. And where are her friends? I assume she has them, but to date, I’ve never seen anyone in the shop - friends or clients. Maybe it’s because I was just in the flower shop, and while there weren’t many buyers, it was busy. The dress shop feels like a tomb.
Emmaline slips through the door that leads upstairs, greeting dying on her lips as we lock eyes. A pain in my chest erupts at her fresh-faced beauty. She’s dressed just like the day before, but this time her soft, clingy tee is pale pink, and it makes her arresting eyes glow like blue beacons. My chest cracks open under her gaze as her eyes heat then soften.
“You came back,” she breathes, crossing to stand in front of me, cheeks sweetly pink - the same shade as her shirt.
I want to fall to my knees and beg forgiveness. I also want to know if she’s wearing crotchless boyshorts or a thong. For once in my life, decency wins out. I offer her the flowers. “I’m sorry about last night.”
She accepts the flowers, and bends to inhale. “You didn’t have to do this,” she murmurs, voice full of gratitude.
“Oh yes I did.”
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” She gives me a sad smile and shuts her eyes, as if she’s soaking up the moment. “No one’s ever brought me flowers before.”
I’m at a loss for words. To offer to bring her flowers every day is overkill, but I want to, just to see the look on her face. “I came by earlier, but the shop was closed.”
She sniffs deeply and wrinkles her nose. “Yeah. Sorry. I had an appointment.”
For a second, my breath seizes. She probably made a custom visit. I’ve had tailors come to me for fittings when I’ve been exceptionally busy. My stomach drops with a sickening feeling. But what if she’s ill, seriously ill? What if that’s why she’s broke and living above her shop? She gives me a smile meant to reassure, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and my mind jumps to the worst possible outcome. I’ve only known her a few weeks, only slept with her one night, and yet already, she’s seeped into the nooks and crannies of my psyche, filling a part of me I didn’t realize was empty. And that part of me catches at the thought of a life without her in it.
“What’s in the bag?” she asks while pulling on the edge of the paper and peering in, clearly changing the subject. “Ooh, Gino’s. I love Gino’s,” she coos. “His meatballs remind me of the ones my mom used to make.” She says it in the past tense, and with such longing that my chest grows tight. So both her parents must be gone - her grief is palpable. I’ve never felt that kind of connection to anyone, let alone my family. How would I feel if I lost a parent? Or one of my brothers? Numb, mostly. Relief, maybe.
I push the maudlin thoughts aside and lay my hand at the small of her back. “Tell me about it while we eat?”
Her baby blues sparkle and she rushes to the door and turns the lock. “I would love to.”
I follow her upstairs, still holding the bag. “Where’s your kitchen?”
“Don’t have one,” she says like it’s the most normal thing in the world to not have a kitchen. “You can put the bag on the cutting table.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have one?”
“I mean, I don’t have one.”
I can’t imagine not having a kitchen. I don’t cook much, but I enjoy it when I do. “How do you cook things?”
She shrugs. “I have an electric kettle.”
As if that’s the answer for twenty-first-century meal planning.
“That’s for tea,” I scoff.
“And ramen,” she adds.
“You eat ramen?”
“Don’t knock it,” she says with mock seriousness. “There’s a reason it’s a phenomenon in Japan.”
“But you can’t live off ramen.” No wonder she’s so thin. She’s starving. Or is she thin because she’s sick? Oh, jeezus, I’m going off the deep end.
“I don’t. I make salads. And eat takeout.” She smiles winsomely, eyes wide with mirth. “Now about those meatballs.”
So where’s all her money going? I swear, if I find out Danny’s extorting money from her, I’ll wring his neck. Or worse. It occurs to me that maybe she’ll be fine once she sells her house. At least that’s what I tell myself. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying. I cross to where she’s dishing up the takeout and brace my hands on the cutting table. “What’s going on, Em? Are you in trouble?”
She freezes with a spoonful of meatballs hanging in midair. “What have you heard?” she asks with quiet steel in her voice.
“Just that you had to sell your house.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “Did Dottie tell you that?” I nod once. “She had no business telling that to a stranger.”
Her use of the word stranger offends me. “But I’m not-”
She glares at me. “As far as Dottie is concerned, you are. She had no right.” Emmaline flings down the spoon and it lands with a clatter on the wood countertop.
I circle the cutting table and come to stand in front of her, taking her elbows. “Hey, hey. I was just concerned, that’s all. Do you need help?”
“No, I don’t need help,” she says emphatically.
“What aren’t you telling me, Em?”
She glares up at me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Touché.
I drop my hands, shoving them into my pockets. “I’m a very private person.” Who doesn’t do emotional entanglements.
“As am I.” She folds her arms across her chest. She sighs heavily. “Look, Declan. I’m not in the market for a heavy-duty relationship. And I’ve never been good at baring my soul.”
“Me either,” I say, the knot in my chest loosening slightly. “But I would keep your secrets if you let me,” I flash her a grin.
She laughs a little, pink creeping up her cheeks. “I’ll consider it. But only if you let me keep yours.”
“Sure, why not?” She’s basically ensuring that neither of us pries too deeply, and I could go for that, although it still makes me insanely jealous that Danny knows her better than I do. “A secret for a secret.”
“Exactly.” She nods.
Right then I decide to learn everything else about her. The stuff that’s not off limits - her favorite flower, food, wine, color, et cetera. You name it, I’m gonna find it out. I step into her space and capture her waist, lifting her onto the cutting table. “So, should we shake on this?”
She tugs on my tie with a shake of her head. “No. I think we should kiss on it.” She tilts up her chin
.
I drop my mouth to hers, cock eagerly growing as I slowly kiss her. There’s nothing innocent in the way she kisses, but it is sweet. Sweet and spicy, like the kind of Thai sweet chili sauce you can’t stop eating, even when you know you’ll pay for it later. Her tongue meets mine in an invitation I’ll never turn down, curling and teasing me into her mouth. Her hands work at my tie, while mine skate under her shirt, seeking the satin skin at her waist. I love the way her skin feels beneath my fingers, and I explore upward, taking time to trace along her ribs and back across the soft expanse of her middle, before running my palms up to the swell of her breasts. Her nipples are hard pebbles, and the feel of them in the center of my palms sends ripples of awareness straight to my burgeoning cock. I tease her nipples, barely touching them until she arches into me, seeking more friction. She pushes the shirt from my shoulders, and it drops to the floor with a whoosh. Her hands skate over my pecs, palms teasing my flat nipples in the same way. It’s erotic as fuck, simply kissing and barely touching, letting the fires within us build slowly. But it’s not enough. I want her skin against mine - heated flesh against heated flesh. I pull her shirt over her head and discard it next to my shirt. She leans back on the table, arching her back so that her tits thrust upward, pert and plump. “Let down your hair,” I say, voice like sandpaper.
She brings her hands to her head, pausing to let my eyes rake over her torso, and then with a shake and a toss of a few bobby pins, her hair comes cascading down like a platinum waterfall. I stare avidly, drinking her in, committing her form and her face to memory, the way her eyes are hungry and hot.
“Pants,” I say, my hand coming to my belt buckle.
Her mouth quirks and she settles her gaze on the bulge in my slacks. “Hungry?” she asks with an upward tilt of her lips.
“For you? Always.”
“You first.” She gestures with her chin, eyes riveted on my cock.
I undo the buckle, and slowly pull my belt from the loops, folding the leather with a snap. The air crackles with electricity as I let it fall to the floor where it lands with a clatter. I make short work of the button, then release the zipper, body flexing under her unwavering stare. My cock gives a jerk when she licks her lips, and I let my pants fall over my hips, kicking out of them when they land softly at my ankles.
“Those too,” she whispers hoarsely, still staring unabashedly at the bulge tenting my boxer briefs.
I push them down, watching her watch me, memorizing the way her mouth moves at the sight of me, lips slick with her saliva and eagerly parted, as if she were ready to jump off the counter and take a taste. I want her to, but I want to trace her body more. Memorize every gasp and shudder, learn every touch that sets her on fire.
She glances up, pupils wide and dark and gives me an appreciative smile. “You’re gorgeous.”
My chest puffs at her compliment, heat blooming at the center of my chest and spreading outward.
“And huge,” she says, licking her lips again.
My cock bobs, fully engorged and leaking pre-come. I want to take my fill of her, lose myself in her heat. But I stay still, letting her peruse me to her satisfaction. I feel the energy from her stare building in my balls, zipping through me like uncorked lightning. “Your turn,” I rasp.
She shimmies out of her leggings, dropping them on the pile of clothes, but closes her knees with an impish smile and a wicked light in her eyes.
“Emmaline,” I say. “Open your legs.”
Her answer? A flick of her eyebrows.
I have no idea what kind of game she’s playing, but I can be just as naughty. I take myself in hand, giving my cock a long slow pull, loving how her eyes widen to dark, glassy pools as she watches me slowly stroke myself. “I think your pretty pink cunt wants a taste of this.”
She squeezes her legs together with a whimper.
I continue my lazy strokes. “What do you want, Emmaline?” I ask silkily. “Name it.”
She’s vibrating, thighs clenching and releasing. “I want you to... to keep touching yourself,” she answers hoarsely, eyes fixated on my hand slowly moving along my length.
“Open your legs and touch yourself. Show me how wet your pussy is. How much it wants this.”
She opens with a moan, fingers circling her clit. Even from where I stand, I can see her fingers coated with her juices. Her thighs are slick with it, and it’s so hard to stand here and just watch, knowing what it’s like to slide through that silky essence.
We stare at each other, heat building between us and working our bodies to a frenzy. And it’s so. Fucking. Hot. I’ve seen women masturbating in porn, but it’s always so artificial, so contrived. This is the real deal, and it’s sensual, and exciting, and my body is tense with arousal, my legs shaking with the effort to remain standing. She slips her middle finger inside herself, and I bite back a groan. “I want to be inside that pussy,” I growl, giving my cock a hard squeeze.
Her eyes are hazy with lust. She’s close. Hell, I’m close. The air fills with the sounds of fingers sliding over skin, of labored breathing. “I want you to watch me come,” she utters tightly.
“Fucking exhibitionist.” I say between harsh breaths.
She shoots me a saucy grin and pumps herself harder. “Do you like it?”
“Fuck, yes.”
“Are you close?”
“Fuck, yes.” I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. My vision is beginning to spot around the edges as the energy builds for a powerful release. Electricity jets up the back of my legs, white hot heat coiling in my spine, entering my balls, pulling them tight.
“Me. Too,” she gasps as her hips buck off the table and her thighs shake uncontrollably.
It’s the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever seen. Emmaline’s eyes are bright, face and torso flushed with arousal, her mouth wide open in an ecstatic smile, hair cascading behind her as she drops her head back with a cry.
I’m right there with her, and my hips jut forward, come shooting out of me in long hard spurts as I coat her belly, mark her with white ropey lashes. Mine, I think as my mind goes blank. Mine.
Chapter Sixteen
We’re lying in bed, hours later, recovering from another round of sex, legs tangled in the sheets. “You’re beautiful like this, you know,” I say, running a finger down the bridge of her nose.
“You just like me naked,” she teases.
“I do. But I mean it. I could look at you forever, like this.”
She turns serious. “So you’re saying no matter what happens between us, you’ll never forget this?”
“Never.”
She beams at me. “Good. I don’t want to forget it either.” She runs a hand down my side, pausing at my hip, then dropping to the valley between my hipbone and my pubic bone. She’s discovered it’s a sensitive spot for me, and when she touches me there, it’s pretty much instant arousal. “Can I ask you a question?”
I still. The pat answer should be ‘anything’. But there are so many secrets between us, her question is loaded. I’ve seen her staring with concern at the two perfectly round scars near my armpit. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell that story, even though I still live it in my dreams. I chicken out and give her a flip response. “So long as it has to do with sex.”
Her mouth purses with amusement. “Not where I was going, but okay. What’s one thing you’ve never done with a partner?”
I’ve done a lot, and the few things I haven’t, have to do with giving up control. But that’s baggage I don’t care to explore at the moment. “I’ve never let someone blindfold me.”
“Would you consider it?”
“With you?” She nods, eyes wide and hopeful. “Maybe.” She breaks into a grin, and I can already see the wheels turning in her mind. “Secret for a secret,” I remind her.
She turns bright pink and bites her lip. My cock bumps against her hip, ready for another round with all this talk of sex. “Well…” she pauses as if screwing up her courage.
“I have an anal vibrator I want to try.”
I blink, a flash of heat going straight to my center. I’m dead. She’s gone and killed me. “Oh you dirty thing, you.” I laugh as I pull her onto me and settle her pussy at the base of my cock. “You’ve never tried it by yourself?”
She looks down at me, hair falling around us like a curtain, and shakes her head. “I always thought it would be nicer with… with the right person.”
My chest hitches and pulls tight. “And you think I’m the right person,” I say with a husky burr.
She reaches between us and guides herself onto my cock. “You’re definitely the right person,” she says with a sigh.
I don’t know what to say. The trust that she’s placed in me is undeserved. I’m an asshole. I have no heart. I care only about building my empire. I capture her face between my hands and lift myself up to take her mouth. I will never tire of its sweetness. She moves slowly over me, hips rolling with mine. “Ahh, Emmaline,” I say with too much regret in my voice when we part. “You’re too good for a man like me. I’m not able to give you more than what we have right now.”
“That’s all I want. Right now. We don’t need a future. We just need this.” She rolls her hips in a way that sets my veins on fire. “Right now. Just us. Only now.”
She bends and kisses me, tongue pressing for entry, and how can I deny her? Because there is only now, and I want to take everything from this moment. We come together in a slow dance of give and take, mouths saying what words can’t. Hands caressing, fingers twining, legs tensing, until I don’t know where I end and she begins, and when she cries out into my mouth as her body shatters again, I follow her over into the sweetest release. And when I blink, my eyes are wet.
Morning light streams in through the gauze curtain at the window. Emmaline is curled up beside me, snoring softly. It’s about the cutest damn sound I’ve ever heard. She sighs and shifts, still asleep. Dangerous thoughts racing through my mind. Thoughts of getting used to this, of memorizing the way her hair looks like liquid gold in the morning light. I sit up and reach for my phone, realizing too late it’s across the room with my clothes. I look down at the sleeping beauty next to me and an idea pops into my head. I slip off the bed and tiptoe over to where my clothes are, donning my slacks and shirt, rolling up my sleeves. My phone reads seven-oh-four. I can walk to the grocery and be back in less than half an hour, while checking my emails. I descend the stairs in my socks, stopping at the shop door to slip on my shoes. I only hope she’s a sound enough sleeper that she won’t hear the bell when I open the door.