for life. How does he know what I want—need—before I do?
Think about your career.
But then I shiver, drawing a sharp breath through my teeth. I am so cold. And hungry.
Really, really hungry.
“That’s it,” he says, his expression hardening as he takes a step forward. “You’re coming home with me. Give me permission to put my hands on you.”
I grin, despite the fact I can’t stop shivering. It’s a fun little inside joke Samuel and I have, throwing each other's lines back and forth.
Samuel and I have inside jokes. I don’t know how it happened or when, but I love it, and I want more of it.
That’s when I give up.
Or maybe it’s just giving in to the truth. And the truth is that I want to go home with Samuel.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Samuel
I move quickly.
Shrugging out of my coat, I wrap it around Emma. Poor thing is shaking like a fucking leaf. Her teeth chatter. Anger grips my heart. What was she thinking, coming out in this weather? She should’ve called the main house.
She should’ve called me.
I’ll have time to be mad at her later. Right now, I need to get her warm.
I open the passenger side door and hustle her inside. Thankfully, I already had the heat blasting, and I adjust the vents so they’re pointing directly at her. She closes her eyes and exhales, wrapping her arms around the bag she’s set in her lap.
I furrow my brow. Was she planning on staying the night at the main house? Leaning in to make sure she buckles her seat belt, I get a good look at her face. She’s wearing more makeup than usual. And her hair—it’s down, wild, wavy.
“What’s up with the Van Halen?” she asks when I climb into the driver’s seat.
I glance at the center console. “Am I not allowed to like eighties rock? Where do you think Eddie and David’s names came from?”
“Ha! I get it now.” She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “Indulge my totally inappropriate curiosity for a sec.”
“Shoot.”
“You said you had a date tonight. Where were y’all going?”
Settling my left hand on the top of the wheel, I use the other to put the truck in gear.
“I cancelled it,” I say. Which is and isn’t true. When I saw how bad the weather was leaving The Barn Door, I knew my date with V wasn’t happening. I don’t doubt the restaurant where we were supposed to meet will be closing early anyway. I just haven’t officially cancelled our date yet. Chances are she already did anyway, but I haven’t had a minute to check our chat since this morning.
“Oh. Oh, okay.” Emma almost sounds…relieved?
I try not to think too much about what that means on the drive back to my house. I also try not to drive like a lunatic. The roads are already starting to get slick. But my girl clearly needs to get out of her wet clothes and into a hot shower stat, so I hit the gas.
Having Emma over is not a good idea. But for starters, I wasn’t gonna leave her struggling on the side of the road in a snowstorm. And it’s a distraction from the disappointment of having to cancel my date with V.
By the time Emma and I pull into my driveway, the snow is coming down so hard and so fast I can barely see three feet in front of the truck. I park in the garage. The wind howls above the sound of the door closing behind us.
Blizzard conditions are minutes away.
“Phew,” I say, grabbing Emma’s bag from her lap. “That was lucky timing. I haven’t seen a storm this bad up here in years.”
Emma nods, unbuckling her seat belt with fingers that tremble. “As much as I didn’t want you to rescue me, I’m glad you did.” Her eyes meet mine. “Thanks.”
The space between us thrums.
Must. Get. Her. Inside.
“Right,” I say, climbing out of the truck. “How about a shower?”
Her eyes go wide, and I don’t miss the flicker of heat in them.
I open her door for her and hold out my hand, laughing. “Not together. Unless—”
“Don’t go there.”
I was joking, but clearly she’s not.
We kick off our boots when we’re inside, and I lead her to the nearest shower. Which just so happens to be the one in my bathroom.
Emma stares at the expanse of glass and tile. Then she looks at the sink nearby, my toiletries neatly arranged on the marble countertop. A beat of charged silence