Instant Gratification
Page 41
She’d wrestled in said underwear with Stone.
She’d laughed. Hard.
She’d lusted. Harder.
If TJ hadn’t shown up, they’d have had sex right there in the water. She knew it. And worse, she knew that Stone knew it as well.
He’d dropped her off with a promise that next time he’d tie up TJ before they set out for their fun, but she’d told him she’d decided fun should be off the menu, that she should really concentrate on what she was here to do.
The end.
He hadn’t argued with her but neither had he agreed, and she had the uncomfortable feeling they weren’t done discussing the issue.
She’d gotten out of his truck—still in his shirt—and left him in nothing but his underwear, an image that was going to keep her warm all night.
After a full day in the clinic, Emma stood upstairs in the living room, looking at her mother’s picture over the fireplace, and voiced the question that had been bothering her all day. “So is it really true that I’ve never really had to try at anything?”
“You talking to yourself again?” Spence asked from the kitchen, where he was making dinner.
She looked into her mom’s eyes and sighed. “Yes,” she said. Because that was far less revealing an admission than the fact that she’d been hearing her dead mother’s voice in her head since she came to California. She joined Spence in the kitchen, hopping up onto the counter. “Do I never have to try hard at anything?”
“Never.” He handed her a plate filled with the peppered steak he’d whipped up while singing along to her father’s old boom box. “Taste.”
She did. “Oh, yeah, baby.”
He smiled. “Right?”
“I’ve died and gone to steak heaven. I’m going to need you to stay here with me until I can blow this popsicle stand.”
He grinned. “I have something you can blow—”
“Spence.”
“Just saying.”
She took a sip of the wine he’d brought, and then nearly spilled it when he tugged her off the counter and to her feet.
“Good song,” he said. “Dance with me.”
It was an Alicia Key power ballad, and right there in the kitchen, he pulled her in close, dancing like a pro, singing in her ear while he was at it—not like a pro—making her both laugh and sigh at the same time. He smelled good, felt good, and he rubbed his jaw to hers. He was like a security blanket. Familiar. Easy. “I’m glad you came,” she whispered.
“Are you?”
She pulled back and looked at him. “Of course I am.”
“Then why are you keeping me at arm’s length?”
“I’m not.” But she dropped her gaze to his chest, suddenly aware that she was doing that very thing, holding her arms a little rigid to keep him from pressing too close.
“Emma,” he said gently, and tipped up her face.
She met his eyes with hers, then let out a breath. “I don’t know.”
“Is it me? Or you?”
“Neither. Me,” she amended. “I don’t know.”
“Emma.” He ran a finger over her cheekbones. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that I didn’t come here for purely altruistic reasons. I came to see if we could combine the friendship with more.”
“Oh, Spence.” He made her heart hurt. And her stomach, because suddenly she was afraid she’d lose him. “We’ve been there, done that.”
“Never seriously.”
Her breath caught, and she backed out of his arms, turning off the music. Through the window and the glass in the upper half of the back door, it was pitch black dark, the way only a Sierra night could get. Needing to busy her hands, she flipped on the porch lights. “Spence—”
“I know.” He leaned back against the counter, watching her carefully. “It wouldn’t work. I’m getting that. It’s just that all this time I thought it was me holding us up, but I can see now that it’s you.”
“What?”
“Yeah. You like having me in your life but not having me. I liked it too.” His gaze, dark and solemn, met hers. “Past tense.”
“What changed?”
“Thirtieth birthday.” He shrugged. “Cliché, I know, but it’s true. I want more, but you still don’t do more. It’s not in your nature.”
“Wait.” She shook her head. “I don’t give more? You mean you don’t do more.”
“No, I give plenty, usually to too many women at one time, who then get pissed and dump me. You, you don’t give anything of yourself.”
She was still just staring at him when he smiled and leaned in, kissing her temple. “Don’t look so stricken, Emma. We all have our faults.”
“Yeah.” She let out a breath, not exactly sure he’d gotten hers right. She gave plenty. Ask any of the patients she saw. Ask any of her bosses. “It’s damn California,” she decided. “It’s being here.”
“Well, if that’s true, then hopefully you won’t be staying here too much longer.”
“I wish I knew. My dad’s being…elusive.”
Spence nodded. “And while you’re here, you’re very…preoccupied.”
“Yes, I know. I actually think business is starting to pick up.”
“Yeah, actually, I meant with the expedition guide.” He paused. “Stone Wilder.”
She’d laughed. Hard.
She’d lusted. Harder.
If TJ hadn’t shown up, they’d have had sex right there in the water. She knew it. And worse, she knew that Stone knew it as well.
He’d dropped her off with a promise that next time he’d tie up TJ before they set out for their fun, but she’d told him she’d decided fun should be off the menu, that she should really concentrate on what she was here to do.
The end.
He hadn’t argued with her but neither had he agreed, and she had the uncomfortable feeling they weren’t done discussing the issue.
She’d gotten out of his truck—still in his shirt—and left him in nothing but his underwear, an image that was going to keep her warm all night.
After a full day in the clinic, Emma stood upstairs in the living room, looking at her mother’s picture over the fireplace, and voiced the question that had been bothering her all day. “So is it really true that I’ve never really had to try at anything?”
“You talking to yourself again?” Spence asked from the kitchen, where he was making dinner.
She looked into her mom’s eyes and sighed. “Yes,” she said. Because that was far less revealing an admission than the fact that she’d been hearing her dead mother’s voice in her head since she came to California. She joined Spence in the kitchen, hopping up onto the counter. “Do I never have to try hard at anything?”
“Never.” He handed her a plate filled with the peppered steak he’d whipped up while singing along to her father’s old boom box. “Taste.”
She did. “Oh, yeah, baby.”
He smiled. “Right?”
“I’ve died and gone to steak heaven. I’m going to need you to stay here with me until I can blow this popsicle stand.”
He grinned. “I have something you can blow—”
“Spence.”
“Just saying.”
She took a sip of the wine he’d brought, and then nearly spilled it when he tugged her off the counter and to her feet.
“Good song,” he said. “Dance with me.”
It was an Alicia Key power ballad, and right there in the kitchen, he pulled her in close, dancing like a pro, singing in her ear while he was at it—not like a pro—making her both laugh and sigh at the same time. He smelled good, felt good, and he rubbed his jaw to hers. He was like a security blanket. Familiar. Easy. “I’m glad you came,” she whispered.
“Are you?”
She pulled back and looked at him. “Of course I am.”
“Then why are you keeping me at arm’s length?”
“I’m not.” But she dropped her gaze to his chest, suddenly aware that she was doing that very thing, holding her arms a little rigid to keep him from pressing too close.
“Emma,” he said gently, and tipped up her face.
She met his eyes with hers, then let out a breath. “I don’t know.”
“Is it me? Or you?”
“Neither. Me,” she amended. “I don’t know.”
“Emma.” He ran a finger over her cheekbones. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that I didn’t come here for purely altruistic reasons. I came to see if we could combine the friendship with more.”
“Oh, Spence.” He made her heart hurt. And her stomach, because suddenly she was afraid she’d lose him. “We’ve been there, done that.”
“Never seriously.”
Her breath caught, and she backed out of his arms, turning off the music. Through the window and the glass in the upper half of the back door, it was pitch black dark, the way only a Sierra night could get. Needing to busy her hands, she flipped on the porch lights. “Spence—”
“I know.” He leaned back against the counter, watching her carefully. “It wouldn’t work. I’m getting that. It’s just that all this time I thought it was me holding us up, but I can see now that it’s you.”
“What?”
“Yeah. You like having me in your life but not having me. I liked it too.” His gaze, dark and solemn, met hers. “Past tense.”
“What changed?”
“Thirtieth birthday.” He shrugged. “Cliché, I know, but it’s true. I want more, but you still don’t do more. It’s not in your nature.”
“Wait.” She shook her head. “I don’t give more? You mean you don’t do more.”
“No, I give plenty, usually to too many women at one time, who then get pissed and dump me. You, you don’t give anything of yourself.”
She was still just staring at him when he smiled and leaned in, kissing her temple. “Don’t look so stricken, Emma. We all have our faults.”
“Yeah.” She let out a breath, not exactly sure he’d gotten hers right. She gave plenty. Ask any of the patients she saw. Ask any of her bosses. “It’s damn California,” she decided. “It’s being here.”
“Well, if that’s true, then hopefully you won’t be staying here too much longer.”
“I wish I knew. My dad’s being…elusive.”
Spence nodded. “And while you’re here, you’re very…preoccupied.”
“Yes, I know. I actually think business is starting to pick up.”
“Yeah, actually, I meant with the expedition guide.” He paused. “Stone Wilder.”
