whole body throbbed like a pressed-on bruise, alive and thrumming and ready; his hunger was contagious. She gripped the front of his shirt and tried to pull him closer; let her thighs fall open, and he settled between them. He was already half-hard; she could feel him stirring against her belly, plumping behind his fly.
His tongue stroked behind her teeth, and his hips hitched forward, an involuntary roll that pressed his hardening cock more firmly against her; his breath hitched, a sharp little inhale through his nose.
It was – so much, so fast.
It hit her suddenly, a little bolt of apprehension.
He felt it, too, because he drew back, braced above her, panting, flushed, his hair tousled – and, oh, when had she threaded her fingers through it? When had she slipped down to lie flat? His hand braced on the couch arm overhead.
He angled his hips back, away from her, so they no longer touched below the waist – save where her thighs bracketed his lean hips. They were halfway to dry-humping, and his eyes blazed, the blue shrunk down to a thin ring around his blown pupils.
Leah felt swoony, shocked at her own ardor.
She wet lips that were swollen beneath the stroke of her tongue; watched his gaze track the movement. “Maybe…”
“Yeah.” He sat back, and swung his legs around so he sat flat-footed, upright. No longer touching her anywhere.
Leah pushed up more slowly, and mirrored his pose, elbows on knees, feet braced apart. It wasn’t exactly ladylike on her part, but then, neither was what had just happened between them. So.
“That was…” she started.
“Too much?”
“I was going to say amazing.” She glanced over, and watched his head turn; watched his brows go up in quiet, beautiful surprise. She dredged up a smirk. “Were you aware you were that fantastic of a kisser?”
After a second, he smirked back. “Well. Maybe.”
She chuckled, and it eased the unnecessary tension in her chest. “Damn.” She knocked her shoulder into his. “Kudos.”
He chuckled, too – and then full-on laughed, face creasing with it, eyes scrunching up. “Kudos?”
“Take the compliment. Trust me.”
He laughed again, then it died away, slowly, his gaze still fixed on her. “I don’t…”
“You don’t what?”
He hesitated. Licked his lips – which was distracting. “I don’t really know where to go. From here.”
“Good.” The sudden, painful tension in her chest loosened. “Neither do I.”
They traded glances, and it felt like progress.
“Wanna watch TV?” she asked.
He nodded, and so they did.
Thirty
Fox assumed that Tenny wouldn’t come, but he appeared halfway through cheese and cocktails, and set an expensive bottle of red down on the kitchen island as a hostess gift. He was an asshole, sure, but he was a good actor; he played it up to Emmie until she was smiling quietly, in that subtle way of hers. She’d always been easily impressed, Emmaline – though, secretly, Fox admired and liked her. She’d seen through all Walsh’s bland effrontery straight off; been drawn to him in a way no one ever had. She’d earned major points for that; Walsh deserved to be loved, unreservedly, even if he would have denied himself.
They ate. Eden tried – and occasionally failed – to keep work out of it. After dinner, all the girls wound up in the small, back living room, a cozy den with a stone fireplace and plenty of overstuffed couches. Fox knew Eden was pitching her crusade to Emmie and Becca. He went to have a smoke on the porch with his brothers, but wandered back in for another beer, eventually.
It was only then that he realized Tenny had stayed inside; that he was in the kitchen, now, squared off across the gleaming island from Emmie.
Fox tucked himself in a dark corner to watch and listen.
“…horses, sometime?” Emmie was saying.
Tenny nodded. “I have – equestrian experience.”
Fox was surprised. It made sense – he knew that Tenny had been trained in so many things, as part of his creation as a prime operative. Rich, influential types – the types manipulated and targeted by the government – had horses, especially in Europe. Of course Tenny could ride – but it felt different, hearing it here, hearing him tell Emmie so, haltingly, awkwardly.
Emmie, to her credit, didn’t acknowledge his stiff, inhuman response. Only nodded. “I’ve got some lesson horses – school masters. Older and dependable. One’s even a western pleasure mount,” she said, smiling. Tenny smiled back, faintly, helpless to do otherwise. His hands, Fox saw, where they were splayed against the lip of the