by Anna Paige
Kane nodded to his twin and slid a questioning look my way. “You down?”
“Nah. But be sure to forward any pics and videos though—especially if he gets slapped again. I’ll add them to my ever-growing file.”
“Blow me,” Lennox muttered as the doors opened and deposited us in the lobby.
“Guess we’ll hit you up in the morning then?” Kane asked.
I took out my keys and nodded, sliding my shades into place as we drew close to the entrance. “Good luck tonight,” I told Kane and Lenn before turning to Kade. “FYI, I texted Aubrey earlier and told her to be sure to order the most expensive thing on the menu and then refuse to put out.”
He snorted. “Too late. She already did. And she will again before dinner. Might even knock one out at the restaurant.”
I winced. “See, it was supposed to be funny and then you went and took it too far.”
“There’s no such thing as too far. Just ask my wife.” He snickered as he punched my shoulder and stepped around me to leave.
Here I was trying to keep my focus off sex, so I wouldn’t instantly jump Emily’s bones at the first sight of her, and every one of those jackasses had screwing on the brain.
Guess hanging with them would not be the distraction I’d hoped it would be.
Shit.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ethan
When I got back to my loft, there were packages waiting for me, just as I’d hoped. Since I couldn’t be seen shopping for paints and canvases—for several reasons—it was so much easier to buy the stuff and have it delivered. I used a local art supplier and business credit card so they had no way to connect the purchases to me. Packages for my address always stayed at security until I arrived to verify they were legit.
It was a lot of shit to go through for some art supplies, but one could never be too careful.
Once inside my loft, I dropped my keys on the entry table and made a beeline for the studio. I unloaded the bags and set about arranging everything on the huge steel work table, putting away the colors and brushes I wouldn’t need yet and leaving others out so I could make progress on my painting of Emily.
When I was satisfied with the way everything was laid out. I pulled the canvas over and got to work. It was still early, and the morning sun was streaming through the windows, giving me the perfect amount of light to work by.
The smell of the acrylic paints was comforting and familiar as I began working on the outer edges of the piece and worked my way in, from the darkest corners of the alley toward the faint glow of the aging security light, and finally to Emily’s slender form.
I worked for hours, homing in on the smallest details, making every snow flake that fluttered around the lone light source seem real enough to catch on my tongue. Emily’s silky blond hair looked real enough to run my fingers through and her slender neck was enticing enough to make my mouth water.
The only flash of color was her bright red pumps. In reality, they had been slightly brighter than my signature red, but I couldn’t bring myself to make that change. I needed that red in every piece. No one apart from Emily would know the difference anyway.
My hands were stained and a bit shaky as I focused in on that portion of the painting, a familiar ache starting in my chest. That color, that exact shade that I now kept dozens of tubes of, was a memorial, a tribute to the person I’d loved most in the world growing up, the person who taught me to paint in the first place.
It was Ryan’s red. His favorite color. The one he couldn’t stop using from the moment he first fell for Cara, who had been wearing a sweater in that exact shade the night he realized she was the one. He said he couldn’t stop looking at her, memorizing every part of her, and after that night, he swore he saw that color in his dreams.
It became his obsession to use it at least a little in every piece from then on, bringing a little part of his love for her into the other love of his life—painting. And when he wasn’t here anymore to do it, I picked up the habit. I tried several times over the years to finish a piece without it, but it was impossible. I just couldn’t think of a painting as complete without that splash of Ryan’s red.
No one had ever commented on it before Emily. She was so intuitive, so different.
My phone chirped in my pocket and I stepped back, admiring my work for a moment as I idly wiped my hands and pulled the phone out with two fingers.
Emily: Making my list for turkey day. Candied yams or sweet potato casserole (with marshmallows because that’s the law)?
My smile was so wide it actually hurt a little.
Me: Casserole. And damn right it’s the law.
Emily: I knew I liked you for a reason.
Me: And here I thought it was my winning personality and rockin’ bod.
Emily: And your modesty.
Me: Exactly.
Emily: You must be painting.
I frowned down at my phone and looked around the studio.
Me: Yeah. Non-stop since this morning. How did you know?
Emily: Educated guess. From your responses, I figured the fumes must have gotten to you.
Me: You’re hilarious. And my studio is well ventilated, or did you miss all those windows and fans when you were here?
Emily: Totally missed them. I may have been a bit distracted, but that was mostly your fault.
Me: Overwhelmed by my animal magnetism?
Emily: I was referring to your immense talent. You know, the dozens of breathtaking paintings?
Me: The only thing I saw that was truly breathtaking was you, Miss Emily.
There was a longer pause then, like she was having a hard time finding a response. The little typing bubble appeared and disappeared several times but nothing came through.
While I was waiting, I set the phone down and did a more thorough job of cleaning my hands. I only glanced at the darkened phone screen half a dozen times in that two or three-minute span.
Eventually, my patience was rewarded.
Emily: Sorry. Dammit started doing a little dance he reserves for emergency situations. We’re in the elevator, heading out for our afternoon walk. I’m gonna ignore your compliment for now because I have no idea what to say to that, but I’m curious…why do you keep calling me Miss Emily? I’ve been dying to ask for weeks now, but you keep me so flustered I keep forgetting.
Me: Give Dammit my apologies for distracting you. And the Miss is largely because of that southern accent you try so hard to hide. It’s a southern thing to throw the Miss in there, right? It was for my high school math teacher, who was from Georgia. All the girls were Miss and the guys were Mister.
Emily: As long as it’s not a patronizing thing we’re good, Mister Ethan. :P
Me: Me? Patronizing? Never. Sarcastic, yes, but never patronizing. So, where do you and Dammit go for your walks?
Emily: Depends. For regular walks, we hit Washington Square Park but we’ve been known to venture further on really nice days to change it up. Today is cold as hell, so we’re going to find the nearest patch of grass and hustle back home. Brr.
Me: Then what? Any plans?
It took her a few minutes to respond, during which I cleaned up my paints and headed downstairs to gather my stuff for a shower. After all these years, I still couldn’t manage to paint without getting the shit all over me.
Not that I cared, really. It wasn’t that hard to scrub off.
But Ryan had never gotten a speck on him.
I started the shower and had just finished undressing when Emily texted back.
Emily: No plans. Hot cocoa, doggie snuggles, and yoga pants that have never actually been worn for yoga. How about you?
Me: Sounds like a wild Saturday night. I’m not doing anything either. Kade and Aubrey had plans, and Kane and Lenn are going back to the club they darted off to last night.
Emily: No interest in clubbing tonight, huh?
Me: None. Not even a little.
I wasn’t going to tell her I’d thought of noth
ing else but seeing her since the plane touched down after midnight. We hadn’t made specific plans for when I got back, only that we’d see each other—hopefully a lot.
Emily: How do you feel about cocoa and attention-seeking canines?
Me: Depends…would I have to sport the yoga pants, too?
Emily: Yoga pants aren’t necessary but I do ask that you wear pants of some sort.
Me: You say that now…
I was standing in my bathroom—naked—laughing down at the phone in my hand and trying to ignore my burgeoning erection.
Emily: You’re terrible.
Me: You misspelled terrific.
Emily: Sure I did. Smartass. I’m making homemade beef stew, so don’t eat anything.
Me: A home cooked meal AND cocoa? I’ll be there in twenty.
Emily: The cocoa is homemade too…
Me: Make it fifteen.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ethan
“That smells amazing,” I told her for the tenth time as I looked over her shoulder. She was stirring the beef stew while the cocoa lazily steamed on the back burner.
“It’ll be a little while longer.” She left a small amount of broth on the spoon she was using and turned to me, blowing on it slowly. “Taste and tell me if it needs anything.”
My mind flashed to my childhood, when my mother would do the same thing to either me or Ryan, calling us her little taste testers. We often fought over whose turn it was, much to her delight. I could still see her smile and hear her light-hearted laughter. Neither of which had made an appearance in years.
“Ethan? You okay?”
I shook myself—quite literally—and offered a smile I didn’t feel. “Sorry, must have been mesmerized by the aroma.” I let her touch the spoon to my lips and held her eye as I noisily slurped the contents, making her giggle.
“It’s perfect. Don’t change a thing.” I nodded.
She took the spoon over to the sink and replaced it with a clean one. “How about some cocoa while we wait for dinner, and you can tell me what really made you space out just now?”
I blew out a breath, smiling for real now. “You’re entirely too perceptive.”
“Not really. But I do think a guy who’s leading a double life should be a better liar.”
She poured us both steaming mugs of cocoa and plunked a giant marshmallow on top of each one before nodding to the living room, looking ecstatic to finally be in the same room with me. I felt the same way, as evidenced by the bone crushing hug I’d pulled her into as soon as she opened the door. “Careful when you turn around. Dammit has been keeping so close to your heels, you might accidentally trip over him.”
I glanced down at the light brown ball of adorable and sure enough, he was all but leaning on my leg. “Hey, dude. Sorry you can’t have chocolate, but maybe we can talk your human into hooking you up with one of those marshmallows. Whatcha think?”
Dammit stood and wagged his tail, giving a low woof of agreement.
He and I both turned to give her puppy dog eyes. Since he was unable to verbalize his plea, I stepped up and said, “Just one? Please? Look at him; he’s such a good boy.”
She shook her head as she glanced down and answered as if Dammit had asked the question. “And when all that sugar gives you the trots, who do you suppose will be taking you out in the freezing cold to do your business?” She hooked a thumb in my direction. “Him? No. It’ll be me out there shivering, holding a plastic bag in the middle of the night.”
Dammit woofed again, moving to stand in front of her now that she was talking directly to him, his tail still wagging like he didn’t see the problem with her scenario.
“Doesn’t he have one of those fake grass patches on the balcony?” I seemed to recall her mentioning that.
“Yeah, but he only piddles there. He won’t do the other thing.”
I couldn’t help chuckling. “Interesting quirk.”
“Tip of the iceberg.” She leaned down and scratched behind his ears, which nearly made him fall over in apparent delight. “You should see what he does to an unattended laundry basket. And do not leave your food anywhere within his reach. No self-control whatsoever.”
“We all have our issues with impulse control, though, don’t we? Of course, most of us don’t have that adorable face helping to get us out of trouble.”
There was a slight blush in her cheeks when she looked up at me and said, “You have better willpower than most men I know, actually, and your looks have probably bailed you out of plenty of sticky situations.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” I turned my gaze to the ceiling, plastering an innocent look on my face.
“Uh huh,” she muttered, patting Dammit’s head on her way past me. “Even the dog just rolled his eyes at that one.”
Dammit took a few steps to follow her but stopped and backtracked to wait for me. I looked down at him, speaking loudly enough for her to hear. “And here I was trying to score you a treat. I thought we were friends, dude.”
His ears perked up at the word treat, and he went into a tizzy, running around my legs twice before darting off to the living room after Emily.
She nearly stumbled over him as he excitedly wound around her legs, chuffing under his breath. After setting her cocoa on the TV cabinet—well out of Dammit’s reach—she turned to me with a huff. “You’ve gone and done it now.”
“Done what?”
She pointed to Dammit, who was still behaving like someone had given him a Red Bull. “You said t-r-e-a-t.”
Dammit chuffed louder, jumping up and nuzzling her hand where it hung by her side, clearly encouraged by what he’d heard.
“Can that dog spell?” I asked, surprised.
“Apparently.” She rolled her eyes, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “At least you didn’t say the other thing. He completely loses his shit when he hears that.”
I smirked. “Hears what?”
“Uh uh. Nice try. I’m not saying it or spelling it. I don’t want the neighbors calling the super and complaining about the barking. Again.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Fine. You can text it to me. After you get him his t-r-e-a-t.”
Dammit’s head turned in my direction and he launched himself at my feet, actually standing on one of them so he could reach my hand when he jumped up.
Emily grumbled from across the room. “That’s the problem. I forgot to buy the stuff to make more when I stopped off at the market earlier.”
Of course, she made his treats from scratch.
I smiled and reached down to lift Dammit into my arms. Grinning at Emily, I asked the wiggling, face-licking little pup, “Guess who’s getting that marshmallow after all?”
Emily smiled right back, also talking to the dog as she drew closer. “And guess who’s now required to stay long enough to join us for your late-night walk?” She stepped past me, on her way to get the t-r-e-a-t. “He even gets to carry the baggie.”
I leaned back and looked down at my furry co-conspirator. “What have I gotten myself into?”
He enthusiastically licked my face as I laughed. Whatever I’d gotten myself into, I was enjoying every minute.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Emily
“You sure you got enough to eat?” I asked, watching as Ethan sank deeper into the couch with a groan, Dammit nestled in beside him.
“I’m about to explode, so yeah.” Dammit shifted to lay his head on Ethan’s lap. The little traitor hadn’t so much as looked my way since I’d allowed Ethan to give him that blasted marshmallow.
“Please don’t do it on my couch. I didn’t pay the extra money to have it Scotchgarded.”
“Hey, it would be your own fault for feeding me so well…and for cheaping out on the Scotchgarding. Serves you right.”
“So, it’s my fault you’re about to explode?” I realized what I said just as the last syllable left my mouth and instantly turned away, trying to hide the blush that heated my cheeks and
neck.
Ethan chuckled, and the huskiness of his voice—the deep timbre and rumble of it—made my whole body heat in the same way my face had, though for decidedly different reasons. “Care to rephrase that, Miss Emily?”
I turned back to him, taking in his sly smile and the way his eyes roamed my body. I could have backed down, but I didn’t. Something about that look emboldened me. “Nope. The question stands as it is. Unless you aren’t comfortable answering.”
I was baiting him, and he knew it. The way he subtly shifted on the couch told me at least part of him wanted to take that bait.
His gaze lingered on my lips for the longest time. There was a slight furrow in his brow, like he really was thinking about his answer rather than preparing to make the glib comment I was expecting.
Those full, perfect lips of his parted, and he swept his tongue quickly across them on an inhale as he prepared to speak.
Just then, Dammit whimpered and scrambled off the couch, coming over to me for the first time since before dinner, whining and shuffling back and forth in front of the recliner where I sat.
I glanced back at Ethan, the excitement I’d been feeling all but gone as I sighed. “Time to pay the price for that marshmallow, I guess.”
Of all the shitty—no pun intended—timing.
Dammit.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Emily
After we’d made our way to the closest patch of grass and dealt with the aftermath of Dammit’s sugary treat, we lingered there on the sidewalk. It was late, but it was still a Saturday night, so there was lots of foot traffic. I was worried that Ethan would be recognized but he just shrugged it off when I commented on it.
“It’s cold as fuck out here, so people are more concerned with getting where they’re going than checking out the other unfortunate, freezing souls as they pass by.” He pointedly looked at a woman who was hurrying by, her head down to block the cold. “I could probably get away with wearing sunglasses since the streets are always so bright, but that just seems like a douchebag move. Know what I mean?”
