One More Taste (26 page)

Knox couldn't think of anything to do but nod as he processed her words. She'd been a teen runaway. Sixteen. So young. An onslaught of questions raced through his mind. Why had she needed to run? Abuse at home? Is that how she knew what her friend was going through or was there more to Emily's story? Did her nightmare end when she ran away or was that the beginning of a new nightmare?

“You never returned home?” he asked.

“No. I've been on my own since then.”

“And you grew up in Houston. You're not that far from home. Weren't you worried your parents would find you?”

She finished her bite of sandwich and washed it down with milk before answering. “I lied about Houston. Rule number one about assuming a new identity is learning how to lie.”

Every detail she revealed only created more questions in his mind. Sixteen, alone. How did she not end up dead or on drugs or mixed up with the wrong crowd? “How did you survive? How did you start there and become an executive chef at a world-class resort by the age of thirty? It doesn't add up.”

“At first, wherever I could find work or bunk down. Eventually, I bought an old car off my friend's older brother. I worked my ass off, juggling every odd job I could find. I lived in that car for three years while I worked and got my GED. Sometime during those years, I got it in my head to be a chef because food … it's life and comfort and makes people feel good. And I was always so hungry. When I went to the culinary academy, it was on a scholarship for teen runaways, but I still couldn't afford a place to stay most months. That car was my lifeline, my best friend, until I graduated from the culinary academy and Ty Briscoe took a chance on me.”

No wonder
, was all Knox could think. No wonder Emily was so loyal to the Briscoes. No wonder she hadn't sought out mentorships with renowned chefs or traveled to a culinary mecca like New York City to seek her fortune. Whatever abuse had happened in her household growing up, it'd been bad enough that she'd opted to live on the streets and assume a new identity at an age when most kids spent their time worrying about crushes and loitering at malls, spending their parents' money. No wonder she'd structured her whole life around keeping her true identity a secret and not drawing too much attention to herself.

Her attention drifted to the small window over the sink, as though she was deliberating what more to tell him, if anything. He held his breath, waiting.

After clearing her throat, she met his gaze again. Her eyes were sharp with challenge. “I changed my last name to Ford, after that car. Emily was the name of my imaginary friend when I was little. I spent all the money I'd brought with me when I left home on that car and on buying the highest quality forged identity available. I had to, to survive and to stay hidden.” Her jaw tightened, pulling her tight lips into a frown. He doubted she was aware that she was gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles had gone white. “And now you have the power to ruin me. No one's had that power in a long, long time.”

Ruining other's lives was not a part of who he was.
Except Ty Briscoe, except …

He extinguished the errant thoughts immediately. His goal at Briscoe Ranch to seek justice for his father was a different situation entirely. That was business. That was justified retribution. That was not anything remotely like holding the fate of an abuse survivor in his hands.

“Then I'm giving that power back to you. I don't want it.” He dragged his chair toward her, then covered her hand with his. “Your secret will die with me, Emily. On my life, I will never do anything to put you in danger. I promise you that.”

She peeled her fingers away from the edge of the table and threaded them with Knox's. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“But do you believe me?”

She stared into his eyes, beyond his eyes, searching for something. He held still, his hands still entwined with hers, and let her look. Finally, she nodded. “I do.”

He could think of no other action than to fold over their joined hands and kiss her knuckles. He lingered there with his lips on her soft skin, even when he felt her kiss his hair and nuzzle her face against it.

They may have remained locked like that for eternity had her cell phone not rung. But ring, it did.

To his disappointment, she raised her head and pulled away from him. “I have to get that,” she said, her voice cracking once. “It's the ringtone for the catering kitchen, and there's a big wedding tonight.”

While she took the call, Knox walked to the living room area to look closer at the shelf of framed photographs that included numerous ones of her and Carina, her and the whole Briscoe family, and one with a younger her and a group of other men and women all wearing chef's jackets that had to be from her years at the culinary academy. He sank into her plush sofa and let her story and her struggles drift through his mind as he listened to her impassioned tone on the phone with her employee.

She really was an incredible woman. No wonder he'd been drawn to her. No wonder she held him under her spell.

A yawn came from out of nowhere. Fatigue from this whirlwind of a month finally rearing its head. The deep sofa, the warmth of the room, the richness of the sandwich and milk turned his lids heavy. He turned his head to the side, closed his eyes, and inhaled against the overstuffed cushion. It smelled faintly of Emily's sweet, herbal scent. Everything in this apartment did. Emily, Emily. He mouthed her name. It wasn't enough. He languished with the need for more, for her, for everything he couldn't have.

He inhaled again.
Yes …

*   *   *

Emily stared down at the sleeping man on her sofa. She'd knocked him out with a PB&J. Guess there was a first time for everything.

She perched on the coffee table, the better to study his sleeping form, as tenderness for this impossible, strikingly handsome, brilliant man flowed through her. What the hell was she going to do about him? And about everything he made her feel?

Even though it had scared her how easily he'd discovered her secrets, despite her valiant and ongoing effort to conceal her past, there was no denying the relief in opening up about everything she'd hidden and had never shared with anyone other than Carina. Just as there was no denying the restlessness he'd awoken within her—a need so deep and hidden, it had no name.

All she knew was, no matter how hard she tried, she was incapable of keeping a professional distance from him. She couldn't get their one, brief lovemaking out of her head. She couldn't stop wondering what a full night in his arms would be like. What kissing him would be like. And, it seemed, given his presence in her apartment, he was having the same problem keeping his distance from her.

Maybe it was time to stop trying so hard to resist the pull of him. Maybe it was time to let herself feel this—whatever
this
was.

She reached out and touched his knee.

The next instant, his hand encircled her wrist. As she gasped in surprise, his eyes opened. “You're watching me.”

Though his hold on her wrist was gentle, the sensation triggered too many unpleasant memories from her childhood. She let her arm go limp and concentrated on breathing evenly, pushing past the triggered emotions. Knox wasn't going to overpower her or restrain her in a sinister way. He wasn't. He was never going to hurt her.

Through that fog of residual fear and memory, she picked her words. “I thought you were sleeping.”

He sat up straighter, his grip on her wrist inadvertently tightening. “Napping is not a skill I've mastered.”

Her attention lowered to his hand on her wrist.
You're safe, you're safe, you're safe.

He must have caught her looking because he opened his hand immediately. Before she could think better of it, she retracted her arm and cradled it against her chest.

“Who wants to hurt you?” Knox said.

The question caught her off guard. Suddenly restless, she stood and returned to the kitchen, putting some distance between them. “My father. My mother, too. They'd make my life a living hell if they found me. But, Knox, you're not making life easy on me, either. Dredging all of this up, making me fight for my worth at Briscoe Ranch, my chosen home. My life was easy before you came along. I knew what I wanted and how to get it. And now…” At a loss for words, she shook her head.
And now what?
And now she wanted something that terrified her even more than her parents, even more than exposure as a fraud.

He followed her to the kitchen and crowded behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him against her back. If she pivoted in place, he'd be close enough to kiss. Damn it all to hell, she'd never wanted anything more.

His words vibrated against her neck. “And now you don't know what you—”

“I know what I want,” she snapped.

And then she did turn. She took his face in her hands, rocked up onto the balls of her feet, and took what she needed.

She angled her lips against his. That first shock of contact sent a sizzle of electricity racing through her that made her whole body quake. On a groan, he wrapped his arms around her and took control of the kiss. There was no tentative exploration, no gradual build. She opened her mouth and gave herself over to the taste and feel of Knox's commanding mouth, to his hard body, to the wet, greedy kiss that went on and on.

She ripped his shirt open and dragged her hands along his bare shoulder. She couldn't get enough of him, body or soul.

As it turned out, that deep need that she'd thought was so ancient and foreign that it had no name, had one. She just hadn't acknowledged it until now. She needed kissing and sex and intimate touch. She needed connection in a way that superseded friendship or family or coworkers. She needed Knox—and she needed him in a way that was not polite or easy.

He'd turned her into an immoderate beast stripped bare for him to see the fathomless depths of her soul, her rawest edges. Fuck him for crippling her power with this unbearable yearning for connection with him. Only him.

She tore her lips away, so angry at herself for becoming this person she didn't recognize.

“Fuck you, Knox.” She startled at the hitch in her words. She couldn't even speak without shards of emotion piercing her voice. “Fuck you for what you've done to me, for turning me into this.”

He panted through gritted teeth. “What I've done to you? Why don't we talk about what you've done to me?”

His fists closed around the hem of her sweater. He yanked it over her head, then molded his hand to her breast as his eyes raked over her body. A growling groan reverberated from his throat. “You think I like feeling this way? You think this is what I want? This isn't who I am.” His hand closed in her hair. He tipped her head back and grazed her neck with his lips. “But I'm hungry, damn it. I'm starving for you, Emily.”

“Then take me,” she said between panting breaths.

He rose to his full height. The heat in his gaze nearly singed her. His fingers slid down her arm and took her hand. Together, they walked in charged silence from the kitchen to her bed.

At the foot of the bed, she turned in his arms and kissed him again, hard and deep. She felt his hands on her back, and then her bra fell away. Her pants went next. In a haze of lust, they stripped each other bare, kissing and touching as they went.

When they were naked, Emily broke the kiss. She needed to see the body she'd fantasized about so often. Little had she known that the reality would be even better than her wildest dreams. His body was carved to perfection. Tanned and toned. Every exhalation accentuated the cut of his abdominal muscles and the trail of fine, dark hair that cut a path to his fully aroused cock. Everything about this man was powerful and perfect. And today, he was hers. The realization summoned a pulse between her legs.

“You're so beautiful,” he crooned, snapping her back to the present. He lightly cupped her breast and pressed her nipple between his thumb and finger. “I've never seen anyone like you in all my life.”

That couldn't be true. She'd seen media photos of him with gorgeous blondes on his arm, women light years more conventionally attractive than Emily, but the way he'd said it coupled with the way his heated gaze drank her in, Emily believed him.

On another kiss, they sank onto the bed, Knox's heavy body caging hers below him in a hot press of flesh on flesh. He kissed his way down her body, often lingering to tease every drop of pleasure from her. Then his lips burrowed into the thatch of hair above her pussy, making his intentions crystal clear.

Even at the height of her dating years, she'd rarely allowed men to perform so intimate an act. Nothing felt more vulnerable than his lips and tongue on her swollen flesh. But one caress from Knox's tongue between her folds instantly stripped her of her power to resist him. He held her down on the bed with nothing but the force of his desire and the almost painful pleasure that his mouth wrested from her body.

He brought her right up to the first tremor of release, then stopped. It was all Emily could do to lie there, a tightly coiled band of unbearable tension, afraid to move lest she spontaneously combust.

“Can you have more than one?” he asked in a husky voice.

It took a few beats for her to wrap her mind around his question. She didn't often have multiple orgasms in a night, but that said more about her partners than her body's attributes. Today, with Knox, she was limitless in every way. “Yes,” she said.

He buried his face between her legs again. Fingers breached her entrance and curled to rub her G-spot. She groaned with the sweet torture of this new pressure point. On the first swirl of his tongue, she broke wide open. He rode her release out with the ease of a masterful lover, and then before she could even catch her breath, his erection nudged at her opening.