Mirin, Christelle - Emma's Heart (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (3 page)

The only people she had spent any real time with the past year were the doctors and nurses in the rehabilitation facility. They were great, but it wasn’t the same. Emma had no family to speak of, and the family she did have wasn’t worth speaking to. None of them had come to visit her in rehab. Not one of them. Sure, some of her coworkers had come to visit in the beginning, but after she’d been there for a month, they, too, seemed to disappear. She was okay with it. They had other things to do, better things than to visit an invalid who’d just had a heart transplant.

Pulling up in front of Logan’s building, Emma was in luck. There was a parking space just a half block down. She angled the car into the space and grabbed the bag containing the wine from the passenger seat. After locking up, she walked down the sidewalk, taking note of the well-trimmed grass and the spring flowers beginning to bloom in front of the vintage brown brick building.

She entered the vestibule and scanned the names next to the buzzer buttons. Logan’s apartment was number twelve, she already knew, but it was one of those diehard habits people had. Emma always scanned the names even though it was highly unlikely she’d recognize any of them. Just as she reached up to press the buzzer, a name did catch her eye. Clay Archer.

Emma’s hand froze in midair. What in the world was going on today? First, meeting a handsome single man on the day her doctor okayed her to have sex, and now, finding the name of an old lover listed alongside the name of the prospective new lover. Imagine that. Emma smoothed the tip of her finger over the name sticker of Clay Archer. How long had it been? Must be five years now. The old feelings of passion that had burned white-hot between them threatened to come to the surface again.

“Now isn’t the time,” she whispered, the sound unusually loud in the silence of the vestibule. Telling herself she might look into Clay Archer later, just to ask how he’s been, she pushed the buzzer for number twelve.

A small round speaker crackled, and then a voice issued from it. “Emma?” The voice was tinny and slightly distorted, but Emma could tell it was Logan.

“It’s me. Got the wine,” she said into the speaker, finger pressing the intercom button beside it.

A loud buzz sounded, and she heard the latch on the door click. “Come on up,” Logan said through the speaker.

Emma grabbed the door handle and pulled. Stepping through the door and into the building, Emma felt like she’d been mistakenly thrown into a 1940s film noir. The building’s interior looked as if nothing had been changed since it had been built, from the art deco wall sconces to the metal accordion elevator door. She expected someone dressed in gangster garb to come around the corner any minute.

Continuing down the hall, she passed apartment number six, the one the name Clay Archer had been noted next to on the buzzer row. She hesitated only for a moment, the old feelings swirling inside, then walked on, leaving it for another time. She found number twelve at the end of the hall on the left. The door stood ajar, and she could hear classical music playing softly inside.

Emma placed her fingertips on the door and pushed. The music got a little louder as the door opened. Emma wasn’t sure what the song was, but she liked it. It made her want to smile. “Hello?” she called out, stepping into what must be the living room.

Logan peered around a door frame. “Come on in the kitchen. I’m still cooking.” Then his head disappeared back into what Emma now knew was the kitchen.

When Emma stepped into the kitchen, she saw an amazing sight.

Logan, dressed in an apron, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and no shoes or socks, was swaying to the music while he stirred a steaming pot of pasta.

Emma caught the scent of chicken and garlic and something else she didn’t recognize. She breathed in deeply, savoring the smells of good food cooking in the kitchen. “Nice,” she said, catching Logan’s attention enough to make him turn toward her, spoon held high over the pot.

“You think so?” Logan smiled, although a bit tremulously.

Emma gently placed the bag containing the wine on the glass top of the dining table at the far end of the kitchen. “Very nice. Smells like home.” She turned back toward Logan, only to find him staring at her, the hand holding the spoon absently lowering.

Emma held Logan’s gaze, unmoving. Something had passed between them. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt important. “You okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan blinked, looking very much like someone who had just awakened from a dream. “Yeah,” he said simply, turning back to his pot. “You can put the wine in the freezer so it will chill faster. The pasta is almost ready,” he said without turning from the stove.

Opening the freezer, Emma noted how clean and organized it was then placed both bottles on a shelf on their side. This man was not like the men she usually dated. The apartment looked spotless, and to beat it all, he cooked. And in bare feet with an apron, no less! She took off her jacket and hung it on the back of one of the chairs at the table.

Logan still stood at the stove, stirring first one pot, then another. His shoulders looked slightly slumped, and he was no longer swaying to the music.

Emma walked up behind him and placed both hands on Logan’s shoulders. She leaned forward until her cheek was almost even with Logan’s. He smelled of cologne, a woodsy scent. “Okay,” Emma said softly. “What have I done?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Emma reached around Logan and flicked the two buttons for the burners he was using on the stove to off. “Logan, look at me.”

Dropping the spoon into the pot, Logan sighed.

Stepping back, Emma used her hands to turn Logan toward her. The look in Logan’s eyes was full of sadness. Placing her hands back on Logan’s shoulders, Emma said, “Tell me what’s wrong. What did I say to make you look like that?”

Meeting her gaze, Logan shrugged. “It’s just the ‘home’ comment. This place hasn’t felt like home for quite some time.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.” She placed the palm of her hand against Logan’s cheek, the slight stubble there causing a tickling sensation on her palm. “What can I do to make it up to you? Things were going so well.”

“I really don’t know.” He raised one hand then dropped it.

“Well,” Emma said, moving slightly closer. “How about this?” Still cupping Logan’s cheek in her palm, Emma lowered her head. The first brush of her lips against Logan’s caused her body to heat. Logan didn’t pull away. Emma closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of Logan’s mouth, so pliant beneath hers, the slight scruff of his stubble against her chin as she deepened the kiss a tantalizing sensation. Emma moved her other hand to the back of Logan’s head and groaned. Mmm, she hadn’t had such a hot kiss in forever.

Logan slid his arms around Emma’s waist, pressing against her as he tilted his head and parted his lips.

Emma didn’t hesitate. Stepping back one step, she pulled Logan with her away from the stove and tenderly slipped her tongue into his mouth. He tasted of Alfredo sauce with the slight tang of garlic, savory and creamy. Her breasts came to attention, tingling with the promise this kiss, this delicious kiss, held. Logan’s fingers clutched at the back of her shirt, and he let out a tiny moan. A wave of heat passed over Emma. She’d better back off before this went too far.

Lifting her head, she looked into the bluest eyes that were so open and sincere, her heart rolling in her chest. Smiling, Emma swiped her thumb over Logan’s bottom lip, the softness of his mouth amazing against the pad of her thumb.

Logan opened his mouth and surged forward, taking Emma’s thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Logan stroked Emma’s thumb with his tongue, closing his eyes as he wrapped his fingers around Emma’s wrist to hold her thumb there.

“Oh shit,” Emma said, clenching her jaw. She wanted this man. For the first time since she’d had the transplant, she felt a sexual attraction that was almost uncontrollable. If he could do to her pussy what he was doing to her thumb with his tongue, he’d have her coming within seconds. “If you don’t stop doing that, we’re not going to have dinner.”

Logan glanced up at her, grinning around the thumb in his mouth. Slowly, he pulled Emma’s thumb from his mouth. “I’ll stop. If things continue between us like this, you’ll have to eat dinner because you’ll need your strength.”

Emma took a deep breath and moved away from the delectable mouth of the man in front of her before she decided to have
him
for dinner. She brushed her hair back, tucking the wayward strands behind her ears. “Let’s have dinner. Then…”

Logan chuckled and turned back toward the stove. “There are some wineglasses in the cabinet beside the fridge. You pour while I plate our dinners.” He looked over his shoulder. “All of a sudden, I’m very hungry.”

Emma swallowed hard and went to the cabinet for the glasses. The man was most definitely attracted to her. The heat in the kitchen had nothing to do with the stove. Removing one bottle of wine from the freezer, she set about pouring two glasses of wine, fighting the urge to lift one glass and down it. There was dampness in her crotch, her pussy wet from the heat generated from the kiss. Good Lord, that had been the first time she’d kissed anyone in a year or more. Her hand shook, causing the wine bottle to jitter on the rim of the wineglass she was currently pouring.

She tightened her lips, swearing at herself for being so nervous. She wasn’t normally nervous when meeting someone, but this time, something told her the friendship she was about to strengthen with Logan was so much more important than any other she’d had before. She didn’t want to screw it up. Sometimes she came off a bit rough, and it affected some people the wrong way. But she liked the way she was, and if they couldn’t handle it, that was their problem. Logan didn’t seem to have a problem with it. Obviously. And, if the kiss they’d just shared led to something more tonight, she was worried about what it would do to her heart. There was always that to think about now.

The doc had said having sex was okay, she reminded herself. Still, if the sex was anything as hot as their kiss, she wasn’t sure she would survive it in one piece. The last thing she needed was to end up back in the hospital with a heart attack and having to explain what caused it. The doc didn’t know she like rough and rowdy sex. It wasn’t something she broadcast to everyone.

Finished pouring the wine, she turned toward Logan.

Two plates full of steaming, delicious-smelling food in his hands, Logan smiled and walked toward her. “Dinner is served.”

Chapter Four

The first bite Emma took of the pollo carbonera almost made her groan with delight. The sauce was the creamiest she’d ever tasted, and the blend of flavors from the bits of chicken, mushroom, bacon, and rosemary was exquisite. “Oh my god,” she said after she swallowed. “This is awesome. You’re a great cook, Logan.”

Logan smiled at her across the table. “I’m glad you like it. I’ve been working on that sauce for years, and I think I’ve finally got it right.”

“You do, you do. It’s perfect.” Emma shoved another bite into her mouth. Her stomach growled, wanting more and quickly. “Is cooking your hobby?” she asked after she swallowed. She reached for her glass of wine.

“I like being in the kitchen. It makes me feel more like a homebody, I guess.” Logan took a sip of his wine. “Selling cars and putting on the persona of a high-end sort of person is tiring sometimes.”

“I couldn’t do it. I’m not that sort of person.”

Logan placed his wineglass back on the table and laced his fingers together above his plate. “Tell me, what do you do for a living?”

Emma laid her fork beside his plate. The moment of truth had come. “I was a new construction inspector. Inspecting new building sites. I don’t do that anymore, haven’t for over a year. Now…I’m disabled.”

Logan tilted his head. “You don’t look disabled.”

“Thanks. But I am.” She wondered how her next comment was going to affect this budding friendship. “I’ve had a heart transplant.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “Seriously? You don’t look, well, like you’re even ill.”