Twisted Arrangement 4 (10 page)

“Josh,” she whispered against his lips. “Oh, Josh.” It was a soft, broken little cry. He swallowed it, pressing his mouth to hers and caressing her tongue with little flicks of his own.

He rocked into her, deep and slow, burying himself inside her and then withdrawing to do it all over again.

Emma quaked, but her arms were strong around his back, drawing him fiercely back against her each time he pulled out as if she couldn’t bear even a moment of his absence.

Not that he could either. The only reason he drew back at all was to feel the exquisite friction of slipping back into her silken clutches.

They didn’t speak. As far as Josh was concerned, there was nothing to say that wasn’t already being said.

Each stroke of his said ‘I want you, I need you’ over and over. And each welcoming curl of Emma’s hips responded in kind.

The conversation went on for a long time. Sweat slicked their bodies, making them slip and slide decadently against each other. Emma’s fingers curled, digging into his back, his buttocks, his hips. Her belly quivered against his.

Josh’s muscles trembled with strain as he held her tightly, breath mingling, mouths brushing. The pressure that had built up within him kept intensifying, crawling up his spine to the base of his brain, filling every cell, coiling low in his gut, tingling in his testicles.

When Emma arched up hard against him, arms and legs tightening, mouth pressing into his shoulder to muffle her whimpered cry, Josh buried his face in her neck and drove into her. Her silken inner tissues fluttered around him, rippling and squeezing, stroking him like liquid fire.

He withdrew a final time and then thrust deep as the pressure expanded, exploding through him like a supernova. Josh groaned as his cock pulsed with wave after wave of incredible pleasure, squeezing Emma tightly as he poured himself into the slick heat of her pussy.

She clung to him too, shaking and panting, fingers clawing at his slick skin.

It seemed to take ages for the last of the shivering pleasure to seep from his body. Slowly, Josh became aware he was holding Emma tightly to his chest. So tightly he was amazed she hadn’t complained of constriction. He loosened his hold a fraction. Her arms tightened around him in response.

Josh relaxed on top of her as her legs slid from his waist. He sprawled between her quivering thighs, resting his head on his chest. He could hear the wild thump of her heart beneath his ear. Stroking her sides with long, soothing caresses, Josh listened to the beat slow.

His limbs felt heavy, his head muzzy with exhaustion. He knew he should move; he was probably squashing Emma, but she stroked his back languidly.

He should say... something. Shouldn’t he? That had been... Well, he wasn’t sure he had words for what that had been. So maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all, then. He didn’t want to ruin it.

Emma’s breathing evened out, her slow caresses growing even more intermittent. She was falling asleep. Reluctantly, gently, Josh extricated himself from her embrace, sliding up beside her and gathering her against his chest.

She snuggled against him with a sleepy murmur, her lips brushing his chest softly. Josh had just enough energy to tuck her head beneath his chin and tug the blanket up around them before slumber claimed him too.

***

Emma woke slowly, awareness creeping into her mind like mist. Her back was chilled. That’s the first coherent thought she had. She frowned, cataloging the rest of her body. Soft sheets pressed against her naked skin. Her spine crackled as she stretched, her muscles tensing deliciously.

Aside from the cold at her back, she felt amazing. Her frown melted away into a soft smile as she felt the low hum of pleasant satisfaction beneath her skin. Slowly, her eyes opened, morning sunlight spilling across the crimson sheets before her.

Crimson sheets. She was in Josh’s bed. Naked. Sated.

And cold.

The absence of warmth at her back, she realized, was because Josh’s big, hard body was no longer curled around hers. Emma shivered, rolling onto her back and tugging the covers up around her chin. She quickly scanned the rest of the room – just as empty as the bed – before squeezing her eyes closed.

Images from last night instantly began playing out on the back of her eyelids, every touch and thrust and whisper. She was no longer cold, because heat burned through her blood.

“Oh hell.”

She’d known if they slept together again it would only further complicate their already far too complicated relationship. And last night was a hell of a complication.
What was that?
Emma bit her lip.

They’d held each other fiercely and tenderly. They’d cleaved to each other. That had... well, it had felt like more than just sex. Her heart trembled as she remembered the sound of Josh’s choking gasp as he came, the reverence with which he’d touched his mouth to hers.

“Fuck.”

If only that had been all it was, she thought grimly. Now what was she supposed to do? They should have talked more last night. But Emma had felt so satiated in the aftermath of the soul-shaking orgasm that she had drifted into a deep sleep with Josh’s warm weight still pressing her into the mattress.

It had felt good. Right. Perfect, even.

Which was very, very bad. They may have talked and come to a truce last night before their passion had erupted, they may well be in a better place than they’d been since before Josh discovered she was Madame Butterfly, but they weren’t exactly in a
good
place.

He’d said he’d try to believe her from now on. That was a far cry from...

Emma stiffened, jaw clenching. Had she just been about to think ‘love’? Surely not. Just because they had made love last night didn’t mean Josh could ever, or would, ever love her.

But you want him to.

She cringed at the mocking tone of her inner voice. It was right to mock. There was no future for her and Josh Owens. No matter how amazing they were together in bed, or how well they got along planning parties, she was mousy Emma Ness, party planner, who saved every cent just so she could afford curtains for her bedroom and her monthly book allotment. He was a gorgeous Hollywood mover-and-shaker with more money than he knew what to do with, and a killer smile to boot.

Not that Emma thought his money made him better than her – or worse, she admitted grudgingly. But they lived in very different worlds. And it had been a long, long time since Emma had naively believed in Happily Ever Afters or love conquering all. Love hadn’t saved either of her parents. There had been no happily ever after for Marian and Frank Ness.

In fact, of all the people Emma knew, only William and Maisie Ransler, and Josh’s parents, seemed to have found the kind of love that got songs written about it. So, she supposed it did exist. Maybe. But it wasn’t common, and hardly likely between her and Josh. Trust was a pretty important part of a lasting, loving relationship. And that was a rather big point of contention between her and Josh.

“To put it mildly,” she said to the ceiling.

She’d tried to explain to him last night that she had never played him. All the different Emmas that he’d seen were just aspects of her personality. They were all her. But he didn’t understand. Josh was a straightforward guy. What you saw was what you got. He apparently didn’t contain various odd fragments of personalities that he enjoyed trying on at a whim.

Well, Emma had always known she was weird. Though it had hurt to see that judgement in Josh’s eyes.

Where did they stand this morning? That was the most pressing issue at hand. Emma rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom to shower. She stepped beneath the warm spray with a satisfied hum, closing her eyes as the water poured over her head and shoulders.

She supposed she should probably attempt to untangle the twisted knots that were her feelings about this arrangement, and what had happened between them last night, before confronting Josh.

So how did she feel about Josh?

At once, a cascade of emotions drenched her more thoroughly than the wide showerhead. Emma tried to tease them apart, but they were a goopy, confusing mess. Sometimes she wanted to punch him in the nose for his arrogance, and yet she also wanted to run her finger down that same nose, and trace it across his lips.

She wanted to watch a movie snuggled against his side, and argue politics with him, and ride him until they both came, screaming. He made her feel safe and terrified at the exact same time, and neither feeling made any sense.

Emma slammed her balled fists into the tile wall, wincing at the sting of pain. None of that was any help. Apparently, the answer to the question ‘what do I feel for Josh’ was ‘everything’. And that was not a good answer. She scrubbed her hands over her face and then grabbed the soap, vigorously rubbing it over her arms.

What had Todd said? He’d said he knew she loved Josh because he knew what a woman looked like when she gazed at a man and saw her future. Despite her surprise that her little brother had any such depth of knowledge, that had sounded right to Emma. Looking at a man and seeing your future did sound a lot like love.

Tears pricked her eyes. She squeezed them closed as she rubbed shampoo into her wet locks. Well then, there it was. She didn’t love Josh Owens. Because, no matter how she looked at it, she didn’t see any way they could have a future together.

So why did that thought make her heart lurch?

Josh glanced up at the kitchen entryway for what felt like the seven thousandth time. Still no sign of Emma. It wasn’t like her to sleep so late.

A muscle in his jaw jumped as he tossed a few more sliced mushrooms into the omelet pan. A culinary genius he was not, but he could manage a pretty decent omelet.

Normally, he would have left breakfast to Tina, his personal chef. But he was restless and had wanted to do something productive until Emma woke. The Irish woman had mumbled something unintelligible under her breath when he’d invaded the kitchen to give her the morning off, and she’d wielded what could only be called a death glare as he’d rattled through the pans, but she’d headed off with a cheery enough ‘See you later, Mr. Owens!’

He’d hoped the process of chopping the vegetables and beating the eggs would help calm his inner turmoil, but no such luck. He was still just as agitated as when he’d first awoken.

Or, first gotten out of bed, at any rate.

Josh had woken with an armful of very warm, very soft woman. Her delectable ass was snuggled right into the cradle of groin, the silky length of her legs twined with his. Her hair had tickled his chin, which is what had woken him. The feel of her soft stomach rising and falling beneath his hand had mesmerized him for a moment, as had the scent of her.

Emma smelled of light sweat, citrus shampoo, and a warm, creamy smell that had risen from her very skin. He knew this, because he’d run his nose down her throat and over the curve of her shoulder. It wasn’t deodorant. The closer he’d gotten to the crease of her arm, the more he’d been able to smell the lightly powdery scent of her antiperspirant.

No, the creamy smell was just Emma. Warm, sweet, and rich. Like cocoa. Josh had brushed his mouth against her shoulder blade, flicked his tongue against the smooth skin there. Emma made a small ‘hmmm’ noise in the back of her throat, sleepy and soft, and then wriggled back against him.

He’d contemplated sliding a hand down, parting her legs and waking her with the slow glide of his cock – he’d bet she was wet and ready for him, or would be quickly – but he’d enjoyed just lying there, holding her.

Which is precisely when his brain started clamoring, the alarm klaxon ramping up, blaring ‘danger, danger’. Josh’s eyes popped open and he slid slowly but determinedly out of bed.

Their talk last night had eased some of the tension between them, and he was willing to try and give Emma the benefit of the doubt from here on out, but that didn’t mean... well, it didn’t mean they were going to be snuggling in bed.

Sex was one thing. Emma was a woman, he was a man, there was an attraction. That was fine. But there would be no lying in bed holding each other. That way lied madness.

“Already mad, Owens,” he grumbled, neatly flipping the omelet. He must be. It was the only explanation for why he’d done what he’d done, both last night and this morning.

And just what had he done last night? He’d only meant to apologize for his rude behavior on set, to ease some of the animosity between them. They were co-workers, after all, striving toward the same goal. But then she’d reached for him. Or had he reached for her? He couldn’t remember anymore. All he remembered was it had begun frantically and ended...