One More Taste (One and Only Texas #2)(65)
While she took the call, Knox walked to the living room area to look closer at the shelf of framed photographs that included numerous ones of her and Carina, her and the whole Briscoe family, and one with a younger her and a group of other men and women all wearing chef’s jackets that had to be from her years at the culinary academy. He sank into her plush sofa and let her story and her struggles drift through his mind as he listened to her impassioned tone on the phone with her employee.
She really was an incredible woman. No wonder he’d been drawn to her. No wonder she held him under her spell.
A yawn came from out of nowhere. Fatigue from this whirlwind of a month finally rearing its head. The deep sofa, the warmth of the room, the richness of the sandwich and milk turned his lids heavy. He turned his head to the side, closed his eyes, and inhaled against the overstuffed cushion. It smelled faintly of Emily’s sweet, herbal scent. Everything in this apartment did. Emily, Emily. He mouthed her name. It wasn’t enough. He languished with the need for more, for her, for everything he couldn’t have.
He inhaled again. Yes …
*
Emily stared down at the sleeping man on her sofa. She’d knocked him out with a PB&J. Guess there was a first time for everything.
She perched on the coffee table, the better to study his sleeping form, as tenderness for this impossible, strikingly handsome, brilliant man flowed through her. What the hell was she going to do about him? And about everything he made her feel?
Even though it had scared her how easily he’d discovered her secrets, despite her valiant and ongoing effort to conceal her past, there was no denying the relief in opening up about everything she’d hidden and had never shared with anyone other than Carina. Just as there was no denying the restlessness he’d awoken within her—a need so deep and hidden, it had no name.
All she knew was, no matter how hard she tried, she was incapable of keeping a professional distance from him. She couldn’t get their one, brief lovemaking out of her head. She couldn’t stop wondering what a full night in his arms would be like. What kissing him would be like. And, it seemed, given his presence in her apartment, he was having the same problem keeping his distance from her.
Maybe it was time to stop trying so hard to resist the pull of him. Maybe it was time to let herself feel this—whatever this was.
She reached out and touched his knee.
The next instant, his hand encircled her wrist. As she gasped in surprise, his eyes opened. “You’re watching me.”
Though his hold on her wrist was gentle, the sensation triggered too many unpleasant memories from her childhood. She let her arm go limp and concentrated on breathing evenly, pushing past the triggered emotions. Knox wasn’t going to overpower her or restrain her in a sinister way. He wasn’t. He was never going to hurt her.
Through that fog of residual fear and memory, she picked her words. “I thought you were sleeping.”
He sat up straighter, his grip on her wrist inadvertently tightening. “Napping is not a skill I’ve mastered.”
Her attention lowered to his hand on her wrist. You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe.
He must have caught her looking because he opened his hand immediately. Before she could think better of it, she retracted her arm and cradled it against her chest.
“Who wants to hurt you?” Knox said.
The question caught her off guard. Suddenly restless, she stood and returned to the kitchen, putting some distance between them. “My father. My mother, too. They’d make my life a living hell if they found me. But, Knox, you’re not making life easy on me, either. Dredging all of this up, making me fight for my worth at Briscoe Ranch, my chosen home. My life was easy before you came along. I knew what I wanted and how to get it. And now…” At a loss for words, she shook her head. And now what? And now she wanted something that terrified her even more than her parents, even more than exposure as a fraud.
He followed her to the kitchen and crowded behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him against her back. If she pivoted in place, he’d be close enough to kiss. Damn it all to hell, she’d never wanted anything more.
His words vibrated against her neck. “And now you don’t know what you—”
“I know what I want,” she snapped.
And then she did turn. She took his face in her hands, rocked up onto the balls of her feet, and took what she needed.
She angled her lips against his. That first shock of contact sent a sizzle of electricity racing through her that made her whole body quake. On a groan, he wrapped his arms around her and took control of the kiss. There was no tentative exploration, no gradual build. She opened her mouth and gave herself over to the taste and feel of Knox’s commanding mouth, to his hard body, to the wet, greedy kiss that went on and on.
She ripped his shirt open and dragged her hands along his bare shoulder. She couldn’t get enough of him, body or soul.
As it turned out, that deep need that she’d thought was so ancient and foreign that it had no name, had one. She just hadn’t acknowledged it until now. She needed kissing and sex and intimate touch. She needed connection in a way that superseded friendship or family or coworkers. She needed Knox—and she needed him in a way that was not polite or easy.
He’d turned her into an immoderate beast stripped bare for him to see the fathomless depths of her soul, her rawest edges. Fuck him for crippling her power with this unbearable yearning for connection with him. Only him.