If admitting how much he needed Sloane was wrong, Emmitt didn’t care to know it. He’d come a long way since reading through the first few chapters of Doctor Ross’s book, and it seemed it had come just in time too.
And to think he might have treated Sloane like one of the ladies at the Pub & Grill. The truth was, he was no better than any of the women he’d encountered. And he’d learned that his casual encounters said more about him than it did them; at least they thought there was real potential. And perhaps there could have been. Emmitt just hadn’t been ready.
The sound of a doorknob twisting caused Emmitt to straighten up where he sat on the couch. His eyes shot to the hallway and landed on Sloane where she strutted slowly toward him, a soft smile on her face.
Delicious heat flared low in his belly at the sight. He loved it when she wore that loose, pale pink sweater. The way it accented her cheeks each time she blushed.
“Honey…” he said in a sing song voice. “I’m home.”
Sloane grinned as she climbed onto the couch beside him, nudging against his side and looping her hand around the bend in his elbow. She rested her head against his bicep, letting her weight meld into him with a deep sigh.
Emmitt leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Her hair was damp, making it appear darker than usual. Yet it seemed there was something else different about her too.
“You okay?” he asked in a whisper.
Sloane didn’t speak, simply nodded and pulled herself impossibly closer.
“What are you thinking about?” A dart of worry wedged its way into his gut as he waited for her response.
Sloane froze, pulled back, and slowly lifted her head until their eyes met. There, in the tense set of her ocean blue eyes, warred a world of conflict.
Emmitt gulped. “What’s the matter?”
“I have to tell you something.”
Internal panic was threatening to rise up. Already, beats of heat pulsed through his blood as he considered what she might tell him. Would she say she’d decided to go home for Christmas after all? Would she comp him the remaining hours and say goodbye for good?
This was not good timing. Emmitt had something to tell her too. He smoothed a hand down the damp strands of her hair.
“Go ahead,” he encouraged.
Sloane nodded and gulped, seeming to muster some confidence, and locked her eyes on his once more. Her lips parted, then closed, and she shook her head. “Just a minute,” she breathed, looking down for a blink. But a breath later she was lifting her chin once again. She leaned in, watching him as she did, and barely grazed her nose against his. Back and forth. Then back and forth again.
An Eskimo kiss.What was she saying?
Emmitt’s heartbeats crashed like thunder against his ribcage. As if his chest had suddenly grown too small for his swelling, love-ridden heart.
She paused, leaving the tip of her nose softly against his. “I think,” she said, a shaky breath falling from her lips, “I love you, Emmitt.”
Now his heart was on wings. Still pounding wildly, but ready to lift off and take flight. He pulled back and searched her face before locking his gaze on hers.
“I love you too, Sloane,” he breathed, the truth of it radiating through his entire form. He was quick to move in, anxious to press a celebration kiss to those lips of hers. At the mere touch of her soft, silky mouth, a shock of pleasure rippled through him.
He let out a low groan as he tilted his head and came in for more.
This time she met his kiss with a new level of passion, showing—with each heated push and alluring pull—that she meant what she’d said.
Sloane loved him. He could hardly believe she’d said it first. Emmitt had felt the same for a while now. Heck, by the time he said that helikedher, he was already half-a-heart deep. Now he was way over his head—swimming, floating, maybe even drowning in the bliss of it all.
At once they were moving to lay across the sofa.
Bodies close, legs entwined, lips locked in passion.
So good.
Slowly then, Sloane slid her hand up his chest. It took a moment to realize that she was fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. Unbuttoning one, and then two. Flares of desire stirred low in his belly.
Emmitt held very still as she slid her silky palm, warm against his skin, into the open fold of his shirt. Lifting the fabric with the back of her hand, she brought her palm to rest over his pounding heart.
