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Is it ginger? I think that’s the spicy part at the start, but the undertone is sweet. Something like grapefruit, or maybe it’s lemongrass, all combined with the richness of vanilla.
“So, what are they?”
I stare blankly at the instruction sheet. There are approximately six thousand steps on there. How could something that costs so much money still require assembly? For what I paid for this table, it should have come complete, serving up its own dinners on gold plates with gold knives and forks.
That would be nice. For dinner to spontaneously put itself on the table and for the table to chef up its own magic. In my world, that’s called takeout, but there’s no magic in choosing something off a menu and dialing a number.
“Uh…rules. Right.”
“You’re not even paying attention!” Emily snatches the table instructions out of my hand. She gets close, and I inhale deeply again. My groin appreciates the mystery of the scent as much as my olfactory senses do. She glances at the paper, then reaches into the box and pulls out two metal pieces that are obviously part of the legs.
“I am. Sorry.”
“Sorry my ass.”
“You have a very fine one.” The words are out before I can consider them, and while my brain says it’s true, Emily’s look is absolutely scalding.
“Rule number one: No comments about my ass or my assets. Rule number two: They’re off-limits. Forever. Always. Rule number three: This is fake. On the odd chance that you have to do something in public, then it’s hand-holding or a brush of the shoulder. Never anything more. Rule number four: Never anything at work. We’re professional there. Always. I don’t want this messing with my job any more than it has. And lastly, rule number five: When we have to spend time together, we find something else to do. Bring your own entertainment, as in your work, your phone, or a book.”
I look over Emily’s shoulder, past the delicate, pretty column of her neck and all that fiery hair to the paper in her hand. Then, I reach for the next couple of metal parts. I have to take one of the parts Emily is holding, and when I do, our hands brush, but we don’t create sparks. Well, unless my dick rising to life at the appreciation of the briefest of brushes over silky skin counts.
“You mean like this?”
“This is not entertainment. I’m busy, and I have my own life. Part of this agreement should not be me having to keep you busy. This isn’t a real relationship, and honestly, I’m just glad to get out of the last one. I’m tired of having to support someone, cook their meals, do their laundry, and find things to do to keep them from being bored because they honestly couldn’t have enough of a life to bother with actually finding hobbies of their own—” She cuts herself off and makes a noise in her throat. “Sorry. That sounds bitter.”
“No. No worries. You won’t have to cook for me, clean for me, do my laundry, or support me financially. And I have enough hobbies of my own.”
Emily hesitates, but then her eyes flick down to the paper, and she grabs another part out of the box. I let my eyes linger on her face. I’ve forgotten all about the table. Rather, I’m quite transfixed by this woman’s beauty. She has a wounded air, thanks to her douchebag of an ex, and it sounds like she was quite ill-treated by the scumbag, lowlife, sponging loser who had zero appreciation for the actual person she is. He obviously used her like his mama’s basement and lived accordingly. And then cheated on her to boot. It shouldn’t be too hard to follow up to such a vile creature, but it’s because the act was so nauseating that winning Emily’s trust is going to be extremely difficult.
So, I’ll follow her rules. It shouldn’t be hard at all, given that this isn’t real, but her physical proximity combined with the beauty she doesn’t even seem to be aware of is doing things to me. Those kind of things. Things that are hard to ignore.
I already wonder what it would be like to kiss her. No, I know what it was like. But I wonder what it would be like to do it again, without the element of surprise. Or maybe with it, but somewhere less public and with far less agenda.
Emily stabs at the paper. “This makes no sense.” Her eyes narrow, and when her teeth sink into her plush lip again, I nearly let out a groan. This is going to be a hang dang of a lot harder than I anticipated.
“I think you actually need this piece.” I lean past her toward the box and pull out a different part of the leg. “Not that one.”
