CHAPTER 14

ESTELLE

Incessant ringing woke me and I blindly reached out for my phone. I hit the nightstand several times before I felt the bed dip behind me and a masculine hand gently placed the noisy device in my palm.

Without opening my eyes, I mumbled a ‘thank you’ before answering, “Hello?”

“Hi, dear. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

I squinted at the clock. It was only 8 p.m. “No, Mom, it’s fine. I must’ve fallen asleep a little early.”

Truth: After the excitement of the day, Emery had made it his mission to make me forget all about the ‘dildo debacle.’ And damn, did he make me forget. Then he took it a step further and did things to my body until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Sometime after orgasm number three, I’d passed out.

But I wasn’t about to say that to my mother.

“Oh, okay,” she responded pleasantly. “Well, I don’t want to keep you. I was just wondering how the kitty show is going?”

Fact: She refused to call the show by its rightful name. The word ‘pussy’ wasn’t in her vocabulary, even if she was referring to cats.

“It’s great,” I half-fibbed. “Cindy and Greg already found homes.”

“That’s wonderful. My little girl is famous. I’m going to arrange a block party for the neighborhood for the season premier. We can’t wait to watch it.”

“Fantastic,” I choked out.

Reality: She was going to have an aneurism when it aired. And in front of all her hoity-toity friends, no less.

Warning her ahead of time was probably a good idea, but not now. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

As the only child of a technical engineer and an accountant, I was spoiled—there was no other way to put it. Growing up, they’d doted on me, given me the best education money could buy, and tried their best to instill the manners and etiquette every perfect southern belle should have.

I still felt bad about the fact that their efforts to make me ladylike were futile. They meant well, but it had only exacerbated my rebellious streak.

They were horrified when I died my hair pink at age fourteen, when I got drunk at my debutante ball at sixteen, and when my high school almost suspended me for the senior prank I pulled. Was it really so bad to change out all the staff pictures with characters from the cast of Grease? That was a damn good musical. And it wasn’t my fault that our principal was a dead-ringer for Rizzo.

Nonetheless, my parents loved me something fierce, and that was the most important thing. I knew they were proud of me and the life I’d built for myself as an entrepreneur.

And that was why the events of the day were so devastating. I didn’t want to be an embarrassment to them. Again.

Rubbing my temple, I told my mom something that was 100 percent true. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Call me when your kitty situation gets resolved, and we’ll get together for brunch to celebrate.”

After saying our goodbyes, I rolled over to find Emery sitting up in my bed, holding a stack of papers.

“What are you doing?” I asked sleepily, placing my head in his lap.

His free hand went to my hair, soothing me with every gentle sweep of his fingers. I scooted up a little and he wrapped an arm around me.

“Going over the profiles for the cats.” He shuffled with some papers, turning to the next page. Even as he worked, he didn’t stop holding me.

I snuggled closer. “Profiles?”

“Yep. It’s all about finding the right match. I don’t believe there are bad cats,” he said. “Being called a tamer indicates I somehow train them, but anyone who’s ever owned a cat knows you can’t make them do anything. Cats aren’t wired that way, so it’s more about changing their environment to make it work for them.”

I liked Emery like this. Shirtless. Hair wild from my hands running through it. The scratch marks on his chest from his encounter with Peter were still red, but healing.

“What’s up with your fear of flying?” he asked, changing the subject. “You’ve never been on a plane?”

“Oh, I’ve been on a plane. It was awful.”

“But you made it out alive. The chances of a plane crash are really slim. You’re more likely—”

“To die in a car wreck less than five miles from my house,” I interrupted, finishing the line I’d heard a hundred times.

“Especially with the way you drive,” he muttered.

“Hey!” I pretended to be offended as I twisted his nipple, but it wasn’t like I could deny his claim. “I’m not afraid of the plane going down.”

“What else is there to fear?”

“The thing is, crashing is highly unlikely, so I’m not very worried about that. But you know what’s not unlikely? There is a 100 percent chance that someone is going to fart on that flight. Probably several people. And then I’m stuck with it for hours.”

He laughed. “That’s kind of ridiculous.”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind breathing in smelly stranger gas.”

“You’re a piece of work,” he said, affection evident in his voice.

“So how did you become the pussy tamer?” I asked, curious about the man who seemed to have it all.

Looking thoughtful, he set the papers down on the nightstand and shifted down on the pillows. “You want me to start at the beginning?”

“Well, yeah,” I responded. Flipping onto my stomach, I propped my face in my hands and grinned. “Tell me the whole story.”

“Okay. But you have to promise you won’t feel sorry for me.”

My eyebrows scrunched together. “Okay…?”

“Promise me.”

I held up two fingers. “I promise. Girl Scout’s honor.”

“That’s a peace sign.”

Letting out an exasperated noise, I shook the mattress next to him. “Okay, I promise. Just tell me.”

He chuckled. “My parents were in their early thirties when they got married. They wanted kids right away, but struggled with infertility for several years. By the time they had my sister, they were forty. So five years later, when my mom got pregnant with me, it was a shock, to say the least.”

Wide-eyed, I snickered. “Yeah, I bet.”

His face became serious while he toyed with a strand of my hair. “When I was a senior in high school, my mom suddenly passed away. I remember she’d been tired for weeks, with muscle aches and a cough that wouldn’t seem to go away. She thought it was a respiratory virus and tried to ignore the symptoms. One morning, she didn’t wake up.”

Swallowing hard, I asked, “What happened?”

“Heart attack,” he stated, struggling to keep his voice emotionless. “After she was gone, I started noticing things about my dad and his mental condition. He was older, so at first I thought it was normal, you know? But it was more than just confusion. Sometimes he forgot where he was, sometimes he didn’t recognize me. After taking him to the doctor, we figured out he had early-stage Alzheimer’s.”

I just barely held in my gasp.

“Mom had been hiding it from us,” he went on. “She didn’t want my sister and me to know. The signs had been there for years, but I was a self-absorbed teenager. And Nikki didn’t notice because she was in college, getting married, and buying a house. I remember one time when I was about sixteen, Dad asked the neighbors if they’d seen our cat…” He trailed off, as though he was lost in the memory.

“What’s weird about that?”

“Fuzzy had been dead for two years.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Mom laughed it off like he was joking, but now I realize she was just covering for him.” Emery took a breath. “The spring after Mom died, Dad and I moved in with Nikki, but she and her husband were teaching full-time. I was in school. We tried to take care of him, but we didn’t know how.”

I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t imagine going through something like that at such a young age. So instead of saying anything, I ran my fingers through his hair, smoothing the strands away from his face.

He closed his eyes and sighed before continuing. I stayed silent as he told me about the time his dad got lost and wandered the neighborhood for hours. How afraid Emery was that something had happened to him. How his dad cried like a child when they found him. How painful it was to make the decision put him in a nursing home.

My heart hurt at the thought of Emery not having parents. I didn’t see mine very often, but at least they were just an hour-drive or a phone call away.

“I couldn’t stand to see him in that nursing home. The living conditions—they weren’t ideal. Not for someone you love,” he added quietly. “Priorities changed for me. I was on track to attend college, and hopefully become a vet someday. Instead, I found an assisted living home, and I used my college fund to set him up there for two years.”

“Emery,” I breathed out.

Although he didn’t smile, he playfully tweaked my nose. “You’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Feeling sorry for me. I’ve worked too hard to have anyone’s pity.”

“There’s a difference between sympathy and pity,” I argued, but I could tell he wasn’t having it. I schooled my features to a neutral expression. “Please, go on.”

“That summer, I looked around for jobs and found one at an animal hospital. Cleaning kennels isn’t glamorous, but it was the closest I was going to get to doing what I loved. Plus, it was a paycheck. Nikki and I started a savings account together for Dad’s care. We scrimped and saved every spare penny. I was eighteen years old, working a dead-end job, living with my sister and her husband. They would’ve let me live with them for as long as I wanted to, but when she got pregnant with my niece, I decided it was best for me to move out.”

“Where did you go?”

“Moved into a cheap studio apartment. The only furniture I had was the mattress on the floor. If it wasn’t a necessity, I didn’t buy it.” A small smile pulled at his lips as though he was recalling a pleasant memory. “Nikki was so pissed at me when she saw how bare it was. That afternoon, she went to the Dollar Store and bought the most heinous decorations. I’m talking teacup curtains and Disney-themed throw pillows.”

I snorted, absentmindedly tracing his abs. “I would’ve loved to see that. Your sister is awesome.”

“She is. After she stocked my fridge with enough food to feed an army, I made her promise not to buy me any more stuff. Not because I didn’t appreciate it, but she couldn’t afford it either.”

I tried not to frown. “That’s tough. I got my business management degree because I always knew I wanted to run the costume shop. But if it hadn’t been for my parents’ support and the fact that the business was basically handed to me, I don’t know how I would’ve done it. Honestly, I owe most of it to Aunt Estelle. She came from a family of accountants and lawyers, so it was hard for her to go against the grain. But eventually, she proved her success and earned the respect she deserved.”

“She paved the way for you.”

I nodded. “I was so in awe of her when I was a kid. She sewed this amazing Marie Antoinette dress, and I just remember staring at it for hours. When I asked her how she did it, she just said ‘one thread at a time.’”

“Your tattoo.” Emery’s fingertips traced the words written on my skin. “I like how the petals are stitched together in some places.”

“That was pretty much her life motto. She said that was how anyone did anything—builders lay one brick at a time. Authors write one word at a time. Eventually, it adds up to something amazing.” Poking my chest, she grinned. “You make the world better, one cat at a time.”

“Hey, that’s not a bad slogan. Maybe you should pitch it to Steve,” he teased. “I’m glad you have your aunt and get to do what you love. This city wouldn’t be the same without Estelle’s Costume Shop.”

“Thank you. She and I were always kindred spirits because we’re both odd ducks.”

“My favorite kind of duck,” Emery said, giving me a soft smile before getting back to his story. “I was twenty-two when Steve found me at the vet clinic, elbow deep in litter boxes and dirty kennels. There was this cat named Twinkle Star Snowy Nose Tickle Toes—”

I giggled. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I am. And this cat was the biggest asshole in the world, may he rest in peace. He was probably worse than Peter. Guess who he belonged to?”

“Who?”

“Marty Miller.”

Surprised, I leaned up on an elbow. “The guy who adopted Greg?”

“That’s the one. For some reason, he just called his cat Arnold.”

I was laughing so hard my stomach muscles hurt. “I can’t… I can’t. That’s the worst cat name in the history of cat names.”

“I know.” Emery grinned.

Then he went on to tell me about his encounter with Arnold that day, and the mysterious suit-wearing man in the corner.

“Steve,” I concluded, finally getting my laughter under control.

“That’s right. He was there to check out the vet, but Dr. Carson was terrified of cats.”

I cocked my head to the side. “That’s weird.”

“Exactly. I think he was hoping to get into showbiz instead, but there was no way he could’ve handled this role. After I diffused the situation, Steve gave me his card and said to show up for an official audition if I was interested.”

“And you were interested,” I stated.

“This show was my way up the ladder. They paid for my vet tech certification, and now I have a college fund for myself. I have to look to the future—I won’t be doing this forever. I still want to be a doctor someday,” he said quietly, his words heavy with hope and vulnerability. “Someday I’ll be more than just a guy who says ‘pussy’ a lot on television.”

“You’re so much more than that, Emery.” I sighed. “You’re…” Everything a woman could possibly want? Kind. Caring. A real winner in the sack? “You’re not anything like I thought you’d be.”

“What did you think I’d be like?”

I thought it over before going with the most honest answer. “Kinda douche-y?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Well, I thought you were an old cat hoarder, so we’re even.”

As his blue eyes flitted about my face, I wanted to tell him thank you—for caring about my pets, for not laughing at my occupation, for making me feel like I could be myself, rough edges and all.

I didn’t say any of those things, though. Instead, I let the unspoken feelings hang between us.

But words didn’t matter anymore once his lips connected with mine.

My legs automatically fell open for him as he moved on top of me. After quickly rolling on a condom, he slid into me. I hissed at the intrusion, my body still sore from earlier.

“Sorry,” Emery whispered, stilling. “Are you okay?”

I wanted to laugh at the ridiculous question. I was way better than okay. Orgasm number four, here I come. “Don’t stop. Just go slow.”

Nipping at my neck, his hips rolled in that sensuous rhythm I enjoyed so much. He kissed his way up my jaw until he landed on my lips.

Then with his face just an inch from mine, he locked eyes with me while linking our hands above my head. His breath puffed across my cheek.

Sex was never the same with Emery. Every time was like the first time. Sometimes he was rough and dominant, others he was so tender it made my eyes sting with tears.

I remembered back to a time—not too long ago—when I thought a dozen times with him would be enough. I was so wrong.

We’d already surpassed that number and I wasn’t anywhere near being done. In fact, the more I had him, the more the hunger grew.

He was like a drug.

And I just had to face it—I was so fucking addicted to Emery Matheson.