Chapter 205

[ 1,101 words ]

Emilia’s POV

Sebastian’s kiss stole the air from my lungs, right up until the cars behind us started blaring their horns.

I shoved him back, gasping. “Drive, you maniac. You’re blocking the whole road.”

He snorted, unbothered, and shifted the car back into gear. “We’ll finish this at home.”

The promise in his voice sent heat curling low in my belly, but I wasn’t about to let him see it. I crossed my arms and stared out the window, biting back a smile.

The second we got home, I made a beeline for the stairs. Sebastian was right on my heels.

“Hold it.” His hand caught my wrist and spun me around. “What exactly did you tell that woman?”

I turned slowly, my most innocent expression on. “What do you think I said? ’Sure, Auntie, introduce me to your son. My husband won’t mind.’”

His eyes flashed. “Emilia.”

“Relax.” I patted his chest. “I told her I’m married.”

The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. He dragged a hand through his hair. “Good.”

“But,” I added cheerfully, “she did invite me to dinner at her place this weekend.”

“What dinner?” The tension came right back.

“Just dinner, Sebastian. You know, where people sit at a table and eat food together?”

“I don’t like it.” His jaw tightened. “You’ve met her twice. Why is she inviting you to her house? You don’t find that strange?”

“Maybe she just likes me.” I shrugged. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t trust her.”

“Oh my God.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re the one always telling me to expand my circle, make connections with people who matter. Now I’m doing exactly that and you’re throwing a fit?” She runs her own company, built it herself, overseas no less. A woman like that, I could actually learn something from. That’s more than I can say for most of the people at that banquet.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because she tried to set you up with someone.” His voice rose. “What if this dinner is just an excuse to ambush you with her son?”

I stepped closer, sliding my hands up his chest. “I already told her I’m married. She dropped it right after. Can you please not be so paranoid?” I tilted my head and gave him my sweetest smile. “Hmm? My dear, possessive husband?”

I watched his resolve crumble. His green eyes darkened, and his hands found my waist.

“You’re sure it’s just dinner?” His voice had gone rough. “No surprise blind dates?”

“I’m sure.” I traced a finger along his collar. “Cross my heart.”

“Fine.” He let out a slow breath, then his grip tightened. “But I’m driving you there and picking you up.”

“Deal.”

Before I could say anything else, he lifted me onto the dressing table and found the zipper of my gown.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmured against my neck, “how long I’ve wanted you out of this dress?”

I’d planned to tease him, to make him work for it. But the heat in his eyes and the rough edge to his voice undid me. I grabbed his face and kissed him hard.

He made a low sound and slid the silk down my shoulders, his hands warm against my bare skin. I tugged at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until he lost patience and pulled it open himself.

His mouth moved down my throat, unhurried. I arched into him, my fingers curling in his hair. The edge of the table bit into my thighs and I didn’t care. Every place his hands touched lit up.

“Sebastian,” I breathed.

He lifted me without a word and carried me to the bed. My back hit the mattress and he followed me down, his weight settling over me. After that there was only the two of us, the slow build and the sharp edge of it, his name on my mouth and mine on his until the room went white and still.

Afterward I lay boneless against his shoulder, trying to catch my breath.

“You okay?” His hand traced on my back.

“Can’t… move,” I managed.

He chuckled and kissed my lips. “Go clean up. I’ll change the sheets.”

I made it to the bathroom on unsteady legs, caught my reflection, flushed and thoroughly undone, and couldn’t help smiling.

By the time I came back, he’d remade the bed and was waiting. I collapsed face-first onto the mattress with a groan.

“Shower,” I mumbled into the pillow. “Your turn.”

“In a minute.” He sat beside me, combing his fingers through my damp hair. “So. This woman. Claudine. Who was she trying to set you up with?”

“Her son,” I murmured, already half-asleep.

“What’s his name?”

I didn’t answer. Exhaustion was pulling me under.

“Emilia?” He gave my shoulder a gentle shake. “Hey. What’s her son’s name?”

But I was already gone, sliding into sleep before he could ask again.

Saturday evening came. I pulled up to the Peaceful Bay Resort, a sprawling estate that quietly screamed old money.

Claudine opened the door, her face lighting up. “Emilia! I was worried you might not come. I’m so glad you’re a woman of your word.”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it.” I held out the bottle of wine and the little box of chocolates I’d brought. “It’s just dinner. Of course I came.”

“You’re too kind.” She took them and ushered me inside. “Forgive the mess. I only just finished renovating.”

I glanced around the spotless living room, all tasteful furniture and carefully placed decor. “Mess? This place is beautiful.”

“You’re sweet to say so.” She tied on an apron. “Dinner’s about thirty minutes out. Make yourself at home.”

“Wait, you’re cooking?” I followed her toward the kitchen, surprised. “Yourself?”

“Of course.” She smiled over her shoulder. “I wanted you to taste my cooking.”

“Then I’m honored.”

I watched her move around the kitchen with easy confidence, nothing like the polished socialite from the banquet. This was the part I’d actually been curious about, the woman behind the business. She seemed so normal. Domestic, even.

“Sure you don’t need help?” I offered.

“I’m fine, dear. You’re my guest. Go relax.”

I wandered back out, taking in the framed photos on the walls, the books on the shelves. Everything spoke of a life carefully rebuilt after something. Divorce, she’d said. I wondered about the son she’d mentioned.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden.

“Could you get that, Emilia?” Claudine called from the kitchen. “My hands are covered in flour.”

“Of course.” I crossed to the door and pulled it open.

Then froze.

“Scott?”

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