Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
Twila
I break off the kiss, and the thumping music assaults my ears once more––like it had been muted while our lips were touching.
My wide eyes scan Emerson’s face for any signs that he’s upset.
Sure, he was the one who initiated the kiss, but I made it perfectly clear it’s what I wanted beforehand.
I was coming onto him like that seriously problematic skunk in my parents’ childhood cartoons.
Emerson’s face is blank, and he’s still dancing, so I try to move, too.
My arms and legs won’t cooperate, though, and my movements are jerky and robotic.
Emerson doesn’t seem to notice as he continues to watch me, and I can’t tell if he’s okay with what just happened or completely appalled and only did it to make me happy.
We’d agreed to no kisses. At least, not yet. And hell, my desire to taste him had nothing to do with who might be watching. Or filming.
No. That was for me, and me, alone. Well, and maybe a little bit for Emerson. If he actually wanted to kiss me and wasn’t just appeasing me, that is.
My heartrate spikes as he suddenly leans in, bringing his mouth to my ear. The feel of his breath on my sweat-dampened skin makes me shiver, and his words nearly make my knees buckle.
“You taste better than cotton candy.”
My mind flashes back to the picture he sent me from Santa Monica and my spicy reply about wanting to lick the sugar off his lips. I don’t know if his bringing it up now was supposed to be a joke, or not, but I find nothing about it funny.
His words only drive my need higher. I gasp at the intensity of it.
Emerson pulls back so he can meet my eyes again, and this time, I’m sure he’s searching for something. An admission from me that the kiss was a mistake, perhaps? Or maybe, permission to do it again?
Yes, please.
He must find the truth in my eyes, because his lips tremble into a small smile before he leans in, stopping just short of touching his lips to mine. Waiting for me to make the final decision.
When I don’t move away, he brushes his mouth over mine in the softest of caresses. He pulls back a few centimeters, takes a beat, then dives back in, kissing me with so much passion, my knees buckle. His arms tighten around me, holding me up while his tongue twirls around mine.
Every other person in the club disappears. The music fades. There’s just Emerson and me, kissing like we’ve both been waiting for this moment for an eternity.
Heat blooms in my core, and I find myself trying to inch closer even though there’s not an inch of space between us.
Emerson moans into my mouth, and one of his hands slides up my back to grip the knot of hair at my nape.
He tugs lightly, tilting my head back before kissing a path down my neck to my collarbone.
Changing direction, he presses open-mouth kisses along my skin, ending just below my ear. Then he pulls back to meet my gaze.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
Irrational fear snakes down my spine, but I nod anyway. I want this. I want him. It’s the after that scares me. What will happen to us? To our agreement?
Taking my hand, Emerson leads me off the dance floor without another word.
He holds onto me while we ride the elevator down to the lobby in total silence.
We head toward the bank of elevators that rise up to the wing of the hotel where our room is, and Emerson squeezes my hand to comfort me as we wait.
I look over at him, and he smiles.
Several people join us in the elevator car, so we ride up in silence, my hand still gripped tightly in his. Once we get to our room, he releases me to fish his key card out of his wallet, then unlocks the door and pushes it open, holding it for me to enter first.
I’m in a bit of a daze as I walk in and stop in the middle of the common area. I don’t know what to do. Lead the way to my room? Wait for Emerson to make a move and let him take the lead?
He moves in front of me, and I swallow thickly. I don’t think I’ve been this nervous over being with a guy since my first time. Seven years ago.
“I had a really good time tonight, Twila,” he says, startling me out of my thoughts.
“I did, too,” I say, offering him a timid smile.
He opens his arms in invitation, and I step into them, snuggling against his chest as he hugs me with tight, strong arms. I squeeze him in turn, and he blows out a contented sigh before releasing me and taking a step back.
“Good night,” he says.
“Good night,” I chirp back automatically, despite my confusion.
Leaning in once more, he presses a light kiss to my cheek and whispers, “See you in the morning.”
Then he spins around and walks to his bedroom without a backward glance. I stand, frozen, as I watch him close the door. A second or two later, I snap out of it and walk to my own room, alone. I’m confused. And I also feel a strange mix of disappointment and relief.
I strip out of my boots and dress in a fog, replaying the night in my head.
I walk into the bathroom and finish stripping, then spend ten minutes in the shower replaying it again.
I’m sure Emerson wanted to kiss me on that dancefloor.
I assumed he wanted to take things to the next level when he suggested we leave and come back to the room, but somewhere between there and here, he changed his mind.
Could he sense my nerves? Did he think…? Hell, I don’t know what he was thinking.
Blowing out a groan, I turn off the water, get out, and dry off before pulling on my pajama shorts and a tank top. I moisturize my face and brush my teeth before walking back into the bedroom and collapsing on the bed.
I still don’t know exactly what happened, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. Now, I need to sleep.
I’m fucking exhausted.