He jerked away and glanced at her foot. “Are you—”
“I’m fine,” she said, pulling him back.
The mattress sank as he sat beside her, and his warm hand settling on her thigh sent a rush of heat through her. His fingers slid to the T-shirt hem, and she knew he was thinking of the black lace underwear she had on.
That she had put on for her date with David.
Guilt swirled into her mind but then swirled right out again. Emmet’s tongue was in her mouth, and he tasted so good it was making her drunk. She moved her hand over his knee, squeezing his muscular thigh through the denim.
He tipped her head back. “Nicole. What the fuck?” He kissed his way down her neck, leaving a trail of fire along her skin as his hand glided under her T-shirt to cup her breast. His thumb found her nipple through her lacy bra, and she arched against him.
He pulled back, lust and confusion warring in his eyes.
She kissed him again, wanting to block all that out. His other hand slid up her thigh, and she kissed him deeper, willing him to touch her exactly where she wanted. His fingers grazed her underwear, electrifying every nerve ending, and then his mouth closed over her nipple, and the heat of it through the fabric made her nearly lose her mind.
He pulled back, and something in his expression made her go still.
“What?” she whispered.
He closed his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
He reached up and unhooked her fingers from his neck. He clasped her hand and rested it on the bed beside him, then glanced back at her boot propped on the pillow.
“This can’t happen,” he said.
She stared at him.
He looked at her foot again and closed his eyes. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“For what? I kissed you.”
He squeezed her hand. “That’s the pain meds.”
The fog in her brain cleared—at least some of it—and she felt her cheeks flush. What had she just done?
“Hey.” He leaned forward, resting his palm beside her. “Don’t look like that.”
“But I thought you—”
“No, you’re right.” He stared down at her, and she tried to piece together what he meant. So he was turned on? Or he wasn’t? Or he was but he didn’t want to be?
Her head was swimming. She felt drunk and disoriented, and the one clear thought was that she didn’t want him to leave yet. If he left now, she wouldn’t be able to look at him tomorrow.
“Will you stay?” she asked.
He leaned back. “Nicole—”
“Just for a little while. We can watch a show.”
He gazed down at her, the muscle in his jaw twitching. Then he glanced at the TV.
He bent over and started unlacing his boots, and her heart did a joyful skip. He set his shoes by her crutches and walked around to the other side of the bed. He propped the pillow against the headboard, and the mattress sank as he leaned back, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. He picked up the remote in the middle of the bed and unmuted the television.
He darted a look at her. “What do you want to watch?”
“Anything.”