Stepbrother Billionaire(55)

He pulls me close, enclosing me in his arms as our breathing slowly evens out. The record finally ends as we lay in Emerson’s bed together. In the warm, easy silence, we finally swim back to the surface of reality, gazing at each other in the half light.

“I can’t believe I went nearly a decade without this,” I laugh softly, running a hand through his closely cropped brown hair.

“Me either,” he grins, kissing my palm, “Let’s not do that again, OK? The being-apart thing, I mean.”

“Sounds good to me,” I sigh happily, resting my cheek against his chest. “I couldn’t stand to lose this again.”

“You won’t,” he says, his voice taking on a serious cast. “Whatever happens, Abby, I won’t let anything ruin this.”

As the world reforms around us, the nagging intrusions of the real world creep back into my mind. I want to believe that nothing can derail us now, that we’re home free. But what about my family? Our parents? Our history? What about our careers, and that fact that we live on different continents?

But as Emerson kisses away the worried crease between my eyebrows, all those unknown factors fade away. It’s only him and me, now. Alone in this beautiful Soho apartment with another bottle of wine just waiting to be opened and a little bundle of white fur leaping up onto the bed to cuddle at our feet.

I wonder if this is what things would have been like if we hadn’t been separated all those years ago. Would we have been able to continue on as a pair and wind up here eventually? Or did we need to be apart for that time, grow into our own selves before we could be together? It’s impossible to know, of course. But still, it’s a comfort to think that all the pain we’ve been through, separately and together, hasn’t been in vain. That our whole lives have been leading up to something wonderful that we now get to share.

“Come on,” Emerson says, easing my up from bed and handing me my top, “We haven’t even had dessert yet.”

“You’re perfect, you know that?” I sigh, slipping back into my clothes.

“Yeah. I know,” he teases, leaning in for another kiss.

We head back out into the loft half-dressed, open up a bottle of Pinot Grigio, and dig into a couple pints of ice cream—Tahitian mint for me, black cherry for him. Settling down onto the expansive, pillowy couch, we talk late into the night, halfway paying attention to some mushy rom-com that’s playing on TV as we revel in playing house together. I hardly even notice as I start drifting off into a sated, happy sleep. My appetites—all of them—have never felt so satisfied as they do tonight.





Chapter Sixteen





Sloppy kisses land all over my sleeping face, dragging me out of slumber. Man, has Emerson lost his smooching prowess already? I think to myself, prying my eyes open. But as I blink into the morning sunlight, it isn’t Emerson’s blue eyes I find staring back at me, but Roxie’s chocolate brown peepers. I laugh, giving her a good scratch behind the ears and pulling myself to sitting. I’ve fallen asleep on the couch with my head in Emerson’s lap. He’s still out, and I help myself to a moment of watching him sleep. His features are soft and relaxed, as gorgeous as ever. I can’t believe I have the privilege of seeing him this way again.

Swinging my legs over the couch, delicately so as not to wake him, I reach into my purse and grab for my phone. I blink down at the welcome screen and see a dozen texts from Riley, asking where I am. There are missed calls, too, a good handful. And not just from Riley, either. The Bastian offices seem to have called my phone, more than a few times. At first, I can’t imagine why. That is, until I see what time it is.

“Fuck!” I cry out, tumbling off the couch.

“Huh? What?” Emerson mumbles, snapping out of his slumber and looking wildly around. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s twelve thirty already!” I tell him, scrambling to my feet in a panic. “We’re supposed to be at work! How the hell did we oversleep?”

“Guess we wore each other out last night, huh?” Emerson smiles, reaching for me.

“Don’t,” I snap, tearing off in search of my clothes. “We’re going to be an hour late to work, Emerson. And it’s only my second day.”

“Relax,” he says, following me into the bedroom, “I’ll vouch for you.”

“Oh, yeah. That’ll look awesome,” I shoot back. “Me strolling in on my superior’s arm, getting special treatment because I happen to be f*cking the right person.”

“Whoa, slow down,” he says, “First of all, I didn’t mean to offend you, I just don’t think this is as big a deal as you’re making it out to be. Cooper doesn’t even show up until noon, remember? And secondly, I didn’t realize we were just ‘f*cking’, here.”

“We’re not—I’m just—” I stammer, shoving my hands through my hair. “I’ve been dreaming about a job like this for months. Years. And now, when I finally get my foot in the door, I f*ck it up immediately. God, I don’t even have any fresh clothes to wear! I’m going to have to show up in the same thing I wore yesterday, and everyone’s going to know that we—”

“Here,” Emerson says, reaching into his wallet and withdrawing a credit card. “Take this. Go to the shop downstairs and buy something new. We’ll head right over to the office.”