Chapter 27
It had been difficult for Emily to go to bed, much less get up the next morning. All that consumed her mind was her and Nicolas’s bathroom episode.
It hadn’t been the first time she’d been physical with a man, but it scared her how much further she wanted to go. She’d told him the opposite, but her brain cursed her for not having him take her against the freaking sink.
It felt more natural than it should have, wanting him to.
Despite being a virgin, she’d thought she’d known enough, but oh god, what he did yesterday absolutely blew her mind.
She’d never had a man…devour her breasts like he had.
He’d treated them like they were his last meal on earth.
He’d caressed, teased and worshiped them…
even with his tongue. They’d been deliciously sore after.
Her face had burned bright red after she’d left him alone in the bathroom. She’d felt bad and wanted to return the favor, but he’d insisted he was fine. Maybe she should have pushed further. Then again, Jake was never satisfied with anything she did in that department.
Why are we even thinking about Jake again?
Her inner voice had a point. He should be the last person dragged into this conversation. And yet, the fact that he’d never touched her like that made her wonder what else she might have been missing out on.
After Jake’s infidelity, she’d sworn that in her next relationship she’d be more open—willing to try new things, willing to grow from the old ones.
She just hadn’t expected that doing it with Nicolas would pull her in so deeply.
He’d called her strong for simply battling with her PTSD (something no one had ever done before), and he’d been so caring that she couldn’t help the warmth that spread in her chest. The way she’d melted under his masculine touch, the way she’d returned his earth-shattering kiss—there was no way she could refuse him when he looked at her with those puppy-dog eyes, asking for permission to touch her.
But had she known doing all that would lead to these withdrawals, she would have thought twice about it.
Are you sure about that?
Of course, she wasn’t sure!
Having him touch her was the most invigorating feeling in a long time.
Just thinking about it had the blood rushing through her veins.
And like someone with a new fix, she wanted more.
It was to the point that she’d even sniffed this morning’s Post-it note like a creep because his scent, which she’d figured out smelled like a mix of Italian bergamot and dark berries, lingered on it.
It read:
I know you have a long day ahead of you so I made you a more nutritious breakfast. I hope you’ll be a good girl and eat it all. Also, thank you for trusting me yesterday. If you need anything just give me a call. I’ll be home late.
— Nicolas
On the movie set, she struggled with her concentration, doing take after take. Everyone thought something was wrong with her, which wasn’t very far off, but it was someone not something that was throwing her off balance. Eventually, she got it and her work wrapped up with success.
When she was escorted home by the bodyguards, Emily spent her time watching TV in the dimly lit living room, waiting for Nicolas.
She convinced herself La Dolce Vita was that engaging, though she’d watched it a thousand times.
Accompanied by a glass of wine from Nicolas’s collection and a bag of potato chips, she was having the time of her life.
The clock struck eleven when Nicolas made it home. Mid-sip, Emily adjusted herself, back leaning against the couch and pulling her feet to her chest.
He paused when he saw her.
“Why are you still up?” he inquired. “You had a long day. You should get some rest.”
“It’s the weekend tomorrow. I can stay up.”
His eyes flicked from the snack on the table to the wine glass she’d finally set down, then back to her—first her gaze, then the way she was wrapped in the blanket.
He shrugged off his last layer of outerwear before surprising her by settling onto the couch beside her.
“What are you watching?” he asked quietly, his eyes taking in the action on screen.
“La Dolce Vita,” she said in her most exaggerated Italian accent, making his lips turn upward.
He watched the crew and their antics before something occurred to him. “There’s no English.”
She laughed. “No shit Sherlock.”
He stared at her, now wide-eyed. “Are you drunk? How many glasses have you had?”
“I’m not drunk…” His gaze narrowed. “Okay, maybe I’m a littleeee drunk, but that’s okay. I’m at home.”
His eyes softened. “Yes, you’re at home.”
She watched him out of the corner of her eyes. “It’s more fun this way.”
His brows furrowed. “What’s more fun?”
She pointed to the screen.
“Watching the movie?” he asked. “Is this some kind of learning routine?”
“Nope.” Was all she said.
His mouth opened and she thought he’d ask her how much of it she understood or if she needed him to translate for her, but he didn’t. Instead what left him was, “Can I share the blanket with you?”
Her lips twitched. “Is this you trying to get lucky again, buddy?”
A half-grin came. “If it were, would you allow it?”
She shook her head. “No.”
His expression faltered a bit, but he scooted closer. “Why? I thought you liked what we did.”
She sniffled, making him stretch across and bring the blanket further on her left shoulder it slid off of.
“I did.”
“But no recurrences?”
Her lips folded, her attention drawing back to the TV. He waited patiently on her response. “I think I liked it too much. I could hardly focus at work today. Isn’t that just crazy?” She chuckled, but it came out a bit broken.
Emily knew he could definitely hear a hint of the battle inside her, the push and pull of wanting him and being somewhat afraid that she did.
Nicolas’s hand grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him, his eyes heated.
“It’s not crazy at all. I’ve had to reschedule three meetings today because I kept thinking of you.
And when I think of you, it fucks up the flow of things.
For the first time ever, I had a hard time leaving that note while you were in bed. I wanted to join you in it instead.”
“But you can’t,” she said remorsefully. “Because this is fake.”
Her eyes stayed on him. Wanting him to correct her. She wanted him to say something of a different nature.
Nicolas’s face simply went back to that unreadable expression that was like the old him.
“If that’s what you want.”
She clumsily drew for another sip of wine, letting the taste sit on her tongue before asking, “Is that what you want?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I only care about what you want. Nothing else matters.”
She set the drink back down with a hum. “What if I said I want to know what you want?”
“You.”
She stared at him, stunned. He didn’t react, eyes calm as if he was owning what he’d said and something about that was so sexy.
“If I say that, will you stop with the guessing game and let me under your blanket?”
Emily felt the laugh bubble out of her before she could stop it. This man…His grin grew and she couldn’t help but nod. I guess this will have to do for now.
Nicolas wasted no second in slipping under the blanket, positioning himself to her right side. He made sure she had the majority of its coverage before releasing a sigh. “Now that’s more like it.”
She smiled at the look on his face. “Hey, don’t get too comfortable. I’m only allowing this much for tonight.”
He shook his head. “Why, thank you, Your Highness.”
Her grin was painfully wide at that.
“Now, tell me, what’s your favorite color?”
She look at him, confused. “You already know this…you know everything.”
“I do,” he agreed easily, “but for these things, I only know what you’ve told others. Not what you’d tell me. I’d like to hear everything from you personally. I’ve been wanting to, and now’s the perfect timing.”
Her heart fluttered with that stupid feeling again.
She bit her lip. “Okay, it’s purple.”
His lips quirked up. “You said yellow in your interviews.”
“It was yellow, but I changed it.” Her eyes narrowed. “What, I can’t?”
A smile tugged onto his face. “You can. You always can.”
Her defenses fell. Her heart was racing this time.
“What were you thinking right before I kissed you?”
“Geez, from favorite color to this?” She tried to stay calm, but his eyes weren’t making it easy.
He was waiting on her answer.
And maybe because she was always a little too bold drunk she said, “That I wished you would.”
He dipped his head a little, like he needed a moment to absorb those words, before his gaze met hers again.
“Worst childhood memory?”
“Christ, give a woman a whiplash, will you?” He chuckled.
Her eyes squinted as her brain tried to remember something.
“I guess it was the time Chelsea convinced me to dress up as an elf because she said Santa needed extra help that year. I’d stopped believing in him and I think that broke something inside her and… ”