“When he got settled here”—Zaya glanced at Mary—“back with his mother, he tried to contact your mom to let her know where he was, but she’d moved. Taken you and moved, and she hadn’t told him.”
Emma swallowed audibly.
Zaya sipped her wine, set the glass down and turned it slowly in her fingers. “He decided maybe it was better for you not to have two parents in two different states fighting over you.” She glanced up at Emma, a hand raised like a traffic cop. “But like I said, he was young and stupid, and he regretted that decision deeply as he got older. Years later, after we’d gotten married, had the boys, he did some searching and found you’d ended up in Shaker Falls.”
“He never even called…” Emma’s voice was gravelly.
“No.” Zaya sighed. “You were doing so well. He watched your social media accounts and read the school bulletins. He worried about disrupting your life.” Emma shot her a look and Zaya had the good sense to look chagrined. “I know. I didn’t say it was the right decision. We argued about it more than once.”
“It would’ve been nice to have a dad around.”
“I know.”
There was silence for a moment as Emma absorbed what had been said. Charlie still held her hand. Emma’s grip had not loosened, and she could tell there was a ton of emotion coursing through her, swore she could feel it pumping just below her skin, but she sensed Emma didn’t want to let it loose in front of these two people who were virtual strangers, and also Emma’s family. It was so hard for Charlie to watch, and in that moment, she knew the only thing she should be doing was getting Emma out of there.
“Look,” she said. She kept her voice calm and even. “This is a lot. A lot.” She softened that with a gentle smile. “It’s kind of like Emma found and lost her father in less than forty-eight hours, so she’s going to need some time. And you guys need to grieve your loss without having this situation added to the mix, so…” She glanced at Emma, who was watching her with crystal clear gratitude in her eyes. It warmed her from the inside, reassured her that this was what Emma needed. “Let’s do that, okay? Let’s all take some time, do some absorbing, some thinking, and revisit all of this”—she waved her palms over the table—“when we’ve all had a chance to breathe. Is that okay?”
She wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but Zaya seemed relieved by the suggestion, and she nodded, gave them a weak smile.
“It’s a lot,” Zaya said, looking at Emma. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
Emma attempted a smile, but Charlie knew that expression as well, and it meant Emma’s emotions were way too close to the surface. She stood and pulled Emma up with her, and the other two women stood as well. “Thank you so much for inviting us to your home.” Was that weird? Charlie hoped not, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Emma nodded, her eyes darting. Yeah, it was time to get her out of there. Charlie pulled out her phone and quickly ordered a ride.
“Come on, baby,” she said quietly as they walked slowly toward the door, ignoring the pet name that had slipped out. Both Zaya and Mary followed behind them. “I’ve got you.”
Their good-byes were awkward, but how could they not be? Neither Zaya nor Mary attempted to hug Emma, even though it was obvious to Charlie that they wanted to—she was another, albeit distant, connection to the man they’d lost—and she was grateful for that. Emma was barely hanging on to herself right now. She sent up a silent thanks when their Uber pulled up, and with one more wave and a thank you, they turned away from James Grier’s house.
Once safely in the back seat and moving, silence fell. She took Emma’s hand in hers, realizing how many times they’d held hands today and how completely natural and normal it had felt every time.
Emma gazed out the window, said nothing, and held on.
* * *
They were both so tired. Bone weary. Mentally exhausted. They didn’t speak for the entire ride, nor in the elevator on the way up, nor when they got into their room. By unspoken agreement, Charlie used the bathroom first.
In the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, she studied herself. In a weak attempt to gain a teeny tiny bit of satisfaction when she left New York—and Darcy’s Upper West Side apartment—she’d taken as many of the pricey clothes Darcy had purchased for her during their time together as she could fit in her car. Today’s black dress was one of them and she loved it. It was simple but looked great on her, hugged her body in all the right places, and probably cost more than her father made in six months. Maybe one day, she’d be able to wear it for Emma not at a funeral.
Squinting at herself in the mirror, she wondered where that thought had come from. Wearing something for Emma. Don’t be silly. Emma doesn’t care what you wear. She made that clear. Emma’s voice from the other day reverberated through her head. I can’t do this with you, Charlie. Not again.
Charlie sighed. She knew why her thoughts had gone there: because she’d felt close to Emma all day. The way Emma had leaned on her for support, the way Emma’d clung to her hand, it only made sense she was feeling this way. Anybody would in her shoes. Didn’t mean anything. Didn’t mean anything at all.
Consciously banning those thoughts from her head, she stripped out of the dress, put on shorts and a tank top. Then she brushed her teeth, removed her makeup, washed her face, and handed off the bathroom to Emma.
“I’m gonna take a quick bath,” Emma said, tossing down her phone in seeming frustration. “I need to wash this day off me.”
“Sure.” Charlie got in bed as she heard the water start up, made herself comfortable, took out her Kindle. There was something soothing about the sound of the bathwater running. Emma had always been a bath girl. She loved to soak off the day. She said it relaxed her and helped her sleep, warmed her up if she was chilly. And she recalled how great Emma always smelled when she came out of the bathroom. She let herself sink into the pillow and just listened to the rhythm of the water through the closed bathroom door.
When she next opened her eyes, the hotel room lights were off, but the blinds were wide open and light from the view bathed everything in a soft, bluish glow. She had no recollection of falling asleep, but she must have dozed. She watched as Emma let go of the blinds’ mechanism, then turned to look at her, and her gaze was intense, even in the low light. Clad in only a T-shirt and underwear, Emma crossed the room to Charlie’s bed, pulled the covers aside without any warning, without any words, baring Charlie. Stood there. Staring. She would swear to all the gods and everything that was holy that she could feel Emma’s eyes on her. Literally feel them as they raked over her body, took in her pajama-clad form.
“Emma?” Her voice was a dry and ragged whisper. Where had all the moisture in her mouth gone?
Emma didn’t answer, but she moved then, got in bed with Charlie, who instinctively moved over to make room. But Emma apparently didn’t want room as she shifted her body so she was half on top of Charlie, looking down at her as Emma slid one leg over her thigh.
Their eye contact held, and even in the dark it was deliciously powerful. It had always been like that for them, and Charlie couldn’t look away. Then, she didn’t have to, as Emma, without uttering a word, brought her mouth down on hers. Not harshly, but not gently, a kiss that was both giving and demanding, both hard and soft.
Thoughts raced through her brain like cars on a track, and she had trouble grabbing on to any particular one because, God, Emma used to be an amazing kisser, but had she gotten even better? That same push-pull that had always been a hallmark of making out with her had intensified, and her body was already responding. Her blood was hot, rushing through her veins and heading south, her center had become instantly wet, her body preparing itself for Emma before she even had a chance to think.
Emma’s hand cradled Charlie’s face as they kissed, then slid down her neck to her breast. It stopped there, and Charlie caught her breath in a light gasp as Emma ran a thumb over her nipple, and it poked at the fabric of her tank to
p.
“Em,” she whispered. “I don’t…do you think…what…?” Sentences were hard.
“Please,” Emma said quietly. She stilled her hand and gazed down at Charlie with those dark, dark eyes so filled with…anguish? Desire? Desperation? She couldn’t tell for sure. “I just need something solid. I feel like I’m adrift, you know? I need something familiar. I need an anchor.” She paused, and her voice went even softer when she said, “Please, Charlie.”
This is a terrible idea. You should put a stop to it. Tell her no!
The words blared through Charlie’s head like a foghorn, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything, let alone that. Instead, time seemed to stop. The world came to a halt. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed as they lay there in suspended animation. She searched Emma’s face, looked deep into her eyes. This was Emma. Emma. And though they’d had some awful times, Charlie knew her. She felt safe with her, which was saying a lot, as she realized in that exact moment that she’d never felt completely safe with Darcy.
Well. That’s a sobering thought.
But one to be dealt with later. Because to hell with all that. To hell with everything. The here and now, that’s what mattered. Decision made, Charlie slipped her hand around the back of Emma’s neck and pulled her down into an absolutely soul-searing kiss.
And then something weird—and beautiful—happened. They fell into sync. Easily. Sensually. Once Charlie gave in, the feel of Emma’s body on top of hers was so many things: sexy, hot, achingly familiar, perfect. They full-on made out, Emma’s tongue deep in her mouth as she ran her hands under Emma’s shirt and raked her nails down Emma’s bare back. The groan that move elicited from Emma, deep and throaty, sent a surge of arousal through Charlie that almost made her cry out, and she opened her legs to make room for Emma’s hips.
They rocked. They always had. It was a move that was truly theirs. Emma’s hips between her thighs, her legs wrapped around Emma’s body as Emma moved slowly, rhythmically, against her, center to center. It would never get her all the way there, but there was something erotic and intimate about it, and doing it now brought back so many memories, so many feelings. Charlie dipped her head, snagged Emma’s gaze and held it. That was the best part of the rocking—that’s what created the intimacy of it: the eye contact.
Emma moved against her, their breathing increased, and Charlie’s arousal skyrocketed. She was ready for more. She needed more.
As if reading her mind, Emma grasped the hem of Charlie’s tank and yanked it up, lowered her head to close her mouth over her bare breast.
That did it.
Charlie surprised herself as well as Emma when she sat up. With Emma straddling her lap, she yanked her tank off and tossed it to the floor, then did the same with Emma’s T-shirt. Their position was perfect, and she took her time using her mouth on Emma’s breasts, pulling sounds from her that she never realized she’d missed until right then.
It was intoxicating.
She took over. It was unlike her. She’d let Darcy take the lead in bed almost always. But tonight, she felt different somehow. Confident. Certain. Any hesitation she’d had when Emma had first gotten into her bed was long gone. Now? All she had on her mind was anchoring Emma as she requested. Bringing her to release. More than once if she’d let her. She spun them around so she was on top. Then she slowly tugged off Emma’s panties, tossed them aside, and followed them up with her own shorts.
And then they were both completely naked, and Charlie took a moment to just look. She hadn’t been naked with Emma in years, but it felt like no time had passed at all. It felt astonishingly, achingly perfect, and she had to force herself not to dwell on that.
Emma beneath her was a gorgeous sight. Her skin glowed, that glorious, impossibly soft skin of hers, and Charlie ran her palms over it, up Emma’s arms, down her sides, then up her stomach, across her chest, and cupped both breasts in her hands, kneaded slowly, took time to feel the weight, the shape of each one, how perfectly they fit in her hands. When she zeroed in on the nipples, Emma arched her back, pushed her head into the pillow, exposing her neck, which Charlie took as an invitation, and she bent forward to run her tongue from shoulder to ear.
Emma whimpered. Charlie grasped her face and kissed her. This time, it was hard. Authoritative. Bossy. She wanted more. More, more, more. She felt Emma’s hands on her hips, gripping tightly as she straddled her, on all fours over Emma’s body.
Kissing Emma had always been one of the most sensuous and invigorating things in Charlie’s life. They joked all the time how well they kissed together, but they were also both aware that they’d only ever kissed each other at the time. In the back of her mind, she had wondered if she thought kissing Emma was incredible simply because Emma was the only person she’d kissed back then. She remembered distinctly the first time Darcy had kissed her. Charlie had waited for months, had anticipated it, and when it finally happened, it was good. Not great. Not fireworks or time standing still. But it was good. Kissing Emma? The earth moved under Charlie’s feet. She was sure of it, and that apparently hadn’t changed, because right now? The ground was shaking, and she wanted to kiss Emma for the rest of her life.
Charlie lost herself in that kiss, on her hands and knees over Emma, tongues gliding against each other. Everything else faded until she felt Emma’s fingers slip between her legs, stroking through what Charlie knew was a ton of hot wetness. She could feel it. A sound came from deep in her throat as she broke the kiss and looked into Emma’s eyes just as Emma pushed into her.
Charlie gasped.
Emma’s grip tightened on her hip as Emma began to move the fingers of her other hand slowly inside her.
Pushing herself up so she was on her knees and straddling Emma, Charlie began to move with her, sliding herself up and then down, slowly, setting up a lazy rhythm.
Emma bent her knees, and that extra support was just what Charlie needed. She put a hand on each of Emma’s knees and let her head fall back as she increased the pace of her movements, letting her hips do the work, as erotic pleasure began to sizzle through her thighs and tickle the pit of her stomach. Her climax was rushing toward her much more quickly than she’d expected, and she lifted her head, looked at Emma in surprise. She pitched forward onto her hands, back to her original position on hands and knees above Emma, as her orgasm tore through her body, almost unexpectedly. She let out a cry, never one to be quiet in bed, and rode out the waves, still moving against Emma’s fingers, gripping the pillow on either side of Emma’s head, every muscle in her body tightening.
Her face tucked snugly in the crook of Emma’s neck, she breathed heavily, waited for her body to begin to relax. She felt Emma’s fingers at the back of her head, playing with her hair, while the fingers of Emma’s other hand were trapped inside Charlie, pinned between their bodies as her breathing finally began to ease.
“That was…” Emma let the sentence dangle, and Charlie wasn’t sure if she didn’t know what she wanted to say or if she knew exactly what she wanted to say, but decided not to.
She lifted her head and gave Emma her best sexy look as she said, “Oh, we’re not done yet.”
Before Emma had time to respond, Charlie had repositioned herself between Emma’s thighs. She took a moment to glance up, and her line of sight—along Emma’s naked body, between her breasts, on to Emma’s eyes—was the most erotic thing she had ever seen, and it sent another surge of arousal shooting through her, something she didn’t think was possible.
Without preamble, she lowered her head and ran the flat of her tongue over every inch of Emma’s center. She flattened her palms on Emma’s hips to keep them from rising off the bed and went to work.
How had she forgotten how good Emma tasted? How she was salty and sweet and tangy all at once? How could she have forgotten the little sounds she could get Emma to make? The ones Emma wasn’t even aware of and that made her blush later when Charlie told her about them? How could she forget the velvety softness of Emma’s inner walls
when she slowly slid her fingers inside, how they tightened around her as she picked up the pace of her tongue?
It didn’t take long. She knew it wouldn’t, and Emma came almost before either of them was ready, her hips rising, her gentle grip on Charlie’s hair tightening, a long, deep groan emanating from her throat as she arched her neck back.
It was immensely beautiful to witness, and it was so very sexy, and it brought tears to Charlie’s eyes. She did her best to hide them, cleared her throat quietly, leaned her cheek against Emma’s warm thigh, and waited, her fingers still tucked snugly inside. Emma’s eyes were still closed when she reached down and gently tugged at Charlie’s hand, her silent directive for Charlie to remove her fingers now. She did, and Emma’s body twitched. Charlie grinned. Another memory.
A moment went by before she felt it—the gentle movement of Emma’s body—and heard it—the soft sniffle. Emma was crying.
“Oh, honey,” Charlie said softly.
Eyes still closed, Emma gestured for her. “Come up here,” Emma whispered, and she obeyed, tucking herself into Emma’s body, looking down at her, at her soft eyes and wet cheeks.
Charlie said nothing, simply stroked the tears from Emma’s face with her thumb. When Emma’s gaze met hers, she could literally see all her resolve, all her strength, everything she’d been using to hold herself together all day simply crumble, like a dam that just couldn’t hold the water at bay any longer. A sob ripped out of her and she looked so incredibly lost that Charlie’s eyes filled as well.
“Oh, baby, come here.” She wrapped Emma in her arms and was surprised when Emma let her. She bundled her up and rocked her, pressing kisses to her forehead, promising her in gentle whispers that everything was going to be okay.
The strangest part of that moment in time? She felt instinctively—felt it right down into her bone marrow—that this had been predetermined. That she was exactly where she was supposed to be and doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing.
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