Page 42 of Emil

Slowly, I moved toward him. He had plenty of time to move away, but instead, he lowered his head so I could brush my mouth against his. As before, his soft, pouty lips were a balm. The scratch of his facial hair reminded me how fucking sexy men were, and Anders was a damn fine example of it. My hand found its way to his hair. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to run my fingers through the long strands. That fantasy would have to wait for another night.

“Goodnight,” I whispered. If I didn’t go now, I might not be able to make myself walk away. I took the keys from his hand and unlocked the door. “See you in the morning.”

Anders slipped inside, and I waited until I heard the soft snick of the lock. With the barrier between us, I realized one undeniable fact.

When Anders wasn’t next to me, I was lonely.

“Good morning.”

Anders’s light knock on my door at seven woke me from a dream that left me panting and wanting more. In the dream, Anders wasn’t on the other side of the door. He was in my bed, next to me, letting me do unspeakable things to his body. Now that I’d had a taste of him, however small, I couldn’t get the moment out of my head. It rattled around all night and kept me awake until I finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

After my shower, I followed the sounds into the kitchen. Anders was there, putting together French toast and bacon. The flash of his smile when I entered the room was a gut punch. How that fucking dickhead had taken everything Anders was and tried to grind it down was beyond me, but I was damn sure going to pick up the pieces.

I sat at the counter where I could watch him work, and he immediately pivoted to the coffee pot. He made it better than I ever did. When he set the mug in front of me, I took a slow sip and kept watching him. For a big man, he was graceful and smooth. Nothing about him was awkward. When he turned away, I had a perfect view of his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His long hair was pulled into a neat topknot. One of these days, I’d get to see it down in all its glory.

“Did you sleep well?”

Anders opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “For the most part.”

“What was the part you didn’t sleep well over?”

“Sometimes my imagination runs wild.” His tone made it clear that part of the conversation was closed, so I let it drop.

“What’s on your agenda for today?”

“I’m doing my final review of the files you gave me last week. What about you?”

“I have a meeting this afternoon, so I’ll be leaving this morning, but I’ll be back tonight.”

“You have a meeting on a Saturday?”

“Yeah. We wanted to make sure there’d be no one in the office to distract from the conversation.”

“That sounds serious.”

“It is. I don’t appreciate anyone fucking with my business.” I took another sip of my coffee, but his words finally registered in my brain.

“What did you say you were doing?”

Anders turned around with a plate of French toast in hand, setting it in front of me. He silently placed a pitcher of warmed syrup next to my hands.

“Finishing the file?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Yes, but it won’t take more than a few hours, and I don’t have anything else to do.” Anders fiddled with the dishtowel on the counter. His own plate of breakfast sat, ignored, next to him.

“New rule. You have weekends off. You’re not working yourself into an early grave. There’s nothing that can’t wait.” Anders looked genuinely panicked, and his breathing immediately turned harsh. The dish towel he’d been fiddling with now twisted into a tight tourniquet. Shit. “I need you to do something for me.”

Anders’s fast breathing slowed down a fraction.

Think fast, Magnuson.

“I’ve been thinking there’s not enough local art here at the house. I need you to scope out downtown for some art I can purchase to make this place feel less generic. The designer I hired wasn’t local, and now I see that was a mistake.”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“Thank you for coming in on a Saturday. I appreciate you taking the time.”