Instant Gratification (Wilder #2)(47)

“Hey.” Good Lord, how had one guy gotten so sexy and cute at the same time? It seemed like an unfair disbursement of the goods, and if she ever stood in the line at the Pearly Gates, that would be the first thing she’d ask about.

But for now, she had places to go, people to see, things to do.

And a hot, sexy guy that threatened her very soul to get away from. Making her move, she shifted, getting to her belly before he slid a leg over her, holding her down. She turned her head and looked at him.

“Question,” he said lightly.

Seeing as she was pinned like a bug, she blew her hair from her face and did her best not to give herself away. “What?”

“Are you relaxed?”

Ha. “Let me go.”

“Because you were feeling pretty damn relaxed until about two seconds ago, when you realized you were hugging me for all you were worth. That’s when you got all uptight again.”

Okay, true. As was something else—she’d finally answered her own question on how his stubble would feel against her skin.

Like heaven. “Let me up now.”

His leg slid from her immediately. “My apologies.”

Fine. He was insulted. She’d deal with that later. She got out of the bed and realized her clothes were in the living room. Which was why she liked her affairs simple and in the dark.

He’d rolled to his back, hands behind his head, and was watching her from beneath lowered lashes, giving nothing of himself away.

Except, of course, the fact that he was sprawled out naked as the day he’d been born, revealing everything, anything she wanted to see.

Damn. To be that open. She whirled around, found one of his shirts and shoved it over her head, forgoing both panties and bra. On the other side of the country, her mother was rolling over in her grave.

Goodness, darling, you could have had Spencer. That boy’s a surgeon, and he’d have left the light off.

Rolling her eyes, she headed toward the door. But suddenly, the man lounging so lazily on the bed beat her to it, and put a hand on the handle. Before she could say a word, he’d opened it for her, not attempting to hold her in.

She looked up into his eyes.

He flashed a smile that didn’t quite make it to his usual full potential. “I take it we’re done here tonight.”

“Yeah, I have to—”

He put a finger over her lips. “Don’t make up an excuse to run away. I don’t need a pretty lie.”

Fair enough. “I just have to go.”

“Did I scare you?”

Yes. He scared her by showing her the very depths of his soul, and reflecting hers right back at her. He scared her by making her feel. Her initial reaction was to offer a denial but he’d just asked for no pretty lies, so she just looked up at him.

He pretty much gave her the opposite reaction she expected. Standing there, naked, he chuckled. “Tough question, huh?”

“Yes.” There. The truth. “Care to try an easier one?”

“All right.” He stroked a strand of hair from her face. “You going to steal another of my shirts?”

“It appears so.”

“Go out with me, Emma.”

Tempted beyond belief, she looked at his mouth, wishing it was back on hers. “You should know. I’m unusually slow to get on board when it comes to these things.”

“What just happened between us didn’t feel slow. It felt like a freight train slamming into my heart.”

Hers skipped a beat at that. “You should also know that men don’t tend to hold on to me for long. I only tell you this to save you some time and effort. Give you a short cut to the exit.”

A slight smile tipped his mouth upward at her somber tone. “I don’t tend to take short cuts. I also tend to jump right in.”

“Well we both did that today.”

“Yeah, but I meant more, too.”

There was that more thing again. “I definitely don’t do more.”

“Has that ever worked out for you, the not doing more thing?” he asked.

“No.”

He just smiled, both sweet and challenging at the same time.

And sexy.

So damn sexy.

“I get that you’re a thinker,” he said gently. “You need to think, process. Analyze.”

“I do.”

“Premeditated thinking doesn’t work for me.”

“Because you jump right in.”

“That’s right. So I’m already on the page. The us page.”

“Oh, God.”

“It’s okay. You go home and think. Process and analyze. Whatever you have to do.”

Whatever she had to do? Hell, she had to run far and fast. Only she couldn’t, she was stuck here in Wishful.

Yeah. She was in big trouble.



Emma dreamt about Stone, about his couch, his floor…his bed. About what he wanted from her. And she woke up hot and bothered.

Cost of processing and analyzing: two hours of sleep.

Cost of thinking: two more hours of sleep.

Cost of giving the elusive more to the insanely sexy Stone Wilder: priceless.

And something she couldn’t face, not and function properly. Already exhausted before she even began her day, she heated up one of the casseroles labeled breakfast for her and Spencer, who was embarking on a long day hike.