One More Taste (One and Only Texas #2)(59)

“I’m sorry to hear that. Would you care for something else?”

“Yes,” she said. “We’ll look at some menus.”

Damn this interruption. He still hadn’t gotten his answer from Emily, and he suddenly, quite desperately, needed to know what it was that Emily thought he needed. Then again, perhaps a better question was why was he intrigued by the idea that someone whom he’d only just met would know what he needed better than he would. He already knew what he needed. He forged his own path. He didn’t take advice from anyone outside his close circle of advisors. And Emily was not in that circle.

Maybe she should be.

And there he had it, the answer to his own question. What he needed, more than anything, more than smoked pork or mole or Frito pie, or even peach soup, was her.

He studied her as she perused the menu, feeling like he was seeing her for the first time all over again, marveling at his epiphany. She’s what you need, what you’ve always needed but could never find.

“What should we get?” she said without looking up.

He had to clear his throat before speaking. “Anything you want.”

She shone her bright green eyes at him. “I like the sound of that.”

So did he. “Tell me, Emily. What are you feeding me next?”

Her expression turned saucy. She gave a toss of her hair as she signaled the waiter. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see. But I think you’re going to love it.”

“I think I already do.”





Chapter Thirteen

For the first time since moving to Briscoe Ranch, Knox didn’t sleep a wink. Rather, he’d lain in bed, replaying every moment he’d spent with Emily in his mind. He’d never seen it coming, how deeply he’d grown to feel about her. He’d come a long way from the restlessness and lust that had led to their brief, intense sex in his childhood bedroom.

Oh, the lust was still there, all right, but it had evolved into so much more. When they’d returned to the resort after dinner, it had been torture to walk her to her office, where she’d insisted she needed to go in order to make notes about upcoming menus she was planning, and leave her there—when all he wanted to do was press her to the wall and kiss her. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and cart her off to his bed where they could dissolve into a naked, sweaty mess of passion, then lie in the dark and talk for hours about Hong Kong noodle makers and wines and fishing until the sun rose.

Are you ready to let me feed you like you need to be fed?

Yes, by God, he was.

At dawn, Knox gave up the fruitless pursuit of sleep and dressed in his running clothes and shoes, then stepped outside into the foggy morning. He stood a long time and stared at the lake, considering his next move. Usually, no matter how late he’d gone to bed the night before, or how fitfully he’d slept, he loved the shot of energy being up this early infused him with. The illusion of beginning at the starting line of the day instead of coming in during the middle of the race gave him a better sense of control. But he couldn’t get Emily out of his head.

After a brief stretch, he took off jogging down his driveway. As he turned onto the road, he touched the sign indicating that Briscoe Ranch Resort was three miles ahead. The perfect distance for a morning jog. Perhaps putting in a few hours at the office would give him a much-needed reprieve from his wayward thoughts about Emily. And there was plenty of work to be done, especially since the equity firm had approved a plan for repairs that would keep the resort open, before launching into a three-hundred-room expansion and complete remodeling of the main building, and the bids would be coming in any day on revamping the golf course into a competitive one that rivaled the best in the world.

The resort office was as quiet as one might expect on an early Saturday morning and smelling faintly of brewing coffee. Knox snagged the spare suit he kept in his office, then detoured to the employee locker room on the basement level for a shower.

He couldn’t help but glance into the catering kitchen as he passed. Emily’s domain. On a whim, he ground to a stop. With a look over his shoulder, dogged by the illogical feeling that he was trespassing, he stepped inside.

The kitchen was a sea of spotless, gleaming stainless steel—a blank canvas for Emily’s artistry. How late had she stayed the night before, scribbling notes? She’d had to be exhausted when she finally went home. He glanced through the window into her office. In his mind’s eye, he could see her at her desk, bent over her computer, typing out ingredient lists and flavor profiles with the passion of a mad genius.

Setting his spare suit on the nearest counter, he took a step closer to her office. The top edge of her sofa came into view. Haylie had told him during their tour of the resort that Emily slept there often. At the time, he’d thought of that as evidence of Emily’s ambition. But that was before he’d seen the world-weary look in her eyes the night before, when she’d spoken of the abusive relationship her friend was in. The words she’d chosen and the look on her face made it clear that her knowledge of battered women’s mentality was rooted in personal experience.

What if she didn’t sleep in her office because of the long hours she worked? Rather, what if she worked those long hours and slept in her office because there was someone at her home from whom she was trying to escape? What if she were asleep on the sofa right now?

Heart racing, he crept closer, torn between a heady desire to discover what she looked like as she slept and the hope that the sofa was empty and his instinct about her home life was wrong.