Lost and Found: Book One of the Emi Lost & Found Series

by Lori L. Otto

  I just glance over at her and smile with a slow shake of my head. I hold my hand open to her. She takes it in hers. “Wherever you are. That’s where I want to be.”

  “Funny,” she says. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Holy shit, Emi!” I yell happily, the shock of seeing her finally wearing off. “You’re here!”

  “I know!” she laughs. I pick up our hands and kiss the back of hers.

  “My god, baby, this weekend is going to be amazing.” I clear my throat, slightly uncomfortable with the nickname that just fell from my mouth. “What do you want to do while you’re in town?”

  “I don’t care,” she answers with a shrug. “What do couples do here?”

  My stomach jumps a few times. “I have no idea, but we’ll figure it out.”

  She gives me a sideways glance.

  “Well, I have some ideas… ” I admit, to which her cheeks respond with a beautiful pink blush. She squeezes my hand in hers.

  “Holy shit,” she mumbles with a smile. “This is happening.”

  “It’s happening,” I confirm as I take my exit. At the stop light, we meet over the console and kiss. With no traffic around, we stay there through two red lights, enjoying the company of one another. I want to tell her I love her, but I don’t want to scare her away too soon. After all, she hasn’t said it yet. She’s been a little vague, a fact that hasn’t gone unnoticed. I’ll give her whatever time she needs. I have the rest of my life with her.

  At the hotel, I pass the keys to the valet and grab our things.

  “You sure you’re okay to stay with me? I can put you up in your own room, if you’re more comfortable.”

  “I’m sure,” she says, nearly laughing at me. “Since when did you become so chivalrous and old-fashioned?”

  “Since you said you had feelings for me.”

  “Don’t act differently, Nate,” she instructs as we enter the elevator. “Just be yourself. Be the man I know.”

  “He’s not good enough for you.”

  “He’s the man I want,” she assures me as we make room for another couple in the elevator. How did this happen, and what did I do to earn this? To earn her favor?

  As soon as the man and woman exit on their floor, Emi saunters over to me. “Don’t change for me,” she whispers. I drop our bags and put my hands at the nape of her neck, bringing her lips to mine hungrily.

  “God, I need you.” The words fall out of my mouth as soon as the elevator stops at the penthouse level. A grin spreads across her face, her eyes full of wonder and passion. She traces my bottom lip with her thumb and picks up her suitcase as she walks past me. “Last door on the left,” I guide her, grabbing my own bag and jogging to catch up with her. After unlocking the door, I take her suitcase from her and welcome her into the suite. “Shit, if I had known you were coming, I would have cleaned up a bit,” I apologize as I take in the sight of the messy hotel room. “Since I’ve been working here, I haven’t allowed the staff to clean up after me.”

  “It’s okay,” she assures me. “It reminds me of your place. It feels like home.” I lock the doors and watch her wander around the room. She turns around and leans against the dining room table, her hands grasping the lip of the wood. I set our things in the kitchen and go to her, unable to stay away from her now that I know how full, how soft, how generous her lips are; now that I want to explore more of her.

  “You feel like home,” I tell her after another kiss. I help to prop her up on the table. Fighting every urge in my body, I hold her knees together while I kiss her. I know I have a tendency to move fast– too fast for her liking. She’s always criticized me for getting physically involved too quickly. I want nothing more than to take her on this table right now. Knowing how tired she is, and how badly my body is screaming for hers– and not trusting myself once I get started– I offer her some time to get settled while I clean up. She hasn’t said anything, but I know I feel grungy after a full twelve hours of working on that mural.

  “Wait, would you like to take a bath or something first to relax?” I suggest, reminding myself to put her needs before my own. This will be a constant struggle, but she’s worth it.

  “No, you go,” she says. “I’ll go unpack or something.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. Which one’s the spare room?”

  “Oh,” I answer, confused, hoping she would choose to stay in my room with me, but again, trying to be understanding of her own ideas of what should happen this weekend. “This one over here.” I take her luggage and open the door to the extra bedroom that I’ve barely spent any time in.

  “Wow, it’s nice. What is that, a king-sized bed?”

  “Yes, Albert likes to flaunt his money, I’ve found. Only the best, no matter where we go.”

  “Not a bad perk for the job,” she comments. “Hurry and shower. We’ve got a ton of things to talk about.”

  “Right,” I smile warmly at her. “Make yourself at home. Want a drink? I’ve only got water and champagne, but–”

  “Nate,” she interrupts. “Go shower,” she urges me with a smile. “I’ll find something, don’t worry about me.”

  “Alright.” I linger in the doorway, staring at her for a few seconds before heading to my own room and turning on the faucet. In the shower, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about all the different ways I’d like to show her I love her. My imagination free and unfettered, I keep hoping she’ll walk into the bathroom with me, but she never does. Not tonight.

  After towel-drying myself and combing my fingers through my hair, I pull on a pair of my boxers and an old concert t-shirt. Is it okay to wear this around her? This really shouldn’t be this difficult, and I’ve been dressed like this a million times around her. This is no different.

  Don’t change for me, she had said.

  I decide to grab some water on my way to her room. I peek in through the cracked doorway to see her body bathed in light from the side table lamp. She’s still dressed in the pretty black dress, curled around a pillow on the bed.

  “Emi?” I whisper, to which she doesn’t respond. I try to rouse her once more by saying her name quietly again. I push the door open and walk over to the bed, kneeling down beside it. Even as she sleeps, her dimples reveal a faint smile. I set down a bottle of water on the night stand and gently sweep a lone curl out of her face. Just like the first night I kissed her, I watch her in wonder. Now, I know what it’s like to be kissed by her, and even though every inch of my body is begging for another touch, another taste, I will never steal another kiss from this woman like I regrettably did that night. I only want the ones she’s willing to give me.

  “I love you,” I whisper softly, happy to say the words aloud and hoping she’ll wake up with no doubt how I feel about her. I pull a spare blanket out of the closet and drape it over her body. She settles into it, feeling its warmth, but still doesn’t wake up.

  This must be what she wants, and I’m fine with it. Because I know it’s coming, and I know I am stronger than this incessant urge to consume every inch of her body with my own. I’m the man she wants.

  I turn the lamp off and take one last look at her, the moonlight not quite strong enough to highlight all the beautiful features of her face. Fortunately, I’d been memorizing them for years, and I take those memories back to my own bedroom. I’d spent most nights sleeping on the plush couch in the living room. My nights spent here were no different from any of the ones in New York. I was always struck with inspiration in the middle of the night, and it was easier to keep an easel and paints set up in the main room to have them readily available if a dream stirred me into action. That’s exactly how the smaller paintings came to be. Afraid I’d track paint all over the suite, I had preferred to pull a spare set of sheets over the sofa and crash there.

  But tonight, I decide to settle into the bedroom I’d claimed as my own, knowing that I’d sleep well, my mind quickly getting used to the idea that the woman I’d dreamed of h
aving for years was actually mine now.

  I take out my acoustic and bring it with me to the room, wanting to practice the song I’d written for her years ago. I had always had this vision of singing it for her in a dimly-lit room, just the two of us, and I want the moment to be perfect. Slinging the strap around my shoulders, I look over the city beneath me out the small corner window and start to strum the chords as quietly as I can. The words come easily, having perfected them a long time ago. The song has danced around in my head, all this time, to the point that I knew it would be something I could never forget, even if I had tried.

  My throat dry, I take a break to get a sip of the water before continuing with the second verse. Feeling confident in my feelings– and sure that she can’t hear me across the suite– I sing a little louder, smiling through the rest of the song. When the last chord has been played, I let the sound linger in the silence around me. I think about what I’ll say to her after. I’d never allowed myself to play out this fantasy in my mind. It was fruitless before.

  The click of the door knob startles me, but immediately settles me, too. I turn to watch her enter the room.

  “Did I wake you?” I ask her, my hands still fingering the strings, the song still unfinished in my mind.

  “No,” she says as she walks in and shuts the door behind her. Shuts us in the room together. The bedroom. Alone. All of a sudden, the room seems tiny, her presence filling the corners and all the spaces in between. She’s everywhere. She’s exactly where I want her to be.

  She walks slowly toward me, still in her dress but now with bare feet, her toenails painted a soft pink color. She takes my guitar, lifting it how I taught her to many years ago. I pull the strap over my head, shrugging away from the instrument.

  “You gonna play something for me?” I ask her as she holds the guitar awkwardly.

  “Where can I set this?” I take it from her and place it on my stand in the corner. “That was lovely. What’s it called?”

  “Uh… ” I stutter, my feet planted firmly in the floor across the room from her. “The Night You Weren’t Mine.” I look down at the floor, remembering that night.

  “Did you write it for me?”

  “I did,” I admit. “A long time ago.”

  “Well, which night?”

  “Any and all of them.”

  “Well… whose was I?” she asks.

  “Not mine. That’s all that mattered.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. I’m looking forward now. There’s no sense in dwelling on the past.”

  “You’re right. Because I’m yours now.” She runs her hands down the skirt of her dress, straightening it. “Tonight.” Her eyes are earnest, but still weary. “If you still want me.”

  “Emi,” I sigh, knowing what she’s implying. “You’re tired. Why don’t you–”

  “I didn’t come all this way to sleep alone, Nate.”

  I lift my eyebrows at her suggestion. “You don’t have to,” I tell her as I walk toward her. “You can sleep in here with me.” When I reach her, I touch her cheekbones with my thumbs and lean in to kiss her.

  “And to that,” she begins, “ I would say that I didn’t come in here to sleep.”

  “Good, I guess. Because having you in here makes me not want to do a whole lot of sleeping, either.”

  “What would you like from me?”

  “What?” I ask her.

  “What do you want? From me?” Her hands dip beneath my t-shirt and push me toward the bed. I sit down when the backs of my knees hit the edge. My body shudders as her fingernails scrape lightly up my stomach to my chest, dragging the shirt up with them. She tugs on it until I raise my arms and allow her to pull the garment over my head.

  The answer comes quickly. “Everything, Emi. Anything you’re willing to give me. More than friendship, but more than this– more than just sex.”

  “So you don’t want this?” she asks as she nudges herself in between my legs. She takes my hands and places them on her hips. I allow my fingers to wander, then immediately pull her into my lap, cradling her against my torso, and I’m sure she can feel instantly that it is exactly what I want.

  “I never said that,” I whisper into her ear before taking her lobe in between my lips. She exhales slowly into my own ear. With an involuntary smile, I ask, “Do you like that?”

  She sighs before telling me she does, and I can’t help but laugh quietly at her response.

  “What?” she asks, leaning away from me with those silly furrowed brows of hers.

  “I just find it fascinating that I’m learning new things about you after knowing you for all these years.”

  “Well, you’ve never known me like this.”

  “I’ve never known anyone like this. You have to know, Emi.”

  “Shhh, Nate.” She presses her finger over my mouth and nods. “I know.” I press my lips against her finger and move it away, her eyes staring into my own.

  “I want to know more.” I place my hands behind her neck and pull her face to mine once more. She mimics my moves, and we hold each other as small, tender kisses become frantic and covetous. My hands find their way to her thighs, beneath her dress. Silk and lace. Such a turn-on.

  She places her hand on mine, removing it from her body. I apologize, misunderstanding her. One side of her lip turns up as she moves off of my lap and once again stands in front of me.

  She takes part of her dress– the ends of a ribbon around her waist– and places them in each of my hands. I look up at her questioningly.

  “Go ahead,” she encourages me. I sigh and laugh at the same time, in relief and disbelief. She wraps her hands around my head and pulls me into an embrace against her chest. Her fingers play with my hair. I feel her lips press a kiss to my scalp.

  Pushing her dress aside, I kiss the top of her breast and feel her breathing pause with a startled gasp. Delivering kisses to her collarbone and neck, I slowly untie the ribbon and pull it from the dress. Two small snaps hold her wrap-around dress together. They easily separate under my grasp. I lean back to take in the sight of her.

  She shrugs out of the dress, letting it fall around her feet. The most beautiful woman stands before me, her black silk and lace bra and panties providing little cover over her most private– most sacred– areas. My fingers trace the edges curiously, my hands wanting to rip them from her body.

  She wears a satisfied grin when my gaze finally reaches hers.

  “This is not the type of underwear I would expect Emily Hennigan to wear,” I smile slyly.

  “I wore them for you,” she admits quietly with a blush. “I bought them with you in mind. I didn’t realize seducing you would be so easy… plus, I know I’m competing with a lot of other women– one of which I’ve seen naked, need I remind you–”

  “No, you didn’t need to,” I cut off her nervous banter, not even allowing my mind to go back to last New Year’s Day. I focus all of my attention on the woman in front of me. “And there was never any competition, Em. You’re the only one. I want you to be the only one,” I breathe as I outline her undergarments with my fingers and watch as goosebumps appear where my fingers once were.

  As she leans in to kiss me again, my hands travel to her back to unclasp her bra. When I start to slide it down her arms, her head bows demurely, shyly, as she clasps a few fingers of her right hand around a few on my left. As we hold one another tentatively, she affords me the time to just drink her in.

  “You truly are beautiful.” She adjusts her hand, resting her palm against mine. I lift her hand to my lips. “Can I just… ” I take a deep breath. “Just look at you for a moment? I never thought… ”

  “Okay,” she says with a blush, dropping her hands to her side. I study every marking, every curve, every shift of color or texture on her body. I notice a fading bruise on her forearm and kiss it. Turning her slightly, I see a familiar birthmark on her right shoulder. I kiss it, too. She puts her hand on my shoulder to steady herself, and I not
ice an anomaly on her skin.

  “Did you know about these?” I ask Emi, brushing my finger over a grouping of freckles on her side above her ribcage, an area that would normally be obscured by her arm.

  “Yeah,” she says shyly. “They’re weird. It’s the only place I have freckles anywhere on my body.”

  “They’re lovely,” I correct her, beginning to count them. “Seventeen,” I tell her.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Five on the top, twelve spread out randomly below.”

  “I didn’t realize there were that many.”

  Seventeen. Five on top. I get a flashback from a poetry class in college.

  I begin to recite a poem as I tap the rhythm on her skin, each syllable represented by another small speck on her pale flesh.

  “One transcendent kiss

  That later makes lovers take

  Soft breaths, holding hands”

  “That was beautiful,” she says, shivering when I kiss what has now become my favorite part of her. “Who wrote that?”

  I look up at her, amused by her question. “That’s your haiku. One syllable for every freckle.”

  “You wrote that?” I nod to her. “When?”

  “Just now. Just for you.”

  She looks at me, stunned, before a smile breaks across her face. “Say it again,” she whispers.

  I clear my throat before beginning. “One transcendent kiss,” I say as I rise from the bed. Standing in front of her, I lift her chin so our eyes can meet. My stomach tightens as my thumbs brush over her dimples.

  She takes a deep breath. “One transcendent kiss,” she repeats. I watch her closely as she moves toward me. Just another inch or two, and her breasts would be touching my torso. Her soft lips on mine, they move in sync. The sweet taste of her just makes me want more. My hands move slowly down her body. “Go on,” she whispers, exposing her neck to me.

  “That later—” I speak softly against the hollow beneath her ear, tracing her earlobe with my tongue. Curious, I press kisses on her shoulders, her collarbone, then finally reach my destination. My lips surround the areola on her right breast.