True to her word, she beelines for the master bedroom shower, and I text Geoffrey the instruction on what to do with our coats when he comes in tomorrow morning—and, since Emma put her contaminated outerwear there before I could warn her, with all the contents of the downstairs closet as well.
By the time I get upstairs, I’m naked, having left all my clothes in the laundry downstairs, just in case.
“It’s almost safe, boys,” I tell Cottonball and Mr. Puffs as I walk by the library, where both cats have taken refuge on the bookshelves. “The noxious odor is about to be contained.”
The cats look distrustful, and I can’t blame them. That perfume really is an assault on one’s senses.
Entering the bedroom, I find Emma’s dress in the laundry bin in my closet, and I take the entire bin downstairs—again, just to be on the safe side. Then I return and open the window to air out the bedroom.
Queen Elizabeth creeps in behind me, nose in the air, and I let her be the canary in the coal mine. After a few long moments, she sits down and starts daintily licking her paw.
Success. Perfume invasion contained.
“All right, now off you go,” I tell the cat as I head to the bathroom, where the shower is running. “I have big plans for tonight.”
Queen Elizabeth continues cleaning herself.
I stop and glare at her. “Seriously, shoo.” Last night, we had the bedroom to ourselves, and I intend for that to continue. Unlike Emma’s place, my penthouse is large enough for every cat to have his or her own room, which means there’s zero reason for the beasties to be present when we’re having sex.
I’m totally anthropomorphizing here, but fucking Emma in front of her pets felt oddly like doing it in front of young children.
The cat gives me a disdainful glare, then stands up and saunters away, looking as regal as the monarch whose name she shares. When she’s over the threshold, I close the bedroom door and lock it for good measure, my heartbeat speeding up as my body tightens with anticipation.
I really do have big plans tonight, and I want zero interference.
32
Emma
I’m almost done rinsing the conditioner out of my hair when Marcus steps into the enormous shower stall with me, a small bottle in his hand and his erection already at full mast.
Blinking the water out of my eyes, I stare at that impressive column of male flesh, then drag my gaze up to Marcus’s face. His eyes are fiercely narrowed, his jaw taut with unmistakable hunger.
I gulp, my heartbeat spiking as I back up a step, moving out of the water spray coming at me from the five rotating showerheads. I’m still a little sore from that intense sex last evening, and I don’t know if I’m up for anything kinky—especially in light of the questions raised by Ashton’s blunder at dinner.
Taking another step back, I sneak a glance at the bottle. “Is that lube?”
“Yes.” Marcus’s voice is low and rough, his intent unmistakable as he sets the bottle down on the ledge where all shampoos live and comes after me. Gripping my hips, he pulls me against his aroused body and bends his head to kiss me.
“Wait.” Ignoring the heat curling in my core, I wedge my hands between our bodies and turn my head away, causing his lips to land on my ear. “I need to talk to you first.”
His chest muscles turn to stone under my palms. “What is it?”
With a push, I twist out of his hold and back up a step. “Emmeline.” I suck in a steadying breath. “Are you—or were you—seeing her?”
He looks neither surprised nor offended by the question. “No.” His tone is even, his gaze unflinching. “It’s as I’ve told you: we only met that one time. We did speak on the phone a couple of times after that, before I decided to seriously pursue you, but that’s all it ever was.”
“Then why—”
“Why did Ashton mistake you for her?” At my nod, he says grimly, “Because I stupidly told him about her when we were on a break. It was after you sent me away, remember?”
My chest constricts. “When you broke down the door?”
“That’s right.” His jaw is like granite. “I was pissed that I couldn’t forget you, and I called her, hoping it would help me move on. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. But during that conversation, we agreed to meet for dinner when she came to New York on a business trip, and later that day, Ashton and I met for a sparring session and went out for drinks afterward. The matchmaker I told you about is his aunt’s friend—Ashton is the reason I hired her in the first place—so he asked whether she had come through for me, and I told him she’d introduced me to Emmeline Sommers who lives in Boston. So that’s how Ashton knows about her. And before you ask, I cancelled that date with Emmeline as soon as you and I got back together. However, I didn’t have a chance to speak to Ashton about any of this again, which is why he got confused. In any case”—Marcus draws in a breath—“all Ashton’s ever heard about Emmeline is her name and where she’s from. You can ask him if you don’t believe me.”