Page 96 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

I take her face between my hands and force her to look at me. Her pupils are dilated, dark pools that I could lose myself in. “I'm a fucked-up man, Emily. And I know that you deserve much more than what I have to offer you, but I can't help being a selfish bastard and wanting you all to myself.”

“Does your heart smile when you see me?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Huh?” I missed this part of Emily, the part that needs an instruction manual to decipher. I hope she'll give me another chance because I can't wait to read it. These moments of pure Emily-ness, the unexpected questions, the way her mind works so differently from anyone else's, are part of what makes me love her so much.

“Does your heart smile when you see me?” she repeats. She's obviously not joking, so I make an effort to take her wordsseriously even though I'm not sure what they mean. I think about how I feel when I see her walk into a room, how my chest tightens, the warmth that spreads through me, and how everything else seems to fade into the background.

“I think so,” I say after hesitating. “I'm really happy when I'm with you, and I want to try to make things work between us if that's what you're asking.” I study her face closely, trying to see the most minimal change in her expression. I'm terrified I gave the wrong answer. Emily's questions often have layers of meaning that I don't fully understand until much later.

Instead, the corners of Emily's lips begin to curl up, and I watch in wonder as her entire face transforms. “I love you too, Logan Price,” she says, the biggest smile I've ever seen lighting up her face. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and those adorable dimples appear on her cheeks.

I frown, confused. “But I haven't said it to you yet.”

She shrugs, the familiar mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “So? You're in love with me, right?”

“Well, yes.” I let go of her face and run a hand through my hair, feeling wrong-footed, as I often do with her. “I just wanted to say it in a more appropriate way.”

I imagined some grand gesture, some perfect moment where I'd finally tell her how I felt. A candlelit dinner or a walk along the Hudson at sunset.

She tilts her head to one side. “Why? Would that change anything?”

“No, of course not. It's just that?—”

“Okay,” she breaks in, clapping her hands together with that particular energy that's so uniquely Emily. “If it's that important to you, I’ll take back what I said, and you can tell me first in whatever way you consider appropriate.”

“It doesn't work that way,” I splutter, unable to keep from smiling. God, I missed this, missed her. She cuts through all the nonsense and gets straight to what matters.

She waves a hand in my face, those slender fingers dancing through the air. “Why does it matter how you say it? You love me. I love you. Why do we need to complicate it with words? And if you still want to prove it to me, I mean really prove it to me, then we can be together for, I don't know, seventy or eighty years, and see how it goes.” Her smile is overwhelming, like sunlight breaking through clouds after a storm.

“You're really weird, Emily.”

“I know, but despite that fact, you're hopelessly in love with me.” She says it with such confidence, such certainty. The fear and hesitation from earlier have vanished, replaced by the bold, fearless, and completely unpredictable Emily.

“No,” I say, unable to resist teasing her a little. Her smile begins to waver, so I hasten to finish my thought. “I love you because you're you. I'm beginning to think normalcy is boring.”

And it's true. My life before Emily was orderly, predictable, and utterly empty. She came in like a whirlwind, knocking everything off balance, and somehow, in the chaos, I found what I was missing.

She opens her mouth, probably to make some other mysterious comment I don't understand, but I close it by pressing my lips to hers. The taste of her is intoxicating. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to understand the marvelous mystery that Emily is. Still, right now, I want to savor every inch of her skin and worship the perfect body that belongs to the woman I love.

“We should go to your room,” I murmur against her lips, my voice husky with need.

She nods hesitantly, and her cheeks flush a deep rose. “Okay,” she whispers.

Rising, she takes me by the hand and leads me upstairs. Her fingers are warm and small in mine, and I squeeze them gently, reassuringly. Her room looks like a teenager's room, with faded posters of rock bands from the early 2000s. A collection of snow globes lines one shelf, and stuffed animals are piled high on a window seat. I can tell it hasn't been touched since she left it to move to New York City. I would prefer it if the bed were bigger, but it will do.

I take her arm and pull her against me, then devour her mouth while lifting the hem of her T-shirt with my other hand. There are too many layers of cloth between us. I need to see her naked. I need to push myself inside her. It's been so long, too long, since I've felt the warmth of her body against mine.

Her shirt falls to the floor along with the sports bra she's wearing. Her breasts seem fuller than I remember, another sign of the pregnancy. I take one nipple into my mouth, then the other, circling the sensitive peaks with my tongue. “I can't decide,” I murmur, wishing I could suckle on both her beautiful breasts at the same time.

“I don't care,” she moans, letting her head fall back and tangling her fingers in my hair, “as long as you don't stop.”

I push her toward the bed, continuing to suck her nipples as ordered. The backs of her knees hit the bedframe, and she loses her balance, falling back onto the bed. Her hair fans around her like a dark halo against the pale blue sheets.

“God, you're beautiful,” I say, running my eyes over her as she lies fully extended on the mattress. Her body still takes my breath away. The gentle curve of her hips, the constellation of freckles across her chest, the small birthmark shaped like a teardrop on her right thigh.

She flashes me a cheeky smile. “What do you say we leave the sweet nothings for later? I have more pressing needs right atthe moment.” She arches an eyebrow suggestively, and my cock hardens painfully in response.

I chuckle, but I know exactly what she means. I tear off my clothes, tossing them onto the floor. Emily's eyes darken as they rake over my body, lingering on my erection.

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