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Chapter Eight
In the morning, I wake at dawn just as I did the day before. When I'm at home, I always get up by six to start my day with a light breakfast before heading into my home office. Maybe I don't have an office here in New Orleans, but I decide I should use the suite's living area as a makeshift space for doing all the dull things a lawyer does. I'd meant this as a working holiday, anyway. Emery convinced me to try having "fun," but I still need to do something meaningful.
Aye, work is meaningful to me, more so than the sorts of activities Emery values above everything else.
But I have a wee bit of trouble getting out of bed this morning. I lie here, on my side, watching her sleep. She's facing me, and her lips are curved into a soft, sweet smile that makes me curious about what dreams she enjoys while she's slumbering. All right, I don't get up precisely at dawn, though I am awake then. It might be slightly after sunrise. After pulling on my clothes, I grab a terry-cloth robe from the bathroom and drape it over the foot of the bed for Emery.
Then I drag myself out of the bedroom and abandon the lovely lass who shared my bed for the past two nights.
Should it be this hard to stop gazing at a sleeping woman?
The answer hardly matters because I have made a decision. Several decisions, in fact. After ordering my light breakfast from room service and eating it alone on the sofa, I settle into a high-backed, upholstered chair positioned near the French doors that open onto the terrace. I don't open the doors, though. I don't plan to look out through them either, except for the occasional break from staring at my computer. As I set my laptop on my thigh and get started drafting legal documents for my personal use, I experience a twinge of guilt that I'm not slaving away for my clients. But this is a holiday, of sorts. Foregoing client work for something that will iron out the kinks in my life hardly seems like malpractice.
Aye, the documents I'm crafting will make my life simpler. My plan seems perfectly rational to me. Emery is a clever lass, so I'm sure she will appreciate what I've done.
At eight thirty, Emery ambles out of the bedroom into the living area.
Since my chair is angled partly away from the French doors, I see her out of the corner of my eye the moment she crosses the threshold. She's wearing the robe I left out for her.
I prefer the way she looked in my shirt last night, but that's not appropriate for the daytime. Not sure a robe is either, especially the way she looks while sashaying toward me with that body concealed only by terry cloth.
My clothing is casual but professional, which I have no doubt will amuse Emery. My charcoal slacks and pale-green dress shirt won't make her swoon, but that hardly matters. I pretend my attention is focused on my computer so she won't know that I might've been…watching for her to come out of the bedroom. Brows lowered, mouth tight, I study the screen with my reading glasses perched on my nose. I almost hadn't worn them, because they might make me look stuffy, but I can't read the computer screen without them.
Bloody hell. Now I care if she likes my glasses.
While I study the document on-screen, Emery crouches in front of me and lays her hands on my knees.
I glance up at her without lifting my head. "Good morning. Sleep well?"
"Yes, very." She squeezes between my knees, but my computer blocks her from getting too close. "Why are you doing boring things on your computer? You should join me for a bath instead."
"How do you know what I'm doing is boring?"
"Because you look tense. If it was interesting—or heaven forbid, fun—you'd look more relaxed." She places one finger at the corner of my mouth and pushes it up. "Might even smile."
"I'm not on holiday, Emery. This is a work-related trip."
"Come on, it's Sunday. Spend another day with me before I have to go home."
Should I share my idea with her? I'd planned to wait until later. But as I gaze at her, I find I want to tell her. I need to finish this document first, though.
I tip my head down to peer up at her over the tops of my glasses. "As much as I would enj—appreciate the company, I have to finish this contract."
She sinks back on her heels. "Contract? What kind of business are you in?"
"Later, I will explain. You have my word."
"Ugh. It's always later with you." She picks up my computer and sets it on the floor. I can't move, both curious and stunned while the lass wriggles between my thighs to loop her arms around my neck. "Be spontaneous, just this once. For me. I'll beg if you want."
My lips twitch against my will, but I repress the urge to wrap my arms around her. With my hands on my thighs, I shake my head. "Later is the best I can offer."
"What are we going to do later? At least tell me that."
The impulse I'd repressed seizes me again, stronger this time, and I lash my arms around her waist, then stand up while hoisting her with me. She lands on her bare feet. I ease her away from my body.
"Have a bath," I say. "I'll be finished soon."
"And then you'll join me?"
