Blaze: A Texas Heat Novel (6 page)

Emerson could take a hint. His brisk manner hurt her. So much for his mother’s theory! Dylan didn’t want her - that much was obvious. He barely spoke a word to her during the drive. She thought about drowning her sorrows in a bucket of Death by Chocolate ice cream, maybe watch
Pride and Prejudice
and take a cold shower. His rejection pained her but she’d be damned if he knew it.

Emerson held her head high, squared her shoulders and walked past him. “Thank you,” she mumbled. Stupid, she felt so stupid for thinking he still cared. Her hand shook as she took the keys out of her purse. She blinked back tears, furious with herself for loving him, adoring him after all these years. The night was silent. She no longer heard the purr of the engine.
He’s gone
. 

On top of everything, she dropped the key. “Dang it!” she muttered. Tears fell unchecked down her cheeks.
Who cries over their first love? Get a grip!

“Emerson,” the sound of his hoarse whisper was a shock to her system. She spun around.

Dylan stared at her with glittering blue eyes. The sight of her tears was his undoing. “Oh baby, don’t.” He framed her face tenderly between his hands and kissed her. Like déjà vu, Dylan backed her up against the wall on the dark porch and had his wicked way with her. His lips and hands were everywhere, kissing, tasting, licking, caressing. She kissed him right back with sweet abandon, stroking his tongue with hers in the burning silence. Dylan’s body felt rock hard against the softness of hers. When they came up for air, Dylan cursed under his breath.

“I can’t,” he said explosively.

She leaned against the wall for some much needed support. She felt hot all over. Fine tremors of love and lust shook her young body. She wanted him so much! From the sound of his harsh breathing and the obvious arousal of his body, he wanted her every bit as much.

“I can’t,” he repeated.

“Why?” she silently berated herself for asking.

Dylan sighed and raked a hand through his hair. He muttered incoherently about his family, the re-election and some twenty year plan that she apparently didn’t fit into.

“So it’s okay with you if I date someone else?”

He stiffened. The glare he leveled on her thrilled Emerson. He did care! He cared something fierce.

“No,” he said.

“Hmm, but you can’t date me either?”

“Yeah,” he said with a frown.

Emerson closed the distance between them. Dylan could hardly breathe. She flattened her hands on his chest, stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him. It was the sweetest passion he’d ever known. Dylan’s arms wrapped around her small waist. He felt her lush curves beneath his hands.
More
, his body growled.   

Emerson stopped kissing him abruptly and stood back. “I love you,” she whispered. Dylan’s heart slammed in his chest. He swallowed audibly. Hearing those words, those precious words from her filled him with awe and desire so fierce, he fought the urge to take her right there on the porch floor.

“I don’t care what your family thinks or if you become the next President of the United States, I want you, it’s only been you. If you don’t feel that way about me, get in your car and drive home to your mama. There’s a man out there who will love me so much he’d never let me go,” she said, “I’m going to wear someone else’s ring, sleep in his arms and have his babies. If that’s okay with you, I wish you well Mr. Mayor just don’t expect my vote.” With that, Emerson opened the door and closed it softly in his face.

Chapter 7

Emerson didn’t believe in playing mind games, she simply went about her business. The fact that Dylan made no attempt to contact her in over a week said it all.
There’s your answer
,
Riley! He desires you but that’s about it
. She felt hurt and humiliated that her feelings were so one sided. No matter. If he could live without her she could live without him. Emerson threw herself into helping Gran plan her wedding and decided to go for her dreams with or without Dylan Chambers.

Dylan gave his fifth interview on autopilot. His mind in a daze over that hot kiss, over that girl. Emerson electrified him. The way she turned the tables, got in his face and let him know he could get the hell on if he didn’t want her. Problem is, he wanted her all right. All he had to do was steer clear of her. Focus on the campaign.

He noticed the commotion from his office. The campaign staff crowded around a desk near the window facing town square. What’s going on?

Interns and volunteers munched on cookies from a basket. They moaned out loud, closed their eyes in rapture as if they were having a sensual experience. No cookie was that good! Someone passed him a lumpy treat without saying a word. Dylan took a bite. The warm crumbs melted on his tongue. The flavors burst in his mouth – milk chocolate, coconut, exotic spices. Good God! Dylan fought the urge to suck his fingers one by one. Even his grandmother wolfed down three cookies. Where the hell did these come from? Someone picked up the business card attached to the basket. “Compliments of Emerson Riley, Baker.”

The woman was under his skin, tying him in knots.

“Is she single?” Jordan, his campaign manager asked. “I’ll marry her, sight unseen.”

Several of the men agreed. “Oh I’ve seen her,” an intern said, “Cute as hell, really nice a-”

Dylan’s icy glare stopped the man cold. He withered and drifted away.

“Best damn cookie I’ve ever had in my life,” Menerva said. That was high praise indeed, since his grandmother sampled cuisine and desserts all over the world.

“I’ll order a daily batch for the staff,” Dylan said.

Everyone cheered. The next day they feasted on chocolate chip macadamia, the day after that, death by chocolate brownies, all still warm, gooey and orgasmic.

Dylan walked down the square, past the bubble splash fountain, near antique stores, to the rear of The Trusty Rusty. Arthur Hickman had a separate building for his soup kitchen for the homeless. The aroma of pastries stopped Dylan in his tracks. He deeply inhaled. Dylan’s stomach growled in response. He knocked. No answer. The soup kitchen had a fully stocked pantry and an industrial kitchen. That’s where he found her. His mouth watered and it had nothing to do with the food. Emerson had Bon Jovi blasting. She danced as she dusted a batch of cookies with sugar powder. Her hair was stuffed in a cute bun. Tendrils of golden red curls brushed her flushed cheeks. She bit her lip in concentration, humming along to
Living on a Prayer
. He wondered what she’d look like in bed.
For God’s sake Chambers!
 

“Hi,” he managed to say.

Her head came up. She had a sprinkle of sugar across her nose and a chocolate smudge on her cheek. His heart slammed into his ribs just looking at her. Dylan knew he was in big trouble. What he felt for Emerson simply refused to die. She turned down the radio.

“Oh hi,” she said.

“Damn it woman, quit making your cookies, they’re evil.”

She looked pleased with herself. “Did you try the berry red velvet?”

“You have those?”

“Yep.”

“Well pass ‘em here!”

Emerson handed him a warm, moist cookie. He took a sweet bite and groaned.

The man looked positively delicious. A sky blue dress shirt stretched across his broad chest, tapered down to rippling muscle. The sounds he made while eating her cookies were down right sensual. Emerson wanted to jump his bones.

“What can I do for you Mr. Mayor?” she hoped her voice didn’t betray the longing she felt.

“Girl, if you don’t stop baking, my staff and I will each weigh five hundred pounds before voting day.”

Emerson smiled. “I’m just testing the market, you really like it?” she asked shyly.

He looked stunned by her uncertainty. “Do you have any idea how talented you are? These cookies are amazing.”

“Thank you.”

His blue eyes lingered on her face. Her breath hitched. “Are you looking for Arthur? He’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“No,” he said.

“Then why-”

“You’re driving me crazy.”

His confession thrilled her. Just be cool, Emerson told herself. He walked towards her. Their eyes locked and held. Butterflies took off in her stomach. Must resist!

“I-I could tell him you stopped by,” her voice drifted off. Dylan stopped in front of her. He reached out, cupped her cheek with one hand and gently rubbed the sugar and chocolate with the pad of his thumb. His touch lit fire under her skin. Emerson stared at his full lips. Her eyes ricocheted back to his.

“My baby,” he whispered. Dylan’s head swooped down. He kissed her with hot, drugging strokes of his tongue. Emerson turned to mush in his arms. She held onto his waist as he devoured her lips. Dylan gently tugged her bottom lip between his teeth. She moaned his name. He picked her up. Held her flush against his hard, muscular length. Her feet dangled a few inches off the floor. One hand slid through her red gold curls, as the kiss got wilder, rougher. Dylan backed her up against the wall.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.” She did. He squeezed her ass to his long, throbbing arousal and did a slow, deep grind. A sound escaped her throat, a cross between a moan and a plea. Emerson wanted to climb inside his clothes. Skin on skin. He wanted that too. His hands eased up her shirt, across her ribs. In seconds her shirt hit the floor. He pulled down her black lace bra.

Emerson threw back her head as he licked a searing path from her neck, down her chest. His hands and lips were everywhere. He sucked her nipple, teasing at first, then - hard. Emerson cried out. His tongue circled the rosy nipple, taking it into his deep, wet mouth.

“Dylan!” she sank her hands in his hair, pulling him closer. His body rubbed against hers with a promise of pleasure to come. Emerson shivered in his arms. Desire raged between them. He unzipped her jeans.

No! This is moving too fast. She should stop him. But his touch made her jump out of her skin for wanting him. His hand slid in her black lace panties.

“Dylan-” she tried to protest, then he made her forget her own name. His fingers plunged deep.

Damn, she was hot, wet and ready for him. He slid his fingers in and out, rubbing her clit with his thumb. Emerson’s skin blushed rose all over, her breath moaned through her parted lips, her back arched. Her nails dug through his shirt. Dylan rubbed and caressed her. That’s right, come for me baby. She did, in spectacular fashion. Dylan had never seen a more beautiful thing in his life. She came apart in his arms and screamed his name. Damn straight! Dylan’s body throbbed with the primitive urge to pin her to the wall and take her, claim her. A door opened, slammed, a voice called.

Oh shit! Emerson and Dylan came crashing down to earth. She quickly adjusted her bra and dived into her tee shirt. Dylan tucked in his shirt, raked a hand through his hair and tried to conceal his bulging erection. What the hell is she doing to me? Dylan thought, shocked out of his mind. He never lost control like that. His political schedule was so demanding, he planned sex, days or weeks in advance. With his on again, off again relationship with Lea Saint James, they literally pulled up calendars on their smart phones to schedule sex. It wasn’t roses and candles but two consenting adults having protected sex on their own terms. He was damn good in bed and he knew that without conceit. He knew how to please a woman but there was a time and place for that. The point is, he knew the plan ahead of time. This thing with Emerson caught him off guard. They were alone for what? Five minutes, five freaking minutes and he had her up against the wall half naked. No condom! He didn’t even know if she was on birth control. Dear God, the thought of Emerson pregnant with his babies…longing slammed into him from out of nowhere. He inwardly groaned. He had to get away from her! 

Emerson finger combed her hair. How could she let that happen? She was never intimate with a man she wasn’t in a significant relationship with.

“I don’t,” she stammered, “I don’t do one night stands, I’m not that kind of girl, I-”

“I know,” he said softly.

Emerson blushed. “I’m not a ho.”

He half smiled. Her heart flipped over. “Emerson, I’d never think-”

Gran bustled in with a bag of fresh fruit and vegetables. She stopped short at the sight of her granddaughter and the mayor.

“Well hello, this is certainly a surprise,” she said, her eyes missing nothing.

“Dylan was just leaving,” Emerson said.

“I came for the cookies,” he said. He gave Emerson a sideways glance as if to say
tell me I didn’t just say that
! Emerson nearly laughed out loud.

Nell raised a single eyebrow. “The cookies aren’t free Mr. Mayor, they are special, remember that.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Do you intend on paying for the batch of cookies you just sampled?”

“Gran!” Emerson said, mortified.

Dylan took the question in stride. “Believe me, these cookies are all I’ve ever wanted, I wish-”

His inner turmoil was visible all over his handsome face. “I better go. I had no right to stop by. It won’t happen again.”

Emerson watched him go. Nell came around the counter. She unpacked the bag. What? Nothing to say Gran? As if reading her mind, Nell looked up, “Oh by the way hon, your shirt is inside out.”

Chapter 8

As much as Emerson loved him, she wasn’t about to put her life on hold until he made up his mind. Dylan could have his political throne and trophy wife. Emerson knew her worth. She bought a small shop on town square with a one bedroom apartment on the second floor. She opened her own bakery – The Cookie Wookie – the name, a shout out to her Star Wars addiction.    Tourists and locals lined up long before opening hours. The aroma of succulent pastries, cookies, pies and cake seduced any dieter with temptation. Dylan was not immune. Resistance felt futile indeed. He tried to stay away. He did everything he could to avoid her bakery.

Dylan literally had a spreadsheet detailing his goals and action plan for the next twenty years. As much as he adored her, Emerson had no place in it. He had to stay away and keep his damn hands off her. He was about to be re-elected and engaged to be married to the statistical perfect woman. That’s the plan. Period. He wasn’t about to let Emerson or anyone else derail him.