Chapter Twelve
Connor fiddled with his cuff link, then straightened the knot of his black tie that matched his black suit and black shirt. He caught sight of his reflection in the window of his apartment and sighed. Goddamn, he was actually nervous.
Forcing himself to relax, he shook out his shoulders and arms.
It’s just dinner.
It had been his idea to celebrate the conversation she’d had with her siblings. To celebrate that no matter what the world threw at them, the Dyers were going to be just fine. What had possessed him to suggest they hit Maison Noir and dress the part, he wasn’t sure.
Except he remembered how Emerson had looked when they’d met in the garden at the awards in San Francisco, and he wanted to give them both the opportunity to dress up and enjoy life a little.
It had been her suggestion that they get ready separately when she had disappeared into the second bedroom two hours ago. Since then, he’d heard her listen to a country compilation, a food podcast discussing the history of pasta, and a meditation app. In the meantime, he’d swum, worked out, gotten a haircut, caught up on the news, and showered. And it had been nice doing all those things wondering what exactly she was doing in the bedroom.
Just as he was about to pour himself a drink, he heard the clip of heels on the wooden hallway. “Connor?”
“I’m in the living room,” he said.
When she stepped around the corner, he gaped. For sure, his jaw hit the floor.
Emerson stood tall in a deep red dress that set off her tanned, smooth skin and dark hair. The fitted bodice accentuated her breasts as it did her waist. The wide skirt ended just below her knees.
And she wore heels that matched the dress.
Her hair was up in a messy updo that framed her face perfectly. And dear God, those red lips would be the end of him.
“You’re perfect,” he said.
Emerson laughed shyly and bobbed a little curtsy. “It’s all new. And I still suck at walking in heels.”
Connor crossed the room and took her hand. “Heels. No heels. I love you just the way you are.” He pulled her close, as if they were dancing to some imaginary music.
“You look incredibly handsome in this suit,” she said, running her fingertips along the ends of his hair. “I like your hair.”
“Funny, I was just thinking how much I like yours. Up like it is now, or down when my fist is curled in it while we—”
“Connor,” she said, cutting him off playfully. “If you behave, I might let you try that again later.”
Connor laughed. “If I kiss you right now, am I going to ruin your lipstick?”
Emerson shook her head. “Twenty-four-hour indestructible lipstick. At least, that’s what the label says.”
He leaned forward, savoring the feel of her soft lips as they met his. Damn, he wanted to stay in and make out instead. He wrapped his hands around her, only to feel skin. Her back was totally exposed.
“I like this dress even more,” he murmured, running his fingertips along her spine. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay in and order pizza?” Connor pulled her closer, hoping that she could feel exactly what she was doing to him. His dick was aching for her. “I can think of at least ten things I’d like to do with you while you’re wearing this dress.”
Emerson grinned, slowly looked down at the growing tent in his pants, and then back up, pinning him with those eyes of hers that positively sparkled with excitement. “I’m certain pizza in bed with you would be incredible, as would be the ten things. But tonight, you promised me a wonderful dinner, so perhaps you can tell me about them en route. Let’s go.”
Connor lifted Emerson’s hand to his lips. “Your wish is my command. Do you need a coat?”
“My purse and wrap are by the door. And if I get too cold, you’ll give me your jacket, right?”
As she turned to grab them, and he caught sight of the exceptionally low dip of her dress and the bow at the base of her back, he figured he’d give her just about anything she asked for.
“Can one of the things I do to you in this dress start in the car?” Connor asked as he opened the door to their ride. “My tongue somewhere it shouldn’t be in public.”
Emerson blushed. “Save it for later,” she said, looking around to see if they’d been overheard.
Once at Maison Noir, the host seated them in one of the round booths and left them with their menus. The deep burgundy leather sofa, dark wood, and low lighting was perfect.
Emerson groaned when she looked at the menu. “Don’t you just love it when you open a menu and immediately see so many dishes you’d like to try?”
Connor leaned toward her. “Kind of like when I look at you and think about ten things I’d like to try?”
Her eyes met his. “Tell me another,” she dared him.
For a moment, he debated whether she meant it or not, but the way she looked at him, the way her lips were ever so slightly open, told him she did. He moved closer in the booth and whispered into her ear. “When we get home, I’d like for you to kneel on the edge of the bed in this dress while I take you from behind. I might even take a fistful of this glorious hair of yours…hold you in place while you come.” He ran his fingers gently down her spine.
“Is that before or after I wrap my lips around your—”
“Welcome to Maison Noir,” a female voice said. “Can I get you an aperitif while you look at the menu?”
Emerson blushed, while Connor moved slightly away from her, but threw an arm around the leather seat behind her. He’d never been less happy to get service, no matter how crisp the woman’s black uniform and attitude
