hard habit to shake. These are just questions I’d ask people who were going to distribute through us.”
Emerson’s expression eased. “I totally understand that. I have some pictures from the start of the distillery, if you are interested.”
“I’d love to see them,” Connor said.
Emerson left the room to get them.
Fuck. He needed answers. For him to be able to speak with his father about Emerson, about their relationship, he needed to know to what extent his father had been involved from the Dyers’ perspective. But from what Emerson had told him, his father had no involvement at all. It made no sense.
“Here,” Emerson said, coming back to the room. She handed him a set of photographs. “Don’t worry, these are duplicates. There’s Mom and Dad on the day the distillery opened.”
“You look a lot like her,” Connor said. “It’s the eyes, I think. And the hair.”
Emerson ran her finger along the edge of the photograph wistfully. “I looked like her but acted like my dad…they always said I was the perfect blend of both of them. Jake is more like Dad, Liv is all Mom, and I’m in the middle.”
Connor turned to the next photograph. Men were lifting barrels into place in the warehouse. “That’s Stan,” she said. “He grew up with Dad and was one of the first hires. He still works with us today. Over thirty years of service and barely misses a day.”
They skipped through a handful more, Emerson explaining the story behind each one. Some with humor, some etched with nostalgia or a hint of sadness. Connor turned to the final photograph.
“Group shot,” she said, holding the last photograph. About fifteen people stood outside the front of the building. “Dad couldn’t remember why everyone was assembled outside; he thought it was a celebration of being ready to open or something.”
And there, standing at the edge of the photograph, arms crossed in a style Connor recognized, was his father.
Chapter Nine
Emerson tried to move but couldn’t. She was delightfully held in place, her back pressed up against Connor’s chest. His arm was wrapped around her, his calf over hers.
The warmth of his breath tickled the back of her neck.
If there was a better way to wake up, she couldn’t think of it.
Their evening had ended quietly. Connor had suggested a walk, and even though it had gotten dark, it had been nice to be out in the fresh air. When they’d arrived back home, it was late, and so they’d climbed into her bed and fallen asleep together.
But now, with him pressed against her, she hoped she could convince him to make love before she got up to make waffles for breakfast. Not only did she crave the intimacy between the two of them, but deep down, she needed something to ground her, to even out the keel of sadness at what the day held.
Emerson turned in his arms.
“What’s got you so squirmy this early?” he mumbled, barely opening his eyes before closing them again.
“You,” she whispered. She reached down between them and gently stroked the tip of her finger along his heavy length. “This.”
This time Connor opened his eyes, and despite having to blink several times, finally got them to stay open. “You have my attention.”
She loved the way his voice sounded like gravel.
Connor wrapped his arm over her and pulled her closer as his erection grew harder and firmer. “Kiss me,” he commanded.
Nothing in the world was better than Connor’s lips on hers. The way he teased, the way he used his tongue against her, the way he bit her lip gently before releasing it. She loved every playful minute.
His hand squeezed her hip before reaching for her breast. He held it in his hand, his thumb brushing the tip of her nipple, causing her to gasp.
“I love that sound, Emerson. When I do something you like.”
“I love the way you make me feel. It’s like I have no inhibitions with you.”
Connor moved down the bed a little. When he licked her nipple, she gasped again, when he sucked it into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and teeth, she cried out.
He lifted his head and grinned at her, his blue eyes looking lighter in the hazy morning sunlight. “I like you this way. Uninhibited.”
Emerson turned in his arms, arching her back against his chest. It was too early to get on her knees, but the idea that he might slowly ease into her from behind, sliding in inch by delicious inch, caused a flood