Breaking Emily's Rules

by Heatherly Bell

He jutted his chin toward Winston. “Does your dog do this?”

  “No. Pookie has mastered the art of begging. But she’s an old gal. She could teach you a thing or two, Winston.” Emily pointed her fork at him. “Pookie sits next to me when I eat, right at my feet, her back to me.”

  “Playing hard to get?”

  “Trying to act like she doesn’t care whether or not she gets any scraps.” She lifted a shoulder. “It works.”

  “You give in?”

  “Of course. Dogs don’t live long, so they might as well enjoy it. Good food is one of life’s great pleasures.” A small amount of barbeque sauce dripped down the side of Emily’s mouth, and her tongue went out to flick it off. “Oops. This is messy.”

  That tongue action went straight to his groin, and he was reminded of another one of life’s great pleasures. He didn’t break eye contact with Emily as he slowly lowered his hand to Winston and handed him a rib bone. Winston reacted as though the rib bone might be his last meal on earth, nearly taking one of Stone’s fingers with him. Stone knew, for a fact, Winston would lumber out of the room, taking that bone with him to enjoy his feast in private.

  “You should at least make him work for it. Sit, or shake or lie down.” Emily licked her lips again, like she understood what it did to him. “I taught Pookie how to lie down and play dead.”

  “That’s Winston’s only trick. He lies down and plays dead almost twenty-four-seven.” He wiped his hands clean, stood and moved toward Emily.

  Her eyes on him, she laughed a little louder than normal. “That doesn’t count.”

  “Nervous?” He reached her side. “You have something—right here.” One hand holding her chin, he leaned forward and licked her lips. “Mmm.”

  His hands pulling her in, her entire body responded to him. She dipped her finger in his mouth. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

  He licked it dry then bit it. Yeah, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He’d pretty much stopped thinking. Emily and that mouth. Those eyes. Her laugh. She’d robbed him of his last brain cell. She kissed him then, or he kissed her, he couldn’t be sure who started it. It didn’t matter because things moved quickly then—her grasping at the hem of his T-shirt and tugging it off, him cupping her ass and pulling her against his erection.

  She licked and nipped at his collarbone, and he drew in a ragged breath. He pushed her up against the kitchen wall. “Is this what you want?” he whispered into her hair. Figured it might be a good time to ask, because soon they’d be past the point of no return. But if the way she moved in response to him was any indication, she was very much on board.

  She pressed into his hardness, making his temperature shoot up into jungle-fever levels. “I want you. Now.”

  He lifted her arms above her head and pinned her against the wall. She made a small sound of pleasure somewhere between a moan and a squeak. That single needy sound pushed him to lick from her neck down her shoulder, moving her shirt and bra strap with his teeth. With one hand he reached under her shirt and bra, feeling breasts more plump and round than he had imagined. Rosy pink, achingly soft.

  “Damn.” He lifted up her shirt and shoved the bra cup to the side, his mouth covering one warm breast, sucking her nipple in hard. Her entire body tensed, and she arched into him, moaning.

  He moved back to her mouth and kissed her, lingering there. Her body tensed, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the stupid rule he’d just broken. But when her fingers threaded in his hair, pulling him closer, it became clear the kissing wasn’t a deal breaker. Good. He had to remind himself this was what she wanted from him. Hard. Rough. Fast. Even if what she inspired in him was something altogether different. An unquantifiable something he couldn’t put his finger on, and might be best left unexamined. For the first time in a long while he wanted to feel something. A feeling that wasn’t pain or regret, even if it was only temporary.

  Don’t think. Just feel. She tastes so good. Like home.

  He pulled her jeans down. “Kick them off.”

  She did, stepped back and stood in front of him in nothing but her thong and bra, fleshy beautiful skin curving in all the right places. In case he had any lingering questions, she removed them with a few words. “I’ve never wanted anything or anyone as much as I want this.”

  “Come here.” He tugged her to him and eyed the kitchen table.

  She noticed, and her brows rose. “Really?”

  “It’s here.”

  “Yes,” Emily said. “I don’t want to wait another minute.”

  He pulled a condom from his pocket before he lowered his jeans and boxers. She moved to the table and backed up to it. Her eagerness worked for him, and he was rock hard as he slipped the condom on.

  As much as he wanted to slide into her wet heat, he couldn’t resist falling to his knees to take a taste of her warm sweetness, like honey on his tongue and lips. He couldn’t get enough of her, flicking his tongue slowly in and out. Her body tightened, and she shuddered and bucked beneath his lips, saying his name on a moan as she came. He rose then, easing one of her legs around his waist and leaning her against the table. With one hard quick thrust, he was inside her, warm and wet and wondering if he might stay there forever. But this was just once, and he reminded himself of that fact. So, if it was once, he would enjoy it. Enjoy the hell out of it.

  Emily’s eyes were at half-mast, but he wanted her to see him. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he wanted her to remember who made her feel this way. “Look at me.”

  Her green eyes darkened as she opened them. “You...you feel so good.”

  He couldn’t say the same. He’d felt good before. This was better. This was a word that hadn’t been invented yet. When Emily made a soft little sound in the back of her throat and when she tightened around him, he could no longer hold back.

  With one last thrust, he groaned and followed her over.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EVENTUALLY EMILY AND Stone made it to his bedroom, but she would never think of a kitchen table in quite the same way again. Now she fully understood what it felt like when the bedroom was too far away, when the need was so great the nearest surface would do. She’d received entrance into the Society of Satisfied Women, and she was likely never going to give up her membership card.

  Once more, she found Stone could do something with amazing skill. She mentally checked off the list: he could fly a plane, hold his own on the dance floor, rescue a damsel in distress, play a mean game of billiards and make a girl’s eyes roll to the back of her head. That last one was her favorite.

  She hadn’t been this breathless since Molly talked her into an Insanity workout session over a year ago. Emily hadn’t been back to that gym since, but she couldn’t say she didn’t want to be back under, and on top of, Stone again.

  She hadn’t planned any of this when she’d come by to bring him dinner. But then he’d licked the sauce off her lips. That had started off an avalanche of licking and touching that hadn’t ended until he was inside her.

  She stretched and took a good long look at him now, lying asleep beside her. His body might as well be a statue chiseled out of the perfect definition of a man. Defined pecs and washboard abs. The strong biceps of a working man, and two military tattoos—a flag on his right biceps and an eagle on his rib cage.

  Poor thing did look exhausted. No wonder, since she’d worn him out by begging him to do it again. And again. In her mind, she’d quickly redefined that “once” didn’t mean literally one time. It meant one session. Strange, because she’d never been quite so flexible with her rules. But this, again, was part of being a wild woman. Bending the rules, when it made sense.

  Emily Parker, a wild woman. At last.

  Emily lifted her head off the surprisingly soft pillow, and scanned the bedroom she’d been too busy to notice last night. A dresser, a
lamp and a duffel bag near the closet gave off new meaning to sparse. The rest of his father’s house might be packed to the gills, but Stone’s room shouted “temporary.” No pictures on the walls, either, save one framed photo of a plane.

  Temporary or not, she would enjoy every moment of this, and her hand reached out to touch him one more time. But just before her hand reached his pec, he caught her wrist midair, causing her breath to catch.

  One eye opened and assessed her.

  “I was only going to touch you.” Emily swallowed.

  Both eyes now open, he released her wrist. “Go ahead.”

  She let her hand rest on his right pec and caress down to his abs before she smiled at him, losing her nerve to go any farther. She had a lot to learn, and taking the initiative wasn’t in her bag of tricks. Stone wasn’t smiling. The hungry look in his eyes made her think of being eaten alive. She felt like a bunny alone in the big, vast forest. Except a bunny probably wouldn’t feel the intense and pleasant heat that ran a pathway straight from her heart down to her southern region, which she might as well rename the equator.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Holy Helena, it looked like he would bite her now, like he’d once said he might. “Want to tell me what happened Monday night?”

  “You know what? I should probably go.”

  Suddenly, he unceremoniously flipped her over on her back, lying on top of her like the rock of Gibraltar. “Nice try. Tell me.”

  She felt just a tad vulnerable in this position, and she pushed against him. He didn’t budge. “What do you want to know?”

  “Whatever you want to tell me.” He eased up off her, leaning on one elbow.

  Nothing. It’s too humiliating. “Nika. She’s pregnant.”

  “That was fast.”

  “What bugs me the most is everyone else was right. And I was wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “Nika. Rachel and Molly were suspicious. They said she was calculating and probably planning on marrying someone just so she could stay in the country. I thought they’d watched one too many movies. I didn’t think that kind of thing happened in real life. Nika needed a job, so I thought she could work for Greg.”

  “So you got her the job, and then she slept with your fiancé.”

  “Ex-fiancé. She probably did me a favor. But I can still be mad about it.”

  “Right.” He studied her for a long minute. “Except you don’t act mad. Having dinner with them. It sounds like you’re all friends again.”

  “She’s pregnant. I’m trying to do the right thing. I am mad, though. Can’t you tell?”

  He didn’t look like he believed her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why don’t you show me how angry you are?”

  “How?”

  “I know exactly what you need.”

  He got out of bed, naked, completely confident about his body. He grabbed a pair of pants and pulled them on.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Get dressed and come with me.”

  Get dressed? She’d been ready for round four and if last time was any indication, she’d do even better this time. Because a few minutes ago, Sergeant Stone Mcallister had been, by all indications, for the first time since she’d met him, at her mercy. She saw it in his eyes when she touched him the right way and heard it in his voice when he groaned. For once in her life, reading had helped her with a man. Thank you, Cosmopolitan.

  “I don’t think what I need involves getting dressed.” She let her eyes drift the length of him, even as he was pulling on his shirt.

  He grinned, showing one of the dimples. “Just trust me.”

  “Um, most of my clothes are in the kitchen.”

  “Right.” He was back within a few seconds with Emily’s push-up bra and thong since, thank you Molly and Rachel, she’d had the presence of mind to wear sexy underwear to deliver dinner. Just because, according to Molly and Rachel, a woman should always be prepared.

  “What about the rest of my clothes?” She’d worn jeans and a tank top, too. She clipped her bra on and glanced at him to find him watching.

  “One thing at a time. I think I’m going to enjoy watching you put those on as much as I enjoyed taking them off.”

  Once she was dressed, he took her hand and guided her through the house, through a doorway in the kitchen to the attached garage. The place seemed like an automobile mausoleum of sorts, filled with old road signs and an old Ford taking up most of the room. His hand slid over the hood of the car as he passed it. “Nineteen seventy-two. The days when the cars were the size of boats.”

  “Why do you think I need a car right now? Do you know me at all?”

  He came so close she thought he might kiss her, but instead, he put two big hands solidly around her waist and turned her to a far corner of the garage.

  “A punching bag?”

  “I put this in here a few months ago, after I moved in to help my dad.” He swung a fist into the bag and it swayed toward him. “The minute I heard about the misdiagnosis, and all that wasted time—”

  “Misdiagnosis.”

  “Yeah, they thought he had irritable bowel syndrome when what he really had was colon cancer. And by the time he got the right diagnosis...”

  “Too late,” she finished his sentence. “I’m sorry. So the bag was to help get out your frustrations?”

  “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Better than knocking out the doctors. Or the wall.”

  Emily came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He’d shared more with her in those few minutes than he had in the month or so she’d known him.

  “But what does this have to do with me?”

  “You need this.”

  “Me? You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve never punched anything in my life. I was taught to use my words.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to hear about any more nights like the other night on Bertha. And by the way, who calls a bull Bertha?”

  “The previous owner named her. It was supposed to be funny.”

  “It’s not.” He touched the bag. “This is a lot safer for you than Bertha.”

  Aw, he was worried about her. Concerned she might go getting herself injured falling off Bertha. He had a solid point. “Don’t worry. I won’t do that again. You’d be there to stop me anyway. Right?”

  He didn’t make eye contact. “Yeah, I forgot to tell you. My sister has agreed to sell the flight school to my buyer. So, I should be all wrapped up in town pretty soon. The house goes on the market on Monday.”

  “Oh. Good.” Now it all made sense. He was leaving, and she’d inspired such overwhelming confidence in the man that he thought he had to make sure she’d be all right without him.

  “I still have some time. I just don’t know how much.”

  “I’ll be all right, you know.” She’d never expected forever with him. He was supposed to be Mr. Right Now. And apparently he felt some guilt that maybe he’d taken advantage of poor, innocent Emily when she’d known exactly what she was getting into.

  “I know.”

  But she wasn’t sure he did, dammit. It was her idea to have no-strings sex and she’d done it. “This was my idea, if you remember.”

  “How could I forget?”

  “And I don’t need your stupid bag.” She swiped at it with the back of her hand.

  He glanced from the bag to her. “That was pathetic.”

  “I wasn’t trying!”

  “No kidding.” He came up behind her. “Put your hands into fists and then swing.”

  “I can’t do that.” She pushed back into him, rubbing her butt into his groin. They were wasting valuable time in this dusty, drafty old garage.

  He groaned. “Hit the damn bag, Emily. Pretend it’s your ex. Or your former friend.”
>
  “My God, Stone, I can’t hit a pregnant woman.”

  “It’s a bag.”

  Emily gave him a long look. “Why do you want me to do this again?”

  “I know a little bit about anger. And I think you’ve been angry for a while. With your ex, with your old friend, with yourself. Maybe even with me. Keeping it inside isn’t going to help. Believe me.”

  He might be right. When Emily stayed in her loft all those months, Grammy left many an article sitting on the counter, wide open to the page she wanted Emily to read. One of the articles was titled “Anger and Depression in Women.” The article had suggested women often traded anger for depression because girls had been mostly raised to believe anger was unacceptable. Emily had dismissed it all as pop psychology. Eventually, the fog had lifted, but in a way, she’d never dealt with the anger. Others had for her. Molly. Grammy. Rachel.

  “This is going to help me get my anger out?” Emily stared at the bag. Maybe if it had worked for Stone, it could work for her.

  “Yeah.” To demonstrate, he gave the bag a punch.

  “Like this?” She took a swing and missed.

  He frowned. “Next time, try hitting the bag.”

  “I’m trying.” She lifted up fists, feeling like a cross between Muhammad Ali and Cinderella. Her right hook missed the bag.

  Stone looked at the bag, then Emily. “How are you doing this?”

  “I told you. I don’t hit.” Although, this swinging felt pretty good. Freeing. Almost like hitting the horn accidentally and watching the stranger’s surprised expression. There was a fire in her, and she felt it now. She just needed to connect with this bag, but it kept moving out of reach.

  “Not like that, you don’t.” He came up behind her to position her hands, and yeah, maybe she enjoyed the closeness a little too much.

  She relaxed her body into his.

  “Hold your fists like this.”

  She held her fists in front of her chest and eyed him as he went behind the bag and held it in place. “You just need a little help to get the hang of it.”

  It worked. Emily swung and swung again, hearty punches into the bag, her breaths coming hard and fast. She pictured Greg falling down. She pictured Nika thanking Emily for getting her the job, cleaning the apartment and laughing about dorky and cute Greg with his color-coordinated ties and pocket protectors. “Engineers are definitely not my type. I like them big and strong,” Nika had said with a wink. Nika telling Emily she wasn’t interested in ever having children. Too expensive, she’d said. I want a beamer instead.