by Sandy Lowe
Lauren’s bent head, her lips on Emma’s throat, her admission that not just anyone would do, weakened Emma’s resolve. “I’m good enough to fuck, I’m just not good enough to date,” Emma said, and instantly wished she hadn’t. Right now, being good enough to fuck was five hundred kinds of appealing.
Lauren’s head whipped up. “Why would you say that?”
Emma shifted, painfully aware that Lauren hadn’t let her go. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
Lauren shook her head. “I’m only in town for a couple of weeks. I’m coming off a really bad…situation back home. I’m not up for dating anyone.”
“But you’re happy to fuck,” Emma said.
Lauren’s smile was rueful. “I have a pulse, and we have enough chemistry for a nuclear weapon. But that’s not the point. Any girl would be lucky to date you. You’re beautiful and sexy and you know what you want. You’re definitely good enough to date.”
“You’re just not that lucky girl.” She knew when she was being placated.
Lauren sighed. “I like you. I like you more than I should like Sunrise Falls’ hometown heroine. But I’m going back to San Francisco.”
She let her head thunk back against the shelf. She could hardly blame Lauren for not wanting to uproot her life five minutes after meeting her. She might’ve nursed a crush for way too long, but Lauren hadn’t. Emma didn’t even know if she actually wanted to date Lauren anyway, she was impulsive and had a reputation for landing in bed with inappropriate women. She’d managed to screw her life harder than it was possible to ever screw a woman. Lauren hadn’t exactly turned out to be dream girl material. Emma had standards.
“I don’t want to be some notch on your bedpost,” Emma said.
Lauren brushed the hair out of Emma’s eyes. “What do you want to be then?”
She thought about it. Not easy to do with Lauren crowding her, Lauren’s fingers in her hair, Lauren’s gaze so direct she had to look away so her throat would work. “Nuclear chemistry sounds amazing, but I want dinner first.”
Lauren frowned. “You’re hungry?”
“No. Tomorrow, I want dinner before sex. Not a date exactly, but not a casual fuck either. I want filet mignon, and interesting conversation, and possibly candlelight.”
“You want a date that’s not a date.” Lauren’s forehead wrinkled.
Emma rolled her eyes. “Do you do anything but one-night stands? I want to matter enough to have dinner with. And besides, you owe me, you never did replace my grilled cheese.”
Lauren smiled slowly. “Oh, I see. You want me to work for it.”
“Well, if it’s work, then forget it.” She made to duck under Lauren’s arm but wasn’t fast enough. Lauren’s mouth covered hers like the seal on a promise.
“Emma,” Lauren murmured against her lips. “Would you by chance be free for dinner tomorrow night?”
“I’ll check my calendar,” she said before sinking into the kiss.
Chapter Five
Lauren pulled her SUV to the curb in front of Emma’s bungalow. Of course Emma Prescott lived in a picture-perfect cottage, with a cozy little porch, subtly tasteful Christmas lights adorning her carved antique front door, and a warm glow filtering through partially open curtains. December was a bleak month. Everything green and living had died, or was on its way there, and the air was heavy with blah. That was the only way to describe it. Just a whole big bucket of blah. Once the holidays passed, there was nothing to look forward to but endless winter, and the ab workout you got trying not to break your neck on the damn ice. Smart people resigned themselves to it. They shut their doors, shuttered their windows, and abandoned their gardens until spring.
In contrast, Emma’s house was positively welcoming. It belonged on a postcard or a puzzle, not stuck between Baker’s house and a colonial that got more and more derelict by the year. You couldn’t even see the house the front walk was such a graveyard of broken down, rusted out heaps of junk. Baker’s place just looked fed up and mopey. The paint was peeling, the lawn was a mud pie, and the sag in each side of the porch took the shape of a frown if you squinted a little. Emma’s house was all class. Not big, and not pretentious, but meticulously maintained, charmingly decorated, and suited Emma completely.
Lauren grabbed the bouquet of daisies she’d picked up at the 7-Eleven on the edge of town and got out of the car, suddenly crazy nervous. What the hell was she doing taking someone like Emma to dinner? Emma’s house screamed I have my shit together. She washed her windows for God’s sake, in December. She had a solid job, the respect of her community, and the most gorgeous mouth in all of history. Lauren grinned. God, that kiss had been hot. She’d been so desperate to convince Emma that the dare hadn’t meant anything that she’d just lost her mind for a second. Just a tiny kiss. A trial kiss. Free and easy, no purchase necessary. But then Emma had kissed her back, had all but melded into her, making noises in the back of her throat that had blotted out the possibility of taking things slowly. She hadn’t bargained on Emma being so drench-her-panties enthusiastic. She figured Emma for shy and reserved, a little too jumpy to really let herself go. But Emma vibrated with passion, and Lauren threw caution to the wind, pouncing on her like a seventeen-year-old nerd pounces on the prom queen in the back seat of a beater. She probably should’ve attempted some finesse instead of throwing her up against the bookcase, but, well, it was difficult to regret a kiss that spectacular.
Lauren gave the house one last long look before making her way up the path to the front door. She wasn’t the kind of girl someone like Emma should date, but hell if she was going to pass up the opportunity to hear what other sexy sounds Emma could make. Sex she could more than deliver on with that kind of inspiration.
So, filet mignon it was.
Lauren rang the bell and took an involuntary step back when it was opened by Brenda Baker aka the Cupcake. Her heart plummeted. What was she doing here? Feeling ridiculous holding a sad little bouquet of service station daises, Lauren cleared her throat. “Hi there. Is Emma home?”
The Cupcake stuck a hand on her generous hip and looked down her nose at Lauren. “She is. That girl is under the impression you’re taking her out to dinner, Miss West.”
Lauren fought the urge to roll her eyes. “She’s pretty smart like that. May I come in?”
The Cupcake didn’t budge. “Now, do you really think that’s a wise idea?”
“Okay. I’ll wait here if you’ll let her know I’ve arrived.” Lauren smiled her fakest smile.
The Cupcake dispensed with her not very niceties and got to her point. “I have half a mind to slam this door in your face and let Emma think that you’ve stood her up.”
Oh, hell no.
She didn’t care if some snobby, only-Christian-on-Sundays, judgmental nitwit wanted to give her a hard time. She’d been getting the signature Sunrise Falls treatment all week. But this witch masquerading as a sweet old lady would not hurt Emma’s feelings. She rested a hand on the doorframe, leaned into the Cupcake’s space, and lowered her voice. “You could do that. But if you do, I’ll call Emma from right here and explain to her exactly what happened. You wouldn’t want her to think you’re intentionally ruining her date, would you?” Fuck that it wasn’t an actual date. As far as the Cupcake needed to know it was an intimate seduction that would end in a marriage proposal. After that, they’d be moving to Paris.
The Cupcake narrowed her raisin eyes to slits so small it looked as if she were squeezing them shut. “You listen here, little miss. That girl is a good sweet girl. She doesn’t need someone of your reputation waltzing in to sully her.”
“I’d say that’s Emma’s decision, not yours.”
“Emma doesn’t understand the situation.”
“Everyone with a smartphone understands the situation.” Or at least the version the media had slathered like grease all over the internet. “Emma doesn’t agree with your assessment, does she?”
Lauren smiled, irrationally pleased.
The
Cupcake shoved her face into Lauren’s until their noses were almost touching. “That sweet girl thinks everyone in the world is as good as she is. But I know better. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and you’re bad news. Literally.”
Before Lauren could open her mouth to respond, Emma spoke up from the top of the stairs. “Hi, sorry I’m running a bit late.”
Lauren looked over the Cupcake’s shoulder and swallowed really, really hard. She’d said it before, but Emma Prescott was unbelievably hot. She descended the stairs like she was Kate Winslet in Titanic. Emma put her hand on the Cupcake’s shoulder. “Thanks, I’ve got it from here. I appreciate you dropping off the minutes from the meeting. I’ll make sure the library takes the town’s insights into consideration.” Emma spoke to the Cupcake, but she hadn’t stopped looking at Lauren.
The Cupcake stiffened but stepped past Lauren out the door. “Of course, sweetie. I know you have the town’s best interests at heart. We’ve made some excellent improvements on your suggestions. I’ll see you at the parade tomorrow night.” She glared at Lauren for an awkwardly long beat before descending the stairs and crossing the yard to her own.
Emma’s smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “Hi.”
Despite just being informed she was one step down from pond scum, Lauren’s answering smile was genuine. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, you look absolutely amazing.”
“I don’t look like you’ve just fucked me?” Emma’s tongue peeked out to lick her bottom lip.
The air flew from Lauren’s lungs and disappeared into the night, leaving her breathless. “Not yet.”
Emma’s eyes widened and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip, that outrageously erotic blush emerging on her cheeks. She twisted her hands in front of her, as if she didn’t know what to do with them, but said nothing.
“You look beautiful.” Lauren cursed herself for making Emma uncomfortable. The lines of communication between her brain and her mouth were unreliable at the best of times, but around Emma they were AT&T in a windstorm. Emma’s sapphire blue dress clinched at her side, the folds draping across her body at sharp angles like an artfully arranged handkerchief. Her shoulders were bare, and her dark hair swung freely. She didn’t look at all like Lauren had just fucked her. She was entirely fuckable, though.
“These are for you.” Lauren proffered the bunch of daisies that she’d brought on impulse because they made her think of Emma. She liked daisies. Among a deluge of showy flora, daisies were sweet, pretty, and as honest as they came.
Emma’s eyes lit up. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers. I love them. Come in, let me put these in water before we go.”
Emma headed to the kitchen with Lauren trailing her. Under other circumstances she would’ve been interested in the kind of home Emma had created for herself, but the instant Emma turned around she only had eyes for her ass. The dress might’ve been draped in the front, but the back was snug. Her mouth watered. She had to think of something to say before Emma faced her again or she’d be caught staring with her tongue hanging out. “Your hair looks great down like that. Very glossy.” Not exactly scintillating conversation, but it would do.
Emma opened a cabinet above the stove and reached to retrieve a glass vase. The heartfelt, “Oh,” was out of Lauren’s mouth before she could stop it. She would buy Emma flowers every damn day if she got to watch her reach up on her tiptoes like that, her dress inching up the back of her thighs.
Emma spun around. “Oh, what?”
“Nothing.” Fuck.
Emma gave her a long look before running the tap to fill the vase. She unwrapped the bouquet and clipped the stems before arranging them. “My hair looks better up with this dress, but I got the impression you like it loose, so…” Emma let the sentence trail off, leaving Lauren to her own conclusions.
“You wore your hair down for me?” Lauren was still preoccupied with Emma’s luscious thighs.
Emma shrugged. “It was you that pulled my hair out of its ponytail the second you touched me, wasn’t it? That seemed like a statement.”
Had she? She didn’t remember freeing Emma’s ponytail, but she did recall how gorgeously silky Emma’s hair had felt wrapped around her fingers.
Emma wasn’t looking at her, busy fussing with flowers that were already perfectly arranged.
Lauren waited, but Emma didn’t respond. She was beginning to suspect that Emma’s silences weren’t always because she was uncomfortable. Lauren skirted the island to where Emma stood facing the sink. She put a hand on Emma’s hip and ran her other through Emma’s hair. Emma wasn’t wrong. She did like loose hair, always had. Why women wanted to muck it all up with spray and gunk she’d never understand. Soft hair you could run your fingers through, that felt good sliding against your skin, that you could use to angle a woman’s head in just the right way, was just about the sexiest thing she could think of right at the moment.
“Emma?” she whispered, her lips half an inch from Emma’s ear.
“What?” Emma’s voice was all squeak.
“Did you dress to make me hot?”
With a hand on her hip, she could feel Emma shudder. “Yes.”
The admission was a simple one, just one little vowel squished between two consonants. But Emma said yes like she was admitting to the kinkiest and most daring of escapades. Lauren went hot all over. Very hot, and very wet. She kissed the shell of Emma’s ear. “I like that you thought about what I would enjoy. It’s very sexy.”
She moved in closer behind Emma so she could wrap an arm around her waist. With deliberate care, she traced a line across Emma’s abdomen from hip to hip. “Did you make any other decisions you thought I would approve of?”
Emma’s breathing was fast, her chest rising and falling quicker than usual, quicker even than was appropriate for this moment. Lauren frowned. She eased back, then slid her hand back to Emma’s hip again. She ran her fingers through Emma’s hair until it draped to one side. “I make you nervous, don’t I?”
Emma nodded. Lauren could see their reflection in the window in front of them. Emma had her eyes closed and she was gripping the edge of the sink like it was holding her up. “Good nervous or bad nervous?” She needed to know because Emma seemed a slippery slope away from a panic attack.
Emma opened her eyes, and they stared at each other’s reflection. “Good, but…”
Lauren bent and kissed the nape of her neck. “But?”
Emma breathed in deeply and let it out slowly. “I get a bit anxious. It’s mostly under control, but sexual situations tend to make me more nervous than most people.”
Anxious. That explained a lot. Lauren ran a hand up and down Emma’s arm. “And right now?”
“I feel a bit like you’re knotting me up and unravelling me at the same time.” Emma laughed shakily. “I’m sorry. I must seem like a crazy person. It’s not a big deal, really. I can usually breathe through it.”
Lauren turned Emma in her arms. She liked being behind her. Emma’s ass snugged into her crotch was sending a waterfall of tingles between her legs, but their conversation had turned from sexy to serious and she needed to see Emma’s eyes. “What can I do? You know we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. You be in charge.”
Emma smiled. “Uh-huh. I’ll be in charge until the cavewoman lurking in there,” she poked Lauren in the chest, “comes out and corners me against a bookcase.”
Lauren winced. “I’m sorry. I—”
Emma cut her off by reaching up and brushing her mouth against Lauren’s. “Don’t be sorry. I liked it.”
Lauren’s wet tingling pussy clenched like Emma had slid the words inside her. She bit back a moan. Emma liked it. “Did you?”
Say it again. And again, and again.
Emma nodded. “The nervousness makes it hard to let go sometimes. Even when I want to. You taking charge like that, it helped. I didn’t have to think.”
Lauren buried her face in Emma’s
hair. She needed a couple of seconds to pull herself together so she didn’t just spin Emma around, hoist her up onto the island, shove her dress up, and show her exactly what it would be like when she took control. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say when she lost control. The difference was starting to blur. But Emma wanted them to get to know each other first, and this was prime getting to know you territory. “I’d never have guessed you were nervous when you were kissing me,” Lauren said.
Emma shrugged again. “At some point the balance tips, and I forget myself and just focus on…”
Emma trailed off at exactly the wrong moment, leaving Lauren craving the rest of her sentence the way an addict craves their next hit. “You focus on what?”
The blush was back, spreading across Emma’s cheeks like sunrise. “On the way I feel.”
Lauren’s skin was so hot and tight she expected to burst into flames at any second. Emma’s natural shy-but-eager combo was killing her one sexy admission at a time. “How did you feel when we were kissing?”
Emma bit her lip again, her breathing unsteady. “Lauren—”
“Tell me. Take it slow. Breathe if it helps. But I want to know.”
Emma made a sound that got caught somewhere between a squeak and a whimper. She breathed purposefully for a few seconds and said, “I felt good and sexy and clumsy and desperate.”
“All good adjectives.” Lauren shoved her hands into her pants pockets so she didn’t use them to fuck Emma blind. If they kept this up, she wasn’t sure even a herd of angry buffalo could prevent her from touching Emma. “But they don’t tell me anything about sensation. About how it felt.”
Lauren watched Emma’s throat work as she swallowed. “I was wet. Is that what you want to know?”
On the word wet Lauren’s panties instantly drenched with desire. Fuck. What was she doing? She was drowning, gasping for air, so so close to losing her thread of control that it was as insubstantial as wet spaghetti. She wanted to know if Emma was wet again right now. She wanted to feel it on her fingers. She wanted to not be going to dinner tonight. “Much better.” She brushed the damp hair off Emma’s forehead. “I’m sorry if that was hard.”