those one-night stands in Paris. It was hard to adjust to feeling like a sexy woman in Cole’s presence, instead of an awkward teenager.
Is it even possible I can drive him as crazy as he drives me? God, this feels good.
By the time dinner was finished, she was only thinking about how much longer it would be until they could leave. Emma wanted to be alone with Cole, and soon.
His hand never left her back or her waist as they stood talking to others, its warmth a constant reminder of what was to come. When Cole announced they were leaving, Emma wanted to run from the house.
They said their good byes, and as they walked to the waiting car, Emma gathered her courage, taking a deep breath.
“Do you want to go back to my place?” she asked.
“Yes,” Cole said quickly, a small smile on his lips. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the valet stood just a few feet away.
When his hand returned to her thigh du ring the ride home, Emma wished he would drive faster. She’d been waiting for this much longer than just one evening. The air was filled with longing and expectation, and she forced away lingering thoughts of Layla and Cole being together nine years earlier.
“You sure you want me to come up?” Cole asked as he parked. Emma’s heart fell at his earnest expression.
“Don’t you want to?” she asked.
“More than you know. I just want to make sure it’s what you want.”
“It is,” she said softly, melting when he smiled and leaned close to kiss her. He made his way around the car to open her door, and Emma wished she could text Layla and tell her about the evening. She forced her sister’s image away, knowing it would ruin an otherwise perfect night.
Emma pushed her front door open, running through a mental image of her apartment from that morning. Bed unmade, clothes on the floor, a few dishes in the sink…
Ugh. He’ll think I’m a slob. Why didn’t I clean up the damn kitchen?
The bachelor style of her apartment left no place to hide a mess. It was one giant, open room, with only the bathroom offering seclusion.
“This is nice,” Cole said when he stepped in. He glanced at the corner where her easel and art desk were surrounded by paints and other supplies. Emma felt a flutter of anticipation as he walked over to examine the canvas she had been working on for a couple weeks.
“I like this,” he said. It was an abstract of reds and oranges, swirling around each other in imperfect, circular patterns.
“Thanks.” Emma tried to force the flush from her cheeks, reminding herself Cole had no way of knowing the painting had been inspired by their first kiss. Her passion, uncertainty and joy had all spilled onto the canvas the next morning.
“This place really feels like you,” Cole said as he studied several shelves of art, design and history books. Emma’s collection of antique vases was perched on top.
“You think I’m disorganized and second-hand?” She laughed.
“No. It’s bright and comfortable and so … real,” he said, looking at her intently. “It’s beautiful.”
“Do you want some wine?” she asked, piling her hair over one shoulder nervously.
“Sure.” He made his way to her worn navy blue sofa as Emma went to the kitchen to get the drinks.
“What the fuck?” she heard him mutter. Her eyes snapped toward him, a look of disgust on his face as he stared at a sheet of paper.
“What?” she asked, walking over to loo k. Her heart hit the floor as she scanned the curved, feminine words.
An epic, mind-blowing fuck took place here today!
A smiley face and a hand-drawn arrow narrowed down precisely where it had happened. Cole looked pissed and a little hurt when his gray eyes found Emma’s.
“Oh, shit,” s he said, her face burning. “That isn’t my note, Cole.”
“Really? Other peop le fuck on your couch?” he clipped, suspicious.
“Not usually, no. But Layla has a key.”
Some of the anger drained from his face.
“Are you seeing anyone
Is it even possible I can drive him as crazy as he drives me? God, this feels good.
By the time dinner was finished, she was only thinking about how much longer it would be until they could leave. Emma wanted to be alone with Cole, and soon.
His hand never left her back or her waist as they stood talking to others, its warmth a constant reminder of what was to come. When Cole announced they were leaving, Emma wanted to run from the house.
They said their good byes, and as they walked to the waiting car, Emma gathered her courage, taking a deep breath.
“Do you want to go back to my place?” she asked.
“Yes,” Cole said quickly, a small smile on his lips. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the valet stood just a few feet away.
When his hand returned to her thigh du ring the ride home, Emma wished he would drive faster. She’d been waiting for this much longer than just one evening. The air was filled with longing and expectation, and she forced away lingering thoughts of Layla and Cole being together nine years earlier.
“You sure you want me to come up?” Cole asked as he parked. Emma’s heart fell at his earnest expression.
“Don’t you want to?” she asked.
“More than you know. I just want to make sure it’s what you want.”
“It is,” she said softly, melting when he smiled and leaned close to kiss her. He made his way around the car to open her door, and Emma wished she could text Layla and tell her about the evening. She forced her sister’s image away, knowing it would ruin an otherwise perfect night.
Emma pushed her front door open, running through a mental image of her apartment from that morning. Bed unmade, clothes on the floor, a few dishes in the sink…
Ugh. He’ll think I’m a slob. Why didn’t I clean up the damn kitchen?
The bachelor style of her apartment left no place to hide a mess. It was one giant, open room, with only the bathroom offering seclusion.
“This is nice,” Cole said when he stepped in. He glanced at the corner where her easel and art desk were surrounded by paints and other supplies. Emma felt a flutter of anticipation as he walked over to examine the canvas she had been working on for a couple weeks.
“I like this,” he said. It was an abstract of reds and oranges, swirling around each other in imperfect, circular patterns.
“Thanks.” Emma tried to force the flush from her cheeks, reminding herself Cole had no way of knowing the painting had been inspired by their first kiss. Her passion, uncertainty and joy had all spilled onto the canvas the next morning.
“This place really feels like you,” Cole said as he studied several shelves of art, design and history books. Emma’s collection of antique vases was perched on top.
“You think I’m disorganized and second-hand?” She laughed.
“No. It’s bright and comfortable and so … real,” he said, looking at her intently. “It’s beautiful.”
“Do you want some wine?” she asked, piling her hair over one shoulder nervously.
“Sure.” He made his way to her worn navy blue sofa as Emma went to the kitchen to get the drinks.
“What the fuck?” she heard him mutter. Her eyes snapped toward him, a look of disgust on his face as he stared at a sheet of paper.
“What?” she asked, walking over to loo k. Her heart hit the floor as she scanned the curved, feminine words.
An epic, mind-blowing fuck took place here today!
A smiley face and a hand-drawn arrow narrowed down precisely where it had happened. Cole looked pissed and a little hurt when his gray eyes found Emma’s.
“Oh, shit,” s he said, her face burning. “That isn’t my note, Cole.”
“Really? Other peop le fuck on your couch?” he clipped, suspicious.
“Not usually, no. But Layla has a key.”
Some of the anger drained from his face.
“Are you seeing anyone
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