Chapter Fifteen

Jenna

It’s time. Standing in front of my bathroom sink after a long day at work, I wince and inject my second trigger shot. Starting in twenty-four hours, I’ll need to fuck Emmett as much as humanly possible. I already scheduled a meeting with him but I’m feeling antsy, so I decide to triple-check.

As I reach for my phone, though, it rings on its own. A call from Emmett. Surprised, I pick up and say, “Hello?”

“Hi, Jenna. I’m afraid something’s come up at work.”

My heart jumps into my throat. “What? What do you mean?”

“I have to go on a last-minute business trip to New York. I fly out tomorrow at noon and come back in three days.”

“But that’s exactly when I’m ovulating.” I don’t believe this. He can’t just skip town now.

He sighs in a rush of static. “I know. I’m really sorry. I called you as soon as I could get a moment away. We only realized just this afternoon that there was a problem with one of our distributors, and I have to go straighten it out in person.”

“Shit,” I grumble. I try to think of a way around this but can’t come up with anything.

He’s been acting strange ever since the wedding. Well, that’s not true. The wedding, the reception, and our evening in the hotel were all perfect. The weirdness started on the drive back to the city. Maybe this business trip is just a fabrication. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me anymore.

I’m trying not to panic, but I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears as I pace. My throat is dry. It can’t all have been for nothing this month, I think as I rub my fingers against my temples.

After a minute of silence as I frantically pace around my apartment, he says, “Maybe you could come with me?”

I stop wearing a hole in the carpet. “To New York?”

“Yeah, why not? I’d pay for the flight and hotel and everything, since I’m putting you in a tight spot.”

I chew on my lip, relief rushing through me at the knowledge that he’s not trying to get out of our arrangement after all. “I don’t know. I can’t just suddenly close my store like that,” I reluctantly argue.

“Are you the only staff member or something?” he asks.

“No, I have an assistant, but—”

“Is he trustworthy?”

“She’s a she, and yes, but—”

“Well, there you go. Isn’t this kind of thing that assistants are for?”

“It’s not exactly standard procedure to ask people to shoulder extra duties so their bosses can go get laid,” I say dryly.

“You know what I meant. She can cover for you a few days without burning the place down.”

I take a moment to think. But apparently I’m quiet for too long.

“So, what do you say?” he says. “It could be fun. I’d have to be in boring meetings for most of the day, but we could hang out after. Drinking, dancing, fine dining, whatever you want to do.” His voice takes on that sultry tone I find so hard to resist. “Of course, at night I’ll be all yours.”

The temptation to spend so much time with Emmett—not to mention avoid wasting this month’s ovulation—is just too strong. “Okay,” I finally reply, rationalizing that it’s not like there will be too many customers for Britt to manage solo.

“Great,” he says with genuine enthusiasm. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at nine.”

“See you then. ’Bye.” I hang up, letting out a sigh.

I’ve tried to pretend that the day after Mike’s wedding never happened, but in moments when I’m not busy or guarded enough, it still finds its way under my skin to gnaw at me. Emmett’s comment about me being a quick-and-easy fling really stung. Which just made me even more confused and frustrated, because I shouldn’t have any feelings about this situation to hurt. Yet there I sat, staring out the car window with a knot in my throat that I still can’t explain, let alone forget.

Emmett hasn’t brought it up, so I can’t tell if he forgot about that weird, painful interlude . . . or he’s been playing along with my charade of uncomplicated contentment. Either way should be good enough for me, but of course I’m still wondering what he’s thinking, because my heart is an asshole who enjoys pain and can’t follow the simplest fucking instructions.

And yet I can’t stay away from him. I don’t even want to. I swore that I’d never be the kind of woman who needs a man. But somehow, despite my best efforts, here I am . . . unable to escape his gravitational pull.

I start packing a suitcase, already abuzz with anticipation for three solid days of Emmett.

• • •

We touch down on the LaGuardia tarmac mid-afternoon and arrive at our hotel on the Upper East Side an hour later. When we see our room, I’m almost afraid to touch anything. The luxuriously decorated suite boasts a balcony offering a gorgeous view of the city skyline, a huge marble-floored bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub, and a plush king-sized bed bearing a small box of truffles on each pillow. I wander around, taking it all in, while Emmett tips the bellboy who brought up our bags and sends him back downstairs.

Without taking off his suit jacket or shoes, Emmett moves my suitcase to the foot of the bed, leaving his own suitcase by the coat rack. “I’ll be in meetings until five,” he explains, “so I’m afraid you’ll be on your own during the day, but we can do whatever we want at night. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Will you be okay? I feel like a dick for leaving you.”

I wave him off. “Don’t. I’ll be fine. I may take a nap, and a bubble bath in that tub sounds amazing. You don’t need to worry. I’ll be ready for dinner when you get back.”

“I’m not worried. I know you’re a big girl, Jenna. I just don’t like abandoning you. I hear the hotel has an excellent spa.” His mouth quirks. “Or there’s the New York Public Library, the museum . . .”

“Of course. You know me too well.” I chuckle.

“I try my best.” He leans in, hesitates, and bends down to pick up his briefcase. “Well, I’ve got to run. I’ll be back as soon as I can get away, and then let’s decide where to go for dinner.”

The door closes behind him, leaving me alone and unsettled. Did he just stop himself from kissing me good-bye? God, that doesn’t help my state of mind. I’m overthinking this; my mind is playing tricks on me and my heart isn’t getting the message. A trip to the library sounds like just what I need . . . silence, solitude, and the friendly company of books will clear my head.

After I freshen up, I call a taxi to drop me off near Bryant Park. I walk across the manicured grass, between the great stone lions guarding the New York Public Library, and into a breathtaking literary cathedral. The scent of old paper embraces me. Room upon room and shelves upon shelves of books stretch out on all sides. For a long while, I just wander the stacks and reading rooms in peaceful awe, admiring the beautiful architecture and the combined wisdom of centuries. I could spend the rest of my life reading here and never finish even half their collection. It’s incredible, and I’m at a loss about where to start.

I decide to just stroll around the literary fiction section and pick up whatever catches my eye. With relish, I read snippets from all the new titles I’ve heard good reviews for, but haven’t gotten around to evaluating for myself.

After a while, though, I realize I’m still antsy, which in turn frustrates me. I have hours to kill in one of the world’s grandest libraries, dammit—I should feel like a kid in a candy store. But my thoughts keep turning back to Emmett, especially that moment in our hotel room earlier, when he stopped himself from kissing me.

It only heightens the anxiety that was already building around our relationship. What do I feel for him, and is it the same as he feels for me?

I shake my head. No . . . it doesn’t matter. Our lives don’t fit together, period, end of story. Acknowledging this rift out loud would, at best, make it impossible to go on without making changes that I’m not ready for. At worst, it would bring everything crashing down, and drive away the man I’m finding it harder and harder to imagine my days without.

But that awareness of how precarious our situation is only lends a desperate edge to my craving. I find myself glancing away from the book in my hand and to my watch every twenty minutes or so, looking forward to the time I’ll have him all to myself again.

On a mission, I put the book back into its rightful place and turn to leave. I’ve decided that when he comes back to our hotel room, I want him to find me waiting there.

• • •

Arching up off the mattress, my feet braced on Emmett’s sturdy shoulders, I squirm and moan for more as his tongue flickers over my clit and his skilled fingers massage tirelessly inside me. What we’re doing doesn’t make sense. Oral sex won’t accomplish the reason we started meeting up in the first place. But neither of us comments on that obvious truth. We’re just enjoying ourselves . . . and dancing around the elephant in the room, trying not to burst this bubble of unspoken tension.

At least, that’s why I’m keeping my mouth shut. But while it might just be my oversexed imagination, I sense that he’s doing the same.

When we got back to the hotel room after dinner, I pounced on him, yanking his pants down and hungrily sucking him off until he almost emptied himself into my mouth.

Only Emmett thought to stop us, to make sure he ejaculated inside me. And, boy, did he. The memory of his deep groan is enough to send me hurtling to the edge.

I throw my head back with a wild cry. Despite everything, despite myself, my time with Emmett is still a blessed vacation from my life. His touch transforms me into a wanton, greedy creature of desire. Just a female animal in heat with no past or future, no worries or shame or overthinking, no bullshit about work . . . just the pure, simple pleasure of the moment. With a desperate moan, I tip over the edge, my body spasming around his fingers in wave after blissful wave.

“So beautiful when you come,” he says.

Emmett rises and situates us in the bed together. We lie down on our sides, facing each other.

We share a leisurely, sated kiss, enjoying the sensation of our lips lightly brushing. We part . . . and for a moment, time pauses while our gazes linger on each other. He brushes a stray hair from my face with a smile that skewers my heart.

Emmett looks so tender, I almost tell him how much he means to me. But no . . . that wouldn’t do anyone any good. He made his feelings clear from day one. He doesn’t have the time or desire for a girlfriend, let alone a family. I shove away the terrible, foolish idea, and it feels like I’m ripping away something inside me along with it.

We turn off the bedside lamps and snuggle down under the covers together. I curl up with my head on his chest, basking in his warmth and the sense of security he always radiates.

I had hotly anticipated three nights of sex with Emmett. What I didn’t count on was the fact that I’d spend those nights sleeping in his arms too. Just like the wedding we went to, I love it . . . and hate it. I crave this intimacy so badly, despite knowing that it’s a stupid impulse to give in to if I want to avoid getting attached. But maybe it’s too late. Maybe I’m already attached, and the best I can do now is let myself enjoy this while it lasts.

His hand gently stroking my hair soothes the ache in my chest. But I know that it isn’t gone, only retreated, waiting for the next time I’m alone with my thoughts.

I clench my eyes shut, as if I could block out the truth along with my tears, and let his heartbeat lull me to sleep.