Thirteen
It wasn’t Emmett’s first Christmas dinner with the Fergusons—far from it. They’d been taking him in as a stray since he’d become friends with Chase. It was almost humorous that he was as comfortable in Rider and Elle’s massive mansion as he was in his own apartment, but he supposed he owed most of the credit to the company.
The Fergusons were billionaires—they made more money than Emmett could fathom even though he’d managed to accrue plenty of wealth for himself—but they were also down-to-earth and, at their core, a family.
So when he walked in with Stefanie fresh off the drive home from Harlington, he knew that the unease he felt had nothing to do with Christmas day with her family and everything to do with the fact that he’d married Zach and Chase’s sister—Rider and Elle’s daughter—and none of them knew it yet.
During the trip back, Stef had mentioned she wasn’t going to share wedding pictures online until she broke the news to her family in person, and Emmett had agreed.
Sort of.
He’d suggested she call her siblings and parents and break it to them one by one. Stef had made the astute observation that one of them could tell the others before she did and then she wouldn’t be in control of the spin.
Fair enough.
After a quick stop at her apartment to pack her family’s gifts, they’d arrived at the elder Fergusons’ estate at six o’clock on the nose. He shut off the engine and eyed the front door.
“We’re late.”
“It’s your fault.” She slid him a foxy smile that caused him to shift in his seat.
He remembered exactly why it was his fault. He’d been the one to wake her by dipping his head between her thighs. After exquisite morning sex, he’d gone downstairs and fetched breakfast, turned on the television and refused to leave bed until they’d had at least two cups of coffee and a stack of waffles apiece.
He hadn’t wanted the morning to end for fear that reality would creep in like some reverse tale of Cinderella. As if, at the strike of noon, he’d be revealed as a servant rather than a prince.
A fraud, unworthy of her hand.
Stupid. But he’d lingered in that room nonetheless.
“Besides, I sent a text to Chase letting him know we’d be late so if he didn’t pass that on, it’s his fault.” She bit her lip as Emmett shut off the car. “How angry with me do you think they’re going to be?”
He couldn’t keep from touching her, his thumb stroking her chin with affection. “They’ll be pissed at me, not you.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’m the baby.”
“Yes, but you’re not a baby. You’re a grown woman with an incredibly sharp mind and a generous heart. I’ll take the brunt of the blame.”
She grabbed his hand and tugged him forward, kissing him solidly. He was tempted to pull her into his lap and fog up the windshield before they went in.
It was like the floodgates had opened since that first kiss. Every time he’d touched her since, he couldn’t get enough. It awed and amazed him how powerful her pull over him was; how he’d ignored—or maybe denied was a better word—that pull until now.
She rested her top teeth on her bottom lip as she took in her parents’ house. “Here goes nothing.”
They climbed from his SUV, piled his arms and hers with wrapped boxes and then went inside to face the Ferguson firing squad.
“How was she?” Chase pulled Emmett aside to ask.
The presents had been stacked beneath the tree—well, around. There wasn’t any more room beneath the tree. Dinner had been postponed thirty minutes. As a result, Chase had a few inches of scotch in a glass and had taken it upon himself to check up on Stefanie with his right-hand guy.
Emmett reminded himself that his best friend slash employer had no idea that Emmett was in bed with her that very morning and answered accordingly.
“Smooth sailing.”
“Good.” Chase’s intense glare lessened. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” From an inside coat pocket, Emmett extracted an envelope and handed it over. “It’s a museum membership for the year. I figured that’d be better than a jam-of-the-month club.”
“You didn’t have to—” Chase cut himself off. “Thank you, Em.”