Page 91 of Playing for Keeps

I led her to my car, her bag over my shoulder, her fingers laced tightly with mine.

The drive was short, but I kept the heater on full blast. Emma was sitting sideways in the passenger seat with a blanket around her shoulders and the travel mug. She looked smug as hell about it.

“See?” she said, raising it in a small toast. “Already worth it.”

I shook my head, grinning at the road. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” she said lightly, “you still showed up on my doorstep.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, because she wasn’t wrong.

By the time we pulled into my driveway, the night had that sharp bite to it that seeps straight through your jacket. I jogged around to get her bag before she could argue, then got her inside as fast as I could, out of the wind and into the heat. Warm air hit us immediately. I’d left the thermostat up when I left on the road trip, just in case, and thank God I had.

Emma stood in the entryway, taking it in. Her shoulders dropped as the warmth sank into her. She unwound her scarf and glanced back at me with a little smile. “Fine. This is better.”

“Told you,” I said, dropping her bag by the stairs. “Blanket mountain is retired.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be so sure. Your blanket selection is pitiful compared to mine.”

I ignored that and went into autopilot: I hung up my coat, turned on the lights, and filled the kettle. When I looked back, she was standing in the living room, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater, still deciding where to sit.

“Plant yourself,” I said, pointing at the couch.

She arched an eyebrow. “Bossy.”

“Yeah, well, I’m making you tea and turning up the heat. You’re not lifting a finger tonight.”

That earned me a little smile. She dropped onto the couch, curled up, and pulled the blanket tighter around her.

By the time I brought the mugs in, she’d already arranged herself with a throw pillow and looked very much like she intended to claim the place as her own.

“You’re not going back to that freezer until the heating’s fixed,” I told her, handing her a mug.

She smiled over the rim of the mug, blowing across the surface. “So protective.”

“Damn right,” I said, sitting down next to her. “You would have stayed there, wouldn’t you? Wrapped up like an ice cube until Tuesday.”

Her laugh was soft. “Maybe.” She sipped, then gave me a look over the rim of the cup. “You worry too much.”

“Not enough,” I said, and before she could argue, I leaned in and kissed her temple.

She sighed and rested her head against my shoulder. And just like that, with tea in her hands, the house warm around us, and her steady breathing, I finally relaxed.

43

MAX

The house was quiet when I got in. Emma had been staying with me for the last couple of days, and I had loved every minute of it. Her notes and books were scattered all over my living room, she stole half the blankets at night, and insisted on ice cream even when her toes were freezing. The place was already different with her in it: warmer, better. I moved through the house, noticing the traces she had left behind, and pushed the bedroom door open, expecting to find her asleep, but she wasn’t. Not yet.

She blinked up at me from the bed, her hair messy against the pillow and her eyes heavy with sleep. “You’re late,” she whispered, her voice rough and unguarded.

“Game ran long,” I said, stripping off my clothes. My body ached, but seeing her there – soft, and waiting – lit something in me that no win ever could.

She lifted the edge of the duvet just enough for me to slide in. And I did, immediately, because resisting Emma was never an option. I pulled her back against my chest, the heat of her skin soaking into mine.

“Missed you.” Her lips brushed my jaw as she turned her head toward me. Not intentional, not seductive – just a sleepy, instinctive reach for me. I kissed her gently, careful not to push, just brushing my mouth over hers. But the second she sighed against me, everything I was holding back cracked. Her tongue touched mine, and I let out a low, ragged groan.

“Em,” I whispered, pulling back just a fraction to give her the chance to drift off if she wanted. But she didn’t. She pressed back against me, her hips moving, and the softest sound came out of her throat.