by Jordan, Skye
“Fine.”
He pulled the plans forward. “And eat something before that wine catches up with you.”
They ate and drank while he explained all the renovation options. Emma’s body had gone loose and relaxed by the time he explained the last and highest after-repair value.
“That’s a lot of money to put into a house,” she said, clearly concerned.
“I’ve got it covered.”
She eyed him. “How’d you get that kind of money over the last eight years? You’ve only been a correspondent for four.”
“So you have been keeping track of me.”
She gave him that don’t-start look, so he dropped it.
“I was able to remain in long-term rehab for two years, until I was able to start outpatient therapy. As soon as I whittled down my pain medications and my head was clear, I had way too much time on my hands. To stay sane, I started writing.”
He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned against the wall. “I developed a nice collection of online magazines that posted and promoted my work. I earned some decent money and squirreled it away. Once I was out of the hospital, I bought my first camera and did some photography and photojournalism while scrounging for more relevant, meaningful stories. I hooked up with a few other journalists, stood in for a local news channel when their newscaster got food poisoning, and ended up getting picked up by their larger affiliate.”
“I’d say that’s incredible, but I always knew you’d make it.” Her voice was soft. “You’re exactly where you dreamed you’d be.”
“No, I’m not. I may have the career I always wanted, but the most important things in life are missing—my wife, my family, friends.”
“Weren’t any of these journalists you hooked up with special?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard him call her his wife.
He was surprised by her directness and annoyed at his own self-loathing. “That’s not what I meant when I said hooked up. But no. There hasn’t been anyone special.”
He covered her hands with his and threaded their fingers. Dylan had occasionally found a woman overseas to ease the pain of Emma’s absence. Sometimes another journalist, sometimes a civilian in a support role with the military. But those fleeting nights had always been out of need, not love. Not even affection. And it hadn’t been often. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he’d had sex. He only knew he needed Emma worse than he needed his next breath.
“I’d love to tell you I never slept with anyone else—”
She looked away. “I would never expect—”
“What I can tell you is that you that my heart has always been yours. That never changed. That will never change.”
Her gaze slid back to his and searched, then she refocused on the blueprints. “So, about the house. Why are the prices all so different? The repair costs vary by a hundred grand.”
He was disappointed his confession didn’t move her. “They include things like the quality of finish materials used and whether or not we move walls, add square footage, or re-landscape.”
She considered with a slow nod. “I assume the more the renovations cost, the more the house will be worth.”
“Yep. Talk to me. What do you think of the plans?”
“Well…” She leaned forward, pulled the clips off the edge of the blueprints, and spread the three floor plans out in front of them. “I love the big windows. The yard and the neighborhood are so pretty, the bigger windows would be great. Adding a Jack-and-Jill bath between these two bedrooms is really smart. The kitchen…” She paused, tilted her head, and pointed to the plans. “Could we extend the island to here?”
Her interest in the plans sparked excitement and satisfaction. He leaned forward so they sat shoulder to shoulder, staring at the renovation plans. “That would bring it into the breakfast nook.”
“But if we put a counter return here, we could make it a breakfast bar that would fit at least five stools. Then we could turn this space into a pantry. Taking out this wall between the kitchen and the living room will steal a lot of cabinet space, and in a house with four bedrooms, the chance of a large family buying it is high. A pantry would be helpful.”
“Damn,” he said with a smile. “I forgot how good you are at this.”
He also loved the way her “we” references turned his project into their project. He found a pencil in the kitchen and returned to make marks on the plans, depicting the changes she suggested.
“This bathroom,” she pointed to the Jack and Jill, “is going to be shared by siblings. I think a tub shower would be better than a standing shower for kids. If we take out this one cabinet and moved the double sinks closer together, we could fit a tub here.”
“Brilliant.”
For the next twenty minutes, Dylan sketched her suggestions on the plans. By the time she went quiet, tilting her head this way and that, an entirely different atmosphere existed between them. Animosity had melted away. Cohesion had taken its place. They were working together. Moving toward a shared goal.
This was good. Really good. He needed her to remember just how amazing they could be together.
“What do you think?” she asked, her gaze still scouring the plans.
He turned his head and studied her profile, hair tucked behind her ear, bottom lip between her teeth. God she was beautiful. “I think you’re amazing.”
She cast a split-second smile toward him. “I forgot how fun this could be. It’s all just wood and metal and plastic. No flesh, no bones. A bad decision or a mistake won’t kill or maim anyone.” She sighed and sat back. “What kind of finishes did you choose?”
“I haven’t. I was hoping you’d give me your input.” He turned a page in the plans to the finish materials, then pulled up a link on his phone. “Miranda put a Pinterest board together with the three levels of materials we can choose from.”
“They’ve done so much work.” She rested her back against the wall. “I’m glad you’re reconnecting with them. Especially after your dad died. Everyone needs family.”
He pulled up the page and handed her his phone. She scrolled through the examples of cabinets, countertops, and flooring. “How do you know which finishes to choose?”
“I think the most important factor in choosing is whether you’re renovating to sell or to keep.” He ventured down a path he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since he’d first set eyes on her again. “You’d put in higher-quality materials if you planned on living in it.”
“I guess that makes sense. In that case, just use one of the lower-cost estimates.” She offered his phone back. When he didn’t take it, she met his gaze, then narrowed her eyes. “Why are you giving me those dreamy eyes?”
He was trying to decide whether or not to open up this dialogue now or wait. But waiting hadn’t exactly worked for him.
“Your aunt wanted us to live here together.” He reached out, brushed her hair off her shoulder and slid his fingers through it. “I think we should renovate for us.”
Dylan watched as Emma tried to get her mind around what he’d just said. He saw her fight through her buzz in search of concrete meaning. It took her a second to understand where he was headed. When her tipsy mind leaned that direction, surprise cut through her gaze.
Emma lowered the wine to the floor, and it hit with a clank. “Oh, hell no.”
She pressed a hand to the floor and tried to scramble to her feet. Dylan pulled her hand out from under her and dragged her toward him. The momentum took over, and Dylan rolled with it. Emma ended up on top of him, and Dylan locked his arms around her waist to keep her there.
He laughed a teasing “Where do you think you’re going?”
Dylan slid one hand into her hair before she pulled away. Then he dragged her head down and kissed her. It was all he’d been able to think about since the last time he’d seen her. Well, not all. His fantasies started with the kiss, but they never ended that way.
He added deliberate aggression to the ki
ss and didn’t wait for her to respond. He kissed her deep and slow, letting all his raw need show. When Emma’s hands found their way into his hair, when her tongue found its way into his mouth, flash fire gushed through his veins.
He stroked one hand down her back, over her hips, and gripped her ass, pulling her against him. Dylan moaned into her mouth. Deepened the kiss. And Emma responded like she used to, with passion and need.
When she finally pulled back, breaking the kiss, Dylan wrapped an arm around her waist and rolled. Just like that, Emma was right where Dylan had dreamed she’d be again someday, beneath him, thighs spread, welcoming him.
He kissed her neck, her jaw, then returned to her mouth. Dylan’s mind fogged with desire, his focus all-consuming. “Skin,” he murmured against her lips. “I need skin.”
He pushed up on his knees, gripped the bottom of her scrub top, and yanked it from her pants. Once it was over her head and across the room, he pushed his hands under her tank top and slid them across her skin while he kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck. “Emma, Emma, Emma.”
He still couldn’t believe she was in his arms.
She fisted his T-shirt and dragged it up his back. The move surprised Dylan, and he broke the kiss.
Her eyes were dark with passion. “Just this once.”
Right. Whatever. He wasn’t going to argue about it now. “Uh-huh.”
He covered her mouth with his until he dragged off her tank.
“I mean it,” she said, breathless. “This doesn’t change anything.”
The fuck it doesn’t. “Uh-huh.”
He jerked the string at the waist of her scrub pants, sat up, and pulled them down her legs, off her feet. White lace bra and matching white lace panties. Fuck, she was gorgeous. Sleek and smooth and soft. He needed those curves against him. It had been so long. Too long. Fire burned him from the inside out.
Dylan slid his hands up her thighs, over her flat stomach, and cupped her breasts.
“You’re not listen—” she started.
He kissed her quiet, licking into her mouth. She closed her arms around his neck and returned the kiss. This was really happening. He still couldn’t quite believe his fantasy had materialized. Dylan eased her thighs apart again with one knee and pressed his hips right where they belonged. Then he rocked against her, rough jeans against soft silk.
Emma arched with a pleasure-soaked “God.”
Excitement exploded beneath his skin. Thrilled sparks shot everywhere. He flicked the front clasp of her bra, and as soon as the fabric parted, he lowered his head and opened his mouth over one breast. Her nipples tightened instantly, and she arched against him with more intoxicating sounds.
Her skin still smelled like Emma, flowers and musk, but her breasts felt fuller, filling more of his hands. He licked and sucked until she was coming out of her skin. Until her body writhed beneath him. Until her hands fisted in his hair.
“Dylan…”
The needy moan ripped heat straight up his body. He lifted his head and kissed her, long and slow and deep. Emma pushed her hands between their bodies to search for the button of his jeans.
He watched her expression, drinking in the look and feel of her wanting him. His heart was a kite, whipping in the wind, soaring so high, he almost lost sight of it.
“You need me,” he told her with rock-solid confidence. “Admit it.”
“I need you.”
The admission came too easily. All this was speeding past, and he feared she was doing everything she believed would bring a swift, satisfying conclusion. One she could slide into her memory book, because in her mind, this was the last time.
But Dylan had an entirely different plan, and this was all happening way too fast for that plan. He wanted this to last. Last and last and last. Then her hand pushed into his jeans, and she palmed his cock.
Pleasure rushed him. His hips rocked into her touch, his mouth fell open, eyes closed. Just as quickly, he pulled his hips back and out of reach. It took his head a long, painful second to clear. He wouldn’t be doing that again. Not this round.
Dylan kissed his way down her body, slipped his fingers beneath the edges of her panties, and dragged them down her legs, off her feet. He scooped his hand under her thighs, pulled them apart, and covered her with his mouth.
“Fuck.” She arched and moaned.
So soft, so warm, so completely Emma. He recognized her scent, licked across her pussy and remembered her taste. His head went light, his heart filled and floated.
Emma. This was his Emma. The woman who always had and always would own his soul. He needed to remind her that she didn’t want or need anyone but him.
He slid his hands under her ass and dragged her toward him. With her thighs over his shoulders, he went to work.
Her hands slid into his hair and fisted at the same time she lifted her hips. Her pants and moans bubbled through his blood. Her back arched, her hips rocked, her fingers flexed. “Dylan.”
The desire in her voice shocked a shard of ecstasy through his heart. And when he opened his eyes, Dylan found Emma watching him, eyes barely open, but spilling with the kind of love that had been between them from the very beginning.
Her passionate, quick response reminded him of how badly they’d needed each other when he’d returned from an assignment. How he’d drop his gear at the front door, and they’d get naked as fast as humanly possible. Sometimes they made it to the bed, sometimes they didn’t.
Now he held her gaze as he stroked her clit with his tongue. Slid his fingers along the lips of her pussy, isolated her clit between two fingers, massaged gently with his knuckles. Emma’s eyes rolled back, her head dropped, her mouth opened, and she spread her thighs wider.
She’d loved sex from their very first time. Dylan had struggled to keep up with her for the first six months. But once he’d figured it all out, he’d owned Emma in the best possible way. And pleasuring her now shot a white-hot thrill through him. His cock throbbed against his jeans, but he’d be the last one finding satisfaction tonight. Dylan owed Emma so much more than physical pleasure. But this was a good place to start.
He slid two fingers inside her and growled at the warm, wet, tight feel. Found her G-spot right where he’d left it and drove Emma into an insane double orgasm.
Her body arched and bucked. Her thighs closed on either side of his head as the second orgasm broke. Sounds of both pleasure and surprise rumbled through her chest.
She was fucking intoxicating. He was dizzy when he sat up to push out of his jeans, then moved up her body, pressed his hips between her thighs, found her gaze and held it as he pushed inside her for the first time in eight excruciating years. With one long thrust, he was deep inside her.
A blast of light blinded him, and he stilled to catch his breath. With her mouth against his throat, her hands combing through his hair, Dylan was in a place even better than heaven.
Home. He was home.
He gathered her in his arms, sat back on his heels, and pulled her into his lap. Her hair fell across her face, arms circling his neck, legs wrapping his hips, forehead pressing against his.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his throat thick with emotions, “so, so badly.”
They spent long moments just kissing. Speaking without words. She looked drunk on more than the wine. Her hands traced the scars on his shoulders; her lips trailed across his cheek, his jaw, down his neck.
This was so much more than sex. And this was so happening again. She could lie to herself all she wanted. But he knew her. Knew her signs, her sounds. She was making love to him the same way she had when they’d been deeply, hopelessly in love. And he finally felt the very beginnings of healing in his heart.
He rocked his hips, a gentle, tentative move to see if she was ready for more. She was hot and slick, and he slid easily inside her. Emma moaned and met his pressure. She was definitely ready.
Dylan let Emma set the pace and drank in every last detail of her face, her body,
her moves. He memorized the sound of her quick, heavy breaths, her moans, her purrs. Catalogued the scent of her hair, her skin, her excitement.
He rose up on his knees, driving deeper, faster. Watched ecstasy spill across her face before she climaxed. Felt the squeeze of her body and gritted his teeth against a surge of lust. They weren’t done. Emma could have orgasms for hours. Dylan wouldn’t last much longer, but he wanted to wring at least one more out of her before he let go. They had the rest of the night to break records.
When her shudders subsided, she dropped her forehead to his shoulder and swore. Her body went loose, and she sank deeper onto his cock. Stars blinded him, and his body responded. He rocked his hips, seeking friction. Need rose in his chest and closed his throat.
Emma whimpered.
Dylan pushed the hair out of her face, cupped her head, and forced her to hold his gaze as he rocked them toward orgasm. In deliberate, deep, slow thrusts, he pushed her to the edge again. Her nails dug into his scars, the bite bringing the blissful reality home. She moved her hands into his hair, and the sting in his scalp helped him hold out for one, two, three more orgasm clusters shooting off inside Emma before he lost control.
His climax exploded through his hips in a violent surge of heat. His body bucked and quivered. The muscles in his thighs burned. His ass ached.
But as they held each other, catching their breath, his heart…his heart was full for the first time since that fucking accident.
He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her lips. Then he closed his eyes, rested his cheek against her head, and tried to figure out how in the hell he was going to hold on to her. Because there was no fucking way he’d screw this up again.
13
Emma blinked against the sun filling her bedroom. She moaned and covered her eyes with her arm.
A moment of confusion clouded her tired brain. Why was her apartment so bright? Why was her bed so uncomfortable? Why did her body ache? Why was she so cold?
Reality came in a rush. Dylan. Shelly’s house. A night of pure bliss.