Chapter 13
When they arrived at his apartment, Peter didn't get out of the car immediately. Instead, he sat quietly in the car, a puzzled frown marring his brow.
Emille didn't like how he was thoughtfully staring through the windshield. Whenever he had that look, he was sure to say something that would discombobulate her. So, she did the next best thing to kicking him out of the car. She faked a huge yawn. "Ohh!" Stretch. "I'm so exhausted." Stretch again. "I can't wait to get home. I have an early meeting tomorrow."
She wasn't just a secretary anymore. As the firm had grown, she'd taken on more responsibility and gone back to school - at Peter's prodding - to study Management and Finance. Having worked in the industry, Peter was well aware that there was always an early meeting.
He didn't budge, making her think that maybe she would need to kick him out of her car. Slowly, he turned his head in her direction. "I'm still waiting for your answer, Em."
"What answer?" she snapped.
"Would you still want to be single if I you knew how sexy you are to me?" His features twisted wryly as he took in her outfit. "When you're not covered up from head to toe. We'll have to go shopping some time soon. You're still wearing clothes from a hundred pounds ago."
"You wouldn't say that if you really found me sexy."
"I say that because I'm a man who likes to look at you," he replied. "And if my attraction to you was superficial, my body wouldn't react to you the way it does even when you are covered."
His voice, as smoky and smooth as mesquite, caused a burning spasm across her diaphragm. Still, she refused to give him the answer he was waiting for. "Assuming I believe that you think I'm attractive, Peter, where would I suddenly find a guy to change my single status?"
His grin said he'd been waiting for just that question. "You could start with the guy who thinks you are the sexiest woman in the world."
She shrugged. "Sexiness does not guarantee I'll be able to keep him."
"Most desirable then," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt even as he leaned closer.
Negligently, she shrugged again. "I'm not impressed with being desired."
He had the nerve to chuckle. "Oh? You're not impressed with being desired? How about 'needed'? Would it impress you to know that I need you so much I'd do anything to keep you in my life? How about if I told you my work and 'recreation' suffers when you're not around." Slowly, he lifted his hand to her cheek, whispering the words against her lips.
They were inches apart. Close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips, but far enough that she would have to reach to kiss him. He made her want to kiss him.
"Would it impress you to know that I need you so much that for years, I've been waking up hard to the fantasy of you sharing my bed?" he whispered.
Stubbornly, she shook the fog from her brain. "That must be some fantasy, especially since you always have somebody else in your bed."
"I've dated a lot of women, Em," he admitted, pressing his thumb against her lower lip, rubbing that lip even as he continued to speak. "I'm no monk, but I don't get around as much as you think."
"Could have fooled me," she said hoarsely. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open when he was stroking her lip so sensuously.
"It shouldn't come as a surprise, Em," he said, his lips so close now that each word was spoken against the back of his thumb. His gaze was direct as he aligned his nose against hers. "It's no surprise that you are my rose."
How was it possible that mere words could touch on her ears, then race through her blood like an electrical charge; and finally settle in her core in a heated burn like an unquenchable wildfire? How was it possible that mere words could separate her world from its axis? How could she shake and not tremble? How could she have spent over fifteen years loving one man and never know it?
She must have taken too long to answer. Perhaps her response had been written in her eyes. For Peter kissed her, his mouth separated from hers only by the veil of his thumb against their lips. When she closed her eyes, he released a low, agonized moan as his hand smoothed over her jaw and buried itself in her hair. Trust. That was what this kiss was founded on, for she was there with him, lips parting expectantly, her nails scraping over his scalp and the lush midnight of his hair .
God! Emille, I love you. The words almost escaped him.
I love you, Peter. With all my heart. She held them in.
Snap! Her seatbelt was released, by her own hand or his, neither would ever know. Suddenly, she was hauled across the seat. Too tall to sit comfortably on his lap in the closed confines of her sedan, Emille touched a button beside his hip and his chair collapsed backward. Peter groaned at the impact, but did not let up on the onslaught he had waged against her lips, suckling, nipping, tasting her mouth. Instead, the kiss became deeper, and more passionate as he reveled in the press of her body against his. For the first time in her adult life, Emille lay against a man and was not ashamed of her size. Even if the seat should break, she was confident that Peter could support her. Purposefully, his hands wandered, almost ripping her cardigan away. For a brief moment, she thought about the extra layers of fat on her arms, and that Peter would see the way her skin sagged. But he noticed none of that. He stroked her shoulder and arms as if her skin was silk or satin. While they embraced Emille was certain she was made from the finest of fabrics.
He hefted her further onto his body, pulling her left leg between his thighs. She could feel the hard heat of him beneath the denim of his jeans, but it was not enough. Emille pressed against him, eager for a more intimate experience of this man. His clothing was in her way, so she pushed at his leather jacket. His scent intoxicated her. She scratched his neck when she tore at the collar of his henley; and moaned in delight when his hands bunched the hem of her dress, lifting it like a valance over the curve of her buttocks until his wonderfully big hands cupped her right where they met her thighs. The thousands of lunges she'd done over the past few months was worth it when he groaned like a caged beast and slapped the right cheek. Emille's eyes flew open, but Peter didn't let up. His right hand came up, even as he rubbed away the sting.
"Come back here," he growled into her mouth. "You've made me wait this long. Just let me touch you." His tongue stroked deep, pulling her very soul out. "Give me this."
"We are in the car," she panted, willing herself to push against his chest yet completely unable to separate herself from him.
"I know," he whispered, possessively taking her lips once again. When she melted against him, his hand returned to her hip roved over the smooth flesh. His fingertips slipped beneath the waistband of her simple cotton panties and he spread his wide palm over the surface of her belly.
Emille froze. Panicked, she launched herself off him, scrambling back into the driver's seat as if there was a tiger in the car with her.
"What happened?" Peter asked, his voice rough and dark. Sensuous. Sexy. Filled with desire and need. All the things he claimed to feel for her. But in the darkened car, she could not see his eyes to believe.
"I think you should go," she said, her breaths harried, her voice small and hurt.
Peter sat there just looking at her. He studied the way she held herself. If she could wrap the cardigan - that he would swear he'd deliberately stripped from her moments ago - like a cocoon around herself, she would. He hated the way she retreated into herself like that. He hated the way she hid herself from him. He hated her lack of confidence in her beauty. But he loved the way she was when she forgot to hide. Of all the things about her, that was what he loved most. She could hide from the world, but when she was with him he wanted her bold and outgoing. He wanted her beautiful and strong. He wanted her to walk tall and elegant in high heels, heads above every other woman in the room. He wanted her in full glory.
He sighed. "Come up to the apartment."
Shaking her head, Emille backed away further against the door. "No. This was a mistake."
"No. It wasn't," he assured h
er in his most level tone. "I've been planning to get my hands in your panties for fifteen years. Admittedly, you've spent ten of those years doing your damnedest to forget that you are…" his voice grew hoarse and trembled, "you are a very desirable woman, Emille."
"Peter, stop."
"You don't have to worry about me making love to you tonight. Unless, of course, you really want to. Because, of course, I really, really, really want to." He flicked on the dome light and tilted his head to see her face better.
Emille blinked a few times, then reached to shut the light off again.
Peter's hand was there to stop her. Tenderly, he brought her palm to his lips and kissed her. "I've noticed that you're not surprised about what happened here tonight."
She didn't think her face could heat anymore, but it did. "Oh, I'm surprised," she said on a broken laugh.
"No," he shook his head. "You're embarrassed that I want to see you naked. That I tried to touch you the way I did. But, you've known all along that I love you. I don't know when you realized it, but you knew the truth of it and didn't say a word."
Her lips pursed into a tight line. "I don't know what you're talking about. Now, can you please get out of my car so I can go home and get some rest?"
"I'm not stopping you from driving home. It's not too far for me to walk home" he pointed out. "But, I'm not going to make it easy for you again."
"What are you talking about?" she wailed in frustrated annoyance.
"Emille!" It was his turn to use a sharp voice. He didn't shout, but the way he said her name was a command for her attention. "I want you to really think about something. Cause I've been thinking about it for a long time now. Why did you allow yourself to get so fat?" he asked baldly, almost cruelly. "What were you hiding from? Who were you running from? It's not me, cause I've been right here all this time." When she just stared at him in arrested silence, he reached out to brush her hair from her brow - then thought better of it. "A couple of months ago, you told me that you think I only find thin women attractive." When she turned her face away, he touched her chin and brought her back around. "And again tonight. You accused me of going for the thin women. If I'm only attracted to the Gwyneth Pallys of this world, then explain to me why I'm hung up on you. Explain to me how you've managed to get me hard as rock time and time again, whether you were one ninety or three hundred pounds. Explain to me why I'd rather spend my Sundays mornings making memories with you, than laying in bed with Gwyneth."