stay.”
“I like the sound of that,” Nate said. “So am I.”
They looked at each other. It was Emma’s turn to bare her soul. “Nate, I don’t want closure either. I want you. All of you. We deserve each other. We deserve to give this a real chance.”
“I’m so happy to hear you say that.” There was a choked sound as he got out the words, but Emma didn’t have time to contemplate the idea that he might be crying because she was wrapped up in his vise-like embrace. Before she knew it, all of their ablutions had been for nothing because his mouth was back on hers, and the fire in her belly was roaring back to life.
“Emma. Nate. The ice cream’s melting.” The words, sounding much too close for comfort, filtered into Emma’s consciousness, and she tore herself away from him. She forgot what she looked like and ran into the master bedroom as her mother was coming up the stairs.
“Dessert’s ready,” Juliette said.
“We’ll be right down,” Emma answered, her tone an over-hearty approximation of normalcy. Her mother quirked an eyebrow, but Emma couldn’t care.
“Take your time,” Juliette replied and backed out of the room.
Nate appeared then, adjusting his trousers. “Oh, God. Your mother thinks we just had sex.”
“Well, we did, sort of. Whatever. She’s French. She understands passion.”
“I thought I was doing so well with her,” he groaned.
“She loves you, I can tell.” Emma grabbed his hand. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”
“Sounds good. I need something to cool off.”
“Besides, my dad’s the one you should be worried about.” At his panicked expression, she flashed him a mischievous smile and pulled him down the stairs.
Chapter Eleven
Emma pushed open the front door of her brownstone and was met with a welcome sight. Nate lay on the floor of her entryway, shirtless, his tool belt slung low around his hips, prying up some baseboards. The air smelled like sweat and sawdust. An iPod connected to a wireless speaker blasted The Black Keys. She was home.
Two weeks had passed since Nate had shown up with flowers on her doorstep and had proceeded to charm her mother and make Emma the happiest girl in Brooklyn, not to mention the most sexually satisfied. Two weeks of kisses and dinners and talking late into the night. And sex. They’d been working, too. Emma had been putting in long days at the office, but she didn’t mind now she had someone to come home to. Nate had all but moved into the brownstone over the last few days, spending more and more time there as he began to work on the house as promised.
“You know, we haven’t discussed your fees,” Emma said, dropping her workbag on the floor and sinking down beside her man, heedless of wood shavings that clung to her silk skirt.
“Hey, you should be wearing safety glasses. This is a construction zone.” Nate lifted his own off his face and set them tilted on Emma’s nose.
She giggled, straightened them, and leaned in for a kiss. Nate’s mouth was warm and welcoming under hers, and she sighed into the kiss, the now-familiar zing of lust pulsing through her core. He was working, and she would ruin her outfit. Who cared? She needed him inside her right now, on the floor, wherever.
The doorbell rang. She ignored it, but Nate sat up. “That’s probably Cory. He’s dropping off some paperwork for me.”
“Well, don’t forget where we were,” Emma instructed. She stood, tossed Nate his glasses, and opened the door.
Despite his business suit and tie, Cory still looked like the pot-smoking bro she remembered from college. “Hi, Cory, come on in.”
“Emma, you look fabulous,” he said, leaning in to give her a smooth buss on the cheek. “Nate, brother, long time, no see.” The men hugged with some silently agreed-upon-one-arm motion that made Emma smile.
“Your place is great. My wife, Lizzie, and I are thinking about buying, but you know how crazy it is.”
Emma agreed and
“I like the sound of that,” Nate said. “So am I.”
They looked at each other. It was Emma’s turn to bare her soul. “Nate, I don’t want closure either. I want you. All of you. We deserve each other. We deserve to give this a real chance.”
“I’m so happy to hear you say that.” There was a choked sound as he got out the words, but Emma didn’t have time to contemplate the idea that he might be crying because she was wrapped up in his vise-like embrace. Before she knew it, all of their ablutions had been for nothing because his mouth was back on hers, and the fire in her belly was roaring back to life.
“Emma. Nate. The ice cream’s melting.” The words, sounding much too close for comfort, filtered into Emma’s consciousness, and she tore herself away from him. She forgot what she looked like and ran into the master bedroom as her mother was coming up the stairs.
“Dessert’s ready,” Juliette said.
“We’ll be right down,” Emma answered, her tone an over-hearty approximation of normalcy. Her mother quirked an eyebrow, but Emma couldn’t care.
“Take your time,” Juliette replied and backed out of the room.
Nate appeared then, adjusting his trousers. “Oh, God. Your mother thinks we just had sex.”
“Well, we did, sort of. Whatever. She’s French. She understands passion.”
“I thought I was doing so well with her,” he groaned.
“She loves you, I can tell.” Emma grabbed his hand. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”
“Sounds good. I need something to cool off.”
“Besides, my dad’s the one you should be worried about.” At his panicked expression, she flashed him a mischievous smile and pulled him down the stairs.
Chapter Eleven
Emma pushed open the front door of her brownstone and was met with a welcome sight. Nate lay on the floor of her entryway, shirtless, his tool belt slung low around his hips, prying up some baseboards. The air smelled like sweat and sawdust. An iPod connected to a wireless speaker blasted The Black Keys. She was home.
Two weeks had passed since Nate had shown up with flowers on her doorstep and had proceeded to charm her mother and make Emma the happiest girl in Brooklyn, not to mention the most sexually satisfied. Two weeks of kisses and dinners and talking late into the night. And sex. They’d been working, too. Emma had been putting in long days at the office, but she didn’t mind now she had someone to come home to. Nate had all but moved into the brownstone over the last few days, spending more and more time there as he began to work on the house as promised.
“You know, we haven’t discussed your fees,” Emma said, dropping her workbag on the floor and sinking down beside her man, heedless of wood shavings that clung to her silk skirt.
“Hey, you should be wearing safety glasses. This is a construction zone.” Nate lifted his own off his face and set them tilted on Emma’s nose.
She giggled, straightened them, and leaned in for a kiss. Nate’s mouth was warm and welcoming under hers, and she sighed into the kiss, the now-familiar zing of lust pulsing through her core. He was working, and she would ruin her outfit. Who cared? She needed him inside her right now, on the floor, wherever.
The doorbell rang. She ignored it, but Nate sat up. “That’s probably Cory. He’s dropping off some paperwork for me.”
“Well, don’t forget where we were,” Emma instructed. She stood, tossed Nate his glasses, and opened the door.
Despite his business suit and tie, Cory still looked like the pot-smoking bro she remembered from college. “Hi, Cory, come on in.”
“Emma, you look fabulous,” he said, leaning in to give her a smooth buss on the cheek. “Nate, brother, long time, no see.” The men hugged with some silently agreed-upon-one-arm motion that made Emma smile.
“Your place is great. My wife, Lizzie, and I are thinking about buying, but you know how crazy it is.”
Emma agreed and
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