He ripped off another chunk of the herb bread she’d set between them and tucked in with gusto. “You just keep pouring and let me worry about the lemongrass.”
Emily laughed as she topped off his bowl. He had a great appetite, but if he did regularly overeat, she couldn’t tell. She cast a glance at his flat stomach, spying no evidence of overindulgence. She knew for a fact he had washboard abs. There had been one hot day on set when many of the men had stripped out of their shirts. Michael and his brothers were by far the nicest specimens of the men on the crew, but there was something about the undulating ridges on Michael’s stomach that had Emily secretly praying for a heat wave ever since. She still hadn’t managed to pop her eyes back into her head.
Michael finally sat back and rubbed his non-existent belly. “I’m wrecked. I can’t eat another bite. This was so good, Em.”
“It was just soup.”
“Not true.” He indicated the remains of the meal on the table. “It was pasta, bread, salad and wine. Oh, and the best soup I’ve ever tasted.”
“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have rather had a juicy steak?”
“I’ll never turn down steak, but I love what you made. You’re talented in the kitchen. People are going to love your products.”
“Thanks. It’s only fair I repay you for installing my new lock. Oh, and for talking me into some very expensive bronze kitchen taps.”
“They’ll look awesome, I promise.” He reached across the table for another chunk of bread, popped it into his mouth, and grinned.
Although they’d never had lulls in their conversations thus far, Emily suddenly ran out of words. It was hard to think when he smiled at her like that, like a lion sizing up the fleshiest parts of a cornered gazelle. His eyes seemed to darken. His gaze dropped, lingering around her neckline and breasts, slowly traveling back up to read the expression on her face. As he chewed his bread, Emily imagined him nibbling her breasts, sucking at her nipples, all while wearing that devastating grin and nothing else.
“I should clear the dishes.” She threw herself away from the table and stood, gathering up items on her side of the table. She didn’t dare grab anything on Michael’s side, just in case she lost all sense and lunged for his lap instead. Clutching the soup tureen, she turned.
“Em.” Somehow, he could make one syllable sound sexy and stern. “Look at me.”
“This tureen needs to soak. If I leave it until tomorrow, it’ll be a crusty mess.”
“Emily, put the tureen down and look at me.”
She set the tureen on the counter. It made a clanging noise that echoed in her ears. When she turned to look at him, he was standing right behind her. It was one thing to see Michael from a distance, but his allure intensified when he was up close and personal. His dimensions overshadowed and overwhelmed her. His scent, the memory of nice soap and wood shavings, would always smell like desire to her. His five o’clock shadow entranced her and she wanted to feel his stubble abrade her skin.
She shouldn’t want him so much but she did. “Michael, I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” A dare glimmered in his coffee brown eyes.
“Can’t…do this.”
“So I hear. The thing is, Em, we’re not doing anything.” He reached for her right hand, gently caressing her bruised knuckles. “Yet.”
She wanted to kiss him, to swallow him whole. Why was she fighting it when everything in her screamed his name? Why was she so afraid?
It was too soon. If she allowed herself to think about her early days with Trent, she could still remember how happy they were. She could still feel his lips at the back of her neck from when he used to sneak up and embrace her from behind. She could still remember the growl of yearning he used to make when he took her to bed. She recalled every instance in which he said he’d never abuse her trust.
And then he did.
The scariest part was when she sought to remember Trent now, his face had already been replaced with Michael’s. Surely that wasn’t right, that she could pass over one man so easily for another.
In fairness, Trent had passed over Emily the minute he looked at Veronica.
“I know he broke your heart.” Michael turned her hand over in his and caressed her palm with his thumb. “But you need to understand I’m not Trent and I’ll never hurt you.”
“With all due respect, Trent used to say the same sorts of things.”
He released her hand and cupped her cheek. “I like you and I think you like me.”
“I…”
“Just let me say this. I know it’ll take time, and I don’t expect you to believe everything you hear right now. It’s only natural you should be suspicious, but I think we could have something incredible together. I’m not trying to seduce you into some week-long fling that goes nowhere. You mean too much to me. Now I’ll give you all the time you need, but make no mistake. I want you, Emily, and I will make you mine.”
If his fingers hadn’t been caressing her cheek, somehow bolstering her, she would have fallen down. Michael Zornwantedher? It was almost too much to process. Sure, they’d flirted here and there, but his whispered promise spoke of more than simple flirtation. It spoke of longing and need and a desire for a future.
