He picked up a strand of her blonde hair from her shoulder and ran it through his fingers. “Are we talking cryptically again? What are you trying to say, Emma?”
Her lips pouted slightly. “Fine. I’ll spell it out for you. I want you to kiss me, but I don’t want to be the one to initiate it. Is that clear enough?”
He laughed. “I was waiting for the right moment.”
She pulled away and went back to leaning against her counter by the fridge. “Whatever. Stall all you want. I’m a vault. When we’re eighty and that right moment comes, just know I’ll be ready for you.”
She was such a tease. He shook his head. “Keep waiting, lady. I’ll tell you a secret about men. They hate to be told what to do.”
***
And yet he was coming toward her and his eyes were telling a different story. They said brace yourself for impact. Feeling hot and cold all over, Emma gripped the counter behind her just before his arms came around her waist, and his lips pressed down on hers—not hard, but not soft either. His kiss was persuasive, and frustrated, and laced with the strong emotions of someone who had been holding back for a very long time.
She met his kisses with a strong answer and strong emotions to match. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she let him hold her in place as she leaned into him, sighing between kisses and then coming in for more. She ran her fingers along the back of his neck where his hair was just starting to curl under. She’d finally gotten her opportunity to run her fingers through it.
He pulled away, and she groaned, resting her forehead against his jaw. “I kind of miss the scruff, to be honest.”
“Don’t worry, Emma. I’ll be nice and scruffy tomorrow, and I’m really hoping this isn’t the only time we do this.”
“Not unless an asteroid comes down right now and takes us out.”
“Just in case then.” He tilted his head and gave her another satisfyingly long and thorough kiss until she thought she might pass out with the sensations of it.
George pushed off from the counter behind them and let out a long breath. “Okay, distractions. Why don’t you, um, contact Martin now and see what he says.”
“Right now?”
“I could kiss you all night, Emma. I don’t think you need to worry about me waiting for the right moment. Every moment until the end of time sounds pretty good right now.”
Emma couldn’t help blushing. “I never pegged you for a romantic, George.”
“Is it a bad thing?”
“Um, not at all.” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed along his jawline, loving the way his muscles tensed in reaction to her touch. He leaned down and captured her lips, and she was lost in him for several minutes before reluctantly pushing away. “Okay, texting Martin.”
“Yes. Control freak George here wants to see what you’re going to say.”
She laughed, knowing it was true and loving that they could accept each other now, flaws and all.
She read it out loud as she typed. “Martin, sorry to bother you. This is a concerned friend of Harriet’s. Whatever you respond with will not be seen by her. Are you really dating someone else?” She glanced at George. “Too much? Not enough? I don’t want to spell out why I want to know unless he responds.”
He nodded. “I think that works.”
She shook out her arms and hit send. “No going back now.”
They stared at her phone for several seconds as if Martin would instantly answer. No such luck. She put her phone away and dragged George to the den. “Help me rearrange the furniture again, will you? I hate having the couch squished against the wall.”
“Why’d you change it all around in the first place?”
“Because I was afraid of what I felt when we cuddled together.” His face looked confused and she held up her hands in surrender. “I know, I know. I’m the one who started it. I never said it was rational.”
Working together, they pulled the couch away from the wall and slid the loveseat back in its place. George caught her admiring his form and rolled his eyes. “Have a thing for moving men?”
“Maybe.” She fanned herself to clinch the effect.
George finished moving the armchair and pulled her into it with him. He just held her, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of moving furniture. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, enjoying his cologne and the warmth of his skin.
Her phone chirped with a text message alert, and she shifted to pull it out of her back pocket. They bumped heads, both trying to read Martin’s response at the same time.
