Rascal (Rascals Book 1)(29)

Tension that was broken the moment the food was brought to our table.

“Thank you,” Emerson told the waiter. “Would it be possible to see the chef tonight?” he asked.

“Of course.” The waiter nodded and disappeared.

I gave Emerson a confused look, but either he didn’t see it or chose not to react to it, because he turned his attention to his food. Not that I could blame him, it looked and smelled amazing. For the next few moments, both of us were silent, savoring the incredible fare. As we were finishing up our last bites, a beautiful woman in a chef’s jacket came over to our table.

“How is everything?” she asked. “I’m Phoebe Sullivan, the head chef here at Lucy’s.”

“It’s all delicious,” Emerson said, getting up to shake her hand. “Thank you so much for coming out to talk to us.”

“My pleasure,” she said. “I love talking to people who have enjoyed my cooking.”

“We did,” I interjected, wondering what the hell Emerson was doing chatting up this beautiful woman on our date. Should I have been jealous? I felt jealous. I felt really jealous, and I hated it.

“I own a bar a few blocks from here,” Emerson told her. “And we’ve been actively looking for new talent to put in the kitchen. Everyone has been raving about you since you took over Lucy’s, and I can see why.”

I relaxed. This was for work. He wasn’t flirting. Or maybe he was, but he was flirting for work. For the bar.

“I imagine you’re pretty happy here,” Emerson continued, taking a card out of his wallet. “But if you’d ever like to talk about other opportunities, I’d love to sit down and talk with you about what you could bring to Rascals.”

Phoebe Sullivan looked at Emerson’s card. “Rascals?” she asked. “That’s the new place opening in a few weeks, right?”

Emerson nodded. “Our opening night is in a few days. Come check it out—drinks on us.”

“Maybe,” Phoebe said with a smile. “Thank you again for stopping by.”

She headed back to the kitchen and Emerson sat back down.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I know she’s a long shot, but I wanted to reach out to her anyways.”

“Is that why we came here?” I asked. “To talk to the cute chef?”

Emerson paused and looked at me. “Are you jealous?” he asked.

“No,” I told him, but his smile had already grown.

“Have I told you how hot you are when you’re jealous?” he wanted to know.

“I’m not jealous!” I insisted, but he just grinned wider.

“Check please,” he called.



He parked the car a few blocks from my building, giving us a chance to enjoy the spring air. Chicago at this time of year was my favorite. I could do without the extreme cold and the humid heat, but during the spring? It was absolute heaven.

At some point during our walk, Emerson’s fingers had tangled in mine, and we walked hand in hand towards my apartment. Neither of us had made any mention of how the date would end, but it was clear from the tension crackling in the air between us that we were both eager to get inside. To be alone.

But we were just a block away from the bar and my place when it became apparent that Emerson couldn’t wait any longer. Without a word, he tugged me into an alley, and within seconds he had me pinned up against the wall, his mouth hot and eager on mine. I kissed him back, my fingers tangling in my hair as his hips pressed against mine.

He was hard, and the realization made me even hotter. I wanted him. I wanted all of him.

His mouth blazed a hot trail down my neck, his hands holding my arms next to my head, keeping me pinned against the bricks. It was so sexy—he was so sexy.

“Let’s go inside,” I murmured, pulling my lips from his.

“Soon.” He nipped at my bottom lip. “I’m not in any rush.”

I freed my hands from his and practically pulled him out of the alley and towards my building.

“You might not be in a rush,” I told him, fumbling for my keys. “But I am!”

We stumbled into my apartment, shedding clothes as we went. His jacket landed in a pile with his shoes and socks, my purse tossed across the room as I was picked up and placed on the back of my sofa.

Emerson kissed me, hard, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. I responded in kind, my hands tight in his hair as his own fingers began dancing up my leg, pushing my dress up. As he did, I tugged at his shirt, wanting to see him, wanting to touch him.

He pulled away, giving me just enough time to whip the shirt off of him. Then I got a look at him. At his bare chest. And I was speechless.

“Oh my God,” I managed. “You’re gorgeous.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” he told me, lowering his head to kiss me again.

Within minutes my dress was unbuttoned, and my bra had joined the rest of our clothes on the floor. Then his mouth was on my breast. Oh God. It felt good. It felt so good. He had already proven himself to be more than skilled with his mouth, and he showed me again, taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking until I nearly came from that alone.

It wasn’t enough. Thankfully, he seemed to feel the same way. He moved downward, dropping kisses along my shoulders, across my chest, and down my stomach. Then, Emerson dropped to his knees, shoving my skirt up, revealing the tiny lace thong that I was wearing.