“Emma, if you knew what I wanted to do to you when you look at me like that . . .” His voice was low, husky. Sexy as hell.
Good thing she was sitting because all her bones melted. “What’s stopping you?”
“I’m struggling to remember.”
She swallowed hard. She wanted this. Wanted him. And he wanted her back. It was her secret every-night fantasy coming to life, but that was just it. It was fantasy.
Wasn’t it?
Because here, in real time, there were facts to face. Logistics. The actual physicality of it all. The truth was now that she was thinking with her head instead of her needy girlie parts, she was remembering her body no longer moved the way she wanted it to. Being with Simon would be . . . magic. Erotic, sensual magic. It’d be full speed ahead.
But she didn’t have that setting anymore. She needed to start slow. Use training wheels. Like maybe start with a date with her shower massager, where she could practice a solo run and see how things went. But then she met his gaze, his hungry, heavy-lidded gaze, and felt herself go damp. Her body wanted him.
But her brain whispered, You’re wearing ugly undies and you didn’t shave your legs all the way up.
Good thing Emma 2.0 didn’t give a shit. “Simon—”
His cell phone buzzed. He pulled out his phone, looked at the screen, and swore beneath his breath. “It’s a text from my dad.” His voice was heavy with regret. “He broke the remote. Last time he did that, he threw it at the TV.”
“You have to go. I understand.”
He looked surprised. “You do?”
“Of course. Your dad comes first. Go.”
“Let me help you down to your apartment.”
“Not necessary,” she said. “I’m okay.”
Simon looked at her. “You’re more than okay.”
Emma smiled. It was true. And she had him to thank. Tonight he’d given her back something she’d needed—that missing connection. And if his phone hadn’t gone off, they might’ve taken it to the next level. But for better or worse, he was gone and she wasn’t going to have to decide between magic and reality after all. At least not tonight.
Chapter 9
Step 9: Try again.
Two mornings later, Alison stood inside Paw Pals, waiting to show the space to Simon’s connection, a woman named Emma Harris who she sincerely hoped wasn’t her old nemesis Emmie Harris. What were the odds? she wondered. Probably zilch. Hopefully zilch. It was only 6:30 A.M. and the place was still closed. Gabby had given her permission to let herself inside, as long as she locked up after.
Alison walked through the place, refamiliarizing herself with the building, her heels clicking across the floor. Everything was clean and painted in bright, fun colors. Oddly enough for a girl who’d never been big on animals, she felt very comfortable here.
She’d never had a pet. She and her mom had lived in a four-story walk-up, a one-room apartment consisting of five hundred square feet and a whole bunch of doom and gloom.
When Alison had struck out on her own after high school, getting a pet hadn’t been on her radar. The only thing she’d concentrated on had been survival.
Until Ryan.
And by association, Killer.
They’d both stolen her heart.
“Arf!”
Speaking of the devil. Alison had met Ryan at their coffee shop for the handover. She supposed it wasn’t actually “their” coffee shop anymore, but Killer had jumped up and down, thrilled to see her, and that was all that mattered.
The man hadn’t jumped up and down. He’d been in her favorite jeans of his, soft and faded, lovingly caressing the body she sometimes dreamed about.
Okay, always dreamed about.
The name of Ryan’s company was on the right pec of his untucked work shirt. He’d looked a little overheated, a little rough and tumble around the edges, like maybe he hadn’t slept well. He’d still been the best thing she’d seen since . . . well, the last time she’d seen him.
“Thanks,” she said, cuddling Killer into her. “Oh, almost forgot. Got you this.” She handed him the four extra coffees she’d bought and had in a holder. “You know, for letting me have the baby a day early.”
He took a sip from one of the coffees and softened in surprise that it was a Shot in the Dark, his favorite—drip brewed, black, with a shot of espresso. “Four?”
“I know you’re heading to a job, so I bought the others for your crew. Slim, Joey, and Tank, right?”
“Right.” Ryan cocked his head, looking curious. “What are you up to?”
“Remember when we broke up?”
“You mean two weeks ago? Yeah. I remember.”
Alison gave a half smile. “Well, me trying to fit into your life was important to you.”
He arched a brow. “So you did hear me.”
“I did.”
He’d pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head then, his eyes warmer now. Much warmer. “Thanks.” He nudged a chin toward Killer. “And as for the baby, I told you. Anytime.”
She nodded, and so began an awkward silence—on her part, not his. He didn’t do awkward anything. She searched her brain for a way to break the silence, but didn’t know how.
You’ve been studying for this!
But it was like high school all over again; she was about to take a final and her mind was blank . . .
Smile! Ask about him . . . !
She managed the first, then struggled for a question. “So. How’s your mom and”—she tried not to pause or make any sort of face to reveal her thoughts on his nosy-ass family—“your sister.”
But he’d clearly seen right through her because he’d snorted, kissed Killer on the top of her head, then met Alison’s gaze for a long, charged beat. “They are annoyingly like Killer; they’re fierce in their loyalty and slow to trust. Know anyone else like that?”
She gave him an innocent blink and he laughed. “I like the effort though.” He tipped up her chin to look right into her eyes. “A lot. Thanks again for the coffee.”
Then he’d walked away.
And she’d come here, still smiling like an idiot. If she’d known studying for something would work, she’d have done a lot better in school.
There was a rustling and Alison looked over to see Miss Kitty come out from the back. She sat in the recliner in the front window and began knitting so fast that her needles were nothing but a blur. She was the stuff of legends and just about everyone was terrified of her.
Alison included, which she wouldn’t admit upon threat of death. “Morning.”
Miss Kitty nodded regally.
From the floor, Killer gave a yip.
Miss Kitty narrowed her already narrowed eyes, and of course Killer started barking.
“Stop,” Alison said.
Killer did not stop. Not until the old woman stood to her full five-foot height and stared Killer down.
Killer zipped it, but her pride wouldn’t let her shut up completely. Instead, she shifted to growling, low and quiet beneath her breath.
Miss Kitty murmured something in German and Killer abruptly stopped.
Alison snorted, nodded her appreciation to Miss Kitty, and then went about finishing her walk-through. It was an interesting property, reminiscent of the barn it’d once been, but it’d be hard to rent when Gabby was gone. Alison hoped this new client worked out, though she had her doubts since she hadn’t yet received the qualifying application. So she’d been unable to get a background check.