The Crush (32)

Emmett’s eyes stayed on the careful rotation of the roasting stick, and I couldn’t fight the warm swell of affection at the absolutely perfect golden-brown color of the marshmallow.

I nudged his knee with mine. “I think they’re done,” I whispered.

He handed me the stick, his eyes only briefly settling on mine. I slid the first marshmallow off, hissing at the hot surface.

“Want one?” I asked.

He watched me blow on the surface of the sugary treat. “No, thanks. I rarely eat stuff like that.”

“Your loss,” I said feelingly, popping the entire thing in my mouth. I moaned when the flavor hit my tongue.

“I’d rather watch you eat it anyway.”

My fingers were sticky, and the husky tone of his voice had my stomach quivering while I sucked the marshmallow off.

I finished my bite. “What time do you have to be at the airport?” I asked.

His thumb came up, gently touching the corner of my mouth. Emmett wiped a fleck of marshmallow from my lip, his slowly darkening eyes unmoving from that spot. “About a day earlier than I’d planned,” he admitted with a wry smile. “This isn’t…” His voice dropped in pitch. “I’d hoped for more time.”

Then he brought his thumb to his mouth, eyes on mine, and sucked off the spot of marshmallow.

I blinked slowly, trying to get my bearings at the exchange, heavy with unspoken longing, dripping with the idea of crossing an invisible line.

“So we have tonight,” I said.

His gaze never wavered from mine, and finally, he answered with a slow nod.

I didn’t need him to say it because it was plain as day across his face. Emmett didn’t want this night to be wasted either.

I didn’t need him to promise me anything because it would only make it worse if he did.

I carefully set the roasting stick aside and stood from the bench. “I think I need more chocolate.”

Emmett’s brow furrowed.

Cameron gave me a weird look. “There’s an entire package right—”

Greer sat forward and slapped her hand over Cameron’s mouth. “I think there’s more in the house.”

Parker covered his face with one hand. Poppy laughed into her margarita.

I looked down at Emmett. “Help me look for it?”

Understanding lit his expression, followed very, very quickly by heat.

Before I could change my mind, before I could talk myself out of it, I made a sharp pivot and walked back to the empty house. Emmett was right behind me, and when I paused briefly at the back door, he crowded behind me, holding the door open with his arm above my head.

Like he had at the ball, he dropped his nose to the crown of my hair and inhaled deeply.

I breathed out a laugh, and my knees felt a bit jelly-ish.

One of his big hands slid around my waist, anchored over my hipbone, and his pinky pressed hard into the skin underneath the waistband of my pants. My whole body was trembling.

Why did that surprise me? The sure touch without a single word spoken between us.

It was exactly what I needed, though.

If this was my one night to see what I’d been missing all these years, then I was ready for that night to start now.

He spoke against my ear, a delicious rumble that had my eyes fluttering shut. “Go inside, Adaline, unless you want them to see this.”





Emmett



I didn’t know what had changed.

I didn’t care.

My blood screamed hot, and dimly, I registered that if she really hadn’t moved, I might have pushed her against the wall of the house in plain sight of her brothers and sisters.

Adaline cleared the door and whirled, walking backward while I stalked toward her. Her hand hooked in the front of my shirt, and my chest heaved on great gulping breaths. Her eyes glowed dark, big in her face, and so full of sex and promise that I wanted to rip at my clothes and tear hers off.

When I told her earlier that I would’ve been a gentleman with a buzzed Adaline sleeping in my bed, I meant it.

Sex, for me, had never been about anything but a clinical release with the hope of more. That more had never been present, never thrummed in crazy pounding beats under my skin, aching and screaming to taste and touch and suck and lick.

But everything about this—without a single kiss—was the thing I’d been seeking.

With a quick glance over my shoulder, I made sure we were out of view of the fire.

Adaline ran out of space, the island halting her steps.

She licked her lips. “I feel like you’re chasing me.”

Hadn’t I been?

I set my hands on the island, bracketing either side of her hips, and I bent at the knee to drag my nose along her jaw so I could smell her skin in that soft spot just beneath her ear. “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about this when we danced.”

“I was,” she moaned, sliding firm hands up my chest and up into my hair. She tugged on the strands when I sucked her earlobe into my mouth. “Oh please,” she gasped.

I dragged my teeth along the line of her jaw and tried to temper the wild, snarling impulse biting at the edge of my reserve.

There was nothing gentlemanly about how I felt, and that took me by surprise. I never imagined my first time with Adaline—weeks of her face dancing at the back of my mind—might be like this.