“Ah, I see. So your reputation is on the line.”
“Exactly.”
I ask about her day next, and Emma tells me about a new client who pinged her for developmental edits—those are apparently the hardest—and how the holidays are bringing more customers to the bookstore. Then she asks about the meeting that delayed me tonight, and I explain about the IPO we’re investing in this week. The meeting was with the company’s CFO, and it ran late because he’s based on the West Coast. Since she seems interested, I go over the merits of the investment, and she listens attentively, occasionally interrupting with astute questions. Though my kitten has no finance background, she appears to have an intuitive grasp of the risk-reward calculation that goes into investing decisions, as well as a knack for cutting through the fluff and succinctly summarizing the issues at hand.
“You know, you would’ve made a great equity research analyst,” I tell her as Geoffrey brings out our dessert—a fruit salad drizzled with chocolate syrup. “Those are the guys who publish many of the reports I read. With your way with words, you’d have quite a following—especially if your stock recommendations were more right than wrong.”
She grins, spearing a plump strawberry. “Are they often wrong?”
“On average? About fifty percent of the time.”
“Really? Then why does anyone read those reports?”
“For the information.” I bite into a juicy piece of pear. “These analysts do quite a bit of research on the companies they cover, and their reports often give a good overview of the business model, the competitive landscape, and such. That’s their real value add, not their opinion on whether the stock is a buy or sell. Professional investors like myself make those decisions on their own.”
“Ah, I see. So are all published stock recommendations useless?”
I smile at her. “Pretty much. Don’t tell your grandfather, though. I gave him access to our equity research database today, and he’s in seventh heaven.”
Emma laughs, shaking her head, and forks a chocolate-drizzled raspberry into her mouth. Right away, her eyes close, and a blissful expression appears on her face. “Mmm,” she moans through a mouthful. “This is so, so good…”
My heart rate jacks up, my mind flooding with images of how she looks when I’m inside her. That expression is very similar to the one she’s wearing, and my hands itch to reach across the table and pull her to me, so I can kiss the lips she’s licking at this very moment.
If it weren’t for Geoffrey in the kitchen, that’s exactly what I’d do.
She must know the effect she’s having on me because when she opens her eyes, her mouth curves in a sweetly seductive smile and she reaches across the table to lay her small, soft palm on my hand.
“This is delicious, but I think I’m full,” she murmurs, regarding me from underneath her lashes—which, I notice, are longer and darker than usual, as if she’d put on some makeup. “How about you?”
With her teasing me like this, I’m hard enough to break stone, but that’s not what she’s asking. “I couldn’t eat another bite,” I growl, standing up. “So if you’re full, how about we—”
“Go upstairs? Yes, great idea.” Beaming, she jumps to her feet and hurries to the staircase, and I follow her, suddenly as ravenous as a starved wolf.
* * *
When we get to the bedroom, she pushes me to sit on the bed and starts to undress, peeling off each layer of clothing with maddening slowness. It’s torture of the most delicious kind, and only the fact that I haven’t seen her like this before—all mysterious and adorably seductive—keeps me from grabbing her right there on the spot. Still, by the time she wriggles out of her panties, I’m about to blow—and judging by the coy smirk on her glossy lips, the little witch knows it.
“Come here,” I order hoarsely, reaching for her as she approaches the bed, but she avoids my outstretched hands, sinking to her knees in front of me instead.
“Emma…” My breath hisses between my teeth as she unzips my pants and frees my erection, the feel of her small, cool fingers on my cock exciting me almost past the point of no return. “Kitten, I don’t think—”
“Don’t think,” she murmurs, gazing up at me through her lashes as a soft, adoring smile curves her lips. “All you need to do is feel.” And as she bends forward, her hot, wet mouth closing around my swollen shaft before sucking it deep down her throat, I learn again what heaven on earth is like.
It’s not until much later, when we’re lying in a sweaty tangle of limbs, having made love two times in a row, that I wonder again why Emma changed her mind about living together—and feel a pang of guilt over the real estate deal I made behind her back.
If she ever finds out, she might leave me—which is why I can never tell her.
This and the investigator’s report I commissioned and everything else I’ve done to get us to this point has to remain my secret… because I can’t lose Emma.
I love her far too much.
38
Emma
Over the next two days, Marcus and I find a morning routine that works for us. Even without any kind of early meetings, he wakes up at the crack of dawn, and since we’ve both learned that I’m not a cyborg who can subsist on sex in place of shut-eye, he lets me snooze while he gets in either a run or a workout in his home gym. By the time he’s done, I’m up, and we have a quick breakfast together before rushing off to our respective workplaces. Well, he rushes off because Wilson drops him off first and then returns for me—which gives me time to leisurely get ready and even work on some editing. I continue said editing during my cushy commute
