Dani “What did you do before childcare?” Emil glances at me, his wine propped on his knee, one arm stretched across the back of the sofa. Those top two buttons of his damn shirt are open again, taunting me. His fingers are relaxed on the back of the couch, close enough for me to see the clean, white arcs of each fingernail. This is a different kind of intimacy. We’re not sweaty and out of our minds in a dark room. We’re not clawing at each other and throwing caution to the wind. We’re not hiding behind a veil of professionalism, either. It’s just me and him. Over the past four years, I’ve gotten that question a lot. What did you do before? Usually I answer vaguely, giving no information. This and that. A little bit of everything. Today, though, I find myself telling the truth. “I worked for a startup company. I studied mechanical engineering and got a master’s degree in environmental science. I used to work in quality assurance for a company that developed environmentally friendly technologies. All kinds of stuff. Engines, pumps, motors.” His brows jump up, surprise dancing across his features. It’s the same look everyone used to give me when I’d tell them I worked in tech, I was educated, I was smart. As if it was some shocking revelation. To Emil’s credit, he just tilts his head. “Why did you quit?” The truth is on the tip of my tongue. I could tell him exactly what happened with Rich. How he manipulated me into falsifying test results, how he set me up to take the fall if we were ever exposed. I could tell Emil what I saw. What I stole. Emil’s hand stretches out, his fingers twisting around a rogue strand of my hair. The touch is intimate, comforting. I lean into it as a long breath slides through my lips. “It was time to move on,” I finally say. “And you never wanted to go back?” “No.” A lie. I’d love to go back to a job in STEM. I’d love to work in a workshop or a lab or a design office. I’d love to be part of something at the forefront of environmental science, but I don’t want to go back to the life I led before. One where my instincts were beat down, where I was manipulated by someone I thought was a beautiful genius, where my sense of right and wrong was so thoroughly confused. I don’t ever want to steal company secrets for leverage, and I don’t want to run. I’m sick of running. Emil holds my gaze, his fingers still playing with my hair. Our eyes meet in the darkened room, moonlight carving Emil’s features in a harsh silver glow. He’s so gorgeous. So male. So completely off-limits. Pulling away from the gaze with a jerky movement, Emil stands up and walks toward the door, then comes back with the same stack of r eports he was reading this morning. “I met the summer college students today. Veronica was particularly impressive.” He finds the r eport I was reading this morning and passes it over. “My engineers think we could develop this technology into something commercially viable.”
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. I flip through the r eport, landing on one of the graphs I noticed this morning. Emil drifts toward me, leaning his head close to mine. We talk about technical details, intricacies of manufacturing a component like this one, and a thousand other things I haven’t been able to discuss with anyone for four years. “You really did work in the industry,” Emil finally says. Redness flushing high on my cheeks, I shrug and close the r eport. “It was a long time ago.” “You were good at your job.” Not a question, but I nod anyway. His hand reaches for my hair again, playing with a few strands near my shoulder. It’s been so long since I felt this comfortable with someone —with a man. Talking about things I used to be passionate about unlocks something de ep in my heart, makes my attraction for Emil swell to something that pushes against my skin, unrelenting. While we talked shop, we both shifted closer to each other without me ever really noticing. When I lean into his gentle touch, his fingers run along my scalp, down the length of my hair. His knuckles brush the sensitive skin on my neck, and I know he can feel the violent thudding of my pulse. “You’re the first woman I’ve touched in three years,” he says in the silence. His voice is a rough scrape along my skin. It sends heat washing through me, settling low in my gut. I gulp, closing my eyes as his knuckles swe ep down my neck, my jaw. His thumb brushes my chin, nudging the fullness of my bottom lip. “Three years?” I finally ask, his words taking long seconds to sink in. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I dream about you every night. About your body—all the things I want to do to it.” “Emil...” He groans, his fingers spreading across the nape of my neck. It’s a possessive hold, and I melt into it without resistance. “Say it again.” “What?” I’m in a daze, drunk on his touch, his scent. Citrus, clean, so intrinsically Emil that it makes my head spin. “Say my name, Dani.” His lips brush my cheek, and I tilt my head into the touch. His breath washes over my ear, hot and heady as his thumb makes small circles over my throat. “We can’t do this, Emil,” I whisper, breathless. “I know.” A kiss on my jaw. “But I want to.” “Please.” My voice trembles on the word. Am I begging him to stop, or begging him not to? My hand has found its way to his thigh, its strong, hard muscle under my palm. When my fingers slide up, Emil spreads his legs at the motion, urging me closer. I want to touch him. I want to feel his hardness wrapped in my hand, silk-covered steel. It’s a desperate need pulsing through me, one I can’t ignore. What we did at the ball... it wasn’t enough. It’ll never be enough, no matter how much I try to convince myself I shouldn’t want him. The ache between my legs intensifies, and my hand slides higher still. Emil’s lips are warm, insistent. He kisses my throat, my collarbone, my jaw. I part my lips, ready to finally taste him. To kiss this man would be to demolish all my walls, my defenses. It would shatter any semblance of professionalism. It would ruin any fleeting chance I have at stability. But damn it, I’m
ready, so ready to throw all my inhibitions aside and obey my body. Obey him. Something wet dribbles over my leg, my side. “Shit.” Emil pulls back, a large red stain spreading over the cream sofa. “Shit, shit, shit.” He straightens his wine glass—empty, now—and pulls away. Reality comes crashing back to me, a sledgehammer to the side of my head. What the hell was I thinking? What did I almost just do? I jump up, looking at the stain on my pants, my shirt, the sofa. I pat my body, my cheeks. I’m hot all over. “I... I’ll get some rags. You got club soda? Or... what else gets red wine out? Baking soda? My grandmother used to use white wine to get red wine stains out, but that always seemed crazy to me. I’ll google it.” Heart thudding as I babble, I duck my blushing head and palm my pants for my phone. I can’t think straight. Heading to the kitchen sink, I run some cold water and wet a clean cloth. Hands slide over my hips, gripping me tight. Emil spins me around, pressing me up against the edge of the sink. He takes the cloth out of my hands and sets it aside, eyes dark and dangerous. His hands lean against the counter on either side of my body, caging me. “I’m going to kiss you now.” God, I want that. I close my eyes for a second, shaking my head. “We can’t...” “I want you to work here. I want you to take care of my kids. And I want to kiss you.” “We’re crossing so many lines,” I whisper. “I don’t want to ruin this.” “You’re not ruining anything, Dani, and I’ll go crazy if I don’t taste your lips.” Mute, I stare at him. Trapped by his body as I am, I can’t move. I don’t want to. Something important is shifting between us. If I kiss him tonight, it’ll change things. More than the Summer Ball did. More than whatever that was on the couch. If we take this further, this tension between us is no longer an innocent attraction. It’s something more. Holding my gaze for a second, two, Emil slides his hand back to my nape. He tilts my head up, pressing his chest to mine. Then he kisses me. It’s not a tender kiss. There’s no gentleness in his touch. It’s claiming. Devastating. It curls my toes and stops my heart, then sends wildfire rushing through my veins. Before I know what I’m doing, my arms are wrapped around his neck. He holds my nape with one hand and hauls me closer with the other, cupping my ass in a rough, possessive hold, his fingers sliding down between my legs. I know he can feel the heat there. The arousal. He’s hard as steel against me. I gasp at the length of him pressed against my stomach, my insides turning molten. And his lips—his lips taste like magic and honey and man. He groans into my mouth, devouring me. “Dani,” he growls, nipping my bottom lip, “you taste...” He kisses me harder, my body fused to his. “You taste better than I imagined.” I can only moan in response, my lips parting as his tongue ravages my mouth. His rough stubble abrades my too-sensitive skin, his kiss unrelenting. I s cape my nails along his scalp, his shoulders, his
back. He grunts in response, pulling me closer, driving his hand lower on my ass, his fingers farther between my legs. Panting, we pause. My pulse thunders so hard I can barely hear myself think. “We should take care of that stain.” “Fuck the stain.” He kisses me again, parting my lips with a rough bite, then soothing the ache with his tongue. “You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this, Dani. How badly I’ve wanted to kiss you every minute of every day.” I’m drunk on his words, on the thought of him wanting me so badly he can’t help himself. I lean back, chest heaving. His hands run up my sides, palms shaping my breasts. Even through my shirt and bra, his touch is electric. “Am I really the first woman you’ve touched in three years?” I find myself asking, searching his face for any hint of dishonesty or manipulation. A part of me realizes I shouldn’t automatically be looking for those things, that I should try to trust him, but old habits are hard to shake. I still need to protect myself, even if all my instincts scream at me to give in to him. Pink tinges his cheeks. He nods. “After Callie died, I couldn’t...” He clears his throat, shaking his head. “I thought that was two years ago. Was it three?” My fingers slide up his chest, stroking that strong, hard jaw. Shadows cross his face, thick lashes fanning over his cheeks. “Things between Callie and me weren’t good,” he finally admits. When he meets my gaze again, his face is shuttered. I’ve pushed too far. I nod and Emil pulls away, his hands lingering on my hips. “You should go to bed.” He pulls his hands away, and I feel so, so cold without the heat of his body against mine. Clearing my throat, I nod, then look toward the living room. “Yeah. What about—“ “Don’t worry about the couch,” he says with a wave. “Get some sle ep.” I expect him to turn, to leave me standing on my own, but Emil lifts his hand and strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers. His gaze softens. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, then he presses his lips to my forehead and walks away. It takes me a long time to fall asle ep.