Chapter 15 Emmy
Emmy
“Girl, what the fuck?”
“Sorry, love. I panicked and bolted,” I admit, taking the coffee as she plonks down on the bed.
“You should have said! I’d have come with you. I feel awful – I basically brought you to a den of iniquity and then abandoned you. Worst wing woman ever!”
“Not at all. I was fine, just a bit rattled! I’m still processing the sight of Luke – serious, strait-laced Luke – standing in a bar making margaritas for women wearing underwear and not a lot else.”
Sloane chuckles. “What a plot twist. Of all the sex clubs, in all the towns, in all the world,” she says, wistfully. “So, tell me, have you and Daddy Luke ever hooked up?” She gives me a look that’s positively glittering with mischief.
“What?! No. He’s Nick’s best mate. I’ve known him since I was a kid, and he’s like a decade older than me. Plus, I’ve been with Colin for basically my whole adult life.”
“Until now.” Sloane grins. This woman is incorrigible.
“Until now,” I agree. “Don’t get any ideas, Sloane. He’s off limits. He’d never go there.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she muses. “I saw the look on his face when he told me you’d left. Definitely sad puppy dog eyes. Pretty sure I saw him adjust himself at least once too.”
“You did not!” I reply, throwing my pillow at her, which she dodges artfully without spilling a drop of coffee.
“Did so.” She grins.
I roll my eyes but something flickers deep in my belly.
A little thrill, perhaps? A tiny ember of something?
The way he looked at me last night was equal parts shock and Luke’s signature unreadable stoicism, but I’d swear I saw a couple of flashes of something else in there.
Something darker. Something hungry. I shiver slightly, disguising it with a delicate cough into my mug.
He looked deliciously dishevelled last night, with his shirt sleeves rolled up over veined forearms, and his hair askew as if he’d been running his hands through it.
I have the sudden, intrusive thought of wondering what Luke Pullman looks like when he’s coming undone, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Do you fancy going for lunch later?” Sloane asks, breaking the spell.
“I’ve got a few errands to run, actually,” I reply as she pouts. “Rain check?”
“Rain check.”
Two hours later, I’m standing on Luke’s front step with two lattes in hand.
I’ve only been here a handful of times before but his gorgeous white house in Pimlico is ingrained in my memory.
It’s hard not to love a house that’s this beautiful.
It’s one of those stunning townhouses set in a quiet, immaculate street that’s seemingly at odds with its location, just a stone’s throw from the beating heart of the capital.
He’s got two dainty little trees either side of the door – bay trees maybe? Olive? Who knows.
Either way, it screams ‘this house belongs to a grown up’.
Luke’s taste leans towards the minimalist, all sharp edges, clean lines, and zero clutter.
Everything inside and out seems to have been placed there with intention.
It couldn’t be further from the cosy chaos that Sloane and I are now sharing just a few miles away.
I spent the morning pacing my bedroom, thinking about last night, with Sloane’s words reverberating round my brain.
Did she truly see something in Luke’s expression when he told her I’d left?
Because if there’s even a sliver of a chance that he’s attracted to me, I want to know about it.
If I’m going to embark on the Fuckit List then I want to do it with someone I trust. Someone I know won’t hurt me. Or give me chlamydia.
Luke is probably one of the most honourable men I’ve ever known. He stuck by my brother when everyone else pulled away and he’s been such a warm and consistent presence in my life, even if it’s always been a bit at arm’s length. And now that I know that he’s secretly a total sex god?
Well. It feels like it’s meant to be. He can take me under his kinky wing and I can learn the ropes.
Literally. I snort to myself.
This is a truly mad idea but I won’t know until I try.
I ring the doorbell and rehearse the lines I’ve been writing in my head since the idea crystallised.
There’s a pause before I hear footsteps, then Luke opens the door and drops his gaze to meet mine.
He looks momentarily surprised before he composes himself and tilts his head.
He’s dressed in a dark grey henley and jeans, but his feet are bare. My pulse picks up as I regard him.
“Emmy. What a lovely surprise,” he says, though his tone implies he doesn’t think it’s particularly lovely at all.
“Luke. Can I come in? I brought coffee.” I hold the cup out to him like a peace offering. He accepts it, quirking an eyebrow as he steps aside to let me in.
“Of course,” he replies, closing the door behind me and following me into the living room.
I survey the room. Saturday’s edition of The Guardian is spread across the cream sofa, where Luke’s clearly been stretched out, reading.
He steps forward and grabs it, folding it and placing it on the coffee table, perfectly lined up with one of those big arty books of black and white photography.
He gestures to the sofa and sits in the opposite corner, surveying me as I clear my throat.
“So,” I start and then pause. I’ve already forgotten my lines.
“So,” he replies, holding my gaze.
“Last night was… a surprise,” I begin, giving him a half smile. He returns it and I take a sip of coffee for courage.
“Indeed,” he agrees and then hesitates. “We’ve only been open a year or so. I’m really proud of it but it’s not something that’s easy to announce to friends and family.” He gives me a slightly wry smile.
“I totally get it. And you should be proud. I obviously only saw the bar area but Sloane raved about the, er, private rooms.” I feel myself blush and Luke’s eyes flick down to my cheeks before returning to my eyes.
“They’re pretty special,” he replies.
“I’m sure you’ve spent plenty of time in them – perk of the job, right?” I instantly regret saying this as he purses his lips almost imperceptibly.
“What can I do for you this morning, Emmy?” he replies, his voice bordering somewhere between soft and stern.
“Well, I had an idea,” I say. “Hear me out, ok?”
He raises his eyebrows and nods, so I plough on.
“Sloane may be a meddlesome witch but she’s also right.
I am looking for something, or someone, to help me with scratching a few particular itches.
” He swallows and I continue. “Look, Colin’s the only person I’ve ever been with and we got together when I was 18.
He is as vanilla as they come. I’m interested in, er, more than that. ”
He blinks and says nothing but nods slowly.
“I want to explore things. I want to learn what my body likes. I want to push myself. I’m not looking for love or commitment or weekend strolls on the beach.
I’m looking for a no strings, physical relationship, with someone I trust, who can help me figure out who I am.
In this sense at least. I’ve got a list of things I want to try and I guess I’m looking for a…
teacher.” I finish and meet his gaze again.
Luke goes very still. His jaw ticks, his throat working like he’s swallowed ground glass.
For a second, something flashes across his face – want, or maybe pain – before he shutters it so fast, I almost doubt I saw it at all.
The silence stretches and I take refuge in my coffee, breaking eye contact as I drain my cup.
“And you’re proposing that this teacher is someone from Salt?” he finally replies.
“Yes, I am. Maybe someone in a leadership position there? Someone who clearly knows the ropes and is very good at keeping secrets.” I give him a sly smile and he inhales sharply and closes his eyes.
“Em, I’m really flattered.” A long pause. “But no. It can’t be me. I’ve known you since you were a kid. It would be wrong. You’re Nick’s little sister. You’re still hurting, you’re not thinking straight. It can’t be me.” He shakes his head as if confirming it to himself.
“Defining me by my relationship to a man? Kind of regressive for someone who owns a sex club, Luke,” I counter.
His jaw flexes again and he frowns.
“That’s not what I meant. This is a terrible idea.
I can’t be that for you. I fully support your goal to expand your…
horizons… but I can’t, Emmy. Nick is like a brother to me.
It’s too complicated.” He closes his eyes, as if wrestling with something he can’t quite put words to, but his answer is clear.
My heart slows as a wave of sadness blooms in my chest. I know what I proposed was a long shot but I can’t help but feel a sense of sorrow at his gentle rejection.
When I came up with the idea this morning, I felt so good about it.
Luke’s trustworthy, kind, and loyal. He’s clearly got a secret kinky streak.
And the man is beautiful. Surely, he’s perfect for the Fuckit List?
I blink a few times as I feel the sting of tears and curse myself for being pathetic. He clocks it, because of course he does, and reaches for me across the sofa. I instantly shift back, clearing my throat and painting on a bright smile.
“No worries, I just thought I’d ask,” I say, with faux cheerfulness. His usual stoic mask falters and I see a few emotions I can’t quite identify flicker across his face. “I’ve actually got a yoga class around the corner in a sec,” I fib, casting my eyes out the window. “Best get going!”
He opens his mouth like he might say something, might stop me, but no protest comes. I have to get out of here before I truly humiliate myself. I can feel the panic rising in my chest as I stand and speed-walk to the door.
“Bye, Luke!” I call, yanking the door open and stumbling into the street before he can catch up to me, desperate for the cool air to burn the shame off my skin.
By the time I turn the corner onto the main road, my face is hot and my chest is tight. What the hell was I thinking? Throwing myself at Nick’s best friend like some desperate teenager. Of all the men in London, I pick the only one who’s basically family. Mortifying doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Still… that look in his eyes. For a second, I could have sworn he wanted it too.
I shake the thought off as quickly as it comes, swallowing the lump in my throat.
No more fantasies. No more dangerous crushes.
I’ve singed myself once already tonight, and I won’t make the mistake of reaching for the flame again.