Page 28 of Emerson

“You’re going to stand there and let me do this because I feel bad that Warren beat your ass. Then you’re going to say something that I will choose to take offensively. I’ll leave. You’ll let me. And tomorrow, we’ll go back to barely tolerating each other.”

Dillon makes a noise deep in his throat, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“Brat.”

“Asshole.”

“You drive me fucking crazy, Emerson.”

“Likewise.”

The towel makes a wet, slapping sound against the bathroom tiles, and Dillon moves his head ever so slightly closer.

“We can keep pretending all you want, baby. But two years is an awfully long temper tantrum, don’t you think?”

“Not nearly long enough, actually.”

Closer.

“I meant it when I said I missed you.” The sincerity in his voice is like a sledgehammer to my defenses. I grasp for a witty response, but all I’m capable of doing is looking up at him with a racing heart and a burning chest.

Dillon grazes his nose across my temple, down the side of my face. I close my eyes and try to breathe.

When his soft, warm breath touches the side of my mouth, it’s a live wire to my system. One breath, and I feel it sweep through my entire body. I shiver. I grasp onto the front of his t-shirt and melt. For one moment.

One moment. I allow myself to feel the warmth of his chest.

The rough, abrasive feel of his beard against my face.

When his lips touch the side of my mouth, my own lips part.

And I breathe in the moment.

One fucking moment.

Then I slip out of his hold and leave.

Emerson

It was supposed to be a peck on the lips. Just a peck. Now I know what Dillon Montgomery sounds like when he loses control. The deep sound is weaving itself into my psyche. Just like the feel of his hands perfectly grasping my hips. The knowledge of what his lips feel like against my own. They’re the only soft things on his body, but he doesn’t kiss softly.

I don’t either.

I climb him like a damn tree, trying to get closer and terrified of what will happen when we come up for air.

“Emery…”

“Emery? Helloooo?”

I blink, then flutter my lashes and wave my hand in the air in front of my face like it can swipe away the pesky memory bugs that have been absolutely eating me alive.

“What,” I snap, jabbing the fork in my salad bowl. The whole bistro table shakes, and Zane grabs onto it to hold it steady.

“Can I ask you what's wrong? Or would that be dangerous right now with you wielding a potential weapon?”

“I’ll stab you.”

“Perfect,” Z says, snorting. He lets go of the table with one hand to pick up his Caesar wrap. “Well, in that case, did you hear about—”