“I hooked up with some backpackers moving through. They’d come every year to work the oyster beds. This time when they left, I went with them. The States were the obvious choice. I hadn’t realized about my dual citizenship until Mum passed and I found my birth certificate, but it meant I didn’t have to wait for a work visa or for my name to come up in the lottery.”
Here he was thinking she was an innocent who didn’t know anything about the real world and she’d lived through things he’d only imagined. She’d been on her own in a strange country at an age when he’d been skipping Statistics and staying out late pounding beers. He’d underestimated Sophie every step of the way, a mistake he didn’t intend to repeat. No wonder his mother wanted him to take care of her. She’d been on her own for so long.
“How did you survive once you got here?” He held his breath, not certain he wanted to know. It was turning into a recurring theme for him.
“The same way everyone else does,” she said, as if that explained everything. “I got a job waiting tables until I got my feet under me and then I used what I knew and applied at one of the bigger commercial jewelers. I’m an exceptional pearl grader and my color matching is flawless. You don’t need a degree or credentials to do that. I just showed them what I could do.”
He was starting to believe she really didn’t realize how extraordinary she was, how what she’d been through would’ve knocked most people on their ass. He didn’t bother to ask why she didn’t stay with the company she started with or end up working for someone like Seaton. He’d seen the jewelry she made. It might be perfect but it wasn’t about finding perfection. She’d never be happy spending hour after hour in the light-balanced grading rooms, matching pearls. Anderson Gems was a much better fit for her.
“It was easy to move from there to Connie’s store. I’ve been with her ever since. She pretty much lets me do what I want. The Seaton trunk show was the first big pearl thing I’ve done in years. She got the booking because of my work with the big jewelry house. Having someone on site who could handle matching, gluing, and drilling pearls in front of clients was a big deal. They said they were looking for something interactive since they stopped doing those crazy shell shows.” She gave a shudder when she said it and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, remembering the image of Rainier strapped to the chair, a bullet hole in his forehead.
“Rainier ran one of those shell shows. A very lucrative one until Seaton stopped doing them. We think that’s what made him break into the store. He was retaliating against Seaton.”
She went very still. “I don’t understand what’s going on. None of this makes sense.”
“I know. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I will.” He leaned closer to her, needing her to believe him. Pinning her with his gaze, he brought their joined hands to his lips. “I won’t let anything hurt you, Sophie. I promise.”
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SOPHIE’S HEART HAMMEREDIN HER throat. Everything was circling around pearls and it brought up too many memories from her childhood. The smell of the seeding beds. The sticky ocean air and the cool, climate-controlled sorting shed. When she started the day, she hadn’t intended to tell anyone about her past. Instead, she ended up sharing part of the story with Sarah Southerland and all of it with Emerson. It should make her uncomfortable. She’d never copped to the whole tragic past thing. She’d lived through the heartbreak, and she missed her mum and brother every day. She didn’t need to carry the tragedy around with her.
But instead of wanting to close herself off, telling Emerson made her feel free. He touched her and she felt safe, as if he were somehow sharing his strength with her. It was a feeling she could get used to—not that she expected their relationship to last beyond a couple of weeks. It didn’t stop what she was feeling. He brushed his lips to the backs of her fingers, and her breath hitched in anticipation. Uncurling her hand, she pressed her fingertips against his lips and watched his eyes go dark. She didn’t care if she was playing with fire; she was ready to burn.
She was tired of feeling anxious and on edge, tired of worrying about things she didn’t understand. She wanted to spend a few hours—a few days—in Emerson’s arms, losing herself in the feel of him. She was done waiting.
“Sophie,” he said, his voice sounding strained.
He was going to tell her they couldn’t. That he was too old. She was his client. He’d have a dozen other reasons why they shouldn’t give in to this thing between them. She didn’t want to hear them. Taking a chance, she shifted to her knees and leaned into his touch.
“Please,” she said, needing so much more than his lips on her hand.
“Please what, Sophie? If we’re going to do this, I need to hear you say the words.” His expression looked pained. If she hadn’t known it was because he was trying to hold back, she might have stopped. But she knew he wanted her too. She’d felt it over and over again when he tried not to touch her, tried and failed to keep the distance between them.
Nerves and want made her shiver. She couldn’t ask him to make love to her. Love wasn’t the path they were on. But she couldn’t bring herself to say fuck either, not when her heart was already engaged. What they were doing might not mean picket fences and happily ever after, but it meant something.
“Touch me.” She breathed out the words, amazed she could make a sound past the tightness in her throat. “Let me touch you.”
She saw the moment he gave in, the instant his iron-hard control began to crack. He reached for her wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her to him until she straddled his lap. She felt the thick, hard length of him and her hips rocked against him, her body taking the lead. She gasped in pleasure, and he groaned, gripping her hips tighter with his fingers, holding her in place.
“I can do that. I can touch you,” he said, catching her lips with his. Teasing and tasting, nipping gently until she opened for him and let him in.
His tongue met hers and her world narrowed to the feel of him: his mouth on hers, his hands holding her, his erection wedged against her sex, so close to where she needed him. He kissed her, breathing her in and giving her back so much more. So much anticipation. So much heat.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair, tracing her fingertips over the surprisingly soft skin at the back of his neck. Emerson slid his hands from her hips to her ribs and higher to rest against the underside of her breasts. She arched into his touch, aching for him, needing more, needing him. His thumbs brushed the tight peaks of her nipples, and she gasped against his lips. Even through the soft cotton fabric of her shirt, his touch pushed her closer to the edge, closer to what she’d wanted and never had.
Reaching between them, she gripped the hem of her shirt and stripped the fabric over her head, leaving her bare except for the white lace of her bra. Emerson kissed her one last time before leaning back against the leather of the sofa to watch her. His gaze held so much heat, it was as if a simple glance was enough to make her skin flush. Trailing his fingers along her collarbones, he traced a path over her shoulders to hook her bra straps, dragging the narrow bands down her arms and leaving goose bumps in the wake of his touch.
She arched her back, and the lace edge of her bra cup slipped, baring the dusky pink edge of her nipple. Emerson’s lips parted, and she froze, watching him, not sure how to communicate what she wanted. Not sure she had enough breath left to say anything at all.
“God, Sophie. You’re beautiful.” The words came out almost like a prayer, as if he were a supplicant and touching her was something sacred. Reverent.
His fingertips brushed the swell of her breasts, skimming the edge of her nipples. With each pass, he pushed the lace lower, until her small breasts slipped free of the cups. The bunched fabric pushed them up, held them like an offering for him. His strong hands gripped her ribcage, anchoring her in place while he bent his head to her breast. For a moment, he simply breathed her in, the delicious scrape of his stubble against her skin a promise of the pleasure he could give her. And then his mouth found her, his lips circling her nipple, drawing the tender flesh into the heat of his mouth.
Her world fractured, realigned with the pleasure of it, every delicious tug of his mouth on her tender flesh forging a path between her nipple and her aching clit. She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him to her, too caught up in the feel of him to care if she seemed needy. Demanding. A whimper slipped past her lips and she felt his answering growl against her nipple.
When he pulled away, she thought she’d cry from the loss of his mouth, driving her higher, and then he shifted his attention to her other breast and the want and desire spiraled in on itself, coalescing low in her belly. Making her hips rock, riding the long, hard length of him through too much denim. As soon as she had the thought, her priorities reordered themselves to her hands on his naked flesh, getting rid of every single thing between them until there wasn’t room for breath, wasn’t room for anything but him.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Take what you need.” He kissed his way from her breast up the slender column of her throat, lighting a fire with his mouth as she rode his body, so close and still not quite enough.
