Page 44 of The E.M.M.A. Effect
“You really pulled it off.”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said around a mouthful. “I keep telling you that I’m a culinary genius.”
Harriet snorted, her fork poised for another bite. “I don’t wantto make you an ego monster, but it’s really good,” she conceded, scooping up another bite. “Honestly, this is almost exactly the way my mom used to make it.”
He couldn’t hold back a grin. “That’s because itisthe way she made it. That’s her recipe.”
“No way.” Her fork clattered against her plate. “I’m pretty sure my mom would rather die than give up her secrets. The woman’s laid-back about everything but her signature dishes.”
He leaned against his chair with an air of self-satisfaction. “I have my ways.”
“Spill it, Gordon Ramsay.” Harriet’s curiosity was piqued, her tone a mix of frustration and admiration.
“Fine, I emailed her.”
“You did?”
“Got the address from Brooke.”
As if overwhelmed by the gesture, Harriet turned away slightly, hiding her face. “You went above and beyond.”
His chest tightened at her words. “Above and beyond”? He wanted to tell her this was nothing—that he’d cross oceans, scale mountains, burn cities to the ground if it meant seeing that soft look in her eyes. The thought should have scared him, this fierce surge of something that could reasonably be called devotion, but felt as natural as breathing. Instead, he sat in charged silence as they ate, his eyes following her when she stood to clear the plates. There was a small smudge of chocolate at the corner of her mouth, and before his brain could catch up with his body, he was reaching out.
“This time you’re the one whose got a little...” he murmured, his thumb hovering near her face. Harriet froze, her eyes locking with his. The kitchen fell silent, save for their ragged breathing. Gale’s mind flooded with half-formed images that had haunted his dreams—her hands pinning his wrists, her weight holding him down, making him take whatever she gave him.
A half smirk tugged at Harriet’s lips, but Gale caught that flash of uncertainty in her eyes before she blinked it away. “Be a good boy for me and clean it off.”
His cheeks heated, and he shifted in his seat, imagining her binding him there, making him beg. Harriet’s gaze raked over him, as if assessing his reaction.
The hesitation evaporated like steam. Gone was the cautious, overthinking Harriet. In her place stood a woman who seemed to read every secret desire written across his face.
Without breaking eye contact, she moved in closer, devouring the last breath of space between them. Her voice was smoke and sin. “Clean it off.”
As he ran a thumb over her soft cheek, she trapped his hand with hers, claiming him. Her stare turned a feral blend of dominance and hunger that made his pulse riot. His whole body ached to submit, to let her take whatever she wanted. And her pretty lips were right fucking there.
“You’re a good listener. Can you keep going?”
The word of praise dripped on him like hot wax. Still, he had to know. “Are you sure?”
She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and crushed her mouth to his. Time fractured. This wasn’t gentle. This wasn’t sweet. This was pure lightning strike urgency, raw and wild and threatening to consume them both. Every touch stripped away another layer of pretense until they were nothing but nerve endings and hunger, racing against the clock, against reason, against regret.
Holy shit.
The kiss blazed between them, her mouth searing against his until the edges of his world went soft and hazy. Each shift of her body sent shock waves through him, his heart didn’t merely thunder, it was a hurricane rain in his chest.
His hardness pressed between them, drawing a sharp gaspfrom her lips as her fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to hurt, but feel good, the pain blending into pleasure as her grip marked him. He was drowning in her—the taste of her mouth, the feel of her finally back in his arms, the maddening friction where their bodies met. His control was unraveling rapidly; if she kept moving against him like that, he was going to finish embarrassingly fast.
He rose up, and they stumbled backward until they hit into the kitchen table.
A crash ripped them back to earth.
Gale jerked away, heart hammering. What the... ?
His eyes darted to the floor. Glittering shards of glass and cut flowers littered the tile.
“Oh no! My millefiori vase,” Harriet gasped, panting, looking a bit dazed. “I got that in Murano, Italy, when I finished grad school.”
“Shit, I’m so sorry. I’ll, uh... I’ll get the broom and I’ll replace it. I’ll get you two. Just... watch your step, okay?” he said, grabbing a broom from a hook on the kitchen door.
