Now the room was practically empty. The bookcases were gone. So was the desk. Instead there was a glass coffee table in the center surrounded by four round chairs that sat low to the ground. They looked like they had been molded from huge pieces of pink plastic with no intention of anyone ever sitting in them at all.
Montgomery followed her line of sight and smiled smugly. “They’re made from recycled bottles.”
“They’re… great.”
He nodded as if this were a given. Then he glanced at a side mirror to adjust his long hair behind his ear.
She had to work hard to curb the desire to roll her eyes. God, Knightley would hate this. The pretension. The effort. All of it.
Emma shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought.
“Should I show you upstairs?” Montgomery asked, leaning in so his lips were close to her ear.
“Yes, upstairs,” she said, a little too quickly.
It came out before she had time to think through what “upstairs” meant. But when she turned around and saw Montgomery waiting, the corner of his lips curled up as he held out his hand for her to take, her heart tripped over itself.
She took his hand. His fingers were soft, and she studied them as he led her back to the foyer and up the stairs, how loosely they held her own. His nails looked manicured, perfect… just likeeverything else in the house: too aware of itself, as if curated only to impress others. It was like someone’s version of a museum, if they had never been to a museum before.
Oh God. Had Montgomery never been to—
“I’m going to assume you’ve never been in this room,” Montgomery purred.
She looked up from his hand and found herself staring into a bedroom. He was right—she had never been in the master bedroom before, but she wasn’t sure it mattered, anyway. There was no way this room resembled how the Crawfords had it.
The walls were painted a dark shade of navy and in the fading evening light they looked almost black, disappearing behind the looming bed in the center. And there, over the velvet headboard, was another painting.
Emma swallowed.You have to be kidding me.
It was a portrait of Montgomery. It was abstract and composed of different colors and crude shapes, but there was no mistaking the subject there at its center, staring down at the mattress.
“What do you think?” Montgomery’s breath was warm against her ear, his body suddenly close against her back.
Don’t be a snob.The mantra repeated in her mind again.So he doesn’t know art, big deal. That didn’t mean anything—in fact, it was probably a blessing in disguise. Did she really want to date someone who knew everything about her career? Someone constantly looking over her shoulder and measuring her knowledge against their own? Of course not. This was fine. It wasbetter.
But somehow… she didn’t feel better. She felt nervous and claustrophobic and…
Montgomery didn’t wait for her to figure it out. He slowly moved to stand in front of her, his hand suddenly on her hip. His other hand traced up her bare arm, skimming across hershoulder, her collarbone, then slowly down her sternum, mapping a line down between her breasts to where the deep V-neck of her jumpsuit began.
The tall windows behind him revealed that it was almost dark outside and the house across the street had just turned on their light.
She wondered if Knightley was home right now.
Do not think about Knightley, her mind demanded as Montgomery’s hand came down to meet her other hip, as he slowly pulled her closer to him. She let out a shaky breath.
There was no chance Knightley could see them here. There was no chance anyone could. It should have made her feel better, it should have shut off her brain enough to focus on Montgomery’s body pressed against her own.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said, his voice low.
“Thanks,” she replied.
Thanks?Did she just say “thanks”? And why did her voice sound like that, so high and so strained, a poor imitation of what she should sound like? Shouldn’t it sound deeper, weighed down with lust or want or something?
The thought was interrupted as he cupped her jaw and leaned forward to kiss her. His lips felt soft as she closed her eyes, letting his tongue brush against her mouth. She leaned into him, trying to get lost in this, and it hit her suddenly that she was so preoccupied with telling her body what to feel that she wasn’t feeling anything at all. She adjusted her face, turning her head to the side, and he took it as a sign to start kissing down her neck, pulling her tighter against him.
“Wait,” she whispered, leaning back and creating a few inches of distance from his body.
“What’s wrong?” he murmured, but he was already moving close again.
