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I know women; I know how they think, and I can usually get them to do whatever I want. Her . . . not so much.
Maybe my expectations are too high from my book boyfriends in my romance novels—maybe Jameson was right on that one. But damn it, I want the fucking fairy tale for once.
My heart stops when I see the initials. E.F. My scarf. He kept it. Not only did he keep it, but it’s also with his special things.
God . . . it would be so easy to stay here and fuck the boss instead.
“I work hard . . . but I love harder.”
“I’m in love with you, Emily Foster.” He leans in and kisses me slowly. His tongue swipes through my open lips with such emotion that I get a lump in my throat. “I can’t help it. I tried to stop it, and I couldn’t. I think I’ve loved you since our first night together in Boston. You stayed with me. I fought it, and still, I couldn’t forget you. I’ve been carrying your scarf around like a lovesick fool for more than a year.”
Mushroom sauce . . . my new love potion. Abracadabra. Jameson Miles just blew my fucking mind.
Crap, what’s the eating order of the cutlery? I need to go to the bathroom and google this shit.
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. God, cut out the snarky bitch act, Emily, I remind myself. Just be nice for once.
Fury and silence sweep around our table. Nobody says a word. I stare at him across the room and want to wipe that sleazy smile off his gorgeous face. And I will. Prepare yourself, Mr. Gabriel Ferrara. I’m taking you down.
Get in, Miles.” I smile and wiggle my eyebrows. “I’m taking you camping.”
“Sweep the dirt.”
Home tomorrow. To be honest, I could stay here with her forever. She makes anywhere home.
I’m so in love with this woman. When we’re alone, nothing else matters. “Thank you,” I whisper. Her eyes search mine. “For what?” “For finding me.” She rolls toward me and takes my face in her hands. “We were always going to find each other,” she whispers. “Soul mates do that.”
I hate that I won’t be cooking for him. Looking after Jameson has become my favorite thing.
It’s been three days since I’ve seen her . . . three days incarcerated in hell.
Cheesecake for my cheesecake. xoxoxo
