“She’ll be very lucky to have you.”
“She’ll be worshipped. It’s how I love.”
Emory studied her in the candlelight as he sipped his drink. A drunken ruckus erupted below and beckoned like a siren to collect those adrift on thoughts of freedom.
“The thing is,” he said, “I don’t worry about working some nine-to-five I hate or bills I have to pay. I worry if the people I love are going to be alive tomorrow or if the day will come I lose my freedom. It’s hard to put someone else through that, and it’s never ended well whenever I’ve tried. This world has a way of tearing people apart.”
Troubled again, Emory shook his head as if dismissing bad memories.
“You said some men wage war inside themselves. That includes you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. What I want is solace, but I’ve learned to accept that’s just a dream.”
“It doesn’t have to be a dream.”
Amelia scooted closer, as if dividing the distance could impart some belief. Emory tipped his head to the music pulsing below but held Amelia’s stare.
“They think I’m already living the dream. They don’t see things the way you do, least of all me.”
Amelia took his hand. “I do see you. All of you.”
“I see you too.” Emory interlaced his fingers with hers and, with a gentleness that surprised her, softly kissed each of her knuckles. A flutter grew in Amelia’s belly, and heat bathed hercheeks. “And what is it you want for your simple life?” he asked and squeezed her hand.
“Books and tea and rain. Believe it or not, a small house with lots of trees where it’s dark enough to see the stars. To love someone who loves me back. Same as you.”
“Same as me,” Emory repeated with quiet understanding passing between them, kindred in the way they held a mirror to each other.
He shifted in his seat and leaned in close. His mouth lingered just a breath from contact, as if relishing the intimacy of the moment.
“Are you going to kiss me now?” Amelia asked, a ridiculous question born from another bout of unraveling nerves. Her arms snaked around his shoulders, and she held onto him as a source of strength lest she fall to pieces against his touch.
Emory’s laughter warmed her lips and nose brushed hers as he nodded. “That was the plan. Is that alright with you?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Emory pressed his lips to hers, the kiss deep for having been delicate. They both drew a long breath in unison, and their hearts might’ve beaten just the same. His tongue parted her lips, then slipped into her mouth. He tasted just as she imagined, both masculine and sweet.
A quiet groan rumbled from the back of Emory’s throat as his fingers sunk in her hair. His other hand roamed her body—down her back and the dip of her waist, up the rise of her hip, cupping her ass.
“Let me take you inside,” Emory said in a shallow pant against her open mouth.
Amelia nodded. “Where did you have in mind?”
“My bedroom,” he said between kisses, each more eager than the last.
Competing desires ravaged Amelia—accept the invitation to his bed or let it unfold in its own time. She wanted him desperately, but he intimidated her. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, the pulse thrumming deliciously between her legs.
“If I go there, I’m liable to take off my clothes,” Amelia said, her head swimming as Emory trailed kisses down her neck and his fingertips skimmed the tops of her breasts.
“That was the idea.” Emory hooked one finger beneath her bra and brushed her nipple in a delicate tease. “I want to go slow, take my time with you. We have all night.”
Body humming beneath his caress, Amelia nodded. “Then let’s make the most of it.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
AMELIA
Emory led Amelia to his room in quiet retreat as if they ought to bank some silence before disturbing the night.This man will eat me alive then tear me apart,Amelia had once assumed of Emory but wasn’t so sure anymore.
