Page 19 of Higher Ground
He revved the engine on the bike, and Miff raced back towards him to jump on the small back tray before he took off.
The house was still quiet after he’d parked the quad bike around the back and snuck back in, and he thought, for a moment, that Emory and Clayton must have still been in bed.But light flickered from the living room. The TV was on, but the sound was down low, flashy cartoons bouncing over the screen. Clayton sat just as he had yesterday, nestled in his mother’s legs, cuddling his teddy and watching intently. He seemed oblivious to the fact that his mother was sleeping. Her dressing gown pulled tight around her shoulders, she was curled up on the couch, facing away from the TV. Byron could only just see the side of her face, the way her nose pressed up against the cushion she was using as a pillow. The book she borrowed from the den lay open across the arm of the couch. Byron took in the sight, for longer than he probably should have, appreciating the moment of calm.
He could get used to spending his mornings like this. Checking on the farm, then coming home to Emory sleeping on the couch. The thought pulled at something in his chest.
Not wanting to wake Emory, Byron ducked back out of the room before Clayton saw. He moved to the kitchen and started fixing breakfast. Bacon, eggs, mushrooms, muffins. Byron knew how to cook a few good meals, and this was one of them. He hoped the smell would draw Emory back from the land of nod, just like it had yesterday. If it didn’t, he was unsure how he would go about waking her. Hewantedto tuck her hair behind her ear and press a kiss to her temple. Whisper in her ear to coax her awake. But he couldn’t do that.
In the end, it was Clayton who woke Emory. He smelled the breakfast, or heard Byron’s cooking, and jumped from the couch with a squeal.
“Papa! Breakfast!”
Emory stretched her arms over her head as she stood. Her dressing gown dropped off one shoulder, revealing the thin spaghetti strap of the same satin nightie she’d had on yesterday morning. Byron did his best to ignore the lump in his throat, swallowing down the heavy sigh that got caught with it.
Turning slowly, Emory tugged her robe back into place and tied the cord around her waist. The thick fabric cinched in at the knot, highlighting the gentle curve of her hips. Byron swallowed again, ignoring the blood rushing to his cock.Fuck, this was going to be … difficult.
Chapter 9
Emory
“You made us breakfast again?” Emory yawned, a big, exaggerated one as she stretched her arms out again. She was trying to distract herself from the current vision in the kitchen, and it wasn’t working.
In faded jeans and a deep grey flannel, Byron stood holding two heaped plates of food. A tea towel was thrown over his shoulder, and his hair was all messed up from sleep. Emory could get used to this, waking up to a hot as fuck man who cooked her breakfast. But then, she couldn’t, could she? Not when this arrangement was only temporary. Not when she was only here because her cottage was about to flood, although maybe it already had. And definitely not when she still had plans to leave town as soon as she secured a job in the city.
So, okay, she couldn’t get used to it, but she could enjoy it while it lasted.
Byron smirked, the corner of his mouth tilting up as he gave a slight nod. Emory could have sworn he swayed his hips a little as he moved around the bench to position the plates on the table. He turned back to the kitchen and stretched over the counter tograb the third plate. Emory held back her gasp. She shouldn’t be looking. She certainly shouldn’t beadmiringthe way his jeans pulled tight against his butt. Or the way his shoulders threatened to bust his shirt as he reached forward.
But then again, she’d spent all day yesterday doing exactly that, hadn’t she? After their awkward-as-anythingbreakfast and their agreement to never speak of the night prior again, they’d spent the day pottering around the house. It appeared Byron had gone out of his way to make space for Emory and Clayton, and she’d done her best to take up as little of it as possible. She’d tidied away Clayton’s toys the second he moved on to the next activity. After his nap, she’d taken him outside, and while he played on the old rickety slide, she read the book she’d borrowed. It was better than she thought it would be. The heroine had just met a truly scrumptious prince, and Emory was certain they were going to fall in love in the most delicious way.
And all day, she had stolen glances at Byron every second she could. She’d caught him doing the same, and each time, her heart had started racing faster than the quad bike he jetted off on in the afternoon.
Before she had a chance to turn away, Byron stood from the bench and pivoted on his heel. The movement was so quick, Emory was certain he wastryingto catch her staring. And he had. His eyes turned dark, but he kept them on Emory as he placed the small plate of food in front of Clayton.
Emory’s breath was caught in her throat. Her mouth hung open as she exhaled.
“Thank you,” she whispered on a shaky breath before clearing her throat and trying again. “Thank you, Byron. Clayton, say thank you to Papa for breakfast.”
Instead of waiting for Byron to respond, she sat down at the place he had set for her and gulped at her coffee. The hot liquidburned her throat, matching the heat that flared through her body.
They were going to have to talk about that night. It would kill her, though. She would die of embarrassment, but they couldn’t continue this dance. The stolen glances and lust-filled looks were too much. It was one thing to imagine Byron hovering over her while she came, and another to realise he was imagining the same thing. But the air had been thick with need ever since, and they had to do something or they would suffocate from it.
They ate mostly in silence, just like they had the day before. Clayton chewed loudly, blissfully unaware of the tension that sparked through the air. Halfway through their meal, rain began to patter. Nothing like the previous storm, at least not yet, but big fat droplets that clanged against the tin roof. Emory lifted her gaze from her plate to look out over the back paddocks. Beyond the kitchen window, the sky was dark, and big puddles began to form over the lawn. It stopped almost as soon as it started, but Emory knew it was just a teaser of what was sure to come.
“Thanks, Papa,” Clayton cheered after they had all finished eating, and Byron cleared the plates away.
Byron ruffled the little boy’s hair as he passed. Clayton climbed off his chair and disappeared into the living room. The sound of wooden blocks tumbling echoed through the house.
Byron stood unmoving in the kitchen, still holding the plates. “The bridge is still clear, if you want to head into town for anything. Might be your last chance,” he said.
Emory’s heart sank again at the reminder that soon, she would be stuck here. But Byron was right, she should head into town while she had the chance. A few extra night nappies for Clayton probably wouldn’t hurt. Nor would a dozen or more bottles of wine. She was going to need them to get through the next couple of weeks.
“Do you need anything? I’ll head down now so we can be back before Clayton has to nap.”
She took the plates from Byron’s hands, sucking in a breath when her fingers brushed against his. Electricity zapped between them.
Byron cleared his throat. “Nope, we should be good. I bought a few weeks’ worth of stuff before you got here, it’s all in the freezer. Why don’t you leave Clayton with me? Stop at the library for some more books and toys for him.”
“Are you sure? Don’t you have work to do before the water peaks?”
