clothes for the camera, any camera, and another daughter who wastes trees for a living-”
He gaped and tightened his fingers on her hand. “Your mother said your writing is a waste of trees?”
“Well-” she laughed, embarrassed to have let that slip “-all she meant was that what she does is very different than what I do.”
“Uh-huh. I wonder if you translated your ratings into readers, how many millions you’d beat her by.”
“She has a Pulitzer.”
“And you’re writing for television. Does she realize how hard that is?”
“All I’m saying is that sometimes we…disappoint her,” she said. “Granted, Amber more often than me, but-”
“So, as a result, you spend your time running around covering Amber’s ass.”
“Yes, but at least she loves me for it.”
“I’m sure she does. But Emma, who’s there when
She stared at him, a little dismayed to have him cut right to her inner turmoil so effortlessly. “I-I don’t know.” She pulled her hand free and rubbed her temple. “I don’t think about it like that.”
His eyes never left her as he took her hand back and lightly scraped his teeth over the fleshy part of her palm before soothing it with the tip of his tongue.
All her bones dissolved. “Rafe.”
He did it again.
Her mouth went dry and she gulped down some water as her thoughts jumped ahead to what could happen next. Would he kiss her? Would he touch her-
“What are you thinking?” He stopped her nervous fingers from playing with the condensation on her glass by putting his hand over hers.
What was she thinking? She was thinking how he would feel filling her body. “Um…Well.” A knowing light came into his eyes and she had to let out a little laugh that was a good part nerves. “Why ask if you already know?”
Cocking his head, he studied her with those eyes that seemed to see right through her exterior to the real Emma beneath. The one that wanted to toss the “research” facade out the window and admit she wanted him. She just wanted him, plain and simple.
And she wanted him to want her back, plain and simple. No complications, no emotional ties, nothing to bog it down, even while she knew that there was nothing plain and simple about this at all.
All around them were people dining, paying them no attention whatsoever, but she leaned in. “What’s going to happen?”
“What do you want to happen?”
“Everything,” she said honestly, and blinked when he choked out a laugh.
“God, Emma.” He squeezed her fingers. “Do you have any idea what your honesty does to me?”
“No, but I know what all these thoughts are doing to me.” She showed him the goose bumps on her arms, leaning back to do so, but noticed that his gaze landed on her breasts instead. Her nipples had responded to both his presence and her thoughts, pebbling hard against the material of her sweater as if begging for attention.
Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the look on his face, but the room started to spin. “Oh boy. I hope our food comes soon.”
“Emma.” His voice was hoarse. “Tell me you aren’t too toasted for this, because I plan to slowly strip you so I can taste every single inch of you, something I can’t do if you’re tipsy.”
“Why not?” She heard the wispy hopefulness in her voice. Later she could be horrified by that, but right now, with the room spinning feverishly and her body hot and achy, she couldn’t think that far.
“Because I want you one hundred percent with me.”
She eyed him as she tried to put words to her thoughts. “I had no idea you were so sweet.”
“Would a ‘sweet’ guy ask you this…” Leaning in close, he put his mouth to her ear. “Why have you never come with a man before?”
She pulled back and stared at him. “I…did at the pool. With you.”
“Before that.”
“Oh. I…”
“Here you go,” said their waitress as she came toward them with their order. “Enjoy your meal. Anything else?”
Rafe didn’t take his eyes off Emma. “No, thank you.”
With a nod, she walked away.
Rafe squeezed Emma’s fingers. “So, tell me. Why?”
13
EMMA OPENED HER MOUTH, then closed it. She didn’t have a ready answer.
“Emma?”
She picked up a french fry. “I’m thinking.”
Instead of pushing as she’d expected, he leaned back and eyed his plate. “I can’t remember why I wanted food. All I want to eat is you.”
Her fry fell from her fingers, her entire body quivering.
He shot her a grim smile. He picked up her fry and brought it to her lips for her. When she sucked it into her mouth, he groaned.
Because she loved the sound of his torture, because her body was pulsing and having all sorts of interesting reactions, she then sucked on his finger as well.
He stared at her mouth while she did. “You’re teasing me.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. Is it so you don’t have to answer my question?”
“Yes, could you pretend not to notice?”
“If you don’t stop.”
Feeling shameless, she slipped her foot out of her sandal beneath the table and rubbed his calf with her toes. The white tablecloth was thankfully long, covering her shenanigans. She lifted her leg and ran her toes up the inside of his thigh, settling them directly on the V of his jeans, smiling at his sharp intake of breath.
Beneath the ball of her foot she could feel an extremely interesting response. When she pressed lightly, he let out an inarticulate noise and wrapped his hand around her ankle. “Two can play this game.” He let his other hand slip beneath the table, and since she had one leg virtually in his lap, now being held there by his firm grip on her ankle, that left her thighs wide open.
Thank goodness they were in a cozy, round corner table, close together, because when she felt his fingers slip under the material of her wide, gauzy skirt, easily bunching it up as he skimmed his palm up her inner thigh, she gasped. “Rafe-”
“That’s my name,” he said lightly, his knuckles barely brushing her panties in a light caress that sent her pulse racing. “So…about why you’ve never come with a man before…”
“I-” He still had her ankle in his grip, and while she could have asked him to stop, she didn’t. She was wide open to his touch, vulnerable and unbearably aroused by it. “I like my control,” she said.
“Control issues.” He nodded. “We all have them. But you, Emma-” Another light brush of his knuckles over her panties, which were quickly getting damp “-you’re a tight case. You don’t like people to get too close and I used to think maybe that was because you’d been hurt before, by a man. But now I think it’s because you’ve spent your entire life trying to please someone you’ll never be able to please.” He spread open his hand so that his fingertips rested extremely low on her belly, which left his thumb free. He glided it right over the spot designed to make her come undone.
She nearly did.
“What I find fascinating,” he said in that same conversational tone, as if they were discussing whether she wanted ketchup or mustard on her burger, “ is that you’ve never really managed to keep that control with me.”
Nothing in her life had prepared her for this situation, for this man, for these feelings. But he was right. Always,
