by Angie Wilder
“What do you mean?” She looked up from her grasp.
“Your cat took over my lap.”
“Harry isn’t my cat.” Emma’s unintended ownership of the sphynx had become a running joke, but anyone could see she’d fallen for Harry.
“You’re going to have to come to terms—”
“No.” She shook her head. Her palm rested against his, holding hands before battling it out.
His pulse started to throb.
“What am I going to do about Harry? He can’t remain long term at my parents’ house. Frenchie isn’t happy. I have to keep Harry in my room at night. Once I return to California, there’s nowhere for him to live. The owner isn’t coming to get him.”
“The cat adores you, Emma. Why not keep Harry? Take him with you to California.” He gave her fingers a slight squeeze, then said, “Aren’t you planning to use both hands.” They’d played this game a thousand times as kids, but never had the contact made his senses come alive. His sister had gotten into his head, then the Wild cuddle, now the hand-holding.
Emma laid her other palm over his hold.
“Say when, Em.” He hadn’t quite noticed until now how soft her skin was.
“Will you have him?” Her eyes begged as she tightened her grip.
“You didn’t just throw the cat into the arm-wrestling deal, did you?”
“Maybe, but I always lose when my elbows come off the table.”
He had every intention of letting Em win the brownie, but stick him with a cat?
She gave him this super-sweet smile.
As he admired her lips, his blood ran south. Never had he figured a woman could trick him into pet ownership. He was a little afraid he would grin and agree. He had to think smarter. “Did I ever tell you that Duffy was a ditch dog? I rescued her from where she hid inside a storm drain. I think abandoned pets perceive how lucky they are for that second-chance family.”
“So… that’s a yes?” Those gorgeous eyes of her twinkled with longing. Waiting.
He glanced away even though she was so much fun to look at. “Em, it’s obvious you’re crazy for the cat. You should keep him.”
“I don’t think I can. I rent.”
“Your lease doesn’t allow pets?” Evan hoped his voice didn’t reveal weakness.
“See my dilemma?” she asked. When he didn’t respond, she squeezed their joined hands. “You aren’t doing anything.”
“I know how this works.” He winked.
Emma’s eyes widened, and her tongue darted over her bottom lip.
He didn’t know why the hell he was winking, but he was enjoying holding her hand. “How about this for a compromise? Agree to have dinner with me tonight, and we’ll share the brownie.”
“Dinner?”
“I’ll cook. Bring Harry over to my place, and we’ll see if Duff the Puff and hairless Harry get along.”
“Oh, okay, for a minute there I wondered if you were asking me on a date.” She giggled.
7
In her room, Emma shut the door and opened her wool coat. She had bundled Harry under the fabric, keeping him happy and dry, as she rushed inside the house. The weather had changed in the few hours since lunch and Evan’s divine dinnertime offer. Fluffy flakes that reminded Emma of Christmas cards and hot-chocolate moments had turned into sleet. The wind had picked up, and icy drops tinkled a rhythm against her bedroom window. A little rain wouldn’t bring her down. Not tonight.
Emma hugged Harry as she crossed the room and tilted the white wooden blinds for privacy. She lifted a single slat and peered out at the Heartley house. It was lit for the holidays with colorful bulbs that stretched along the roof peaks and around the front porch. A warm yellow glow shone from the lower level windows. Upstairs, Kaley’s room was dark.
Emma had stood in this spot a half dozen times a day when they were kids. The cream paint had worn thin on the edge of her dresser where she had leaned a hip, using the furniture like a perch. Back then she’d peer out to see if Kaley waited with a flashlight in hand, ready to give her a signal. Could she glimpse Evan as he practiced his hockey skills in the driveway? Her young heart had stuck on the question, would he ever notice her as a girl?
She wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore, and they had evening plans. “Evan will cook dinner for us.” Emma grinned, pressed a kiss to the cat, then set him on the bed. “You need to be on your best behavior. We’ll make a positive impression and win him over.” She wriggled off her coat and dove into her closet. “Not that this is a date,” she told Harry and pulled out a dress. “Tonight is for you to meet Duffy.”
Emma proceeded to the floor-length mirror and held the garment against her body. She judged her reflection and ruffled her fingers into her hair to fluff out the damage done by the weather. The teal and cream knit was one of her favorites. She lowered the hanger and groaned, “Evan has already seen me in this.” She shoved the dress back in the closet. It was a tricky situation, what to wear for a Friday night non-date, pet playdate, dinner with the hottest man on earth. She couldn’t afford to get tangled into a relationship. She had to stay focused on her career, not romance. Not that Evan was offering more than friendship. But dinner alone… that was bucket list material! He was going to cook. For her! It was only polite to freshen up and present her best. Emma selected a low-cut red cocktail number. “Too much?” She glimpsed at Harry, who had made himself at home on the faded floral bedding.
His jade eyes blinked, and he meandered to the corner of the quilt closest to where she stood.
“We’ll find you a nice home. I promise.” She stepped to the cat and stroked her fingertips over his back for a quick pet. Then she tugged off her sweater.
Harry mewed and stretched out onto her discarded garment.
“I’ll contact my building and check on the pet policy. Don’t get your hopes up. I can’t make any promises, so let’s be sure tonight is a success.” She kicked off her heels and dropped her slacks.
Stripped down, she frowned at boring beige bikinis and equally unstimulating matching bra. “I should put on better underwear.” Not that she’d get down to her skivvies with Evan, but there was no harm in dressing for the fantasy. Or was there? “Ugh!”
The cat flattened his ears.
“Not you, sorry.”
Great, she was talking to herself. Waking up in Evan’s arms, snuggled in his cedarwood scent, had messed with her sanity. Plastered to his chest, she had gazed in his eyes while the lyrics to “Almost Paradise” played in her head… and humiliation scorched her to the core. Way down deep in the core. Then Evan had smiled, showing that darn dimple. It was the closest she’d come to an orgasm in years.
Emma yanked open the drawer and contemplated the good stuff from Victoria’s Secret. “Heck yeah.” A hot core deserved fancy black lace. It must be a rule, something she’d read in Cosmo magazine, because it sounded like solid woman-to-woman advice. She shucked off the lame and posed in the hello-cowboy.
Emma looked at her reflection and insisted, “I’m not tempted by Evan.” She switched from the black lingerie to sky blue and posed again. “I’m not tempted by Evan.” She glanced at the old beige bra. “I’m not tempted—”
There was a knock at the door.
“Just a second.” She rushed to slip into the red dress and tugged at the short skirt. It was far too swanky nightclub, not enough girl next door. She shouldn’t let her mother discover her like this. She’d become suspicious. This was a hot date dress.
“Emma?”
It was her daddy. When she was eight, she’d worn a teddy bear costume to Easter brunch, and he’d never said a thing. Odds were, he wouldn’t even notice the dress. “What’s up?”
Her daddy poked his head inside, eyed her up and down and said, “How are things between you and Evan?”
Or maybe he caught on quick. “We’re good.” She sat on the cat.
“Rarh!” Harry leaped to the pillowed end on the bed.
Her dad’s eyebrows bobbed, and he took
another step inside. “You’re getting along at the clinic?”
“Sure. It’s been kinda fun being back.” She grabbed a rosebud-printed pillow and hugged it to her middle.
“I’m sorry to leave you two in a lurch.”
“We’ve been over this. It’s not a problem. I haven’t ever had this much fun at work.” That was the truth. Evan made her laugh over nothing, often.
“That’s a shame. You know we are hiring? It’ll be less hectic with a full staff.”
“Daddy.” The practice was his baby, but she had bigger star-studded plans. She wanted him to be proud of her accomplishments. Hectic only worried her when it came to his health.
“No pressure. You do what’s right for you. I’m just checking in. The way you ran inside the house, and up to your room, I assumed something was wrong.”
“No. No. Nothing like that.” She may have been a little too excited about her Friday night plans. “I had a cat in my coat.” She shrugged.
“That explains the weird bulge. Glad it wasn’t Evan’s head.”
“Never.” She giggled.
“Then I’ll leave you to finish playing dress-up.” He moved to the door. “You look spectacular, like New Year’s Eve,” he said and left.
“Definitely overdressed.” Emma returned to the closet. She had a black wrap dress from Paris, but that was also too much. It screamed, “I put this on so you can take it off.” She needed something more in the friend zone. Evan had worn a T-shirt and jeans the night before. Casual was the way to go. She wouldn’t make a big deal out of his dinner invitation—while he winked and held her hand!
After an hour of fussing with her hair and makeup, she returned to the mirror wearing smoky eyes and a sexy black blouse paired with her best blue jeans. She posed with a relaxed smile, then undid a button, opening the neckline.
“Do you want to wear your green sweater or the Yoda outfit?” she asked Harry while she reached her fingers down her top and tightened her sky-blue bra straps. “We require your best look.” She examined the effect of her adjustments, tugged her buttons lower, and smiled as she angled back to the cat. “I’d go with the green, but Evan likes the costume.”
Before they’d finalized Harry’s selection, her phone lit up and vibrated on her bed. Evan’s name appeared on the screen. Emma checked her reflection one last time, then hustled to answer. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hi, Em, I thought I should call.”
“Are we still on for seven?” She sprayed the heart-shaped bottle of perfume in the air and danced through the sweet-scented mist, grinning like a teenager in love.
“About that, the weather is becoming worse.”
Emma hurried to the window and pulled the cord. She could handle a little snow.
“The streets are slippery with black ice.”
“Oh…” She released the blinds and sat on the bed.
“I think we should reschedule.”
Her heart ached with disappointment. “Okay!” She forced a chipper tone.
“We’ll get Harry and Duffy together another time.”
She scooped Harry into a hug, accepting the reality of their broken date with Evan.
“I could bring Duffy to the office?”
“Sure. Great.” She’d been downgraded to the office. Emma’s gaze drifted over the pile of discarded dresses and undergarments.
“Sorry about dinner.”
“No problem! You’re right to call off tonight.” She wanted to protest. Risk the roads.
“I’m sorry, Em.”
She pasted on a smile. “Me too.” It was fine. It’s not like it was a date or anything.
Evan placed his phone down and shifted his weight to prop his backside against the kitchen island. He gripped the cool edge of the stone countertop, crossed his legs at the ankles, and directed his gaze through floor-to-ceiling windows. The storm wasn’t much to see in the dark of night. Just a troublesome constant sprinkle that encased the ground in ice and ruined his evening with Emma.
He could tell by Em’s tone, the squeaky forced good cheer, that she’d felt the same. Disappointed. She’d hoped to secure a (highly probable) home for Harry, but his regret stemmed from his frustrating attraction to her. The more time Evan spent with Em, the more he liked her in a whole other way. She captivated him, and that was a problem he didn’t know how to handle.
What was he supposed to do when Em had made it quite clear that she wasn’t interested in dating anyone? Plus, she lived in a different state. Two time zones away. Furthermore, if she didn’t feel the same, they could hurt their friendship. Big red flags. Then he’d gone and stirred something up with his dinner invitation.
He couldn’t get over her reply: “For a minute there I wondered if you were asking me on a date.”
For a minute there, he had. Stunned silent, he’d let the statement hang.
Since their irresistible cuddle on the couch, emotions swirled like hot smoke in his belly. Admittedly, he’d been flirting with Emma since she arrived, but those platonic teases had shifted—hard. He didn’t know what to do about it. Evan wished he hadn’t heard about the crush. That he hadn’t required a cold shower after their snuggle. That he had some self-control and hadn’t smiled like a besotted idiot as he’d pushed his shopping cart around the market, preparing for their evening.
This attraction for Emma had skated past his defenses. He had a horrible suspicion the crush remained one-sided, and their positions had flipped. Evan frowned and glanced over his shoulder at the grocery sacks. He’d bought candles for a freaking pet playdate. Clearly, he was in a power play down one team member named sanity. Who buys candles for pet parties? Twelve-year-old girls?
Evan straightened up from the counter, stepped to the pantry, and tipped a scoop of kibble into Duffy’s bowl. She skipped around his feet, a hairy black-and-tan mop of happiness, before diving into her crunchies.
“It’s just you and me tonight, Duff.” Evan returned to the bags and began unpacking. He took a moment to admire the decadent chocolate cherry cheesecake. Fruit and chocolate were two of Emma’s favorite foods. He must be a glutton for punishment, he thought as he moved the dessert that was meant to illicit yummy moans of pleasure to the refrigerator. It could keep for a day or two, allow him a chance to figure out his head.
The noise of Duffy’s kibble-crunching came to a finale punctuated by a delicate belch. “That’s my pup,” Evan said, referring to the Yorkie’s less than ladylike habit. He picked her up and fixed the red ribbon that held her bangs out of her eyes.
With her long mop of show-dog-worthy hair, she was a regular at the groomers. He could imagine Emma cooing over his pup. If the night weren’t canceled, the joyful sound of her voice would be filling his house. Instead, he listened to the hum of the refrigerator. It was Friday night, and he had nothing to do.
On impulse, Evan grabbed his phone, pressed himself cheek to cheek with Duff the Puff, and texted Emma a selfie. It seemed a fun way to bring a smile to her face. For about a millisecond. Then he had regrets.
“What did I do that for?” Evan groaned, jammed the device in his pocket, and set Duffy down. He wasn’t a schmooze selfie kind of guy. He didn’t chat girls up with silly photos. Now he would have to manufacture something brilliant to say, a caption that excused his random idiotic snapshot. Evan plowed his fingers through his hair. He didn’t do awkward. He preferred to avoid it at any extreme. What would Em make of his text? He noticed she’d seen it. The screen had shown “Read” straight away.
He glanced around the space as if the walls would offer an answer.
His phone pinged.
He hesitated a heartbeat before snatching it up. Emma had responded with a selfie of her own. “Hot damn!” He would text her all night long if it got him results like this.
She was positioned on the sofa. The room lights were turned down, a miniature holiday village twinkled behind her, and she looked inviting as hell. Emma’s hair flowed in wild curls, and her silky blouse fell open, hintin
g at her feminine curves. But the expression in her eyes… He needed a beer.
Evan rubbed his neck and studied the photo. Emma had made herself extra pretty for their night. Had she dressed for him? That eye makeup… He usually preferred her natural beauty, but if she’d darkened those shadowed eyes for him alone… He glared at the storm.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Heartley,” he warned himself. “Get your head back in the friend zone.” Forget about brushing your mouth over her lips. Desire slipped into his heart and seized hold. “Emma doesn’t want to date anyone—including you,” he reasoned.
Treading light with this flirtation was the safest approach. If Emma had worn that sexy blouse in the break room, inquiring about a date… Scratch that. Had they gotten together tonight, in his current overheated state, with a single word of encouragement, those tiny buttons on her silk top may have flown all over the damn place. Her skin was meant for his mouth.
But that was NOT going to happen.
He frowned at the picture. Emma was stunning. He concentrated on the photo’s holiday backdrop and sent her a reply. A link to the song “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.” A message he’d send to his sister, nice and safe, defusing the situation. Then he vowed to put the picture away. It had gone to his head, and he was done with that fantasy. He’d focus on sports, find a game to watch.
“Momma and I are getting nostalgic,” she replied. “The houses were my favorite as a kid. They haven’t been set out in years.”
It was a friendly, non-flirtatious response.
“I’m relieved you’re having fun. Sorry about the weather,” Evan texted, attaching the link to, “I’ll be Home for Christmas.” He bumped up the volume on his phone, keeping things easy. He wondered if she was listening at the same time. The song faded to silence.
“Don’t make me cry. We are getting sentimental over here.”
“Is this better?” He attached “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.”
“Haha, Evan.”