Page 5 of Forbidden Flames

Chapter 5

Emily stared at Hendrix, wondering what it would be like to watch him work out. She’d demand that he do it naked. Or mostly naked. She wanted to see each and every one of those muscles flexing as he lifted a heavy weight, then slowly lowered it. She could stand very close and inhale his scent. She loved the way Hendrix smelled. He wore a subtly spicy cologne that tickled her nose. When he was finished working out, she could join him in the shower, let her hands glide over every inch of him.

“Em?” Hendrix prompted.

Her eyes jerked higher and she froze for a moment. The heat in her cheeks…goodness, could he tell she was blushing? She lifted a hand to her cheek, trying to hide her reaction.

“Sorry,” she whispered and lowered her eyes, pretending to read the task list on her notebook. “I was just…,” she paused, shaking her head. “Umm…how about ten o’clock tomorrow morning? We can watch the ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’, then start cooking while the football games come on.”

“You…enjoy football?”

Emily nodded emphatically. “Are you kidding? I love football!” That was true enough. College and pro football were her Saturday and Sunday indulgences. She, Maggie, and Ann used to bet on the plays while munching on popcorn and drinking wine or beer.

Good grief, she missed those ladies!

“Great,” he replied. “Until tomorrow,” he said and turned, whistling as he walked out of the kitchen.

Emily watched him leave, wishing that he’d stop wearing that stupid jacket. Seriously, it was a crime to hide that great of an ass!

Then she realized what she was thinking. “Good grief,” she muttered, blowing a puff of air, making her bangs flutter slightly. “Don’t do to him what you hate being done to you.” She hurried out of the kitchen, determined to get her tasks finished quickly so that she could leave a little early tonight.

She wanted to clean her house before Hendrix arrived tomorrow. And she didn’t want to think about the early days of working here. Those stupid, uncomfortable outfits had bared too much of her skin. They’d pinched in weird places and gave the club members the idea that they were allowed to slap, pinch, or touch any part of her. The groping in those days had been…bad.

But things had changed, she reminded herself, sliding a hand down over the black slacks and white cotton dress shirt. She didn’t wear the maroon vest that the wait staff wore, but she always wore her nametag with her title, so that the club members took her seriously. Every club member knew her, knew the power she held over the future of their membership. And thankfully, no one messed with her anymore.

Chapter 6

Emily woke up the following morning feeling refreshed and…nervous. Glancing at the clock, she realized that Hendrix would be here in four hours. She hadn’t been able to get out of the club as early as she’d hoped last night since several members had lingered over their brandy. Obviously, many of the members didn’t have happy home lives and preferred the company they found at the club. It was one of the reasons that the club was so profitable, she thought as she threw back the sheets and blankets.

After a quick shower, she debated what to wear. Did Hendrix expect a formal dinner? Nope. Charlie had prepared everything for the meal and they were watching movies and football! No one dressed up to watch football.

Even as she stood in front of her closet, she received a text message. Smiling, she read the message, “Jeans today or something nicer?”

Great minds think alike, she mentally quoted, then texted him back, “Definitely jeans. Can’t watch football in nice clothes. It doesn’t work.”

After grabbing a pair of well-worn jeans and one of her nicer sweaters, Emily dressed and did her hair. She even worked a bit harder on her makeup today, wanting to look her best for Hendrix.

Not that this was a date or anything. Of course not. She was just entertaining Hendrix, the guy who probably had a whole entourage of women trailing after him like he was the Pied Piper of Charm. A man that looked like Hendrix had to collect admirers like Pokémon cards, she reasoned. Perhaps a different lady for every night of the week—a Hendrix harem.

The mental image made her cringe. She didn't want to picture Hendrix as some sort of Casanova with a revolving door of romantic interests. Instead, she focused on more pressing matters, like speed-cleaning her entire living space. In a frenzied whirlwind of activity, she mopped her kitchen floor, dusted every piece of furniture, and vacuumed the life out of her carpets—all while sporting curlers in her hair. Because nothing says, "Welcome, potential ladies' man!" like cleaning your home in rollers.

As the clock mercilessly ticked its way to ten o'clock, Emily's nerves were doing the cha-cha. She surveyed her battlefield—the kitchen, where the remnants of Charlie's culinary genius were stashed in the fridge, ready to make their grand entrance. Her oven, pre-heated and standing at attention, was like a reliable soldier awaiting its orders.

She double-checked everything, performing a kitchen equivalent of a pre-flight checklist, as if her oven might suddenly decide to take a siesta or the fridge would pull a disappearing act. Emily might not have been a seasoned chef, but she was ready to face the holiday feast with determination.

With a deep breath, Emily rallied her inner kitchen warrior. "Alright, appliances, let's make history! Or at least a decent dinner," she muttered to herself, hoping that this culinary escapade wouldn't end up being a tragicomedy. As the clock struck ten, Emily braced herself for the impending arrival of Hendrix and the potential chaos that awaited in the name of holiday cheer.

Emily couldn't help but wonder what Hendrix's reaction would be. Her tiny house was practically a cozy nook in the grand scheme of things. Two bedrooms, a kitchen that doubled as a dining room, and a living space that made "cozy" sound like a euphemism for "tinier than a studio apartment." She wasn'tagainst spacious living; she just preferred her money to go towards her investment portfolio rather than square footage.

As she pondered Hendrix's potential reaction to her compact haven, she couldn't help but shrug in a way that said, "Hey, it's cozy, okay? And we can call it 'intimate' if we're feeling fancy." She imagined giving him a grand tour, gesturing with flair to each room as if presenting a masterpiece, hoping that her home's charm would outweigh its petite proportions. Emily’s home might not be a mansion, but her place had character, and in her book, character was way better than a sprawling estate any day.

When the doorbell rang, she gave her home one last sweeping glance. Everything was in its place. Everything looked nice and tidy. She was ready.

Why was she so nervous? This wasn’t a date. It absolutelywasn’ta date. This was just two coworkers sharing a holiday meal. Emily had shared Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners with Maggie and Ann so many times over the years. There was nothing different about today’s meal.

“Just breathe, Em,” she whispered.

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she rested her hand on the doorknob and tried to slow down her excited breathing. When she opened her eyes, Emily felt better, more balanced.

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