THERE WERE ABOUT A THOUSAND things at work that needed his attention, but after seeing the way Sophie froze in the doorway to the store, remembering the first attack—hell, he had to keep reminding himself there’d been more than one—and his neglect of the morning, the least he could do was eat some greasy chicken with her and play a couple of rounds of the Arrangement. It hadn’t occurred to him she’d like the same game he did. He’d seen the console at her place but he’d never gotten around to asking her what she liked. The same way he’d never gotten around to asking her why she left Australia or pretty much anything else about her life. Hanging out for a couple of hours, using steampunk weapons to massacre werewolves would be good for that too. Playing in the same room with a real live woman would be a new experience for him. Pathetic, but no one else needed to know that part.

It would give him a chance to ask her some questions without the awkward face-to-face conversation over coffee—tea, in her case—or even worse, in one of the conference rooms at work. Unless Gabe and Andrews shook something loose with the security cameras and found a connection between the attacks, one he didn’t believe existed, he was dead in the water. He’d keep working his contacts at the police department but he really needed a break and quick. Seeing Sophie’s fear had done something to him. He needed to give her back the innocence of her world before the attacks. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t possible but he had to try. He set the bucket of chicken and bags of groceries on the counter. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Sophie started digging through the bags, pulling out the things that needed to go into the freezer while he dealt with the rest.

“I’m not sure my kitchen’s ever seen this much food,” he said, moving the coffee pods to the side so he could fit a third box of tea in the cupboard.

Sophie put the English Breakfast in the cart, but he’d insisted on adding Earl Grey and some kind of fruity herbal tea. He wouldn’t make the mistake of not having what she liked again.

“You don’t cook?” She handed him a stack of frozen dinners and he piled them in the freezer.

“God no, not unless I have to. What about you?”

“There’s always something else I’d rather be doing.” She met his gaze, her lips curving in a way he’d started to find distracting. Her full smiles could melt his brain but the small quirks—lips, eyebrows—continuously caught him off guard. “When I’m working, I sometimes have to be reminded to eat. It drives Connie nuts.”

Her face clouded for a moment and he wondered if she was thinking back to the night of the attack. That wouldn’t do.

“I’m gone too much to make cooking a priority when I am home. Add in the fact that most of what I’ve attempted has been inedible and it’s just easier to grab takeout. I could get used to this,” he said, closing the door on his newly filled cupboard. “Maybe I’ll try one of those food subscription box things that come with the instructions included so I can’t poison myself.”

“You know putting away groceries isn’t the same thing as cooking, right?” Sophie smiled at him, her eyes impossibly blue.

His heart thudded in his chest and he threw a whole lot of energy into convincing himself his feelings had to do with potential culinary adventures and not the woman standing in front of him. The woman whose delicate scent and even more delicate features brought every protective urge he possessed roaring to life. She was thin—he needed to stop dicking around and feed her—but she wasn’t frail. She was more of a fierce pixie than a homeless waif. The fact that his size dwarfed her just seemed to highlight the difference in their ages and he didn’t need any more help feeling like a dirty old man.

“Very funny.” He reached out to touch her, running a finger under her chin before he had a chance to consider whether it was a good idea—it wasn’t—or not.

Her eyes went wide, and she froze in place, the air between them suddenly charged. If he leaned in, he could kiss her. Take the few steps to close the distance and pull her into his arms. And to cross a line he didn’t intend to cross. Reluctantly, he let his hand drop. If she was disappointed, her face didn’t show it. He wasn’t sure whether that made him feel better or worse.

“Or we could just eat delicious chicken from a bucket and spend the time saving London from the half breeds instead of trying to figure out how to debone a chicken, scale a fish, or whatever it is you do when you cook. It’s going to take time to console you after you lose. I’m not sure there’s time for that and culinary masterpieces.” She held her hands up in front of her and he didn’t bother trying to hold back his laugh. “Just saying.”

“Brat,” he said, grabbing the bucket of chicken and a six-pack of cider they’d picked up at the market. He’d have to add drinking in the middle of the day to the list of things he didn’t normally do but did with Sophie. “Can you grab some plates, or do we have to eat out of the bucket?”

“I’ll get plates, old man, and napkins so you don’t get grease on your controller. I’d hate for you to blame your loss on equipment failure.” She shot him a glance over her shoulder as she reached into the cabinet, and he half expected her to stick out her tongue.

The old man crack cut a little too close to home but the challenge about his equipment had his mind going in a completely different direction from the video game. A direction he had no business going. His traitorous body needed to get in line and stay in line. His job was to keep her safe, not wonder how her lips tasted or what it would feel like to have her silky ponytail wrapped around his fist. He needed to keep those thoughts to himself, preferably locked in a box in the closet of his psyche where no one, not even him, would stumble upon them.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he said, slamming the closet shut on his feelings. “Enough talking. Gabe’s got a profile you can use if you don’t want to have to start from scratch. It’s not as developed as mine but it’s better than playing as a guest.”

He set the chicken and drinks on the coffee table and traded her a controller for the plates. Using his own controller, he turned on the console and let the game load while he filled their plates with fried chicken and biscuits.

“I’ll sign in and then you can log on to Gabe’s profile.” He twisted the cap off a bottle of cider and handed it and a plate full of chicken to Sophie.

“Classy,” she said, raising her bottle in mock toast before taking a sip.

“Nothing but the best at Southerland Security.” He tried not to notice the slender column of her throat as she tipped back her drink.

Concentrating on the food, he took a bite of crispy chicken and narrowly avoided letting the juice run down his chin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something as unequivocally indulgent as fried chicken. Maybe the couple of bites of Sophie’s chocolate chip pancakes. She ate like a teenaged boy and appeared to burn the calories just as quickly. That’s where the resemblance ended. He watched as she tucked her feet under her cross-legged and wriggled back into the leather of his sofa. There was nothing boyish about her lithe body and gentle curves. She was all long lines and sexy trouble and despite the thoughts that continued to worm their way into his head, he needed to keep his damn hands to himself.

He was so caught up in trying not to think about Sophie’s curves; it took him a moment to realize she wasn’t signing in under Gabe’s profile. He opened his mouth to correct her and then read the name she’d entered. Severhan.

No way. There had to be a mistake. Some kind of freak coincidence. There was no way the woman he been trying to keep his hands off was the same one he’d been playing with online for months. Flirting with if he was being honest with himself and that was a word a dude could use.

“Sophie?” He stopped at her name, not sure how to proceed.

“Saddle up, Eddington. We’ve got werewolves to fight.” She gave him a quick glance and a moment later, burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. It’s your face.”

“What’s wrong with my face?” he said, latching onto the one clear thought he could grab.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with it,” she said, choking back her giggles. “It just looks like your eyebrows are trying to lodge themselves in your hairline. I’m sorry. It’s probably not fair to spring it on you like this.”

“How long have you known?” He was going to stick to the simple questions until he figured out what in the hell was going on.

“Gabe told me your screen name when he saw the game console at my apartment.”

Of course he did. “Does he know?” It would be just like his brother to fuck with him.

“No. I’m the only one who knew, but seriously, what are the chances?” She smiled at him, and her expression was so genuine, so guileless, he couldn’t hold back his own smile.

“I can’t imagine.” He couldn’t. He had no idea how to begin to calculate the odds, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked it.  Of course, it was going to make it that much harder to keep the box with his feelings locked in the closet. He’d had a hard enough time keeping his hands—and lips—to himself when he was just faced with Sophie. Realizing she was his online gaming partner made it a thousand times harder. He already had a relationship with Severhan. It might be a weird virtual one and kind of pathetic, but as far as his relationships went, it was one of the longest.

“You haven’t been online in weeks. Are you sure you remember how to play?” she asked.

“Smart ass. Eat your chicken. You’re going to need both hands to keep up.”

Sophie huffed out her breath and slanted her gaze at him, but she picked up a piece of chicken from her plate and took a bite. And let out a groan of pleasure that went straight to his cock. Not something he usually connected with food, but listening to Sophie make that noise, all he could think about were all the other ways he could get her to lose herself like that. To give herself over to it. To him. He was so screwed.

Concentrating on the food in front of him and not the woman beside him, he polished off a biscuit and finished his first piece of chicken as if he were running a race. The sensible thing to do would be to stop and wait for her to finish, but that would mean he’d have to pay attention to the way her tongue darted out to catch a bit of juice on her bottom lip, to the way her eyes closed as she bit into the crispy skin.

He picked up another piece of chicken. He’d work it off on the treadmill later. Lord knows he’d probably have to spend an extra hour on it anyway to get Sophie out of his head. There was only so much he could expect a cold shower to accomplish.

“Chicken in a bucket and video games,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re a bad influence.”

––––––––

“YOU HAVE NO idea.” Sophie licked her fingers and watched Emerson’s eyes go dark.

Somewhere in the middle of being terrified, she’d made a decision. She wanted Emerson. Not for white picket fences and two point five whatevers. She didn’t have any illusions about happily ever after. It wasn’t that she was against the idea; she simply hadn’t seen it in action. But short of walking off into the sunset with someone, there were a lot of things she wanted to do—sexy things—and she wanted to do them with Emerson.

He was so capable, so in control, but it didn’t stop him from being able to adjust. If anything, it might make him better able to roll with the unexpected. She’d loved the idea of rattling him with the game, but instead of letting the surprise throw him off his game, he simply reassessed. The man ate like a fitness freak, but when she wanted greasy fried food, he’d gone all in with her. A man like Emerson didn’t get rattled, and he didn’t hold on so tightly to ideas that he couldn’t see anything else. He took new information and worked it into his plan without freaking out, which meant he was more than capable of dealing with a twenty-three-year-old virgin.

The more time she spent with him, with his warm, steady presence next to her, exactly where she needed him when she needed him, the surer she became that he was the one. They didn’t have to fall in love. She’d lost those delusions long before her mother died. But she knew with the same certainty she had when she picked pearls for a necklace that Emerson would be an amazing first time. One she’d remember fondly instead of those awkward backseat-of-the-car disasters she’d heard about. If she was going to be at his place and have her life put on hold for a few days, she could at least check this box. Or get Emerson to check it.

The problem was how to get there. It wasn’t like she’d had a wealth of—or any—experience seducing a man. She and Emerson weren’t dating. They hadn’t met at a bar or through any even remotely normal channels. Even though she’d only known him a couple of days, she knew the fact that he was supposed to be protecting her would be a challenge for him. Which made it a challenge for her. She’d just have to keep working at it until she found a way to convince him having sex with her would be doing her a favor and wouldn’t be taking advantage.

She could start by reminding him they already knew each other. It was a virtual relationship, but it was important to her and she had to believe to him. She’d looked forward to teasing him online and when they went too long in between games, Eddington reached out to her. And it was before any of the bodyguard stuff, kind of a prior claim. Emerson might be conflicted about how he felt about the Sophie he was supposed to be guarding, but he didn’t have any problem trading sexy innuendos with Severhan. She just had to remind him they were the same person and then figure out how to move from there to naked. Piece of cake.

They played for the better part of an hour before the red halo surrounding Emerson’s character closed in on him. He groaned, and Sophie made a valiant effort to hold back her laughter. And failed.

“I still got more kill shots than you.”

“Says the dead guy.” She stood and stretched, arms over her head and her back arched.

She’d only been thinking about working the kinks out of her shoulders but when she glanced over and saw him watching her, everything changed. Keeping her back arched and making the most of the breasts she had, she rolled her shoulders and met his gaze. It was as if the simple movement of her body had somehow hypnotized him. Aside from the fact the heat in his eyes lit a fire low in her belly, knowing she had that effect on a man like Emerson was heady stuff.

“What do you think?” she asked, her gaze pinned to his. “Want to play again?”

It felt a bit like playing pretend, but if his expression was any indication, her seduction was having an effect. If it could even be called that. A little shoulder rolling and pointed questions weren’t exactly the stuff of great romances. She wasn’t after a great romance. She wanted a solution to her virginity problem and some scorching hot memories to go with it. She watched him lick his lips and wondered for a moment what he’d do if she straddled his lap and tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth. Not that she’d be brazen enough to try it. Maybe. Could she?

It didn’t matter. Before she closed the distance between them, he stood, bringing them face-to-face. Or it would be face-to-face if she wasn’t so short. As it was, she ended up eye level with the hard wall of his chest, his muscles clearly defined under the black polo he wore like a uniform. Her gaze did a slow pan up, drinking in the view of him until she met his eyes. He looked at her with so much heat, so much—longing didn’t feel like a powerful enough word for what she saw in his eyes but she wasn’t sure what else to call it. The force of it made her lock her knees and freeze in place to keep from throwing herself into his arms and trying to climb him like a tree.

He reached for her and his hand cupping her cheek was enough to make her move. She stepped into him, close enough to surround herself in the warmth from his body. He traced her bottom lip with the rough pad of his thumb and her breath left her. Lips parted, gaze locked on his, she melted against him. It was as if she’d been cold her whole life and hadn’t realized it until she stood wrapped in Emerson’s arms. He smelled like clean citrus and something richer, spicier and she breathed him in as if he were the air she needed to live.

“Sophie.” His voice was rough, and she could see the conflict in his eyes.

She didn’t give him a chance to change his mind. She couldn’t, not when she wanted him so much she thought she might break from it. How had things changed so quickly? How had someone she didn’t know a few days ago turn into someone she wasn’t sure how to live without? But that wasn’t right. Whatever they were doing, it wasn’t happy ever after, which didn’t change how much she wanted him. It was lust, not love. Bracing herself with her hands resting on his shoulders, her fingertips brushing the warm skin of his neck, she stretched up on tip toe and pressed her lips to his.

Sophie didn’t know how to kiss a man. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it. She’d kissed other guys, but it was the first time she’d done it like that. With so much heat, so much need, it made her knees shake. She didn’t have to know how. Her lips brushed Emerson’s and everything shifted, tilting on its axis. He pulled her to him, folding his body around her much smaller one, making her feel precious. Cherished. Hungry. One arm gripped her waist, pulling her against him until there wasn’t room for a breath between them, while his other hand tightened on her ponytail, the tiny bite of pain making her gasp. She felt his strength, the power of his body barely held in check, and then his tongue slid past her lips and her mind emptied of everything but him.

There was no room for reservations or second thoughts. She didn’t have space in her head for anything but the feel of his lips on hers, his teeth tugging gently on her bottom lip while she tried to breathe him in as if all these years it was really Emerson she needed and not air. His hand in her hair guided her, angled her head to give him better access to her lips and she softened, needing to get as close as she could, closer than was physically possible. She hooked her leg behind his thigh, desperate to pull him closer, to feel all of him. His hand slid from her waist to palm her ass, lifting her, fitting her to him. She felt the evidence of his arousal against the V of her body and she rocked into him, instinctively seeking more, needing so much more.

“Sophie, wait,” he said, his voice jagged. “Wait.”

It took a moment for her to realize the buzzing she heard was his phone and not the humming of her overheated blood racing through her veins. She’d never felt anything as powerful as Emerson’s kiss. Now that she had, she wanted all of him; every single thing they could do together, everything he could teach her.

“What?” She twined her fingers behind his neck and tried to draw her to him, but he held firm.

“It’s Gabe. I’ve got to get this.”

He cuffed her wrists with his hands, pausing for a moment and simply holding her. Letting out a shaky breath, he peeled her fingers off him and reached for his phone.

“Yes.” He growled the word at his brother.

Knowing he wanted her as much as she wanted him took some of the sting out of his rejection. She didn’t have to ask herself if Emerson liked her or if he was just doing her some kind of favor. She’d felt the truth of his body’s response. The problem wasn’t getting him to want her.

It was getting him to act on it.