Chapter 18 Andrew
Before I can answer, Emily’s phone rings.
She glances down at the screen, and I can see the name Owen Agent , flash across it.
“I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’ll just be a minute.” She gives me an apologetic look before swiping to answer the call.
I try not to listen, but it’s impossible not to catch snippets of her conversation. “That’s the figure? Are you sure, Owen? It just seems low.” She pauses, her brow furrowing, and then she listens for a moment. “Alright. Send over the details, but I’m not convinced. Thanks.”
When she hangs up, frustration is drawn all over her face. “Everything okay?” I ask.
“It’s about my apartment,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “Owen thinks it’s not worth as much as I expected. But I’m sure he’s undervaluing it.”
“Oh, you’re ready to put it on the market?” I ask.
Emily nods. “If Owen’s right, I might not get much out of it.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Do you have Owen’s contact information? If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at the listing. Maybe there’s something he’s missing.”
She hesitates for a moment, and I can see the gears turning in her head, debating whether to let me get involved in this part of her life. But, then she reaches for her phone. “Sure. I could use a second opinion.”
A moment later, my phone buzzes, and I see a text with Owen’s details.
“Thanks,” I say, giving her a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll check it out.”
Before we can delve further into her property woes, the waitress arrives with our meals, setting the plates down in front of us .
Emily has a plate of grilled salmon, the skin crispy and glistening, laid over a bed of herbed quinoa and sautéed vegetables. It smells fantastic, the aroma of garlic and rosemary mingling in the air.
I opted for the steak—a perfectly seared ribeye, with a side of roasted potatoes and a drizzle of rich, peppercorn sauce. The meat is tender, practically melting in my mouth as I take a bite.
I watch Emily cut into her salmon, the flaky pink flesh separating easily under her fork. She takes a small bite, her lips curving into a smile as she tastes it.
“Good?” I ask, trying to ignore how much I like watching her enjoy her meal.
“Delicious,” she says, nodding. “How’s yours?”
“Perfect,” I say, slicing off another piece of the steak. “They always do a great job here.”
But I can’t let this dinner pass without addressing the elephant in the room. I realize this is as good a moment as any,
“I think we should talk about what happened that night,” I say. I’m not big on revisiting things that have become the past but this is my wife. We live in the same house. We work together.
She tenses, her fork poised over her plate. “I’m well aware of what happened that night, Andrew,” she says, her cheeks coloring. “You didn’t know who I was.”
What the hell is she talking about? I stare at her, baffled. “I knew who you were all along. My wife.”
“In name only,” she shoots back, her tone sharp.
I swallow, choosing my next words carefully. “I had a great night, Emily,” I admit. “After that, I slept so deeply I didn’t even hear my alarm.”
Her lips part slightly, surprise flickering across her face. “I had a great night too,” she says in a softer tone.
I can’t help the grin that tugs at my lips. “Just for the record, I’m usually a more attentive lover,” I say .
Emily cocks her head, a playful glint in her eye. “I thought you were pretty awesome,” she says, and her voice is flirtatious, the tension between us easing.
I laugh, but it’s a little strained because the truth is, I don’t know how to handle this. I want her—God, do I want her—but I also know how dangerous it is to want her. It blurs the lines, makes things messy, and I’ve spent my entire life keeping things neat and compartmentalized.
“So where do we go from here?” she asks, her tone casual, but I can see the way she’s watching me, the way her eyes search my face for some kind of answer.
My mind races. I should say we forget it happened, keep things professional, stick to the plan. That would be the smart thing, the safe thing. But when I try to force those words out, they don’t come.
Every night, all I can think about is how Emily felt in my arms, the taste of her lips, the way she whispered my name. I want her, and I’m done pretending that I don’t.
Aloud, I say, “I want to believe that we’re two adults who need a physical outlet. You’re a beautiful woman, Emily, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t crazily attracted to you.”
Her eyes widen, and for a second, I think she’s going to laugh it off, make a joke. But she doesn’t.
Instead, she leans back, taking a slow sip of her wine, her gaze never leaving mine. “So, you’re saying this is just about satisfying a need?” she asks.
“Maybe,” I reply, my voice lower, more serious. “Or maybe it’s more than that. I’m still figuring it out. But I know I don’t want to stop. Not unless you want to.”
She considers this for a moment, her eyes searching mine, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head.
Finally, she sets down her glass, a slow, careful smile spreading across her lips. “I don’t want it to stop either,” she says, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest.
Suddenly, I lose my appetite and all I want is to take Emily home .
The air between us shifts, electricity crackling between us. My pulse quickens, and I can see that she’s feeling it too.
I lean forward, lowering my voice, “We could leave now. Head back to the house.”
Her cheeks flush, and she bites her lower lip, glancing down at her plate before looking back up at me. “What about dinner?” she asks, but there’s a teasing lilt to her voice.
I can’t help but grin. “I’m suddenly not very hungry for steak.”
She laughs softly, and the sound is warm, unguarded. “Alright,” she says, her tone light, but, her eyes dark with intent. “Let’s go.”
I wave the waitress over, asking for the check, and she raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, simply brings the bill over and thanks us for dining. I barely glance at it before throwing down my card, impatiently waiting for the transaction to go through.
Emily finishes her wine, watching me the entire time, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. When the waitress returns with my card, I grab it and slide it back into my wallet, ready to get out of here.
As we step outside, the cool evening air hits us, a welcome relief after the warmth of the bistro. Emily is quiet, but her eyes are bright, and there’s a slight tremor in her hands as she adjusts the strap of her purse.
I reach for her, fingers brushing against hers, and she doesn’t pull away. I inhale sharply. I’ve never done this with any woman. Never felt a need to hold her hand or keep her close to me.
My thumb grazes the back of her hand, and she responds by lacing her fingers with mine, a small, simple gesture that sends a jolt straight to my chest.
The drive home is charged, electric. Every time I glance at Emily, she meets my gaze, her eyes dark and inviting. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch. The silence between us is heavy, but not uncomfortable.
It’s like we’re both caught in this current, unable to break free, and I’m not sure I want to .
We’re both quiet but it’s not the awkward, tense silence of the past few weeks. It’s charged, electric, and every time I glance over at her, I can see the same anticipation mirrored in her expression.
I park the car in the driveway, turning off the engine, but neither of us moves to get out right away. I can feel her gaze on me, and when I look over, her lips are slightly parted, her breath shallow.
I turn to her, and for a moment, I forget everything else—why this shouldn’t happen, why I should be keeping my distance. I forget the complications, the rules we set. There’s just her, looking at me like she wants this just as badly as I do.
It’s impossible to resist.
Without a word, I lean in, closing the distance between us, and press my lips to hers. The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but the second she responds, everything else fades away.
I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. She makes a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and it’s like a match to dry tinder.
I’m lost, completely lost in the feel of her, the taste of her, and I can’t get enough.
I break the kiss, just for a moment, to catch my breath. “Let’s go inside,” I say, my voice rough and barely steady.
Emily nods, her lips slightly swollen, her eyes wide and dark. “Okay.”
We get out of the car, and I walk around to her side, taking her hand again. She lets me, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
The moment we step inside, I pull her into my arms, my mouth crashing down on hers. She melts against me, her hands gripping my shoulders as she kisses me back with a desperation that matches my own.
Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging slightly, and I groan against her lips.
“Upstairs?” she whispers breathlessly, breaking the kiss for just a moment .
“Yeah,” I murmur, kissing her again, harder this time, because I’ve been thinking about this for days, weeks, and I’m done waiting. “Upstairs.”
We barely make it up the stairs, tripping over each other, hands roaming, mouths seeking. By the time we stumble into the bedroom, clothes are already half-off.
I push her down onto the bed, following her, and she pulls me closer, her breath coming in ragged gasps, eyes dark with want and need. I don’t know what this means for us, where we go from here, but right now, all I care about is the way she feels beneath me, the way she sighs my name.
“It’s front clasping,” Emily says breathlessly as I fumble with the back of her bra.
I shift my hands to the front of her bra, unclasp it and let her bra slide off her shoulders, admiring the sight of her gorgeous breasts. They are just as full and beautiful as I remember.
I reach out and lightly run my fingers over her nipples, feeling them harden beneath my touch. I can't hold back a groan of pleasure as I feel her hands on me, pulling my pants down.
Moving away from her, I push down my pants along with my boxers, tossing them aside.
I kiss her again, our bodies pressed so close together that I can feel her hardened nipples against my chest.
Her fingers trail down my chest, tracing the lines of my abs before she reaches my dick. She wraps her fingers around my hard length and I moan into her mouth.
My hips buck against her hands as she strokes me. The feeling is incredible and I know I won’t last long with this kind of attention.