Page 14 of Bossy Bride: Emma and Jesse

Emma is rushing past me with an armful of clothes that require a garment bag for travel when she practically skids to a stop, then places one hand on my cheek, gazes affectionately—I might even go so far as to say passionately—into my eyes, and beams a smile at me that could power space rockets and light up the solar system.

Then she kisses me on the lips, pats my cheek, and says, “You can eat the man-sized ones if you must. I’m just saying, the little ones taste better.”

They taste the same. They are scrumptious little bits of creamy sugar syrup and layers of doughy cinnamon that literally fuckin’ melt in your mouth. No chewing necessary. It makes no difference what size they are.

But I don’t want the man-sized ones. The mini ones remind me of our first date. And that… that was probably the best day of my life. I’m not even sure our wedding day could top first-date day, that’s how much fun I had on our first date.

“What’s wrong with you?” Emma asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting weird all morning.”

“Have not.”

“You so have. Are you disappointed that you didn’t get a Santa Machine present?”

I chuckle. “Well… maybe a little. But”—I grab her by the waist just as she tries to slip away and finish packing—“you’re all the present I need. And anyway, we’ll be in Key West in a few hours and I can forget all about that stupid building.”

She cocks her head at me. “What?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Come on. Let’s finish packing. We’re officially on vacation. No more serious thoughts until the new year forces us back to reality. For the next nine days it’s nothing but the ocean, and sandy toes, and your crazy mother and her wedding plans.”

“Do not encourage her, Jesse. I’m telling you, if we give in an inch, she’ll take over the whole wedding. And the next thing you know we’ll be walking down an aisle called Dumas Street.”

Dumas Street is what the family affectionately calls their little cul-de-sac of cottages. “I don’t know. I think I could live with that.”

“Don’t!” Emma points to me, face serious. “We only get one wedding, Mr. Boston. I want it my way.”

I put my hands up, surrendering. “Of course. It’s your day and the bossy bride always gets her way. But”—I point to my eyebrows as I waggle them—“it’s not your day yet.”

Then I tackle her to the couch.

CHAPTER FOUR - EMMA

I go crashing backwards, clothes flying off to the side, and internally I’m fuming. Because we’re on a schedule here. The car is probably downstairs, the jet is on the tarmac, and neither of us are packed or even dressed. My hair and makeup are done, but I’m still wearing my pink satin dressing robe. And Jesse hasn’t even taken a shower yet. He’s walking around in his red pajama pants and no shirt, his hair all tousled and messy, his jaw still scratchy, and—

“Oooo!” I squeal. Because he’s kissing me and his hands have found their way inside my robe. They’re cold and wandering all over my breasts.

He pulls my robe all the way open and starts kissing his way down my belly, his fingertips flitting down the side of my ribs as I grab his hair and decide he should maybe not shave today.

Because that scratchiness feels wonderful as his face settles between my legs.

“Jesse.” It’s kind of a half moan, half warning.

He looks up at me, but he continues to lick me. “What?” He whispers it in that husky I’m-about-to-fuck-you voice I love so much.

“We’re going to be late.”

“It’s your jet, Emma. It leaves when we’re on it.”

“I know, but Miles and Christopher are celebrating the holidays in Vegas this year—”

“I know. I bought them that trip.”

“—and they want to get there.”

“Their Bellagio reservation isn’t until tomorrow. They’re spending the night in Key West.”