Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Michel told her he’d never tried Peruvian food, Emma had immediately glommed on to that fact as a prime example of their differences. She loved Peruvian food. He hadn’t even tried it. They were so different, right?
But as they left the restaurant, she grudgingly conceded to herself that it was no longer a difference, because it turned out he loved Peruvian food, too. But the fact that he wasn’t afforded the chance to try it until now had to mean something. Like a difference in upbringing or the different crowd they hung out with. Was she reaching?
As they strolled through the picturesque Old Town area with its charming redbrick buildings and old-fashioned streetlamps, Emma pulled her powder-blue faux-fur jacket tighter around her. The spring evening held a hint of chill.
“Are you cold?” Michel asked, his brows furrowing.
“Just a little.” She shivered. “I’ll be fine.”
Drawing her away from the middle of the sidewalk, he turned her toward him and buttoned up her jacket, his knuckles brushing the bare skin above the neckline of her tunic dress. Her pulse fluttered in her throat at his gentle ministration, and she surreptitiously breathed in his warm, woodsy scent.
“Better?” He ran his hands up and down her arms.
“Yes.” If he kept that up, she was going to have to take the damn jacket off. “Thank you.”
“Hmm.” He took hold of her hand and led her a few steps back the way they’d come. “Over there. Let’s get you warmed up with a hot drink.”
Down a small alleyway off the main street, a round wooden sign read Café Monde . They walked into the atmospheric coffee shop hand in hand. Did he realize he was still holding her hand? She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice and let go. He absently brushed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles while reading the menu board over the counter. She tried not to melt into a puddle at his feet.
“Their tea selection is remarkable.” He peered at the clear jars of tea lining the back wall. “I can see white blossoms in that jasmine tea. How does that sound to you? Some fragrant tea with caffeine ?”
“In the evening?” She widened her eyes and gasped into her free hand. “Whatever will become of my circadian cycle?”
His chuckle traveled down her spine in a delicious shiver. “Maybe I can tire you out enough to offset the caffeine.”
“Oh… um… hahaha.” Emma tugged her hand free and slipped out of her jacket. She’d been wrong about Michel. He wasn’t hopeless at this dating business. Not at all. He was very good. Too good, maybe. “Is it warm in here?”
His half-lidded glance and the sensual curve of his lips exuded enough male arrogance to make her whimper. His hand came to rest on her lower back as he guided her up to the counter, and the heat of his skin seared her through the thin material of her dress.
“Have you decided?” he murmured close to her ear. The innocuous words sounded like a seductive challenge. Shall I tire you out?
“I’ll have the jasmine tea,” she squeaked to the woman behind the counter.
“And I’ll have the same.” He kept his hand firmly planted on her back and withdrew his wallet from his suit jacket with his other hand.
Michel was wearing a dark gray suit minus the tie—probably because he had come straight from USC. It fit him like a glove, and he wore it so effortlessly that he didn’t look overdressed for a weeknight date. He just looked sinfully handsome.
He’d left the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and she could see where the strong column of his throat met his chest. She wanted to taste the dip of triangle under his Adam’s apple. Maybe fill it with something sweet like ice wine and drink it from there, lapping up the last drop with her tongue. And… she was officially out of her flipping mind.
They found a cozy love seat in the back of the café and settled there with their tea. White flowers blossomed in their mugs, and the heady scent of jasmine perfumed the air around them. She took a careful sip, savoring the hint of earthy bitterness on the back of her tongue.
“This tea is beautiful,” she said, setting down her mug on the coffee table in front of them.
“So are you.” Michel’s eyes roamed her face with unabashed appreciation.
Her heart tripped in her chest as warmth spread low in her stomach. “And you’re cheesy.”
“Since when has honesty been cheesy?” His lips tipped into a lopsided grin.
“I feel like I’ve been hustled.” She wanted to taste that cocky smile of his. “I thought you were supposed to be ‘hopeless at this dating business.’”
“I am.” He took a sip of his tea and placed his mug beside hers. “Utterly hopeless.”
“You are so not hopeless.” Her words prickled with accusation. Since she was horrible at dating, it should definitely count as an incompatibility.
“I’m glad to hear that.” He picked up her hand and toyed with her fingers in the narrow space between them.
“I’ve never… The thing is…” Emma became fascinated with how their hands looked tangled together—the golden tan of his skin against her fairness. There was beauty and harmony there. “I don’t know if I want a fling? I’m not even sure I know how to have one.”
“That’s not what I want either.” Michel gently brushed her hair off her forehead.
“Then how do you… why do you want to be with me?” she asked with wide eyes.
“I want to know everything about you. Your hopes and dreams. Your favorite ice cream flavor.” He cupped her cheek, and she instinctively leaned into his touch—warm and strong. “And I want you to know me as well. My most embarrassing childhood memories. My favorite song.”
“I’d like that.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She wanted to learn everything about him to prove how incompatible they were, right? “I would like that very much.”
“Make no mistake. I want you, Emma. Desperately.” He swept his thumb across her bottom lip. When her mouth parted at his touch, he sucked in a rough breath. “But nothing will happen unless you want it to. I am… at your mercy.”
Even as she heard his words, she was already lifting her head toward his, her eyes fluttering shut. But she couldn’t kiss him. She couldn’t think properly with the lure of this attraction clouding her mind. And how was kissing going to prove that they had nothing in common? Still, she didn’t move away. She couldn’t.
“I would definitely be at your mercy”—he brushed his lips on her temple as light as a whisper and pulled back—“if you knew the sound I make when I see a spider.”
“That I have to hear.” She smiled tremulously, grateful to him for giving her the space she needed.
“Oh, you would love it.” His eyes sparkled with mischief and lingering lust. “I sound terribly manly.”
“So what is your favorite song?”
“It’s an old folk song from my country,” he said quietly. “My mother used to sing it for me when I was little… before she passed away.”
“Oh, Michel. I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand.
“It was a long time ago.” He squeezed it back. “What about you?”
“My mom left when I was ten,” she said, surprising herself. She didn’t talk about her mom very often. “It’s been just me and my dad since then.”
“That must’ve been hard for you.” He held her gaze as though he really wanted to know.
Most people shied away from asking about her mom or brushed it off as More than 50 percent of marriages end in divorce. Emma really didn’t need a reminder that she was just part of a statistic, so she’d gotten used to not talking about her parents’ divorce. But she realized she wanted Michel to understand.
“Yes and no.” She thought for a moment. “My parents fought a lot. They couldn’t agree on the simplest things. So in some ways, I was relieved that they wouldn’t have to fight anymore. But that also meant I wouldn’t have my mom around.”
He nodded slowly. “Do you keep in touch with her?”
“Apart from our annual Christmas call?” Her mom couldn’t seem to bother with remembering her birthday even before the divorce. “No, not really. She’s a partner at a fancy accounting firm. Her job keeps her pretty busy.”
“No job is important enough to keep someone away from their family so completely.” He linked his fingers through hers. “I’m sorry.”
“We made it work, though—my dad and I,” Emma said with a soft smile. “I wanted us to have a happy home even though my mom was gone. I started doing a lot of the cooking and discovered how much I loved it.”
“Is that why you decided to become a culinary instructor?” His thumb brushed across her knuckles, drawing a shiver from her.
“Uh-huh.” Her voice sounded a little breathless. “Life doesn’t have to be perfect for it to be good. Food is one way to make that happen.”
He stared at her for a long while without saying anything. “I think that’s extraordinary. You are extraordinary.”
She ducked her head, blushing at the reverence in his voice.
“But I was actually,” he continued, “asking what your favorite song was?”
She burst out laughing and slapped his shoulder. He caught her hand and kissed it lightly.
“I don’t really have a favorite song.” She crinkled her nose. “Is that weird?”
“A little weird,” he said with a straight face.
“Really?” She frowned, fighting a blush. He looked dead serious… but then he smiled. “Oh, you…”
She shoved his chest and found that there was absolutely no give. Was he wearing a metal plate under his shirt? She moved her fingers an inch or two to the side and pressed down tentatively. Again, no give. When she flattened her palm on his chest, he trapped her there with his hand and tugged her close.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” he asked in a low voice, his face only a few inches away from hers.
A confused frown drew her eyebrows together. “You’re…”
“I’m… what?”
“I was checking to see… making sure that…” She pressed her finger into his chest, and he wrapped his hand tighter around hers.
“That?” he prodded.
She scoffed, impatient with herself. So what? The man was built like a brick wall. Maybe that should count as a difference. He was all hard muscle. And she was soft—so soft that she would give where he wouldn’t, and they would fit in such delicious ways…
“Never mind.” She tugged on her hand, flushing to her roots. God, she was so turned on.
But Michel dragged her hand across his chest, all the way to the opposite wall. “I don’t mind, you know.”
“You don’t mind what?”
“You… checking.” His voice was deep and growly and… Shit .
She squeezed her thighs together. She needed to kiss the damn man right this second. It was a matter of survival. Besides, kissing him wouldn’t change anything. She knew not to trust this attraction—it would fade away soon—but she could still indulge in it while she had the chance. It wouldn’t affect her objectivity in proving their incompatibility.
“Like this?” She brought her other hand to rest on his chest.
“Yes,” he rasped.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” She pressed up against him and dipped her head until their lips were mere inches apart. She pivoted at the last second to brush her lips against his ear. “I think I’m all warmed up now.”
Emma stood and strode out of the café, knowing Michel would be hot on her heels. Rather than turning toward the main street, she walked deeper into the narrow alleyway and leaned against the brick wall, her top half-hidden in shadows. As she expected, it didn’t take Michel long to join her and move toward her until the tip of his shoes nearly touched hers.
“What are we doing out here, Emma?” The teasing arrogance in his voice told her he knew exactly what they were doing out here and that he liked it.
She loved how he said her name, like he was savoring it. “Does it taste good?”
“Does what taste good?” He ran the backs of his fingers down the side of her face.
“My name… on your lips,” she said boldly.
“It tastes fucking glorious.” He bent his head until she could feel his words caress her lips. “ Emma .”
With a little whimper, she tugged his head down and crushed her mouth against his. Everything in her went slack at first contact like she’d exhaled a long-held breath. Pure relief. At last . Then mayhem erupted.
She must’ve literally exhaled, because her mouth had parted, inviting Michel in, and he accepted with a guttural groan. Their tongues slid and tangled frantically against each other as her hands resumed their exploration of his hard pecs, and his fingers, spread wide on her hips, dug into her skin and pulled her flush against him.
She pushed up onto her toes, desperate to get closer, and he growled his approval. Wanting to feel that sexy rumble against her breasts, she pressed up against him and wrapped her leg around his waist. She thought she heard someone cough in the distance, but she soon forgot about it, lost in the kiss. His palm slid down her thigh and gripped her ass under her minidress, tugging her even closer to him. They moaned in unison as her center met his hard length.
Michel suddenly went still. Growling her frustration, she thrust herself against him, and he moaned as though in pain.
“Emma.” He kissed her hard like he couldn’t help himself, then dropped softer kisses on the corners of her lips. “We need to slow down.”
“We do?” She tried to deepen the kiss, but he pressed his forehead against hers, thwarting her efforts. Now she wanted to kick him as much as she wanted to keep kissing him. Wow . She never knew she was so vicious. “But why?”
“Because,” he sighed, “I have to tell you something.”
This time, she froze. I have to tell you something is literally the scariest phrase in the world, because the something was usually something terrible. Like your parents saying, We lied to you about everything being okay. We’re getting a divorce. Emma absolutely hated the phrase I have to tell you something.
If Michel didn’t have his hands wrapped around her arms, she might have run off into the night. But instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the something with her heart clawing to escape through her throat.
Please don’t let it be something bad.