Chapter 39 – Emerson
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
EMERSON
“What are you doing here?” I ask, a little stunned to see him filling the space of my doorway. After his text the other day and our screwy schedules, we hadn’t planned to see each other until tomorrow.
But I more than welcome the sight of him.
“I needed to take a break.”
“A break from what?” I ask as he waltzes right past me as if I invited him in. I look out the front door and around the parking lot, hoping it will help me understand what the hell he is talking about.
“My brothers. Work. Other shit.”
I turn and lean my back against the door I’ve just shut as he strolls over to the couch, drops whatever is in his hands onto it, plops down, and puts his feet up on my coffee table like he owns the place. He picks up the People Magazine on the couch beside him and starts flipping through it without a second thought.
The protest dies momentarily on my lips as I recover from the shock of seeing him. And it’s a good shock. The kind of shock that almost made me jump into his arms, wrap my legs around his waist, and kiss him senseless. It feels like forever since I’ve seen him when, in reality, it’s only been a week.
It’s just because things were unsettled last time he left here, and I’ve had time to think it over and know I overreacted.
That, and the sight of him in that dark blue uniform has put butterflies in my belly and a bang of lust between my thighs.
“Don’t you have your own house to escape to?” I ask as I push off the wall and cross the distance. He watches me, his stare unrelenting as I sit across from him on the edge of the chair.
“Yeah, but the view here is much nicer.” He quirks an eyebrow, and the sweep of his eyes over my body tells me the view he’s talking about is me.
I did tell him flattery would get him everywhere.
“Well, what if I want a different view?”
“We can go somewhere else if you want. The view I came here to enjoy is mobile.” He flashes a heart-stopping grin.
“Good to hear you want to go somewhere else. Go ahead. I’ll stay here.” I match him smile for smile.
“Suit yourself,” he says, tossing the magazine on the coffee table and shifting to lie back on my couch, feet hanging off one armrest while his head is on the other.
I rise and walk to the couch so I can stare down at him with my arms crossed. And as much as I’m playing the hard ass, every other part of my body is sizing him up and wondering how quick I can peel that uniform off him . . . then again, maybe he should leave it on. It is sexy as hell.
“Without you,” I warn.
“C’mon. You know you like me.” He closes his eyes and settles into the cushions.
“No I don’t. I only like your cock.”
He snorts and opens one eye to stare at me at the same time he reaches a hand out to rest on the back of my knee. “You like my mouth, too.”
His thumb brushes up and down the backside of my knee and sends shockwaves through my body. “It is a pretty damn good mouth.”
“Then there are my hands . . .”
“Mmm.”
And within a second, he has pulled me down on top of him and his lips are on mine in a kiss to rival all kisses. It’s hot and sweet and sexy and all-consuming, and when he pulls back, it leaves me breathless to the point that my chest is heaving and my eyes can’t seem to break away from his.
There’s a brief moment where I see something in his eyes—sadness, regret, I’m not sure—before it clears away. It makes me want to ask him what happened today that brought him to my doorstep.
I’d like to think he’s here because he wants to see me. The kiss he just mesmerized me with says I’m at least part of the reason, but I’m also observant enough to know something is bugging him.
“Officer, is that your baton or are you just happy to see me?” I murmur.
His laugh rumbles through his chest and into me, and there is something about the moment—the ease of it—that makes me feel a bit better about whatever is bugging him.
“I’m hungry,” he says, suddenly shifting our bodies so that he’s sitting up sideways on the couch with my ass between the V of his thighs.
My laugh is instant. My desire well above a simmer. My body begging him to lie back down so that I can kiss him again. “You’re hungry?”
“Yep. Let’s go get something to eat.”
“What? Where?”
“You’re the one who said you wanted a change of scenery.”
“I changed my mind.” I run my fingertip down the side of his jaw.
“Unchange it. I’m hungry, and from what you’ve said, I can garner your cooking skills aren’t that great.”
“Like I offered.” I scoff but smile.
“So, it’s decided. We’re going to grab something to eat. I just need to change first.” And without another word, he shifts out from behind me and stands before he begins unbuckling his duty belt.
Then unlacing his boots.
Then unbuttoning his shirt.
Next his bulletproof vest.
When he’s standing in my flat in nothing but his unbuttoned pants with a delicious section of happy trail on display, I have no qualms about appreciating the view.
Oh. My.
Sure we’ve already seen each other naked, but there’s something different about watching someone undress when the taste of their kiss is still on your lips. There’s a sensuality to it, an intimacy I’m not used to, so I take the time to admire him. His hard lines and tan edges. His broad shoulders and cut biceps.
With his eyes on mine and a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, Grant pushes his uniform pants down and then bends over to pick them up, giving me a very fine view of his boxer-brief clad ass when he does. So he’s in my apartment, in nothing but his underwear, fresh out of that hot uniform, and he seriously thinks I’m going to be caring about food right now?
“Grant?”
He looks over to me and stands to full height, every fabulous pack of the six he has rippling for added effect. “What?” he asks with feigned innocence. The man knows exactly what he’s doing as he makes a show of folding his uniform in some perfectionist way. Then he grabs the clump he dropped on the couch, which I now know are clothes.
“Food?”
“Yeah.” He slips a T-shirt over his head—some Back the Blue competition—and then pulls on his jeans. “I’m starving.” His grin appears again as he lifts his eyebrows while my tongue licks out to wet my lips. “You ready?”
“Yes.” But I’m starving for a whole hell of a lot more than food.
* * *
“Well, Mr. Malone, no one can say you don’t know how to charm the pants off a girl when you take her on a date.” I take a bite of what’s left of my French fries as I push against the sand, making my swing rock gently back and forth like his is.
He glances over to me, eyebrows narrowing as he finishes his own bite of hamburger. “Take-out and the park isn’t where I normally take a lady on a date.” My back is up immediately, offended by his response. He notices, too. “They’re your rules, Emerson.”
Those words snap me from the haze of my burgeoning temper. Me and my damn rule about no dates. Can’t be mad at the man for listening to me, or for pushing my buttons to get me to realize how dumb said rules are.
“They are,” I murmur as I toss the empty fry container into the open bag at our feet before scooting back onto my swing and beginning to pump my legs. Anything to get out the frustration at myself for being upset by his comment when it was my doing.
I lean my head back, close my eyes, tighten my hands on the chains as I swing higher and higher. The rush of the air against my cheeks, the feel of my hair flying behind me . . . there is something about being on a swing that’s liberating. I’m under my own power. I’m the one who controls how high or fast I go.
There is no Travis and his to-do lists. There is no dread every time the phone rings over what Chris needs now or what proposition he has for me to assure that I’ll get approved. There are no thoughts at all.
It’s just the wind, and the effort, and it’s just . . . juvenile.
“You can’t outswing me, Reeves,” Grant says beside me, prompting me to look to my left and see that we are swinging in unison, side by side.
I pump harder, for some reason needing to beat him, needing this release I don’t understand.
Our laughter fills the empty park as we race each other. I’m so high now that as I reach the peak of the swing, the rubber seat beneath me falls lax for a second.
I’m not sure how long we race each other or if Grant willingly lets me win, but by the time we stop trying, I’m winded and my cheeks hurt from laughing so hard.
We slowly allow the pendulum of our swings to slow until our shoes are dragging ever so lightly on the sand beneath our feet. And when we come to a complete stop, I rest my head against my hand still holding on to the chain and look over to him.
His hair is mussed, and his eyes are as alive as his smile, but there is something else there that I wait for.
“You want to know why I brought you here?”
“Why?”
“Because the swing set was the last place I remember you before you weren’t happy anymore.”
My lips part as I stare at him, all the vigor we just used to beat each other gone. I think of that day. Of swinging with him on the playground. Of lining up after recess. Of the intercom call. Of telling him I hate him and that I never wanted to see him again.
My throat’s dry, and I’m not sure whether it’s because of the exertion or because of what he just said. The one thing I know for sure is that it’s the first time that I don’t want to run away when he brings up the past.
His reason is actually very sweet. And painful.
And just as quickly, the feeling of betrayal, I don’t expect or know how to handle, comes back with a vengeance
“You lied to me,” I say in a barely audible whisper.
His eyes fall, as does my heart. “I did.” He nods, and the look on his face says he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he had to.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“It’s hard for me to trust you because of that.”
He laughs, but it’s a short, gruff sound that dies almost as quickly as it begins. “I think your lack of trust has nothing to do with me and everything to do with what you’ve been through, Emerson.”
“How do you know what I’ve been through, Grant?”
His head startles in confusion. At least I hope it’s confusion. “I don’t.”
I don’t relent on my stare because the sudden racing of my pulse has me doubting myself and if I should trust him now.
Hating this sudden unfounded uncertainty, I stand from the swing and jog over to the Merry-go-round. I grab hold of a bar and begin pushing it so that it starts to spin. When I think I have it as fast as it will go, I take a chance and jump onto the rusting heap of metal.
It’s moving quickly and spinning out of control, but when I get on, I lie down. With one foot hooked on one side of the bars and my hands holding on to another over my head, I close my eyes and let the centrifugal force commandeer my thoughts from where our conversation brought them. I let the world spin out of control around me while I hold on for what feels like dear life.
There’s a boost to the spin, and I know that Grant is there. He’s pushing me now. I can feel the platform flex as he climbs on and the heat of his body as he lies beside me. I know that when he closes his hand over mine where it holds on to the bar, he’s making sure not to let go for the both of us.
He brings calm to the chaos spinning out of control around me and within me.
For the first time in a very, very long time, I allow myself to accept that.
To accept him.
To welcome it rather than push it away.