Page 39 of Billionaire's Bookworm

“Well,” Emma said into the darkness, her voice a touch breathless. “This is dramatic.”

“Don’t move,” I told her. “There should be candles in the kitchen?—“

“Ow!” She yelped as something crashed.

“Are you okay?” I asked, trying to remember the exact layout of everything. “Just stay where you are, I can?—“

Another crash from somewhere to our left.

“Please tell me that wasn’t the Venetian vase,” I groaned.

“...I won’t tell you then.” Her voice was practically dripping with amusement.

“I swear I know this house like the back of my hand,” I muttered, fumbling along the wall. “You know, when I can actually see it.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Emma asked as I hip-checked what felt suspiciously like my grandmother’s antique side table.

“The kitchen has emergency supplies,” I said, ignoring her question and the throbbing in my hip. “If I could just figure out which way?—“

A wet nose pressed against my hand, making me jump. “Jesus, Porky!”

“At least someone knows their way around,” Emma laughed. Her phone flashlight clicked on, illuminating Porky’s proud face. He was holding another one of my shoes.

“That’s the mate to the other one, isn’t it?”

Emma snickered. “Look on the bright side––now they match.”

I managed to guide us to the kitchen, where I kept an emergency kit. Soon we had several battery-powered lanterns casting a warm glow around us. Emma perched on a bar stool while I salvaged what I could of our dinner plans.

“So much for my carefully selected menu,” I said, examining the dark oven. “How do you feel about very expensive cheese and room temperature wine?”

“Better than watching you fumble around with fancy china in the dark. Though I have to admit, watching the smooth and confident Wade James stumble over furniture has kind of made my night.”

“I did not stumble. I executed a perfectly graceful tactical retreat from that table.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” She reached past me for the wine opener, and suddenly she was close enough that I inhaled the scent of her perfume. The lantern light caught her profile, and I completely lost my train of thought.Shit.

“Wade. You’re staring,” Emma murmured, her voice husky.

“Can you blame me?”

A tremendous crash from the other room made us both jump.

“Porky!” Emma called out. “What did you break now, you fuzzy menace?”

No response, which was never a good sign.

“We should probably...” she gestured toward the noise.

“Yeah, we should definitely...”

Following the sound, our lanterns created overlapping circles of light. We found Porky in my library, surrounded by books he’d apparently pulled from the lower shelves, happily shredding what looked like...

“Is that a first edition Hemingway?” Emma asked, horrified.

“Was,” I corrected, echoing her earlier comment about my shoes. “Wasa first edition Hemingway.”

She burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the dark house. “Oh my gosh, I’msosorry. I’ll replace it, though it might take me several decades of saving––”

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