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That brings out laughter from both of us. When Emery finally stops laughing, he works on the top of the sink. “Why’d you get into advertising, Miss Carter? Are you just as lazy as me?”
It’s a hard question for me to answer. “I don’t know. I never meant to go into the creative side because it’s too people-oriented. I wanted to do data analysis and crunch numbers. There’s no better industry than advertising for that.”
He nods as he reaches under the sink and grits his teeth. His arms tense, his veins rising to the surface, and it’s hard for me to think about anything other than him straining like that while he’s lying on top of me.
Then it’s done, and he pulls his hand out from under the sink. He holds his hands up, both of them covered in grease. “Luckily, I didn’t need to glue anything, so everything should be good now.”
I arch my eyebrow as he turns on the sink, and no water sprays. He checks the pipes and says, “Excellent. No leaks.” He washes his hands with an excessive amount of soap and scrapes at the grease with his nails, slowing bringing his hands back to normal.
“I won’t lie. Having clean hands is a big bonus to not being a plumber. Every time I fix something, and I get this gunk on my hands, I thank my lucky stars that I never had to fall back on the training my dad gave me.”
The oven beeps while Emery’s hands are still dripping wet, and he says, “Can you get the food out? And maybe not break anything this time?”
“Funny. Maybe it was just my brilliant way of convincing you to take your shirt off.”
He huffs as he uses a dish towel to dry his hands. As soon as the oven is open, the room is filled with the smell of crab and Italian food, and every other thought is banished from my mind.
I turn to look at Emery, who’s grinning from ear to ear. “If this tastes anything like it smells, you may be my favorite boss so far.”
“Aren’t I your first real boss?” he asks as I pull the food out of the oven and set it down on a towel on the counter.
“Yeah, I was trying to make it sound like a compliment. You’re also the worst boss I’ve had so far.”
Emery chuckles and pulls two plates from the cabinet and opens a wine cabinet sitting next to the second fridge. “I don’t have any of the wine you loved the other night, but I’ve got a nice Pinot Grigio.”
“It’ll be wasted on my terrible taste buds, but I’ll drink nearly anything you’ve got.”
He arches his eyebrows and the corner of his lip curls up. “That’s the way to find yourself in a hot tub with two sets of swingers, all four of whom want to convince you to crawl into bed with them.”
“That sounds oddly specific, Emery.”
He pulls the cork from the bottle and pours two glasses of wine, but he pauses halfway through the second glass. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you prefer to skip the glasses and just share the bottle like a couple of hobos on the street corner?”
“Let’s use glasses since they’re already filled,” I say, and he finishes pouring the second glass.
I grab the glasses and carry them to the island before pausing for a moment. “Do you eat in here or in some fancy dining room?”
“Here’s fine,” he says as he puts three manicottis on each plate. “I have a fancy dining room, but it’s been used twice since I bought the place like eight years ago.”
I set the plates down on the island, picking two seats that don’t have huge puddles of water on them, and I sit down. Emery brings the wine and sits down next to me. He lifts his glass in a toast, and as I clink his glass with mine, he says, “To waterfalls in the kitchen, wet clothes, delicious food, and screaming orgasms.”
I almost say the first thing to come to mind.We haven’t had any screaming orgasms. Then I think better of it. “You’re a funny man, Emery. I will not bite at that piece of bait.”
“I’d hope not. I was just letting you know what my plan was for the rest of the night. A gentleman doesn’t surprise a woman with screaming orgasms.”
I can’t help myself. “Oh, so you’re a screamer. Good to know.”
This time, it’s Emery who doesn’t respond.
I cut into the pasta, and I realize I haven’t been excited about the food a single time tonight even though it’s my favorite food. I’ve been so caught up in Emery that I haven’t even thought about the fact that I’m about to eat crab manicotti for the third time in my life.
I scoop up a bite and savor the subtle crab flavors mixed with Italian spices and creaminess. God, this is heavenly.
“This is amazing,” I say as I swallow. “You have to give me the recipe.”
Emery chuckles. “I’d be an idiot to give you the recipe, but I’ll make you a permanent offer. If you’re ever craving it, just call me, and I’ll make some for you.”
“Emery Brooks! That’s rude. I mostly know how to do it. I just wanted the specific amounts.”
