Page 70 of Breaking Emily's Rules
“I’m fine. I should probably—”
“Go?” she turned to him, a water bottle in her hand. “I’m not drunk, you know.”
“You’re not perfectly sober, either.” He stood.
She set the dog down on her bed and came toward him. “Don’t go.”
When she reached him, she put her arms around his waist, and it was natural to pull her even closer. “It isn’t that I don’t want to stay. It’s just—”
“My rules?” She gazed at him, and something in his heart pinched.
“You can do better than me.”
“What if I don’t want better? What if you’re what I want? Right here, right now.”
He swallowed hard, not at all used to refusing that kind of blatant invitation. Taking what he wanted. Right on this couch, consequences be damned. Not like he hadn’t done it before, time and time again, barely apologizing to the women as he walked out the door. They were all grown-ups, and adults fully aware of the temporary nature.
But this was different. He wasn’t sure how, when or why he had begun to want more than no-strings sex.
“Do you trust me? Because maybe you shouldn’t.”
“I’m not sure why, but I do. I think it’s your eyes.” She pulled on his hand and sat on the couch. “And I don’t want to be alone right now. Can’t you just stay with me a little while?”
He sat again, instinctively drawing his arms around her. She sighed and nestled in. Cuddling. Who would have ever thought he’d have the patience for this?
“This is nice,” Emily said, her head on his chest. “So nice.”
“Yeah.” Could she feel his heart as it raced at Mach levels? What would be nice would be to show her what he could do with his tongue.
Within a few minutes, Emily made a sweet sound in the back of her throat and her breaths had become slow and even. She was dozing on him. The girl trusted him so much she fell asleep in his arms, when he didn’t think he could trust himself. This time, instead of the direct line to his groin, the surge of electricity happened a little too close to his heart for comfort.
He was in such trouble.
CHAPTER17
Stone
Stone couldn’t avoidthe walls any longer. He had to paint. The realtor he and Sarah had agreed on would put the For Sale sign up this week, and no one wanted a house that was stuck in early eighties decor.
Last week at Builder’s Emporium, the clerk had recommended something called Dakota Loam. He didn’t have the foggiest idea whether it was the so-called trendy earth tone decor the clerk had said it was, because it looked like brown to him. Spending the past ten years in military housing meant he didn’t pay much attention to the color scheme of his surroundings. It didn’t matter when it was all so temporary.
This, on the other hand, didn’t feel temporary. These were Dad’s walls. It felt like he should take great care with the color he put on these walls.
He trudged into the family room, carrying the gallon of paint. “It’s just you and me, wall. Let’s get it on.”
A couple of hours later, he had taped the room and laid plastic over the worn carpet. Another thing to replace; although, the Realtor believed they could sell the house without replacing it. He stirred the stick in the thick paint and then heard a knock on the front door. With any luck, Crash and Matt had gotten a clue and would be here to help him, maybe even with a beer or two.
But no, when he opened the door, who should be on the other side of it but the woman who wanted everything. “What now?”
Sarah pushed by him, the old Mcallister temper being the one thing she’d inherited from dear old Dad. “I’m done playing it your way. He was my father, too.”
“Fine, come on in. Don’t let me stop you. As you can see, the place is lovely. Thinking maybe I’ll bringBetter Homes and Gardensin here for a spread.” He waved his arm.
“What the hell is that?” Sarah pointed past him toward the kitchen floor.
When Winston slept in the hallway, he looked like a huge and dirty heap of a throw rug. “That’s Dad’s dog. Winston.”
“That’s a dog?” She walked closer to Winston and bent down as if to inspect him.
