Chapter 9
Sweet Jesus, she was about to sleep with Michael Zorn.
If anyone had told her this months ago, perhaps while she was glued to the set watchingHandymen, Emily would have laughed until she was blue. People like Michael didn’t sleep with people like her. He should be sleeping with someone like Lacey. Someone primped and coiffed and probably waxed more efficiently than Pamela Anderson in herBaywatchdays.
Chris had encouraged her to have fun, to be happy. Gliding her fingers across Michael’s muscular back sure made her happy.
Maybe she’d been too hard on herself. Maybe this wasn’t so wrong and it shouldn’t feel like a betrayal of the man who didn’t deserve her fidelity.
Michael reached her bed and set her down on the floor at its edge. He stroked his thumb over her bottom lip. “Your lips are swollen.”
He sure did seem fascinated by her mouth. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him looking at it and the attention went straight to her head. “Swollen’s good, right?”
“Swollen’s very good.”
He reached a hand behind his back and shucked his shirt. She didn’t mean to stare, but this moment called for ogling, maybe even for a hint of drool at the corners of her lips. She’d never seen such an expanse of golden skin. Each bulge spoke of hard work and power. She’d expected him to have a farmer’s tan, but it was faint. He obviously spent a lot of time outside and much of it shirtless. Reaching out a shaky hand, she touched a finger to his abdomen.
It rippled. He was nervous too.
“You’re beautiful, Michael.”
His eyebrows quirked. Had no one ever told him so, or did he just not believe his own hype? He shook his head. “Em, you’re the beautiful one. I haven’t been able to stop looking at you since we first met.”
She tried to swallow, but her throat was thick and dry.
He cupped her cheek, stroking her cheekbone. “Are you sure about this?”
His lowered voice traipsed over her skin, making it erupt in goose pimples. “Yes. Are you sure you’re not too tired?”
“I could be ready to drop and I still wouldn’t be able to stop touching you.”
He reached for the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head, tossing it toward the footboard of the bed. As her blouse came off, her hair rumpled, and she reached a hand toward it to fix the errant strands.
He held her hand, stopping her. “Don’t. You’re perfect.”
Perfect. It was hard to accept such praise. She had never been short on self-esteem, but Trent had chipped away at it for two years with his offhand comments and belittling remarks.
You look hippy.
Oh, you cut your hair. I prefer it long. Were you going for such a boyish look?
Lots of women get boob lifts. It seems to help a lot of them feel better about themselves. What do you think?
Emily had never had an issue with her body until Trent came along. Before him, she’d never had a problem flaunting a bit of skin. Since him, she questioned her wardrobe choices, wondering if she was up to her fiancé’s stringent standards. Without thinking, she crossed her arms over her breasts. Did Michael think she needed a dose of boob Viagra?
Once again, he seemed to know exactly what she needed. He pried her arms off her chest and smiled. “Don’t hide. I want to see you.”
“But…”
He palmed a full breast over her bra. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve imagined you naked?”
“No.” As his thumb flicked at her nipple, she melted. She didn’t know much about human biology, but one of these days, someone ought to write a paper about a woman’s inability to stand during nipple stimulation.
He slid his fingers toward her straps, teasing them off her shoulders. One hand crept toward her back. When she felt thesnapof her bra being unhooked, she stiffened.
“If I admit the number of times I pictured this moment, it might embarrass me.” He removed her bra and let it fall to the floor. His gaze raked her skin and he whispered a curse. His hands shaking, he cupped her breasts and stroked. “God, Em. Not even in my wildest dreams were you this stunning.”
Happy tears stung her eyes so she blinked them away. It had been too long since a man had spoken to her in hushed tones of awe. She caressed the curves at his shoulder, just as astounded as he seemed to be. His body was her image of the manly ideal. Although not a bodybuilder, he was strong and toned, made muscular through hard work and dedication. If she’d been able to cobble together her perfect man, the end result would have been Michael.
