Love in Numbers: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Love Distilled Book 1)

by Scarlett Cole

  “You don’t need to do this, Connor,” Emerson said, turning to face him.

  Connor applied the soap to her shoulders and arms. “I may not need to, but I want to. I really do love you. I want to take care of you. I can’t describe it any simpler than that. This is way more than simply sex. It always has been.”

  He soaped her breasts, trying his damnedest to ignore her perfectly pert and erect nipples and the appearance of goosebumps on her skin as he gently washed between her legs.

  “Connor,” she gasped, moving gently against him.

  Unable to resist, he placed his lips against hers, capturing her sigh. “Not yet,” he murmured.

  Quickly, he finished his own ablutions, and once they were both rinsed, he wrapped Emerson in a large, soft white towel. It swamped her frame, and he took the time to dry her thoroughly.

  While he dried himself, Emerson reached for the hand towel next to the sink and pressed it against her hair.

  “If you want to slip my hoodie back on, I’ll cook—”

  “Make love to me, Connor,” Emerson said, dropping the towel that covered her body.

  Fuck, she was set to test his resolve. “As much as that would be my absolute pleasure, you’ve had a fucking huge shock tonight. It’s going to take a lot to process, I’m sure. Let’s get some food in you and—”

  “What if it’s not your food I want in me?” She stepped up to him, placing her hands on his chest. “What if I just want your warmth and comfort?”

  Connor cricked his neck before looking at her. He should stand firm. Her emotions had been running high, and she was likely exhausted.

  But then she moved her hands to his shoulders and stepped into his space, until her naked breasts were pressed up against his chest.

  “Fuck, Em. I wanted to care for you.”

  Emerson took his hand in hers and led it between her legs where she was already soaked for him. “Then care for me,” she whispered.

  Unable to resist any longer, Connor lifted her into his arms and perched her on the edge of the bathroom counter, her legs open to him. His knees landed on her towel as he dropped to the floor. With his eyes on hers, he licked her gently, once, then again. Teasing her with his tongue.

  “Harder,” Emerson cried.

  Connor stopped immediately. “Oh, no, babe. You don’t get to drive. You asked me to take care of you like this. I’m going to decide what that involves.”

  Emerson bit down on her bottom lip and watched his mouth as he placed it on her very center. “Connor,” she gasped.

  Running his tongue down the length of her, he tasted more of her sweet flavor. His dick throbbed beneath his own towel, and he grabbed it in a firm fist for a moment to ease the ache.

  He placed one hand on her thigh, holding her open, and slid one finger inside her. Fuck, she was so wet for him. It was a wonder. He increased the pace of his thrust, increased the friction of his tongue on her clit.

  Emerson grabbed his hair, and he didn’t fucking care. Let her ride his face into oblivion. If that’s what she needed to get over the day she’d had, he was totally here for it.

  “Oh, Connor, I’m…”

  Her words petered out, but he could feel her as her channel fluttered around his finger, as her body shuddered.

  Connor stood and placed her legs around his waist before he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. When he slid into her, he wanted to be in the bed he was coming to think of as theirs.

  He laid her down gently, her head on his pillow. She fit perfectly…in his bed and his life. Her skin was soft beneath his fingertips as he ran them along the side of her face. “You okay?” he asked. If an orgasm was all she needed from him tonight, he’d be happy with that. “Do you want more or rest?”

  “More,” she whispered.

  Once sheathed in a condom, he climbed between her legs, letting his weight rest on her. “I love you,” he said, sliding her hair back from her face, letting the words dance around his tongue.

  Emotions filled him at the knowledge she felt the same way about him, too. It was like the warmth of the bright summer sun on his skin…comforting and nurturing.

  Their lips met, and Connor kissed Emerson deeply until they were both breathless and Emerson squirmed beneath him. He reached between them for his dick, edging it into her fractionally and slowly.

  The tension he felt in his balls was almost unbearable, but he wanted to possess Emerson’s very being. He wanted her desperate and begging for release.

  “Connor, please,” Emerson cried out, arching her hips in a bid to receive more of him.

  “Slowly, babe,” he grunted, aware of how deep his voice sounded.

  He inched back and then slid forward until his dick throbbed, a pulsing sensation, like he was coming without ejaculating. He held still for a moment.

  Emerson wrapped her arms around him, pulling on him to go deeper, but she was no match for his strength. He simply held his position over her and pinned her hip to the bed with one arm.

  “Argh,” she cried in frustration. Her eyes were filled with fire, a definite change from the glassy look she’d had when he’d returned from the gym.

  Connor edged back and slid in a little deeper, knowing his own willpower was going to give soon. She was so warm and wet and welcoming, and he was so on edge.

  “I love you,” he repeated.

  “Then make love to me,” Emerson said, exasperation filling her words.

  Connor kissed her again. “In good time, Em.”

  He began to move in a steady rhythm, back and forth. Emerson was so wet there was barely any friction, just the delicious pressure of her as she clenched around him.

  He slipped his hand behind her knee and opened her wider, allowing his hips to sink farther until he was so fucking deep inside her. Bottoming out on every stroke, hitting Em in the place she loved most, the spot guaranteed to get her off.

  She was close to coming again. He could feel it.

  His own orgasm was building, hurtling down his spine to the finish line.

  “The way you grip me,” he gasped as it started to become more sensation than he could bear. “How wet you get. Fuck.”

  “I’m so close,” Emerson cried.

  “Me too. Let go, Em, I’ve got you.”

  As Emerson came around him, he gave up all attempts at slow. He plunged inside her, filling her fully, pounding deep. Fuck, the feeling was intense. He’d never felt anything like it.

  His orgasm hit him, thrust after thrust of near-painful spasms as he emptied so completely inside her.

  And as he finally came down, with his head in the crook of Emerson’s neck, their limbs wrapped tightly around each other, he realized that not only did he have her, but she had him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Connor pulled up outside his mom’s place and killed the engine. As expected, Derek’s car wasn’t in the driveway. He wanted to catch his mom alone.

  He jogged up the steps and knocked on the door. Alyssa answered a few moments later, wearing a paint-smudged apron and a streak of white paint across her cheek.

  “Connor, what a pleasant surprise. What are you doing out of work so early?”

  He kissed her cheek as he stepped inside the hallway, cluttered with coats and shoes. “I wanted to see you…well, I wanted to talk to you.”

  She closed the door. “Of course, head on into the kitchen. I just brewed some coffee. Help yourself and pour me one while I go deal with my painting stuff.”

  Connor wandered into the kitchen. The mottled marble counter was spotless, a complete contrast to the hallway. The cups were still in the cupboard above the toaster, and he grabbed them before pouring two mugs of steaming hot coffee. They took it the same. Black and strong.

  Alyssa wandered into the kitchen wearing a pair of slim jeans and a bright yellow sweater. “You don’t look old enough to be my mom,” he said, and Alyssa blushed.

  “Okay, what did you do that you need to kick it off with compliments? Do you nee
d bail?”

  Connor laughed. “If I needed bail, I wouldn’t be here asking you in person. And can’t a son compliment his mother once in a while?”

  She fluffed her hair. “Fine, yes, I don’t age. I’m Denver’s very own Dorian Gray.” She took the cup he offered and sat on the stool on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. “What’s up?”

  Man, where to start. He’d tackle the easiest part first. “I met someone,” he blurted.

  His mom reached across the counter and grabbed his hand. “You did? Tell me about her.” Excitement lit up her face, and he decided to let her have her moment of enjoyment before he told her the bad news.

  “Her name’s Emerson. She’s brunette, but it has hints of red and gold if it catches the light right. And pretty brown eyes that crinkle when she smiles. She hates my meal prep food but doesn’t mind when I disappear to swim or bike or run or whatever.”

  “I’m not going to swoon over the way you noticed the colors in her hair even though that’s the cutest thing ever. Do you have pictures?”

  Connor pulled out his phone. He’d taken some pictures of them, of her, when they’d been hiking. “Here.” He pushed the phone toward his mom.

  “Oh, Connor, she looks lovely. But more than that, the way you look at her…” She put her hand over her mouth, and he couldn’t decide if she was in shock or about to cry.

  “Okay, Mom…it’s not that big a deal.”

  “It’s a big deal, Connor. Does she make you happy?”

  He rolled his eyes at that. “Do you think I’d be telling you about her if she didn’t?”

  His mom grinned. “Right. Yes. Of course. How did the two of you meet?”

  He told her about the flight, about ending up in the same seat.

  “Kismet,” she declared. “I always thought you’d find the woman you were meant to marry when you weren’t looking.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just leap straight to the M-word.”

  Alyssa gestured with her hand as if brushing him away. “Oh, shush. What does she do?”

  Connor paused, and momentarily the joy he’d felt at telling his mom slipped. “Her name’s Emerson Dyer.”

  “Oh, what a lovely name, and she does what for…oh. Oh. Like the Dyers?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. And after Paul Dyer’s death, she’s the Dyer.”

  Alyssa cupped her mug and took a large gulp. “I’m taking it that your father has no idea about this yet?”

  “That would be correct.”

  For a moment, they were both silent.

  “Do you love her?” his mother asked.

  “That’s the easiest part in all of this. Yes. Yes, I do.” After her bathroom declaration forty-eight hours earlier, he’d never been more certain of anything. His feelings for her had been growing at such a strong and sudden pace, he’d struggled to articulate it. But when he’d come home from the gym to find her in bed, in his hoodie, her tear-stained face on his pillow, he’d realized he’d do just about anything to fix whatever had upset her.

  And watching her rally to hand out candy the previous evening had solidified the idea that he loved her. He could see the two of them, handing out candy to children together for the next fifty years.

  “And what’s her take on this feud between your fathers?”

  Connor shook his head. “That’s the weirdest part of all this. She knows nothing about it. We’ve talked at length about the beginnings of the distillery, and she has all these photographs and information about the start. I saw Dad in one photograph, otherwise there’s no mention of him. Emerson is completely unaware that Dad has hated them all these years.”

  Her mother frowned. “That is the oddest thing.”

  Connor walked around the kitchen counter and pulled out the other stool. “Now, I don’t know how to tell her that I knew about her family before we met. And I made this proposal to Dad that we divest from mass liquor into more artisanal products. Dad got on board with the idea, but now he actually wants to buy Dyer’s because he heard they are in financial difficulty.”

  His mother placed her hand on his knee. “Oh, Connor. And are they in trouble?”

  He took a sip of his coffee. It was bitter, acrid even, as it went down his throat. “Nothing that will take them out of business, but they’ve taken some knocks, not least that Paul died.”

  “That must be a lot for Emerson,” his mother said.

  Connor nodded. “It is. And you know the craziest thing?”

  “What’s that?”

  “From what I’ve learned about him, I actually really like Paul Dyer. Did you ever meet him?”

  Alyssa stood and wandered to look out of the kitchen window. “I didn’t. I met your father four months after Paul had stolen the company from him. Two or three months later, I was pregnant. I was still twenty-one, and Donovan swept me off my feet. I didn’t see then just how bitter he was.” She turned around. “I’ve often thought of Paul as the other person in our marriage. I think that’s the reason we didn’t last.”

  “In what way?”

  His mom pursed her lips. “I don’t know, Connor. Your father grieved the loss of the company something fierce and was consumed with working every hour God sent to beat Paul.” She put air quotes around beat. “He’d spend so much time talking about how different his life would be if Paul hadn’t taken everything that mattered to him.”

  “I can only imagine how bad it was back then, that it still bothers him right now.”

  Alyssa nodded. “I always felt like I was second fiddle. I sometimes think he married me on the rebound from that darn distillery. And the way he threw himself into his work at that time left him with no time or energy for me, or us. He was a husband and father in name only.”

  Connor looked over to Derek’s kitchen table that he used to hide under as a child and pretend he was sailing a pirate ship to Derek’s old, battered leather lounger that Connor was allowed to sleep in when he was sick, snuggled under thick blankets. And beyond that, to the garden where Derek had taught him how to throw a ball and to the patio chairs where Derek had set him straight on the facts of life.

  Derek had been the present father that Donovan had never been, and Connor had a realization he was putting all of his efforts into impressing a man who had never really thought of him as a son…more as a talented heir apparent…another feather in his crown.

  “Are you okay, Connor?” His mom walked toward him.

  “Sorry, I was just thinking how good Derek has been to me. To us.”

  Alyssa smiled broadly. “He has, hasn’t he? He made so many sacrifices, worked two jobs at times, to look after us.”

  “I should do something to pay him back for that,” Connor said. “I don’t know why it hasn’t occurred to me before now.”

  His mother ruffled his hair, something she’d done for as long as he could remember. “Oh, Connor. He doesn’t want paying back. You don’t owe him or me anything. You, the wonderful, if not slightly anal, man you are is enough.”

  Connor laughed. “Thanks, Mom,” he said sarcastically. “Did I mention Emerson changes the time she wakes up every morning and hates my food prep? And she makes me waffles I can’t resist.”

  Alyssa laughed. “I like her already. But Derek doesn’t expect anything from you. He always said it was our job to raise you to be a fine, honest, young man. On the way home from your father’s birthday party, he said to me that we’d done a great job. He loves you. And all those sacrifices you make for someone you love don’t feel like sacrifices. You do what you have to do to keep them safe, to help them grow, to show them the possibilities of joy and happiness.”

  Connor felt his heart expand. Who knew a grown man still needed parental acceptance? And why was he chasing it from his father, who only cared about what Connor represented as a part of his personal legacy?

  The ground beneath his feet suddenly felt unstable as everything he thought he’d been chasing had begun to unravel.

  What if the path he’d
been on since he was old enough to remember wasn’t the path he wanted to take anymore?

  Emerson saw the lights of the distillery floor go off in her peripheral vision as she heard Jake shout farewell to some of their employees.

  Yippee-Fri-Yay. She’d woken up that morning with a panicked feeling that it was Monday and she hadn’t written the production schedule. The calendar on her phone that she’d reached for groggily had confirmed it was indeed Friday, and she still had the day to write it.

  She looked at the round table in her father’s office. The old kitchen table from her mom and dad’s first apartment was lovingly referred to as the boardroom table, and it was here she intended to tell Jake and Olivia everything.

  Connor had been right. She’d been wobbling. He was also right that she’d been trying to be the stoic one and carry the weight of it alone. Jake and Olivia were smart, pragmatic, and as committed to the distillery as she was. It was time to stop thinking about all the plans she’d felt slip away and write a new one.

  It was time to build Dyer’s Gin Distillery Part II.

  “Hey,” Olivia said, walking in with a box of doughnuts, which she placed on the table. “I figured if this meeting was to happen in here, we’d need sugar. I like what you’ve done with the office.”

  Emerson looked around, seeing it from Olivia’s point of view. Everything was filed, the surfaces clear, and Emerson had brought in some plants from her home. Lavender, her favorite, and lots of green foliage.

  “Up until you said that, I was still thinking about it as Dad’s office. But you’re right. It does look different.”

  Olivia threw her hand over her sister’s shoulder. “It’s yours now. And it looks more like it. When we renovate, we should get some better paper storage solutions than these ugly green filing cabinets, though. Or even better, perhaps scan everything so we can go digital.”

  When we renovate…

  “I’m ready,” Jake said, bounding into the office. “Oh, you brought doughnuts. I always said you were my favorite sister.”