Page 38 of Free to Believe
Jake
What the hell am I doing? Hours ago, I was calling my cousin worried about this woman being a bad influence on my daughter, and now, hearing that she was joking and laughing with Dr. Fischer and seeing just how completely unburdened she is, I can’t keep my hands off her. Her lips taste like caramel and coffee as they part under mine. Every stroke of our tongues against each other pulls me into the infinite world of possibilities.
Holy hell, what did I unleash?
My body molds into hers as I slide a hand into her hair, tugging her head back farther.
In the back of my mind, I hear a voice. I ignore it as I keep plundering Em’s mouth.
Minutes pass. I forget where we are. Forget that I’ve known her for less time than it normally takes me to approach a woman, let alone kiss one. I feel like the universe is beginning to reveal some sort of secret to me through her kiss.
It takes me a minute to realize she’s no longer responding. Standing within the confines of my arms, Em is holding herself stiffly. “Right, sorry about that.”
Her spine relaxes marginally, before she says, “Hello, Jenna.”
Crap.
“Well, I raced off to call work because I heard you were there with some guy, Em. I wanted to see if you were still there. Now, I come down to find you kissing Dad. Ew, just ew,” my daughter says.
“Just to clarify, Jenna, your father was the one doing the kissing,” Em argues. I flush a bright shade of red.
“Didn’t look like you were protesting too much until you realized I was here,” Jenna singsongs. My head snaps up. Suddenly, I’m not the only one who’s turning a bright shade of pink.Way to stick up for your old man, Jen, I think to myself as Emily’s and my eyes clash. “Anyway, don’t let me interrupt. Dad, will you let Mugsy out? I’m heading back to the house.”
“Sure, baby,” I reply absentmindedly.
“There’s no need…” Em begins, but I cut her off.
“I’d like to talk to you.” She begins to protest, but I hold up a hand. “Just talk. We’ll call this an aberration.”
Scowling at me, Em agrees. “Fine.” She begins to climb the stairs, leaning on the railing for support. Halfway up she turns. “Makes me wonder how you greet someone you haven’t seen in a long time that you actually give a damn about.”
After she makes it to the top of the stairs, I let out a long gust of air.
Because I’m not so sure how to respond. Normally, everyone but family is an intrusion.
What does it mean that Emily Freeman is sliding into the circle of people that isn’t when I was ready to write her off just this morning?
* * *
After I takeMugsy for a quick walk, I gape at the amount of luggage that’s been delivered since I was last in the apartment. “Are you planning on staying for a few months or for a few years?”
Em looks around and smirks. “This isn’t even part of my wardrobe. Besides, what’s in those bags”—she nods to the two near the dining room table—“isn’t being unpacked. Not yet, at any rate.”
“Why not?” Pulling out one of the barstools, I drop myself into it.
She shrugs. “It’s filled with fabric, thread, beads, and other things I might need.”
“Not ready to whip out a dress just yet?”
A despondent flash races over her face right before an indignant flame lights her eyes. “If I needed to,” she says, her voice lethal, “I could have the hottest dress ‘whipped out’ in a matter of hours. And you can bet your ass it would be better than anything you’d see on this island.”
“Only if you needed to, of course,” I mock gently.
“What’s it to you, Madison?” she hisses.
“I was just curious.”
“You know what Albert Einstein said about curiosity,” she throws out.
