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Griffin drops down beside me. His weight on the bed shifts me toward him, and our hips press together. I’d expect after a night of drinking and dancing for him to smell like liquor or sweat, but he smells like…reassurance. That’s not really a scent, but for some reason Griffin’s combination of fresh linen detergent, body wash and hint of sandalwood makes me feel calm.
His hand comes to rest on my thigh in a comforting gesture. There’s a good inch of thick cotton robe between us, but feeling the weight of him there suddenly makes me aware that I’m not wearing anything underneath.
Beneath my robe, my belly clenches and I can feel my heartbeat in my clit.
“Did you take the ibuprofen I left?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you. And drank a bottle of water. I probably need to sleep it off, but my brain is having a hard time relaxing.” Also, my brain is now working hard to remember every detail of last night. The exact feel of Griffin’s hard, muscled body against mine as he hovered above me. The stubble on his jaw scraping against the sensitive skin of my neck. My leg is now on fire where his palm still rests. The ache in my head is suddenly contending with the one between my thighs. I’m struggling to keep up my end of the conversation.
“Are you hungover?” I ask.
“A little. Not too bad.”
“How is that possible? You had way more shots than I did.”
“And I’m twice your size,” he teases, and his arm brushing against mine causes another wave of lust to head southward.
“Good point.” I laugh, but end up wincing at the sound. “I’m thirty. You’d think I would’ve learned that champagne gives me the worst hangovers by now. And those shots…not a great idea on my part.”
“Yeah.” A chuckle reverberates in his throat. He’s quiet a moment before he speaks again.
“I don’t know if it works, but the guys have a hangover cure they swear by.”
“Oh, yeah? What is it?” I ask. I’ll try anything if I can avoid feeling like this all day. I stand up, ready to take on the challenge, whatever it might be. God, I hope it’s not drinking raw eggs. I saw that on a video once and I nearly threw up. I don’t think I could stomach it right now, even if it would help in the long run.
Griffin stares at the knot on my robe, then lifts his gaze to mine.
“An orgasm.”
CHAPTER8
Griffin
“I’m sorry, what?” Emma’s eyes widen at my suggestion and immediately I regret my words. Maybe I am hungover. Or still drunk. Or I’m sober and my attraction to Emma is making me say things that are completely out of character.
Being near Emma appears to be my kryptonite. That’s the only way I can explain what happened last night. How badly I fucked everything up by letting this woman, her infectious spirit and our explosive chemistry, obliterate my plans to see her safely—and with no regrets—to her hotel room.
Safety was never a question…the matter of no regrets…a complete failure.
Emma is mywifenow.Mywife.
That word carries enough weight to make my shoulders instantly twenty pounds heavier. I’m not ready to be anyone’s husband. And, before last night, I’d never thought I would be. There’s so much I need to achieve for myself before I can be good for someone else. And Emma deserves someone ready to be her everything. Right now, I’m not that guy.
Marriage and a family were never things I saw for myself. I’ve raised Sophie. Dedicated my twenties to the stress of being a good role model and making sure she had everything she needed. I’d learned from my mom that love was fleeting, my dad, then Sophie’s, as well as the multiple boyfriends she had in between.
Last night I wanted Emma. I let myself give in to the idea of having something, someone, for myself. A fun night. It’s what we both wanted. But instead of falling into Emma’s hotel room when Jess walked us to the door, Emma wasn’t ready for the night to end.
I followed her lead, letting her pull me across the street to the rollercoaster.
As we flew around the turns and loops, even with the weight of the g-force the rollercoaster put on my body, I felt the lightest I had in my entire life. Emma’s laughter, her hair whipping around her face. We pulled back into the loading zone and she turned to me with a sparkle in her eye and the question on her lips.
In that moment, I knew what my answer should be.No.I’d used that word so many times over the years, but for once, it wouldn’t leave my mouth. It felt like I was standing at a cross section, the convergence of two different lives, the one I’ve been living and the one I’ve been waiting for. Leaving the revue, starting a new career, anticipating Sophie’s graduation and the freedom that all these changes will allow me. All of that coupled with my overwhelming attraction to Emma had me enthusiastically agreeing.
That’s how I got into this situation. And while I still want Emma, still feel that intense connection, I have nothing to offer her.
That was the first thought I had when I woke up next to her this morning. I watched her sleep for a moment, her dark hair strewn across the white pillowcase, her lips parted slightly taking in air with each breath, and the gold wedding band on her finger that told me she was mine. It was both thrilling and terrifying. Then, convincing myself that coffee, not pulling Emma into my arms, was the right choice, I rolled out of bed and away from her warmth.
In the light of day, it’s clear we made a mistake. Getting married to someone you just met is not normal behavior, no matter how attracted to them you are.
