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Easing from beneath Nathan’s arm proved difficult for several reasons.
Huge muscles were heavy.
His big naked body held as much temptation relaxed in sleep as it had aroused.
And he’d worn her out with the most incredible lovemaking she’d ever experienced.
As she swung her feet to the floor, Nathan stirred and reached toward her. She scooted off the bed and glanced over her shoulder, wondering if he’d awaken. He slumbered on, face half-buried in her pillow, his muscular torso sprawled across the space she’d so recently occupied. Ignoring the voice in her head encouraging her to wake him up for one last hurrah, Emma searched the dark room for her discarded clothes.
She nearly tripped over her skirt. Her bra lay three feet away. When had she kicked off her shoes? She paused to drape Nathan’s pants across the foot of his bed. His shirt followed after she put the garment to her nose for a deep hit of the cologne he wore. The same scent emanated from her skin. She smiled, wondering if the hands he’d smoothed over every inch of her skin smelled like Donna Karan’s Cashmere Mist.
A groan gathered in her throat. Why hadn’t she honored the promises to herself and stayed out of Nathan’s bed? Who was she kidding—the instant his mouth settled on hers, stealing her breath, demanding her surrender, she’d been putty in his hands. He’d wrung impassioned moans from her throat, sexy encouragement from her lips and uncontrolled writhing from her body. Her cheeks burned hot as she thought about all the things she had let him do.
She stared at the bed, eyeing the tangled sheets that bared his back and most of one butt cheek. Shockingly, the space between her thighs tingled. She bit down on her tender, well-kissed lips, fighting temptation. How could she possibly be ready for more?
Quit stalling. Get yourself dressed and get out.
The urge to pause for one last look at the slumbering man fought with her practical side. Hadn’t she already overindulged? Emma slipped on her lingerie and skirt, zipping it on the short walk into his living room, and dangled her shoes by the straps as she made her way to the door.
As each mile of the taxi ride home took her farther away from Nathan, her body came down off a sensual high. She felt the first twinge of a withdrawal headache as she put her key in the lock. By the time she swung the door open, her nerves were showing distinct signs of exposed edges. She felt strung out and weary beyond words.
Flipping on the lights, she stared at the empty room. Adrenaline surged, banishing any fatigue. What the hell had happened to her stuff?
She advanced into her loft and stopped where her couch should have been. Her heart jumped in her chest. Next, she pushed open the door to her workroom and stared at the bare space. No equipment. No supplies and finished pieces. Half-dazed, she crossed the hall to check out her bedroom. Furniture. Clothes. Everything she owned. Gone.
Emma closed her eyes. Her fingers tightened into fists.
Nathan.
He’d lured her out for a romantic dinner with assurances that he wouldn’t persuade or bully her to move out of the loft. He’d plied her with flirtatious conversation until she’d fallen back into bed with him. Emma growled. All the while his movers had been busy clearing out her things. He must have had a good laugh at her expense tonight. What an idiot she was.
Thank goodness it was too early to call Addison. Emma wanted nothing more than to run to her best friend, borrow a pair of pajamas and curl up on her couch to whine about Nathan. Three months ago she would have done just that.
Her father’s belief that she lacked drive wasn’t a notion he’d pulled out of thin air. As a pampered and spoiled heiress, Emma was never expected to accomplish anything. As a result, she’d never taken charge of her life, just drifted through it.
But her expectations for herself had changed. And if she intended to produce $35,000 worth of jewelry, she would have to go to Nathan and demand her equipment back.
She dug her car keys out of her purse and marched out the door. At half past five o’clock in the morning, few cars were on the road as she sped through town on her way back to Nathan’s condo. She didn’t bother to call him again, not wanting him to know she was coming. By the time she pulled into his parking lot, she’d worked herself into a fine fury.
Standing outside his door, she listened to her pounding heart and some of the urgency left her. She wasn’t good at confrontation. Probably because she’d spent so much of her childhood surrounded by it. Her parents fought all the time. Fire from her mother. Ice from her father.
Nathan answered the door almost before she lifted her finger from his doorbell. Dressed in pajama bottoms, his muscular chest looming bare and magnificent before her eyes, he leaned his forearm against the doorframe and looked her up and down. “Well, hello. Did you run out for coffee and doughnuts?”
