6

"What were you going to do next? Punch her?"

"She started it! Since she walked in the door she's been insulting me."

Liam faced Emerson, placed his hands on her shoulders. "Yes, she has. And you've been dishing it back."

"She deserved it."

"Yes, she did. You look incredible by the way. Darling."

Emerson huffed out a breath. "When I'm not so mad I'm going to ask you about that ridiculous closet you have back there."

"And when you ask, I'll tell you that last month I hosted my corporation's holiday party here and my assistant bought a room full of extra clothes, knowing most would drink too much and stay the night and need clothes the next day. She went crazy with my credit card and I've since dubbed it the 'monster closet.' At the time I thought she'd lost her mind but looking at you now in that dress, I'm inclined to thank her.

"So are you done insulting the senator's wife? Can we have a civil meal together?"

"The what?"

"Grace is Senator Van Morten's wife. I've been toying with the idea of running for Governor next term and Grace and her husband will be instrumental in the run if I go for it."

Deflated, Emerson shimmied out from under his hold and leaned back against the island. "I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry. Had I known, I...I'm an idiot. I didn't really mean for this to get out of hand. It wasn't really about the prize—you—I guess, but something playful kicked into gear and I wanted to...play. Stupid."

She let out a long sigh and her hands lay lax against her sides. "My temper got the best of me. I'm sorry."

Liam pulled the scalloped potatoes from the oven, set the dish on a towel on the counter then stepped toward her. "You fighting for me, Em, dear?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, knock it off. I just told you I don't care. I'm an idiot, and I'm sorry for that."

"You don't care about me?"

Her gaze lifted to his. It was too poignant, the way he asked, and it shook her. "You're free to do whatever you want to do, be with whomever you want to be with. I'm leaving tomorrow, Mother Nature willing, so I can't care. It's your life, you do what you want."

Liam's eyes darkened, glinting with flecks of light that snuck in and penetrated the smoke. "Don't move."

He pulled the prime rib out from the warming drawer, sliced a few thick pieces then tossed on a sprig of rosemary for garnish.

Carrying both the scallop potatoes and the steak away, he returned moments later.

She hadn't moved, not because he'd told her not to but because her mind was catching up to where her temper had flung her.

"I really am sorry, Liam. I'm not sorry for dishing it back to the senator's wife, she really did bring that on, but I'm sorry for not being the bigger person. I tell my son all the time that—"

His lips crushed against hers, heat and hunger combusting. Breath mixed with demand, the vivid spark and the shadowed dark.

"Take your clothes off," he muttered the order.

"What? No. Grace is liable to come in and accuse me of being your concubine. Plus, technically they're your clothes."

He caught her lips in a kiss, slow, seductive, and primal.

"Then I'll take them off." He knelt down, slid his hands up her legs, slowly, under the dress. His touch trailing, heat rising, her center pulsed alive.

Head spinning, she sucked in a gasp of air as his fingers found her wet and warm and wanting. The teasing, the sensation, the utter blaze that erupted under his touch flashed and sent her over into sensations that rippled through her, quivering her muscles.

His mouth found hers again, breathless and satisfied. "That was fast."

She opened her eyes and saw a grin tugging on his face. "It's been awhile."

"You're right. It's been at least an hour. Way too long."

"Years. Hours. Same thing." She reached out, cupped his face with her hands, pulled him toward her. "More please."

He pulled her, fast, into the nearest room with a door—a pantry with copper pots and containers of pasta, sugar, and flour filling the shelves.

"I've always wanted to have sex in a pantry," she said, tugging at the buttons on his shirt.

"I just want you." He pulled the length of the dress up and over her head then savored the softness of her skin along her neck in devastatingly gentle kisses. For all the speed and heat that dragged, demanded, restraint pulled him back, allowing for more attention, more potent focus.

She finished with his shirt and reached for the buttons of his jeans. "You say the best things."

Shivers of anticipation shook her body as she dragged the denim down his legs and felt for the hard warmth. "Now. I want you now."

Temptation, hot and ready, took over.

"One of these times I'm going to take it slow and devour you one bite at a time."

She lifted to her toes and planted a kiss on his lips. "Absolutely," she said then pulled him toward her until they reached the end of the narrow space and she turned around, glanced back over her shoulder. "But I want you now and you have guests liable to find us at any moment."

His hands, strong and competent felt around her hips, gripping, testing.

She reached back and guided him into her, slowly backing her body onto him while she pushed against the pantry shelf.

Her breath caught as he filled her. On a moan, he plunged again, then again, intently and overwhelmingly sliding with her, against her, in her.

Standing strong, holding onto her hips, he felt the sensations of her, slowly, until momentum took over and the fine thread of restraint broke.

"Oh God, yes."

He heard her whisper as her body tensed in tight pulses around him, clenching in places that pushed him over into oblivion with her.

Wrapping his arms around her, holding her close, their racing breath, their racing hearts, struggling to settle.

"You have the most incredible back. I got the better view here without a doubt." His lips skimmed along the back of her neck.

"My brain isn't working yet so I don't have a comeback. Pretend I said something witty or wonderful in response. That reminds me though, you have a lot of scars and a spray of little scabs on your arm, your side, your back. Sword fight? Gallantly defending the castle? I meant to ask you before but you send my brain into orbit with that body of yours. It's a skill."

She turned around to face him, lazy seduction teasing in her eyes.

"Our bodies play well together."

"Yes, yes they do." Her fingertips trailed over the marks on his shoulder.

"The scars are remnants of being a boy with a brother," he said, wariness drumming a sad rhythm in his head. "And the scabs are from the road-rash I collected a month or so ago on a hurried trip to Boston. Brother went into the hospital and I was trying to get down there as fast as I could. Laid down my motorcycle on the way."

"Oh my God, are you okay?"

His gaze drifted over her naked body, her petite figure with ample curves. "More than."

"That's scary. My son will never own a motorcycle."

"Good luck with that." He kissed the top of her head.

"And is your brother okay?"

This time he looked straight at her, his gray eyes translucent. "He will be."

Before she could ask any more questions, loud bells dinged through the castle. "Please tell me you heard that too and it's not just in my head."

"Front door." He gave her perky butt a quick spank, bringing him back to the moment.

She laughed as she turned around then quieted when she heard voices.

Tugging on clothes, they each hurried and exchanged glances of sneaky conspirators.

"I probably look like I've been having sex," she said, wishing for a mirror before she re-entered the shark tank.

He took a look at her, skimmed over her hair, her face, down and up her body, then settled on her honeyed eyes. "You look like a satisfied and beautiful woman, Emerson."

Her heart raced at his direct sincerity, the way he looked at her, the way his presence enveloped her, and sent her senses spinning.

She'd have to remind herself of reality soon enough, she decided, so right now she'd enjoy the luxurious attention of an intensely attractive man for one winter night.