She was his. His, and no other man’s. She had never belonged to anyone else and she never...
His mind whirled, teetered on the brink of a dangerous chasm. But Emily was holding him, kissing him, whispering his name and he couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel.
He kissed her, hard, tilted her head back as he took possession of her mouth. The dress tore under his hands as he slid down her body. It pooled at her feet and he saw Emily, his Emily, for the very first time.
She was every dream he’d ever had, and every hope. Her body was slender, her curves feminine, her skin flushed with desire. She was wearing lace. White lace. Bra, tiny panties, stockings that ended at her thighs. White, all of it, as soft and pure as the snow.
But her boots were black. Black as midnight, black as sin, tight, sleek and high on her legs.
Jake shuddered again, knotted his hands, swore to himself that he would make this second time perfect.
He bent to her and put his mouth against hers, holding her captive only with his kiss. Then he knelt and eased the boots from her feet, one at a time, pausing to kiss her ankle, her arch. He heard her make a whispered sound, felt the brush of her hand against his hair as he rose and he paused at the juncture of her thighs, told himself again to go slow, go slow, not to frighten her...
“Em,” he whispered, and his hands closed around the backs of her thighs as he pressed his face against the white lace panties.
Her cry of pleasure was almost his undoing. He could feel the heat, the dampness of her through the lace; the woman-scent of her arousal was perfume to his soul. His sparrow was trembling with desire and it was all for him.
For him, he thought, and he stood straight and gathered her into his arms.
“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, “so beautiful that you make my heart stop.”
She looked at him through those wide, dark eyes. “You are, too. I never knew a man could be beautiful, Jake.”
“Do you want to see more of me, Sparrow?”
The tip of her tongue snaked across her bottom lip. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, please.”
Eyes locked to hers, Jake unbuttoned his shirt. It fell open and Emily’s breath hitched. It was true. He was beautiful. All that taut muscle. The tanned skin. The whorls of black, silky hair...
She reached out a hand, hesitated, started to pull it back but Jake clasped her wrist, put her palm flat against his chest. He caught his breath; she gave a little hum of pleasure. His skin felt hot, his body hard. Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the strong column of his throat.
Jake trembled. “Oh Lord, Em,” he whispered, and for the first time in her life, she knew what it meant to have a man want her. No. Not just a man. Jake. Jake, who she...
She jerked back, would have spun away, but he caught her shoulders, pulled her close and kissed her. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. His mouth was rough and demanding, the stroke of his tongue possessive, and Emily let it happen, the feeling that her bones were melting, that Jake was taking her, claiming her, that he was marking her as his own...
That she loved him.
She loved Jake McBride. She loved everything about him. His beautiful face. His powerful body. His intelligence, his humor, his hot temper and now, his heart-stopping passion.
No. No! She didn’t want to love Jake. She didn’t want to love any man, especially not one who was everything she’d sworn to avoid, everything her sisters had foolishly thought fascinating. Jake was too handsome, too macho, too reckless, too restless...
Emily caught her breath.
It was too late for thought or for regrets. Jake was touching her. Opening her bra. Claiming her breasts as they tumbled into his waiting hands. Sucking her nipples. Licking them while he eased her panties down her hips, down her legs.
She cried out, clasped Jake’s shoulders for support. He said her name, tore off his clothes, swept her into his arms and took her down with him, in front of the fire.
“Jake,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion, her hands clasping his face.
“Don’t be afraid, Em,” he whispered.
She wasn’t afraid. Not of Jake. She was afraid of what she felt, what she wanted, what she could never have. “Please,” she said, “Jake, please.”
Emily opened her arms. Jake groaned, parted her thighs and sank deep, deep, deep into softness. The sweet softness that belonged only to him.
The softness of Emily.
CHAPTER TEN
THE snow continued all through the night.
Jake and Emily fell asleep before the fire, awoke and made love again.
Afterwards, he carried her to his bed.
“Mmm,” she sighed, as he gathered her close against him under the soft down comforter.
Jake kissed her, tucked her head against his shoulder, and they tumbled back into sleep. When he awoke next, it was morning and the sky, visible through the bedroom window, was a peaceful cerulean blue.
The storm was over, which meant the main roads leading back to New York were probably clear.
Jake looked at Emily, still sleeping in his arms.
But he hadn’t heard the sound of a snowplow.
The highways could be as smooth as glass. It didn’t matter. Until the guy who plowed his driveway and road showed up, he and his sparrow were snowbound. He knew, from past experience, that his house was last on the list.
What a pity, he thought, smiling again as he drew Emily closer.
She sighed. Her fingers spread just over his heart but she didn’t wake. Good. He didn’t want to disturb her. She was new to all this and she had to ache, just a little. Her muscles had to be sore.
But he knew how simple it would be, to wake her as he’d done during the night. He had only to kiss her, taste her mouth, savor its sweetness. Even asleep, her lips would part in response to his. Mmm, she’d say, Jake.. .and he’d say yes, Em, yes, baby, and her arms would tighten around him, her warm, naked body would move against his...
Oh, hell.
Jake bit back a groan, relaxed his hold on Emily and tried to put some distance between them, but she wouldn’t let it happen. She made a soft sound of distress, burrowed against him, threw her leg across his.
“Emily.” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “Baby?”
“Mmm.”
No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t...
She shifted her leg higher. Jake caught his breath.
“Sparrow, just move away a little. Just...”
Emily opened her eyes. Jake watched as the blur of sleep gave way to awareness. A delicate blush rose in her cheeks.
“Jake,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He kissed her. Her mouth was warm and soft under his. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Is it morning?”
“Uh-huh.” He kissed her throat, inhaling the sweet woman-scent of her skin. “The storm’s over.”
“Then, we can head back to—” her voice broke as his mouth found her breast “—to New York.”
“Not yet,” he said softly, and drew her nipple gently between his teeth. “We’re still snowed in.” He lifted his head and looked at her. Desire had turned her eyes dark. Slowly, he moved over her, kissed and licked his way down her body.
“Jake,” she whispered, “Jake, what—”
“I just want to kiss you. Here. Right...”
She cried out, put her hands in his hair, arched towards him. Jake groaned, slid his hands under her bottom touched his mouth to her again, and she tumbled with him into a whirlpool of dazzling sensation.
It was late morning before Emily stirred again.
She knew it was late. Sunlight filled the room; she could hear the steady pit-pat of the icicles melting from the eaves.
She was alone in the rumpled bed. The bedroom door was open... and she could hear a male voice singing downstairs.
Emily smiled, rolled onto her belly and took Jake’s pillow in her arms.
; She didn’t know much about rock and roll but either the radio stations in this part of the northeast featured really bad artists or Jake was singing his heart out. And, if he was, there wasn’t a singer in the world who had anything to worry about.
Jake was no threat to them... He was only a threat to her.
Emily’s smile faded. She sat up, her knees tenting the blankets, and ran her fingers through her tangled curls. The reality of morning sent the dreams of the night skittering into the shadows.
Sleeping with Jake hadn’t been on the agenda. Neither had falling in love with him. But both had happened, and now...
And now, what? What was a woman supposed to do, the morning after she’d slept with a man?
“Oh, Lord,” Emily whispered, and laid her head against her knees.
What had she done? Falling for Jake wasn’t just foolish, it was disaster waiting to happen; He didn’t love her. He didn’t even want an affair with her. He’d been perfectly clear about that. He’d wanted to show her what sex was all about....
And he had.
The weekend would end, and so would everything else. Monday morning, she’d show up at the office. So would Jake. And...
And?
And, nothing would be the same. Jake would look at her but not the way he always had. He’d look at her the way he’d looked at Brandi. With sadness, or maybe with embarrassment...
Emily fell back against the pillows.
A woman who slept with her boss was a liability, but a woman who fell in love with him was a calamity. How many times had she heard the same story? Secretaries, assistants, falling for the men they worked for. It happened with pathetic frequency, and always ended the same way, with the woman not just nursing a broken heart but doing it while she stood on the unemployment line.
Who was she kidding? The job was the least of it. It was Jake’s inevitable rejection that would be what would kill her. She’d laughed at the way Brandi had pursued him but it wasn’t quite so easy to laugh, now that she’d been with Jake, now that she’d fallen in love with him.
Okay. Emily drew a resolute breath. The thing to do was to end this, quickly. The snow had stopped. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, the roads would be clear. She’d dress, phone for a taxi, thank Jake politely for—for all his efforts...
“There you are, woman.”
Emily sat up. Jake was standing in the doorway, a rakish smile on his lips. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt; his feet were bare, his hair hung over his forehead and the stubble on his jaw was dark and sexy-looking.
Just seeing him made her feel dizzy.
“I figured you were going to sleep the day away.”
She drew the blanket to her chin and looked at the bedside clock. “I didn’t—I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“Yeah.” His voice softened, his smile tilted. “Well, you were tired.”
Her eyes flashed to his. He was coming towards her, and the way he was looking at her made her blush.
“Jake,” she said quickly, “I’m getting up.”
“Yes, you are.” He sat down next to her, on the bed. “You’re absolutely getting up, considering that I’ve spent the past thousand hours making pancakes, bacon, sausages and toast.”
“Bacon and sausages?” she said, smiling before she could stop herself.
“I didn’t know which you preferred.”
“Actually...” Emily sat straighter as she remembered her plan. “Actually, I think I’ll skip breakfast.”
“No way.” Jake reached out, brushed a curl from her forehead. “Didn’t you pay attention to your teachers, when you were a kid? It’s the most important meal of the day.”
“Yes, but—”
“Besides, you’ll hurt my feelings.”
“Jake, honestly—”
“Honestly, I’ll think you’re trying to get out of eating what I’ve cooked.”
He looked crestfallen, and about as serious as a puppy caught with a sock in its teeth. Emily fought back the desire to laugh.
“It’s very nice that you’ve cooked breakfast, but—”
“But, you have to get back to the city.”
“No. I mean, yes. The roads must be clear by now.”
Jake looped a finger under the edge of the blanket and tugged it off her shoulder.
“They are,” he said softly. “Clear enough so we can go out for dinner. I made reservations at The Hilltop Inn. You’ll love it.”
“I can’t stay. Really.” Emily caught her breath. His mouth was on her throat, his teeth and beard rasping sexily against her skin. “Jake,” she said weakly, “I have things to do.”
He pushed the blanket to her waist. “Uh-huh. So do I.”
“Horace needs...” Her breath hitched. “He needs fresh seed.”
“Call Mrs. Levy,” Jake whispered, as he stroked his hand over her naked hip. “She has a set of keys to your apartment.”
“Mrs. Levy? How do you know...”
“She told me, while we were freezing on that stoop, waiting for you to ring the buzzer.” Jake licked her belly, blew lightly on her damp skin. “She told me lots of things, Em. That you were sweet, and generous. That you were sexy and beautiful.”
Emily’s hands rose. She stroked Jake’s hair, cupped his strong jaw.
“She didn’t,” she said, and laughed softly.
“Not the sexy and beautiful part, no.” Jake parted her thighs, watched her face as he touched her, felt his heart leap as she moaned. “I found that out, all by myself.”
“Oh. Oh, Jake, please...”
“Please, what?” he said in a husky whisper.
“Please make love to me,” she sighed, and went into Jake’s arms.
Nobody had ever asked Jake to describe himself but if someone had, he’d have said he was a normal, healthy, heterosexual male of the twenty-first century.
In other words, he thought as he sat across from Emily in a candlelit booth at an inn a few miles west of Litchfield, in other words, he’d been with his fair share of women. What the heck. Maybe more than his fair share. He’d taken them to dinner, to the theater, to concerts, to parties. And to bed.
“...and,” Emily was saying, her eyes filled with laughter, “Angela said she wanted to be blonder, no matter what our mother said. So she locked herself in the bathroom. A little while later, we heard this awful screech...”
Oh, yes. An impressive number of women, to bed.
“...green. I mean, bright green, Jake! And Serena and I tried not to laugh, but...”
Except, it had never been an entire weekend in bed, now that he thought about it. Saturday night, maybe Sunday morning, and that was it. By noon, he was always feeling restless. By two, he was out the door.
“I could set my clock by you, Jake,” Brandi had said, with a sad little laugh.
Well, it was true. Saturday night, Sunday morning—that was a weekend. Anything that stretched beyond that, the lady might get ideas that would complicate things.
Plus, there was the boredom factor.
What did you do, when the sex was over? What did you talk about?
Everything, as it turned out. Everything, if Emily was the lady.
They’d finally gotten around to breakfast, even though it was so cold they’d had to start all over, from scratch.
Don’t throw all that food out, Emily had said. It’s wasteful.
So he’d cut up the pancakes for the birds, the bacon and sausages for the raccoons, while she’d made eggs—over easy, as it turned out, exactly the way he liked them—and bacon, and biscuits from a box of mix he’d bought and buried in the depths of a kitchen cupboard.
Then they’d bundled up, gone outside, left breakfast for the birds and the raccoons in the back of the yard, near the tree line. And yes, he’d shown her the lot next door, had a serious discussion about its value until Emily had sighed and said well, its real value was in its beauty, at which point he’d hauled her into his arms and kissed her so that they’d stumbled back
into the house, made love again, slept awhile, awakened, listened to CD’s because, as it turned out, she didn’t really hate all rock and roll and he didn’t really hate all classical stuff...
And they’d talked.
He loved listening to her. She’d told him about her first few jobs, about her sisters—her incredibly beautiful sisters, she called them. About her first apartment, and about Horace. How she’d spotted him languishing in a dingy pet-shop window, his feathers all dirty and mussed. How she hadn’t intended to buy a pet at all, but how she couldn’t possibly have left him there...
“What were you like, as a little girl?”
Emily blinked. Jake had interrupted her in the middle of a sentence and it was as much a surprise to him as it was to her. But, all of a sudden, he wanted to know about the Emily who’d existed before she came to New York. He wanted to be able to see her, in his mind’s eye, although he thought he already could. She’d have been delicate and shy, with a mane of untamed hair and a stack of books always in her arms.
“Well...” She hesitated. “Well, there was nothing special about me, Jake. Compared to my sisters, I—”
Jake reached for her hand. “You’re the one I want to hear about.”
“I was, um, I was small.”
“Delicate,” he said, and smiled.
“I was quiet.”
“Shy,” he said, and lifted her hand to his mouth.
“And I always had my nose in a book.”
Jake grinned and laced his fingers through hers. “Tell me more.”
“No, it’s your turn. Tell me about you.”
“There’s nothing much to tell.”
“Ah. You mean, Jacob McBride was born in a well-furnished office, wearing a custom-made suit?”
Jake thought of the tiny house he’d been raised in, of the patched clothes he’d worn until the fabrics were too worn to fix, and he laughed.
“Not by a long shot.”
“Well, what then? Was your father a banker, or... What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Jake said. “Hell, it’s not funny at all. It’s just the thought of my old man as a banker in a custom-made suit. I never saw him wear anything but overalls and a flannel shirt except on Sundays.” His smile tilted. “His day of rest, you know? And he’d spend it trying to figure out how to pay the bills...”
The Bedroom Business Page 15