Page 50 of Breaking Emily's Rules
But Stone hadn’t been in the kitchen ten seconds when he heard a tiny squeak from Emily. He turned to see her lying flat on her back, Winston on top of her, paws firmly planted on her chest.
“Ooooof,” Emily said, probably due to oxygen deprivation.
He rushed back to pry all ninety pounds of Winston off Emily. Who needed a workout when he had Winston?
“Are you all right? Any vital parts missing?”
Emily cracked a smile and regained her footing. “Nothing major. Maybe my pride. I thought dogs liked me.”
“You think this means he doesn’t like you? Hell, this is his mating call.”
Holding her hand, he led her into the family room and helped her step over the gate he’d placed to block Winston from the room.
“I admit I didn’t picture you owning a dog.”
Emily sat on the couch and scanned the room. He was suddenly hyperaware of the plaid couch, the decor that screamed aviation/fishing/hunting aficionado. Family photos scattered throughout—all of it his father’s touches. Soon he’d have to pack every one of his Dad’s belongings up and do who knew what with them. Maybe Sarah wanted a framed picture of dogs playing cards.
He couldn’t cart any of it along. Not suitable for someone who traveled light.
“I don’t own him. He owns me.” Might as well state the facts as he knew them. “It’s my dad’s dog. My dad loved him. I still don’t know why.”
“And you won’t get rid of him.”
“No.” Though he thought of it often enough.
But in the end, he figured both he and Winston had a lot in common except for the fur and the fleas. Winston even had big balls. As if to prove it, he rolled over on his back, spread-eagled, and showed them off for Emily.
Dad should have neutered the big guy. “You want him? He comes with his own bowl.”
“He’s welcome to visit me anytime. Pookie is used to hanging out with big dogs.” Emily turned in a semicircle, taking a good look at the room. “This house—it’s your father’s house, isn’t it?”
“Yep. How’d you guess?”
“Wild guess. It’s not you. It’s too homey and lived-in.”
“Thanks,” he said, though he knew exactly what she meant.
For the past few years he’d lived with what he could carry in a bag. Mementos, photos, furniture—they were all more anchors, making it hard to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice when new orders came through.
“I mean, you’re neat and compartmentalized. I expected to see sharp corners and lots of steel to match your nerves.” She smiled and tossed her hair.
Was that a mating call? If not, it should be. In some countries, he was sure that it was. He still wanted a handful of that hair in his hands. It needed to be moved to get to the neck he wanted to lick.
“You want to see me lose it then dance with me again to Marvin Gaye. Right here. While we’re alone.” It was an invitation, or maybe a dare.
Emily stayed rooted in her spot, making it easier when he closed the distance between them and pulled her against his chest. He told himself this was okay. He was only playing, only teasing. Testing boundaries. He was a guy, after all. Sue him.
She didn’t speak when he moved the hair from her neck and kissed the tender spot under her ear, then licked it. In fact, she went so far as to moan, a little sound that coming out of her meant he must be doing something right.
She leaned into his kiss, while he probed her mouth, licking and nipping. And she did her magic again, fingers threaded in his hair, pressing even closer. Yeah, this was so much better than talking. Talking was for chumps.
Emily pulled away and he saw a look that meant only one thing to him.
He was about to get lucky.
“Look at the time. I’ve got to go,” Emily said. “You can take me home now.”
She might as well have doused him with a pail of ice cold water. Had he misread her signals that badly? She tried to turn away from him, but he reached for her elbow and stopped her. An explanation would be nice.
