“What?” My hand freezes in place.
Emma lifts her head to face me. “Well when I first met you, that is. I figured you were too pompous and self-centred to be good at the sexy stuff.”
“No offence, though…” I say, raising one eyebrow.
“Comeon, you can’t tell me you wanted me when we first met. It’s not like I was exactly looking my best.”
“Oh, I wanted you all right. In that tiny, left-nothing-to-the-imagination uniform? Big turn-on for any man. The way your breasts were stuffed in there. I spent the entire conversation secretly wishing those buttons would pop.” I smile at the memory.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. I’m a man. We’re a little pathetic that way. But, now that I’ve been given the coveted ‘better than expected’ review, I can die happy,” I say sarcastically.
“Wow, as an author, I would have thought a mediocre critique would bounce right off you by now,” she says, shaking her head and trying not to laugh.
“On the contrary,” I say, flipping us both over so I’m now on top. “Poor reviews spur me on to levels of greatness previously unknown to humankind.”
Emma wrinkles her nose, pretending to be skeptical. “I kind of doubt it, but I’m willing to let you try again.”
“How kind of you,” I answer, working my way down toward her lovely breasts.
The sound of the front door closing has us both freezing in place. “Was that…?” I whisper.
“Hello, it’s Alfred!”
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” Emma says, squirming out from under me.
We both scurry around the bedroom to find clothing.
“My dress is in the kitchen!” Emma hisses, grabbing a tank top and some shorts out of her overnight bag.
I yank on a pair of khaki pants and a T-shirt—no easy feat with this stupid cast.
“Sir? Mr. Davenport? Your breakfast is ready,” Alfred calls.
I exit the bedroom trying to wipe the sheepish ‘I’ve been caught diddling the help’ expression off my face. A breakfast of scones, pastries, and fresh fruit has already been laid out for us on the table.
“Ah, yes. Brilliant. Thank you, Alfred.”
“You haven’t seen Ms. Banks, have you? Her brother has been trying to reach her for a few days now.” Alfred’s gaze lands on her dress, which is strewn across the fruit bowl on the island at the moment.
And, of course, that’s when Emma walks out of the bedroom with an unmistakably guilty look on her face.
Alfred makes atsking sound and raises his eyebrows at her. “Mr. Banks needs you to call him immediately.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you,” she says, biting her lip.
Turning to me, Alfred says, “If there’s nothing else, I shall leave you to your morning.”
“Thank you,” I answer with a nod. “Listen, Alfred…”
Holding up one hand, Alfred says, “I assure you I’m nothing if not discreet, sir.”
“I appreciate that, Alfred,” Emma says, letting her shoulders drop a tiny bit. “It’s nice to know you understand.”
“Please don’t mistake my consideration for Mr. Davenport’s privacy for approval of your actions,” he says coldly.
“That’s hardly fair, Alfred. Emma and I are both at fault here.”
