sex, had confused her. Sometimes it was nice, but mostly it was awkward, and by the time it was all said and done, she was left wondering what all the hubbub was about.
She didn’t wonder anymore. Hunger seared her and she grasped at him, wanting to crawl inside of him, or on top of him.
On a ragged gasp, he broke the kiss. He cupped her head in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. They didn’t speak, but only breathed together.
It was the most special kiss of her life. The most special, intimate moment with a man that she’d ever experienced.
So naturally, he had to ruin it.
He pulled back. Smug satisfaction chased the heat from his face. “So, how do you like me now?”
She blinked while the haze of arousal burned away. With a hard shove, she pushed away from him, only to stumble over the uneven ground. He caught her elbow.
She resisted the urge to shake off his touch and instead arranged her features into her best imitation of bored disinterest. “You’re a pretty good kisser, I guess.”
“I’m a great kisser.” But his easy smile suffered a crack.
She shrugged one shoulder. “You’re all right.” She took a moment to enjoy his look of outrage. “Next time, try a little less sloppiness.”
She brushed past him.
He turned with her. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”
“I couldn’t speak with your tongue down my throat.”
“That kiss was better than all right, Emily, and you know it.”
She ignored how the way he said her name turned her insides to liquid. “If that’s what you want to believe, I won’t burst your bubble.”
His mouth took a cruel twist and dread stole over her. “No vibrator is going to kiss you like that.”
She bit down hard on the slash of pain. Her jaw clenched tight, she forced out words. Any words. “Your date must be wondering w-where you are.”
Finally, his stupid smile wavered.
She left him staring after her, a fierce scowl on his too-beautiful face.
Chapter Seven
H is name was Max Foley.
“M-M-Max Foley.” Emily felt his name on her tongue. “M-Max. M-Max.”
Her first guest, he’d reside in a tiny corner of her heart until the end of her days.
Also, he was the perfect distraction from the memory of Luke’s hot mouth on hers, only three days ago. Or his hungry green gaze devouring her naked body.
As she readied the home’s largest bedroom, which boasted a fireplace with a carved wood mantel and a balcony with a panoramic view of Lake Michigan, she continued to practice enunciating Max’s name, and other phrases she’d likely need to speak to him.
She flung open the balcony doors to let in the summer air and performed a quick sweep of the bedroom to remove dust and provide fresh linens. In the garden off the kitchen, she’d gathered a bouquet of buttery yellow ranunculus and purple phlox, and arranged them in a white pitcher, which she left on the bedside table.
Downstairs, she removed a package of premade cookie dough from the refrigerator and arranged pieces on a cookie sheet while the oven preheated. Cookies baking, she moved to the living room at the front of the house.
“M-Max. Max. Max.”
Sunlight streamed in through the oversized windows running across the front of the house. She fluffed the pillows on the overstuffed cotton sofa and coordinating armchairs, and kneeled before the whitewashed wooden coffee table to arrange the stack of Michigan-themed picture books she’d found in the home’s library.
She’d bent to retrieve her dust rag when, with a thunderous crash, the front window exploded.
She dropped to her stomach on the floor and slung her arms over her head as a spray of glass rained down on her. Huddled on her knees, she peeked out from under her arms as a rock the size of a softball rolled to a stop a mere six inches from her face.
A headache formed between Luke’s eyes.
He’d been fighting for control of his thoughts all day. Now, he was too tired to fight off the images of her pert,
She didn’t wonder anymore. Hunger seared her and she grasped at him, wanting to crawl inside of him, or on top of him.
On a ragged gasp, he broke the kiss. He cupped her head in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. They didn’t speak, but only breathed together.
It was the most special kiss of her life. The most special, intimate moment with a man that she’d ever experienced.
So naturally, he had to ruin it.
He pulled back. Smug satisfaction chased the heat from his face. “So, how do you like me now?”
She blinked while the haze of arousal burned away. With a hard shove, she pushed away from him, only to stumble over the uneven ground. He caught her elbow.
She resisted the urge to shake off his touch and instead arranged her features into her best imitation of bored disinterest. “You’re a pretty good kisser, I guess.”
“I’m a great kisser.” But his easy smile suffered a crack.
She shrugged one shoulder. “You’re all right.” She took a moment to enjoy his look of outrage. “Next time, try a little less sloppiness.”
She brushed past him.
He turned with her. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”
“I couldn’t speak with your tongue down my throat.”
“That kiss was better than all right, Emily, and you know it.”
She ignored how the way he said her name turned her insides to liquid. “If that’s what you want to believe, I won’t burst your bubble.”
His mouth took a cruel twist and dread stole over her. “No vibrator is going to kiss you like that.”
She bit down hard on the slash of pain. Her jaw clenched tight, she forced out words. Any words. “Your date must be wondering w-where you are.”
Finally, his stupid smile wavered.
She left him staring after her, a fierce scowl on his too-beautiful face.
Chapter Seven
H is name was Max Foley.
“M-M-Max Foley.” Emily felt his name on her tongue. “M-Max. M-Max.”
Her first guest, he’d reside in a tiny corner of her heart until the end of her days.
Also, he was the perfect distraction from the memory of Luke’s hot mouth on hers, only three days ago. Or his hungry green gaze devouring her naked body.
As she readied the home’s largest bedroom, which boasted a fireplace with a carved wood mantel and a balcony with a panoramic view of Lake Michigan, she continued to practice enunciating Max’s name, and other phrases she’d likely need to speak to him.
She flung open the balcony doors to let in the summer air and performed a quick sweep of the bedroom to remove dust and provide fresh linens. In the garden off the kitchen, she’d gathered a bouquet of buttery yellow ranunculus and purple phlox, and arranged them in a white pitcher, which she left on the bedside table.
Downstairs, she removed a package of premade cookie dough from the refrigerator and arranged pieces on a cookie sheet while the oven preheated. Cookies baking, she moved to the living room at the front of the house.
“M-Max. Max. Max.”
Sunlight streamed in through the oversized windows running across the front of the house. She fluffed the pillows on the overstuffed cotton sofa and coordinating armchairs, and kneeled before the whitewashed wooden coffee table to arrange the stack of Michigan-themed picture books she’d found in the home’s library.
She’d bent to retrieve her dust rag when, with a thunderous crash, the front window exploded.
She dropped to her stomach on the floor and slung her arms over her head as a spray of glass rained down on her. Huddled on her knees, she peeked out from under her arms as a rock the size of a softball rolled to a stop a mere six inches from her face.
A headache formed between Luke’s eyes.
He’d been fighting for control of his thoughts all day. Now, he was too tired to fight off the images of her pert,
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