He hadn’t planned it. But sitting there on the floor with Emmy, listening to her talk and watching her wiggle her ass in her leggings, every single emotion he’d pushed away for the last ten years returned.
She didn’t respond at first. She didn’t pull away or slap him again, but she didn’t return his kiss either.
Then she did. Her lips opened the tiniest bit, and her tongue met his as his hand went to her cheek. She tasted exactly the same as he remembered, like strawberry Chapstick and ginger tea, and suddenly he was eighteen again, growing hard from just a touch. He kissed her more deeply. He ran his hand down her bare shoulder, and his mind raced ahead with all the things he dreamed of doing.
He slid his mouth down her jaw and pressed his lips into the hollow of her throat, and he wanted to tear off both their clothes, feel his bare skin against hers and remember the way they’d moved together a hundred times. In his bed. In hers. On the rooftop of the Delta house. On a blanket outside when the weather turned sweet in spring. A monumental ache consumed him.
She pulled away and put a hand to her lips. “I can’t do this.”
A flush broke out across Blake’s cheeks. He sat back on his heels. “I’m sorry.” But he wasn’t sorry for the kiss, or for the memories they’d stirred up. “Do you want me to go?”
She bit the corner of her bottom lip. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” From outside came the voices of kids playing on the beach and the ferry horn sounding as it eased into the landing.
“Why’d it have to be you, huh?” she finally said. “Why’d you have to be the one that showed up on my doorstep?” She loosed her hair from its ponytail, and it fell onto her shoulders like liquid copper. Blake wanted to run his fingers through it. He wanted to feel it on his face, on his stomach, between his legs. He wanted time to rewind itself so they could go back to Misterion and change all their wretched history into a present where they ended up together.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
She caught his gaze and held it, her deep green eyes on his. “For what, exactly? Running Eastefire? Doing what your father always wanted you to do? Or trying to take advantage of your ex-girlfriend?”
“I’m not taking advantage of you.”
She stood and rolled up her mat. “You’re lying to both me and yourself when you say that. I know your father, remember? I know he’ll get you to do just about anything. And I know as much as you resist and resent him, you still want to make him happy and prove you can be as successful as he is. You’re going after my property because getting it will make him proud.”
Hell. She still had a way of looking straight into Blake’s soul and calling him out.
“But I’m not selling,” she went on. “Not to your company or anyone else. I appreciate that you came all the way down here, and that you stayed for a class, but it’s not enough to convince me.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Even that kiss wasn’t enough to convince me.”
“That’s not why I kissed you.”
“No?” Then, to his complete surprise, she burst into tears. “Whoa. What did I do?”
“Nothing. It’s not you.” She sniffled. “It’s my stupid ex-boyfriend who stole, like, five thousand dollars from me. That’s why I’m broke and can’t pay my mortgage. I had it, and he stole it, and now I have nothing.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“Of course, but they can’t do anything because he used my username and password to get into my account. He knew what they were.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. I know how to pick ‘em, don’t I?”
Blake tried to ignore the mixture of emotions flooding him. Jealousy to hear Emmy talk about another guy. Pleasure at knowing the other guy was now her ex. Outright anger that anyone would steal from someone as honest and trusting as Emmy. And beneath it all, a horrible flicker of relief to know it was probably only a matter of time before she lost the building anyway, through no fault of Blake’s own. She didn’t have the money. That had nothing to do with him.
“Where is he now?” he asked, against his better judgement. He shouldn’t help her. He knew it with every atom of his businessman’s being. If she didn’t have the money, she didn’t have it, plain and simple. That would make his job of closing the deal that much easier. But standing here in front of her, barefoot in shorts and a t-shirt, Blake didn’t feel quite like a businessman. And he didn’t feel quite like closing the deal or going in for the kill.
She blew out a long breath, disturbing the curls that hung into her eyes. “He’s a musician. A guitar player. He’s in a stupid band called Cracked Edges. I threw him out two weeks ago after I found him jacking off to some whore he was Facetiming. On my iPad, by the way. I have no idea where he is now. Maybe Boston, because that’s where the bank traced the withdrawal. But he could be halfway across the country, too.”
“Huh.”
“I know, I know, he’s about as far from you as I could have gotten.” She gave a small, wry smile. “I think that’s what I needed. Obviously I didn’t know about his addiction to online porn.” She dropped a glance at his left hand. “Do you have a girlfriend? Or...God, are you married? Or engaged?”
“No, no, and no. I’m not that much of a shit, Em. I wouldn’t have kissed you if I was involved with anyone. I’m single. Very.”
She didn’t respond. Instead she turned, took his waiver from clipboard and slipped it into a file folder on the front counter. “I’ve got a lot to do before my next class.”
“Is that your way of telling me to leave?”
“You always could read between the lines, Carter.”
Blake stayed where he was, frustrated. He’d achieved nothing this morning except sore quads and a throbbing in his groin that wasn’t going away anytime soon. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her.
But she didn’t give him a chance. “Thanks for trying the class,” she said as she walked to the door. “I’m sure there are plenty of places in Boston you can take yoga, if that’s what your doctor orders.” She opened the door and waited while he retrieved his socks and sneakers. “But I’m not selling my building to you. I’m not the CEO of a fancy company, but I know enough about business to keep my own. Besides, it doesn’t matter if Bryan raided my savings. I’ll have the money I owe the bank by this afternoon.”
“Really? How? I thought you said –”
She didn’t answer or let him finish. She just scooched Blake across the threshold, and for the second time in less than a week, Emerson Doyle shut the door firmly behind him.