FOR A WOMAN SOMEONEWAS trying to kill, Sophie’s days had slipped into an amazingly peaceful routine. If she was lucky, she woke to the sound of Emerson in the shower and had enough time to join him. Now that he’d shown her the joys of shower sex, she intended to indulge in it as often as possible. After they dried off, he kissed her good-bye and headed downstairs to his office and she went back to her pearls.
Knowing she was creating something for someone Emerson loved added another layer of emotion to the bridal set. She’d found a picture of his sister on the hall table and moved it to her workspace so she could see the woman who’d wear the jewelry. It didn’t change the design—not exactly—it just informed the choices she made about how to put it together. She’d opted for delicate matching drop earrings that would look perfect with Amanda’s dark-brown hair and added a few more flowers to the necklace so it would lay lower across the other woman’s toned shoulders. Part of her wanted to see Amanda wearing her jewelry on the big day, but another part—the more realistic part—realized it was unlikely she and Emerson would still be seeing each other in six months, let alone that he’d take her to his sister’s wedding.
They had a shelf life, and if it made her sad to think of things ending, she could use all those orgasms to distract herself. Honestly, the man was as skilled a lover as he was everything else he did. She hadn’t known some of the things he’d done with his tongue were even possible, and she’d called on God so many times over the past week, it was like her own personal revival. Emerson set the bar so high for her first time; she had a hard time imagining anyone else being able to keep up.
She loved sex as much as she’d hoped she would, but she’d had enough fumbling near misses to know her pleasure had more to do with the man she was with than simply the act itself. It wasn’t his technique—and the man knew what he was doing—it was the way he looked in her eyes as he moved inside her. The way he made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. As if she were the only woman in the world for him, even though she knew that couldn’t be true. They hadn’t saidI love you,and they weren’t going to, but what she felt with him was surprisingly close. Emerson made her feel cherished and on top of everything else he’d done for her, it was a gift she’d treasure forever.
Since she couldn’t put what she felt into words without terrifying both of them, she poured her feelings into the jewelry for his sister. Fastening the final jump ring on the drop earrings, she covered the set with a velvet cloth to protect it and stood and stretched. She’d worked through lunch again and as soon as she had the thought, her stomach woke with a vengeance. There was still some of Mrs. Southerland’s chili in the fridge and a round crusty loaf of whole grain bread. It had probably gone a bit stale, but that made it perfect for her purposes.
She washed her hands and then dug around in the kitchen drawers for aluminum foil. Before she found the foil, she stumbled on a drawer of extra dish towels and a Kiss the Cook apron. The blue cotton cloth was so clean and folded so neatly, it had to be a gift, and it gave her an idea for a gift of her own. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. If Emerson was late, she’d feel silly, but it was a chance she was willing to take.
Moving fast so she didn’t run out of time, she grabbed butter, grated cheese, and a shaker of garlic-herb seasoning mix. She doubted butter and cheese were on the man’s menu when she wasn’t around. There wasn’t an extra ounce of fat on him. She’d personally traced the peaks and valleys of his six-pack with her tongue. Buttery goodness be damned, the bread was the only thing she really knew how to make. It was delicious, and she’d be more than happy to offer him a way to work off the extra calories.
Using the big serrated bread knife, she sliced the loaf, being careful not to cut the whole way through. She turned the loaf ninety degrees and repeated the process until it looked like a whole wheat hedgehog and then she crammed the softened butter, cheese, and seasonings she’d mixed together into all the nooks and crannies. She wrapped the bread in the foil and popped it into the oven.
By the time she got the chili into a saucepan on the stove, the apartment had started to fill with the cheesy garlic aroma and it was almost time for Emerson to get home. Shoving the detritus from her culinary adventure into the sink, she grabbed the apron and bolted for the bathroom. Slicking some gloss on her lips, she piled her hair up in a messy bun, stripped naked, and donned the apron. She’d just managed to arrange herself on one of the barstools when she heard the door open.
“Sophie, I’m home.”
She shouldn’t like the way that sounded as much as she did. Her heart pounded in anticipation as she heard Emerson move through the apartment.
“God, it smells good in here.” He walked through the doorway and then froze when he saw her waiting for him.
“I cooked.” She uncrossed her legs, arching her back and letting one of her knees fall open, baring herself to his hungry gaze.
“I see that.” He swallowed hard and she bit her bottom lip, loving being the one to rattle him. “Nice apron.”
“You like it?” She fiddled with the straps, giving him a glimpse of her already hard nipples.
“Very much.” He set his laptop bag and a stack of papers he’d been carrying on the counter and then dropped to his knees in front of her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling her control of the situation slip away.
“You cooked.” He rested her thighs on his shoulders and pushed the apron up until it bunched around her waist. “I’m eating.”
––––––––
SOPHIE NAKED IN hiskitchen. Sophie naked in his bed. Sophie in his arms, her clear blue gaze pinned to his as he took her over and over again. He saw her everywhere, felt her everywhere. In a few short weeks, she’d worked her way into every part of Emerson’s life and instead of feeling trapped or crowded, he couldn’t wait to get home to her. Seeing Sophie, waking up with her and then falling asleep with her wrapped around him was the very best part of his day.
He glanced across the kitchen island at her wearing one of his Southerland Security shirts, and his heart squeezed tight. He’d discarded the shirt when he stripped down, desperate to be inside her. Too desperate to bother with things like a bed. The polo swallowed her, and he fucking loved the idea of her being wrapped up in something of his, surrounded by him even when he wasn’t touching her.
“What?” she asked, a creased forming between her brows.
“Just enjoying the view.”
She smiled and his heart did that new flip thing it seemed to be partial to. He loved making her smile.
“Me too.” With her gaze on his bare chest—he’d only bothered to slip on his jeans before they ate—she licked the back of her spoon and a significant chunk of his cognitive energy shifted to Sophie’s pretty pink tongue and all the other things she’d licked.
He really was a dirty old man. The thing was with Sophie, he didn’t feel old anymore. He felt every one of his thirty-six years but not one year more. Even though he was still doing the same kind of work at basically the same pace, spending time with her made his stress melt away. Dirty, however, was a given. He couldn’t keep his hands off her and honestly, he wasn’t that interested in trying.
“Brat.” Heat flared in her eyes at the nickname, and he reached for some of her delicious bread to keep from reaching for her. “I do actually need to talk to you.”
He’d been putting it off because he wasn’t sure how she’d react to what he had to say. As soon as she’d told him about her past, he’d started looking for connections. The new information opened lines of inquiry he hadn’t had before and suddenly the gap in her life between her birth and magical reappearance in her late teens started to make sense. He had Gabe digging into things in Australia and pestering him every fifteen minutes to let him fly halfway across the world on the company’s dime for research.
All they’d been able to piece together so far was some sketchy information on the pearl farm where she said she grew up. There were actually two properties that matched the description she’d given that were close enough to the address she told him to be contenders. He had some photos—thank you, Google Earth—and as soon as she could ID the right property, he could keep digging.
“So talk.” She ripped off a chunk of bread and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes drifted shut in pleasure, and he had to fight to keep from becoming derailed. It was almost as if every time he tried to steer them to something serious, she found a way to hide, and usually with something that involved sex.
