Relieved, Emma smiled, swallowing her doubt and chiding herself for being so sensitive. It was kind of sweet that he wanted to stay in and have a romantic evening with her, and the truth was, she wanted the night to end passionately anyway. His way made it easier to skip the formalities.
“Ok,” she agreed softly, “but not Indian. I’m not a fan of Indian food.”
“What? It’s fantastic, Darling! Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to a fabulous dish. I know you’ll learn to love it if you just give it a chance,” he gently insisted, punctuating his words with a confident chuckle. Emma was pretty sure he was wrong, but kept it to herself. At thirty-one, she knew what she liked and didn’t.
“Well, another time maybe,” she appeased, ignoring the irritation creeping up her spine. “How about you just bring the wine and I will order in some Italian for us. I know this authentic Italian restaurant that makes the best lasagna, with gobs and gobs of cheese.
It’s frigging fantastic!”
“Lactose intolerant, I’m afraid. Not sexy.”
“Ah,” she replied, avoiding the image it evoked, “how about sushi?”
“Hate it.”
“Greek?”
“Um...,” he hesitated.
“Let me guess, too greeky?” Emma teased. She inhaled slowly, trying desperately to think of something that would please him.
“Ok, bring the Indian...but nothing too spicy for me, ok?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. Not because she gave a shit about the food, but because she heard it, the people-pleasing, the submission, the surrender. Months and months of healing and she found herself right back where she started, prioritizing someone else’s needs above her own, placating a man. She felt nauseous. Luke would have kicked her ass.
“You got it,” he approved quickly, oblivious to her discomfort. “I should be out of here in about an hour and then home for a shower and shave. Shall we say 7:30?”
“Yes, that works,” she agreed, allowing her frustration to settle. In spite of being disappointed with herself, she really was looking forward to seeing him. Thoughts of the thorough shagging they ‘anonymously’ shared only a week earlier trumped every single one of her doubts. She hadn’t stopped thinking about her ‘mystery lover’ since he made her deliciously cum, three fucking times.
“Wear something pretty. Something I’ll want to tear off you,” he growled flirtatiously. Emma giggled, surprised by how hot his request made her.
“We’ll see...” she purred, deliberately tormenting him.
“Do as I say, Emma, or I may have to spank you,” he warned her mischievously.
Emma’s smile faded slightly as she considered his words. She knew they were meant to be provocative, but for some reason she found herself resisting them. She hated how distrustful she felt and chalked it up to her own insecurity, her painful past. Once bitten, twice shy.
Poor Arran, she thought, he didn’t deserve to be second-guessed at every corner, but why did he keep triggering her?
Chapter 31
Arran showed up precisely on time with a bottle of wine in one hand and a take-out bag, filled with their aromatic dinner, in the other. He looked handsome, relaxed, happy, and Emma felt ashamed by her earlier ambivalence. He leaned in and kissed her, long enough to say ‘I missed you’, then pulled away with a cheeky grin.
“The restaurant was packed but they rushed my order after a generous tip...oh, and here’s your wine. It’s a 2016 Chateau Margaux. It pairs horribly with Indian food but it was expensive, as promised,” he clucked, placing the bottle in her hands. She looked down at the label, trying to place it. She was no wine expert.
“Arran, you didn’t have to spend a hundred dollars on a bottle of wine, I would have been happy with cardboardeaux,” she scolded gently, reaching out for the bag of food.
“Try a thousand dollars, Darling...”
Emma’s mouth dropped open, certain she heard him wrong. “You did not spend a thousand dollars on one bottle of wine...”
“Yes, so you better enjoy it,” he smirked.
“I’m not sure if you are trying to get a bigger bang for your buck but here’s a newsflash, I’m a sure thing,” she teased, tossing him a suggestive wink.
He grinned mischievously, wrapping his arms around her waist, her full hands making her helpless to his playful advances. At first she didn’t mind, but as he hungrily kissed her, his tongue probing between her lips, offering her just a little too much moisture, she felt derailed. It always threw her for a loop how inconsistent his kisses were, as though delivered by different men. Powerless to change his pace, she giggled into his open mouth and leaned her head back.
“Ok, mister, I’m starving. Let me get some plates and we can eat. How about you open the wine?” she suggested, casually squirming out of his grip. Oblivious, he let her go, smacking her ass as she turned around.
“Have I told you how much I adore your curvy bottom?” he growled, walking behind her into the kitchen.
“I do believe that’s the first time, but I will take the compliment,” Emma said, handing him a corkscrew. He took it from her and set to work opening the wine while she dished out the food. She had to admit, it did smell delicious.
“What’s cardboardeaux?” he asked, popping the cork loudly. Emma smiled, recalling the inside joke she shared with Luke. They would buy a box of wine and refer to it as cardboardeaux so it would sound classier than it actually was. Funny how friends collected silly quips and quirks, stories and little jokes that stood the test of time, repeating themselves again and again to fits of giggles and inevitable eye-rolls. She and Luke had many of them.
“It’s just a fancy way to refer to boxed-wine,” Emma explained, including him in on the joke.
“I don’t get it,” he shrugged, filling two glasses with the ‘fancy’ wine he brought, the real stuff. He handed her a glass.
“Cheers,” she saluted, taking a long sip. She rolled the liquid around her tongue, trying to discern the difference between a thousand dollar wine and whatever was on sale at the grocery store. Aside from the price tag, she wasn’t sure, but she enjoyed it nevertheless.
“Here, take my wine and I’ll bring the plates into the dining room,” he suggested, passing her his glass. She happily obliged, following him to the table.
“So what do you think of the lamb?” Arran asked her a few minutes into the meal. In spite of her apprehension, she actually enjoyed the sweet, rich, full flavor of her dish. She hated to admit it but she might have made a rash decision about Indian food. Just because she had a dish once that she didn’t enjoy didn’t mean the entire cuisine was unsavory. She took another bite, glad she gave it a second chance.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I appreciate you trying it, that was very brave.”
Emma looked up from her plate, and realized he was teasing her.
“Oh, ok, smarty-pants, but might I remind you that you also turned your nose up at a few of my suggestions?” Emma rebutted, smirking impudently. “Next time it’s sushi for you.”
He regarded her curiously, then nodded without protest. “Fair enough,” he agreed, chuckling quietly under his breath. He smiled at her thoughtfully, his gorgeous blue eyes twinkling with humor. He could be irresistibly charming, she thought, taking a sip of her wine, and wondered dreamily how long they might linger over dinner.
“So I have news to share,” he offered, sitting back in his chair.
“Oh?”
“Yes, I have to jet overseas soon. I’m needed in Dubai and then I’ll be stopping in
London for a few weeks. I have business to attend to, but I also thought I would see some family. My daughter is graduating at months’ end,” he said, his shrug indicating how inconsequential he considered the news.
“You never mentioned you had a daughter,” Emma stammered, trying to hold back her surprise.
“Did I not? Yes, she lives with her mother. To be honest, I haven’t really had
a hand in raising her, aside from the maintenance.”
“Maintenance?” Emma asked, questioning the reference.
“Yes, what you call child support here in America,” he explained casually, enjoying another bite of his spicy stew. Emma stared at him for a moment, trying to process the admission. She was obviously at an age where most of the men she dated were likely to have children but she had never considered, until that moment, what that meant or how it might affect her relationships.
“What’s her name,” she asked cautiously. “How old is she?”
“Her name is Abigail, but she goes by Abby. I think she just turned twenty-five. I am terrible with birthdays.”
“Wow, twenty-five,” Emma whispered, considering the very, very tiny age gap between herself and Abigail, otherwise known as Abby.
“Yes, I was just a kid myself when she was born. Her mother and I parted ways and then business exploded. I’m afraid I didn’t see much of the girl growing up. It would be safe to say she might have some hard feelings. I can’t blame her, really,” he admitted, his smile as faded as his memories.
“Sorry to hear that,” Emma offered, unsure how to respond.
“Anyway, I can’t go backward, now can I? What’s done is done,” he continued, deliberately lightening his tone. “But I really should see her while I’m in the country. I purchased her a Mercedes. I’m sure that will make her quite happy. It’s a sweet little car.”
“I’m sure it will,” Emma agreed reluctantly, certain that Abby would probably have preferred the lost years with her father over a well made German car, but who was she to judge.
“I want you to travel with me.”
Emma met his eyes, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Three weeks, tops,” Arran laughed, amused by her response.
“Um, you want me to go with you to Dubai? To London...and meet your family?” she stuttered, completely at a loss for words.
“Well, no, you don’t have to meet my family...unless you want to. I just think we can build on our relationship while we travel together. Three weeks is a long time to be apart when we’re just getting to know each other. Besides, I don’t want anyone else to snatch you up while I’m gone,” he admitted, trying to keep his tone playful. She sensed there was some truth behind his humor and wondered just who he thought would snatch her up. She wasn’t seeing anyone but him.
“I don’t know what to say,” she hesitated, unsure how she felt about his offer, “there are things to consider...there’s...”
“Luke?”
“I was going to say work,” Emma insisted, thrown off by his assumption. She hadn’t expected him to be so blunt but the truth was, she did need to run it by Luke. There was a lot happening at once and her instincts were not always the most reliable when it came to men, Arran included. Of course she needed to talk to him. She found it curious that even after their sexy night at the party he still seemed threatened by Luke.
“Sorry,” he blurted, lowering his eyes, “that was uncalled for.”
She nodded her head slowly, allowing his apology to sink in.
“Honestly, I’m an ass. Forgive me?” he croaked, looking up at her sheepishly, an impish smile decorating his face. She giggled softly, touched by his humility.
“Of course I forgive you,” she agreed, taking the hand he offered, “but I still have to think about this. I’d have to get approval from work. I don’t think I can afford to take off three weeks, even if my boss agrees. I have bills to pay. Christ, this bottle of wine could pay for most of my rent.”
“Sorry, I’ve been insensitive,” he muttered, caressing her fingertips.
“No, it’s ok, I didn’t mean to be curt. I simply don’t have the same resources as you, Arran,” she replied, tempering her tone. They sat in silence for a moment, neither looking at the other, quietly respecting each other’s space.
Finally, Emma spoke, breaking the silence, “Do you regret not being there, watching your daughter grow up?”
“Regrets? No,” he began, “her mother did a fine job raising her.”
“But what about you? Did you miss having a relationship with her?”
He thought about her question for a moment before answering. “When she was younger, maybe, but the sad truth is we barely know each other. The girl has her own
life.”
“I’m sorry, Arran,” she offered sincerely, swallowing another mouthful of wine. He nodded his head but quickly shook off any emotion he might have been feeling.
He looked up at her and grinned, “well, enough reminiscing,” he offered cheerfully. She sensed he was pushing his memories down. “I want you to join me. What can I do to make that happen?”
“I don’t know. Give me a few days to sort it out. I will let you know,” she insisted as kindly as she could. She was genuinely warmed by his offer, flattered that he wanted to her to travel with him.
“Of course,” he agreed flatly, as though wishing she’d given him a more definitive answer. “And don’t worry about money, I’ll take care of everything for you.”
“I understand, Arran, I’m just not sure I’m comfortable with that. I don’t want to feel like I owe you anything,” she said, treading lightly, “I hope that doesn’t sound rude.”
He smiled at her thoughtfully and nodded, “I’d never think that, quite the opposite, in fact, it makes me want you even more.”
They finished their dinner slowly, Arran talking comfortably about work, his passion for his business and future goals. He seemed content to keep the conversation light, neutral. She wondered when his questions for her would come and if she was ready to share the intimate details of her life with him, her marriage, and her painful divorce. She wasn’t sure how much she would divulge but either way, it seemed strange to her that he hadn’t brought it up yet. In fact, he asked her very little about herself.
“What do you say, my beauty, shall we go to bed?” Arran proposed, pushing himself away from the table. Emma smiled at him demurely, considering his request. She had been thinking about fucking him all week, her thoughts constantly drifting back to the last time they were together. She wanted more than anything to be with him again, this time without a blindfold.
“I think we should,” she purred, standing up slowly. “Give me a few minutes to put on that something pretty you asked me to wear.”
“Ah, I was wondering about that. Not that this pretty frock isn’t lovely but I was hoping for something a little more ravishing,” he winked, grabbing her hand as she walked by. He pulled her into his lap and kissed her, this time with much more control. She returned his kiss, enjoying the way his hand slowly crept up her thigh, lifting her dress to caress her bare flesh. She leaned against him and opened her legs, encouraging him to explore further, turned on by his appreciative moans.
“My, my, where are your panties, Miss Emma?” he smirked, his fingers gently caressing her swollen, pink folds.
“I seem to have forgotten them,” she teased, inhaling deeply, enjoying his delicate touch. He grinned at her, brows raised, signaling his approval.
“The only downside is that I won’t be able to rip them off of you,” he growled, plunging two long fingers into her dripping hole.
Emma pulled in her breath sharply, turned on by his assertiveness. He slid his fingers gently in and out of her, priming her pussy with his slow, sexy probing. She shifted herself to accept his full penetration, sliding her own shaking hand between her legs so she could stimulate herself at the same time. She felt her climax building, churning in her center, deliciously heating up her womb. With his free hand, he laced his fingers through her long red hair, gently pulling her head back to expose her neck, and kissed her, grazing her flesh with his teeth. She was close, so close, her orgasm only seconds from igniting in her core.
“Not here,” he groaned, abruptly pulling his fingers from her, “let’s go to your bedroom.”
She sensed her climax sli
p away, like fine sand through an open palm. She cried out softly, unable to mask her frustration. He smiled at her levelly, oblivious to her disappointment, and shifted her gently off his lap. “I almost forgot, I brought you gifts.”
“Sorry?” she asked standing up awkwardly, her body still disoriented from the abrupt denial.
“A gift. In the inside pocket of my jacket. Go fetch it, will you?”
Emma looked at him flatly, unimpressed by his choice of words. He chuckled at her, recognizing his tactlessness.
“Please?” he added, trying to brush it off with a smirk.
She raised her brows and grinned back at him, wordlessly expressing her objection. He confused her so much at times. While she appreciated a self-assured man, especially in bed, there was a fine line between confident and cocky. She needed to feel respected as an equal. She wondered if Arran understood that, if any man would.
“Darling, please,” he insisted gently, taking her hand in his, visibly controlling his patience. “I brought two things for you. I think you’ll like them.”
He squeezed her fingers gently, wordlessly apologizing, and smiled at her. Emma nodded, her face softening with her temper. She found his jacket on the back of the couch and reached into the pocket, pulling out a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. She chuckled and set them aside, returning to the pocket for the second item. She discovered a blue Tiffany box, wrapped tightly with a delicate silver ribbon. She held it in the palm of her hand for a moment, silently considering the significance of the gift. Arran eased up behind her and lifted the precious box from her hand, encouraging her to turn around.
“It’s a gesture of friendship, Emma. You look positively terrified,” he mused, unwrapping the ribbon. She grinned sheepishly when she realized how poorly she must have hid her thoughts. She quickly adjusted her expression and greeted him with a warmer smile.
“I’m sorry,” she sighed, “you just surprised me.”
The Baby Favor Page 37
