The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection

Spiky Emmy, the cynical and brittle woman he’d loathed so much in the past, wasn’t here. This was sweet, gentle, soft Emmy. Vulnerable Emmy, who’d had her confidence chipped away by exes who couldn’t see her for who she was, only what they wanted her to be. Emmy, who didn’t really believe in herself.

Dylan could see her for who she was. And he liked her. More than liked her.

But could he ask her to take a chance with him—to make their unexpected family a real one?

It would be a risk. A huge risk. It had gone wrong with Nadine; he couldn’t make any promises that he’d get it right, second time round, with Emmy. And he knew she shared similar fears, given that she’d been let down in the past.

Somehow he’d have to overcome those fears. Teach her that he wasn’t like the men she’d dated before: that he saw her for who she was and he liked her just the way she was. And then maybe, just maybe, they’d stand a chance.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A WEEK LATER, Emmy opened the thick brown envelope that had just been delivered, to discover an early copy of the glossy magazine that had interviewed her.

‘Ty, look—it’s Aunty Emmy’s feature,’ she said, waving the magazine at him.

Tyler was much more interested in picking up the bricks they’d been playing with, and dropping them.

She built him another tower to enjoy knocking down, counting the bricks for him as she did so, then flicked through the magazine to the article. There was a nice picture of her with Tyler, and they’d really showcased her jewellery beautifully. But her delight turned to dismay as she skimmed through the text.

She’d explained the situation to the journalist. She’d made it totally clear that she and Dylan were Tyler’s co-guardians and they weren’t an item. So why did the article make reference to Dylan being her partner?

Oh, no. He wasn’t going to be happy about that. At all.

She paced the house all morning. What was the best way to deal with this?

In the end, she decided to tell him straight. Sooner rather than later.

She waited until Tyler took his late morning nap, then called Dylan at work.

He answered immediately. ‘Is Tyler all right?’

‘Yes, he’s fine.’

Her shakiness must’ve shown in her voice, because he asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘There’s something you need to know. It’s pretty bad.’ She took a deep breath. ‘The magazine’s coming out next week. They sent me an early copy today.’

‘And they didn’t use your jewellery in the end?’ He sounded sympathetic. ‘More fool them.’

‘It’s not that. They did use my pieces.’ She swallowed hard. ‘But they’ve used a picture of me with Tyler—and they’ve said in the piece that you’re my partner. They actually named you as computer superguru Dylan Harper. And it—well, basically it implied that Tyler’s our child. I told the journalist why we were sharing a house and sharing Tyler’s care. I can’t believe they got it wrong like this! I’m so sorry. If this causes you any problems...’ Her voice faded. If it caused him problems, she had no idea what she could do to fix it. Would it make his divorce more difficult?

‘They got the wrong end of the stick. So what? It doesn’t matter. Stop worrying,’ he said, surprising her. She’d been so sure he’d be annoyed about it. ‘The main thing is that they showcased your jewellery.’

‘They did. And the jet animals.’

‘Good. Now breathe, Emmy.’

‘Thank you,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I thought you’d be livid.’

‘It could be a lot worse. Most people know the press exaggerate, so don’t worry about it. Just wait for people to start contacting you with commissions—and then you’ll be so busy you won’t have time to worry about it anymore.’

It was another week until the magazine was in the shops. Although Dylan had told her not to worry about it, Emmy still couldn’t help fretting. If anyone who knew him read the piece, they’d get completely the wrong idea.

The day before the magazine came out Dylan distracted her when he called her from work.

‘Don’t tell me—an emergency project meeting and you’re going to be late?’ she asked.

‘No—and I’m bringing champagne home. I got some good news this afternoon.’

‘You got the Burroughs contract?’

‘I certainly did.’

‘Fantastic.’ Emmy was genuinely pleased for him. ‘Well done.’

‘It was partly thanks to you,’ Dylan pointed out.

‘No, it’s because he recognises your skill. Actually, I have some news for you. Elaine Burroughs rang. She’s bringing her daughter over to see me next week.’

‘For a commission? That’s great. Well done. Got to go but I’ll see you later. Oh—and please don’t cook monkfish.’

She just laughed. ‘For that, I’m ordering a takeaway. See you later.’ She replaced the phone and cuddled Tyler. ‘You know what? This is all starting to work out. It’s not quite how Dylan and I wanted things—we’d both do anything to have your mum and dad back with us. But, as second-best goes, this is pretty good.’

Over champagne, that evening, Dylan said, ‘I want to take you out to dinner to say thanks—being here with us really made a difference to Ted’s decision to give us the project. Do you think your mum would babysit Ty for us?’

‘Probably. I’ll ask her,’ Emmy said.

‘Do you mind if I ask her?’ Dylan asked.

She smiled. ‘You know her number.’ Dylan might not be that close to his own mother, she thought, but he definitely got on well with hers.

The following evening was Dylan’s turn to cook. Over pasta, he told her, ‘I spoke to your mum this morning. It’s all arranged; we’re going tomorrow.’

‘Going where?’ she asked.

‘Out to lunch,’ he said. ‘Except we need to leave really early tomorrow morning, and you’ll need your passport.’

She frowned. ‘Why do I need my passport?’

‘Don’t be difficult,’ he said. ‘I was going to take you out to dinner, but I thought lunch might be more fun.’

‘Lunch is fine, but what does that have to do with my passport?’

‘Surprise.’

She sighed. ‘You do know I hate surprises, don’t you?’

‘I think you’ll like this one.’ Annoyingly, he refused to be drawn on any further details.

‘Are you at least going to tell me the dress code?’ she asked in exasperation.

He thought about it for a moment. ‘Smart casual—probably a little bit more on the smart side. You definitely need shoes you can walk in.’

‘So we’re walking somewhere?’

‘End of information bulletin. No more answers,’ he said, and gave her the most infuriating grin. Worse still, he refused to be drawn for the rest of the evening.

‘I swear I’m never playing poker with you,’ she said. ‘You’re inscrutable.’

He just laughed. ‘I’ve been called worse.’

The next morning, Dylan knocked on Emmy’s bedroom door at what felt like just before the crack of dawn. ‘We’re leaving in half an hour.’

Which gave her just enough time to shower, wash her hair, dress, and check in on Tyler. Her mother was already in the kitchen when Emmy came downstairs, and the kettle was on. ‘Hi, Mum. Thanks for babysitting. Tyler’s still asleep, given it’s the crack of dawn.’ She greeted her mother with a hug and kiss. ‘Coffee and toast?’

‘We don’t have time,’ Dylan said.

She gave him a sceptical look. ‘You know I’m horrible if I haven’t eaten. And why do we have to leave so early if we’re going out to lunch, which won’t be for hours?’

He answered her question with one of his own. ‘You’ve definitely got your passport in your bag?’

She gave him a withering look. ‘I’m not that flaky, Dylan.’

‘Sorry. Old habits die hard.’ He ruffled her hair. ‘Let’s go. We have a train to catch.’

So wherever they were going, it was by Tube. She still had no idea why he wanted her to bring her passport; though, knowing Dylan, that could be a red herring. She kissed her mum goodbye; to her surprise, so did he. Together, they headed for the Tube station, a ten-minute walk away.

Emmy noticed that although Dylan was wearing one of his work suits, teamed with a white shirt and highly polished shoes, at least for once he wasn’t wearing a tie. She’d opted for a simple black shift dress teamed with black tights and flat shoes; a silver and turquoise choker; and a turquoise pashmina.

‘You look lovely,’ he said.

She inclined her head. ‘Thank you, kind sir. Actually, you don’t look so bad yourself.’

He smiled back at her. ‘Why, thank you.’

Ten minutes later, they arrived at King’s Cross. The second he directed her through the exit to St Pancras, she realised where they were going. ‘We’re going to Paris for lunch, Dylan? That’s incredibly decadent!’

‘Not really. It’s as quick to take the train from London to Paris as it is to drive from London to Brighton,’ he pointed out. ‘Anyway, I love Paris. It’s a beautiful city.’

To her delight, he’d booked them in business class so they could have breakfast on the train.

‘So this is why you wouldn’t let me have even a piece of toast at home,’ she said, surveying the feast in front of her. Champagne with fresh orange juice, smoked salmon and scrambled egg, fresh strawberries, and good coffee. ‘This has to be the most perfect breakfast ever. I feel totally spoiled.’

He smiled. ‘Good.’

‘I’ve never been in business class before.’ Because she could only really afford standard class. And only then if she booked the seat early enough to get the supercheap rate.

He shrugged. ‘The seats are more comfortable.’

‘Thank you, Dylan. This is a real treat.’

* * *

Dylan watched her selecting what to have next; he loved the fact that she was enjoying her food rather than picking at it, the way Nadine always had.

She caught him watching her. ‘Sorry. Am I being greedy?’

He laughed. ‘No, I was just thinking how nice it is that you enjoy your food instead of nibbling on a lettuce leaf.’

‘This is a lot better than you or I can cook,’ she said with a smile. ‘And if we’re going to Paris, I take it we’re walking, so I’m going to burn all this off anyway.’

The journey to the Gare du Nord was quick and uneventful; a short trip on the Métro took them to the Champs Elysées.

‘It’s too long since I’ve been to Paris. I’d almost forgotten how lovely it is—all that space in the streets, all the windows and the balconies.’ She gestured across to a terrace on the other side of the street. ‘I love that wrought ironwork.’

He smiled at her; he recognised that light in her eyes. The same as it had been at the butterfly house, and he’d seen drafts of designs that reminded him of the metalwork in the old Edwardian conservatory. ‘Are you going to get your notebook out and start sketching?’

She smiled back. ‘Not in the middle of the street. But would you mind if I took some photographs to remind me later?’

‘’Course not. Enjoy.’

They wandered down the street and stopped in a small café. Macaroons were arranged in a cone shape on the counter, showcasing all the different colours available, from deep pink through to browns, yellows and pistachio green.

‘I guess we have to try them, as we’re in Paris,’ he said, and ordered macaroons with their coffee.

‘This is just lovely. The perfect day.’ Her eyes were all huge and shiny with pleasure—and that in turn made Dylan feel happy, too.

This was definitely as good as it got.

And taking her to Paris was the best idea he’d ever had. Romantic and sweet—and this might be the place where he could ask her to change their relationship. Be more than just his co-guardian. If he could find the right words.

‘What would you like to do before lunch?’ he asked.

‘Are you planning to go somewhere in particular for lunch?’

‘Yes. We need to be in the fourth arrondissement at one o’clock, but before then we can go wherever you like. I assume you’d like to go to an art gallery?’

‘That’s a tough one,’ she said. ‘Even at this time of day, I think there will be too much of a queue at the Louvre.’ She looked at him. ‘You said the fourth arrondissement, so that means the old quarter. Could we go to Notre Dame and see the grotesques?’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been. It’d be interesting to see them.’ He’d visited most of the art galleries and museums, as well as the Sacré-Coeur and Montmartre, but he’d never actually been to Notre Dame.

‘It’s a bit of a trek up the tower,’ she warned.

‘I don’t mind. I know you said you wanted to walk, but how do you feel about going by river?’

She nodded. ‘That works for me. I love boat trips.’

He made a mental note; it might be nice to take Tyler to Kew on the river, in the spring.

When they’d finished their coffee, they took the Batobus along the Seine to the Île de la Cité, with Emmy exclaiming over several famous buildings on the way. They walked up the steps from the bridge, then across the square with the famous vista of Notre Dame and its square double tower and rose window. The stone of the cathedral looked brilliant white against the blue sky.

‘I love the shape of the rose window, the way it fans out—almost like the petals of a gerbera crossed with a spiderweb,’ she said.

‘Are you thinking a pendant?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Do you mind if I take some pictures?’

He laughed. ‘You really don’t have to ask me every time, Emmy. Just do it. Today’s for you to enjoy.’

‘Thank you.’ She took several photos on her phone, and then they queued at the side of the cathedral to walk up the tower to the galleries.

‘I always think of poor Quasimodo, here,’ Emmy said. ‘So deeply in love with Esmeralda, yet afraid she’ll despise him like everyone else does.’

‘So you cried over the film?’

‘No, over the book,’ she said, surprising him.

‘You read Victor Hugo?’ He hadn’t expected that.

She looked at him. ‘It was one of my set texts for A level.’

‘English?’

‘French,’ she corrected.

He blinked. ‘You let everyone think you’re this ditzy designer, but you’re really bright, aren’t you?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised. It kind of spoils the compliment.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m really going to have to make you that jet rhino, aren’t I?’

‘Hey.’ He gave her a brief hug. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. But you do keep your light under a bushel.’

‘Maybe.’

They walked up the hundreds of spiral steps; the stone was worn at the edges where thousands of people had walked up those steps before them. At the first stage, they had amazing views of the square and the Seine, with the Eiffel Tower looming in the background. They carried on up to the next stage and saw the famous chimera grotesques in the Grande Galerie. Dylan was fascinated by the pelican. ‘And that elephant would look great carved in jet,’ he said.

‘For Ty’s Noah’s Ark? Good idea,’ she said.

‘So why are the gargoyles here?’ he asked.

‘Strictly speaking, gargoyles carry rainwater away from the building. These ones don’t act as conduits; they’re just carvings, so they’re called grotesques. These are Victorian ones, done at the same time as the restoration. And there’s a fabulous legend—see the one sitting over there, looking over the Seine?’

‘Yes.’

‘Apparently it watches out for people who are drowning, then swoops down and rescues them.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that something else you learned for your A level?’

‘No. Actually, I can’t even remember where I heard it, but I think it’s a lovely story.’

Emmy liked the brighter side of life, he noticed. Trust her to know about that sort of legend.

They walked across to the other tower to see the bell, then back down all the steps.

‘Did you want to go inside the cathedral?’ he asked.

‘Yes, please. I love the stained glass,’ she said.

As he’d half expected, she took several photographs of the rose window with its beautiful blue and red glass.

‘Is this a Victorian renovation, too?’ he asked.

‘Most of this one’s original thirteenth-century glass. If I were you, I’d tell me to shut up, now,’ she said with a grin, ‘because stained glass was one of the modules in my degree, and Ally says I get really boring about it, always dragging her off to tiny churches to see rare specimens.’ Her smile faded. ‘Said,’ she corrected herself.

He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘You really miss her, don’t you?’

‘Yes. But I’m glad we have Tyler. We’ll see her and Pete in him as he grows up.’

And then he forgot to release her hand. She didn’t make a protest; it was only as they strolled through the streets of the old quarter that he realised he was still holding her hand. And that he was actually happy. Happier than he could remember being for a long, long time.

Maybe he didn’t need to struggle with words, after all. Maybe all he had to do was be.

She insisted on stopping at one of the stalls and buying a baby-sized beret for Tyler. She gave him a sidelong look. ‘I’m tempted to get you one as well.’

‘You expect me to wear a beret?’ he scoffed.

‘Mmm, and you could have a Dali moustache to go with it.’

He shuddered. ‘What next, a stripy jumper and a red scarf?’

She laughed. ‘OK, so a beret is a bit too avant-garde for you—but men can look good in a beret, you know.’

‘I think I’ll pass,’ he said. ‘Though I admit Tyler will look cute.’

As they crossed the bridge she asked, ‘Where are we going?’

‘Time for lunch,’ he said.

They stopped outside a restaurant in the old quarter right next to the Seine with view of Notre Dame. She looked at him, wide-eyed. ‘I know of this place. Zola, Dumas and de Maupassant all used to come here—it’s hideously expensive, Dylan. It’s Michelin starred.’

And it had a great reputation, which was why he’d booked it. He simply shrugged. ‘They might have monkfish.’

She let the teasing comment pass. ‘I’ve never eaten in a restaurant with a Michelin star.’

‘Good. That means you’ll enjoy this,’ he said.

* * *

Enjoy?

This was way, way out of her experience. Dylan, despite the fact that he wasn’t keen on cooking, clearly liked good food and was used to eating at seriously swish restaurants like this one.

Enjoy.

OK. She’d give it a go. Even if she did feel a bit intimidated.

The maître d’ showed them to a table in a private salon. She’d never been to such an amazing place before; the décor was all gilded wood and hand-painted wallpaper. There was a white damask cloth on the table along with lit white candles and silverware, and gilded Louis XIV chairs. The windows were covered with dark voile curtains, making the room seem even more intimate. And the maître d’ told them that the waiter would be along whenever they rang the bell.

Emmy’s eyes met Dylan’s as they were seated. For a moment, she allowed herself to think what it would be like if this were a proper romantic date. A total sweep-you-off-your-feet date.

He’d held her hand as they’d wandered through the city together; so was this Dylan’s way of taking her on a date without having to ask her? He didn’t like emotional stuff, so she knew he’d shy away from the words; but this definitely felt like more than a thank you. More like the fact that he wanted to be with her. Some time for just the two of them. Together.

Unless she was projecting her own wants on him and seeing what she wanted to see...

When she looked at her menu, she noticed that there were no prices. In her experience, this meant the food was seriously expensive. And it made her antsy.

She coughed. ‘Dylan, there aren’t any prices on my menu.’

He spread his hands. ‘And?’

She bit her lip. ‘I’m used to paying my way.’

‘Not on this occasion. I’m taking you out to lunch to say thank you.’

So not a date, then. She tried not to feel disappointed.

‘Just as you took me out to dinner,’ he reminded her.

‘But when I took you out, it wasn’t somewhere as swish as this.’

He sighed. ‘Emmy, if you’re worrying about the bill, then please don’t. I can afford this. My business is doing just fine—and, thanks to this new contract, it’s going to be doing even better. I couldn’t have got this contract without your help, so please let me say thank you.’

‘Can I at least buy the wine?’ she asked.

‘No. This one is all on me. And, I don’t know about you, but I’ve got to the stage where I fall asleep if I drink at lunchtime, so I was going to suggest champagne by the glass.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘But I might let you buy me a crêpe later.’

A crêpe. Which would only cost a couple of Euros, whereas she was pretty sure the bill here was going to be nearer half a month’s mortgage payment for her. ‘I feel really guilty about this.’

‘Don’t. I’m doing it because I want to treat you. So enjoy it. What would you like for lunch?’

Protesting any more would be churlish. Emmy scanned the menu. ‘It’s all so fantastic, I don’t know what to choose. I’m torn between lobster and asparagus.’

‘We could,’ he said, ‘order both—and share them.’

Now it was starting to feel like a date again. And that made her all quivery inside. ‘Sounds good,’ she said.

She actually enjoyed sharing forkfuls of starter with him. Especially as it gave her an excuse to look at his mouth as much as she liked. And she noticed he was looking at her mouth, too. As if he wanted to kiss away a stray crumb and make her forget the rest of the meal.

Oh, help. She really had to keep a lid on this.

After that, she had crayfish with satay and lime, and he chose lamb.

‘Look at this. It’s beautifully cooked and beautifully presented,’ she said. ‘I can see exactly why they have a Michelin star. This is sublime.’

He chuckled, and she narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘That you’re such a foodie—and, um, in the kitchen...’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah. I’m never going to live that monkfish down. You’ll still tease me about it when we’re ninety.’

Oh, help. Had she really said that? Implied that they were going to be together forever and ever?

‘Yes. I will,’ he said softly, and it suddenly made it hard for her to breathe.

She fell back on teasing. Just to defuse the intensity before she said something really, really clueless. ‘I could point out that this is a bit of a pots and kettles conversation, given that you’re clearly a foodie and you’re about the same as I am in the kitchen.’

He laughed. ‘I admit my monkfish would’ve been just as terrible. But you’re right. This is sublime. Try it.’ He offered her a forkful of lamb.

‘Mmm. And try this.’ She offered him some crayfish.

‘So are you going to tell me that lunch in Paris was the best idea ever?’ he prompted.

‘That,’ she said, ‘depends on the dessert.’

They scanned the menu when they’d finished. ‘How can you not order madeleines in France?’ she asked with a smile.

‘When there’s chocolate soufflé on the menu,’ he retorted, and she laughed.

Again they shared tastes of each other’s pudding, and she enjoyed making him lean over to reach the spoon—especially when he retaliated and did likewise.

‘That was fantastic,’ she said when the meal was over. ‘A real treat. I admit, yes, it’s the best idea ever. Thank you so much.’

‘My pleasure. I enjoyed it, too.’

And his smile reached his eyes; he wasn’t just being polite.

They spent the rest of the afternoon browsing in little boutiques. Again, he held her hand; and again, neither of them commented on it.

Emmy bought a box of shiny macaroons for her mother. ‘And I think we should go to a toy shop, so we can bring something more than just a beret back for Ty.’

Dylan smiled. ‘He probably hasn’t even noticed we’re gone. Unless that’s just a flimsy excuse for toy shopping, Ms Jacobs.’

‘It’s a really flimsy excuse,’ she said with a grin. ‘I love toy shops.’

‘I’d already noticed that,’ he said, ‘given how much Tyler’s toy box seems to have grown recently.’ He checked on his phone to find the nearest toy shop, and when they looked along the shelves Emmy was thrilled to discover a soft plush teddy bear with a beret and stripy shirt. ‘This is perfect,’ she said, and gave Dylan an arch look. ‘Beret and stripy shirt. Hmm.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t you dare call it Dylan.’

‘Spoilsport,’ she teased.

‘You know, we’ll have to bring Ty to Paris when he’s a little older. He’ll love seeing the Eiffel Tower sparkle at night,’ Dylan said.

Making plans for the future, she thought. Neither of them had said it. This was too new, too fragile. But she was beginning to think that there was a future...

* * *

When they’d finished shopping, Dylan allowed Emmy to buy him a coffee before they headed back to the Gare du Nord to catch the train to London.

Back in London, Emmy shivered when they came out of the Tube station and pulled her pashmina closer round her. ‘I wish I’d brought a proper coat with me, now. It’s colder than I expected.’

‘Have my jacket,’ he offered, starting to shrug it off.

‘No, because then you’ll be cold. And it’s only a few minutes until we get home.’

‘I’ll call a taxi.’

‘By the time it gets here, we could’ve walked home,’ she pointed out.

‘OK. Then let’s do it this way.’ He put his arm round her shoulders, drawing her close to him.

Oh, help. Her skin actually tingled where he touched her. And the whole thing sent her brain into such a flutter that she couldn’t utter a word until he opened the front door and ushered her inside.

Her mum greeted them warmly. ‘Did you have a good time?’

‘The best,’ Emmy said. ‘Oh, and these are for you.’ She handed her mother the bag from the patisserie. ‘How’s Tyler?’

‘Asleep, and he’s been absolutely fine all day.’ She hugged them both. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Thanks for babysitting for us.’ Dylan hugged her back. ‘I only had one glass of champagne at lunchtime, so I’m OK to drive. I’ll run you home.’

‘That’s sweet of you.’

Emmy checked on Tyler while Dylan drove her mother home.

Today had been magical. The way Dylan had fed her morsels from his plate at lunchtime, and walked through Paris hand in hand with her; the way he’d automatically offered her his jacket and then, when she’d refused, put his arm round her to keep her warm... Was she adding two and two and making five, or was it the same for him? Had they become something more than co-guardians? Was this a real relationship—one for keeps?

Dylan was back by the time she came downstairs.

‘Everything OK?’ he asked.

‘Tyler’s fine. Thank you for today. It really was special.’ She stood up, intending to kiss his cheek. But somehow she ended up brushing her mouth against his instead.

She pulled back and looked up at him.

His eyes were intense, darkened from their normal cornflower-blue to an almost stormy navy. She shivered, and couldn’t help looking at his mouth again.

He leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers in the lightest, sweetest kiss. Automatically, she parted her lips and tipped her head back in offering. He drew her closer and she could feel the lean, hard strength of his body. So much for Dylan being a geek; he felt more like the athlete she’d once dated, all muscular. And she couldn’t help remembering the way he’d looked in her bed, half-naked and asleep.

Her hands were tangled in his hair and his arms were wrapped tightly round her as he deepened the kiss. Her head was spinning, and it felt as if the room were lit by a hundred stars.

He shuddered as he broke the kiss. ‘Emmy.’

‘I know.’ She reached up to trace his lower lip with the tip of her forefinger.

‘Are we going to regret this in the morning?’ he asked, his voice huskier this time.

‘I don’t know. Maybe not.’ She shivered as he drew the tip of her forefinger into his mouth and sucked; she closed her eyes and tipped her head back, inviting another kiss.

He released her hand. ‘Emmy. My common sense is deserting me. If you don’t tell me to stop...’ he warned.

Then she knew what was going to happen.

And every nerve in her body longed for it.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘Yes.’

Still holding her gaze, he scooped her up and carried her up the stairs.