“You need to eat your sandwich,” she informed him, blatantly changing the subject.

Deck denied the subject change. “Not before you tell me you’re good.”

“I’m good… ish.”

He fought back another grin then demanded to know, “Explain the ish part.”

“Dane.”

It was definitely time to get conversation about that moron over and done with. So Deck sighed, turned them, rested back against the counter and pulled her close so her body was resting on his. She allowed it and he spoke.

“I know you’ve heard this more than once but I can’t talk about my work.”

She opened her mouth. He shook his head.

“Give me a second, Emme.”

She shut her mouth.

“Within a day, you’d decided to break up with him. You weren’t broken up about it. You hadn’t been seein’ him long. You were more worried about workin’ with him once it was over than hurtin’ his feelings or nursing your own hurt. You weren’t sure. You were right not to be sure. You were gonna end it. I was workin’ on ending other things for him. So even if I could have talked, for you, there was nothin’ I could say. If you were in deep with him, that would have been different. But straight up that first night you stated you weren’t. Fifteen hours later, you were done with him. You did my job for me ’cause knowin’ what I knew and not likin’ the guy even if he wasn’t a felon, I intended to make you done with him. Either way, it got done. In other words, baby, this point is moot.”

She held his eyes then she looked to his sweater. Seconds later, she collapsed into him. Her weight pressing deep, her forehead to his chest, she pulled in a breath that hitched and his arms got tighter.

“Emme,” he whispered.

“He was creepy because he’s creepy,” she told his chest, her head jerked back and she cried, “That boy shot himself because of stuff Dane’s involved in! And I slept with him!”

Deck was having great difficulty dealing with talking about this guy, knowing McFarland had her and had her recently.

For Emme, he pulled it together to keep dealing and lifted a hand to her hair.

He slid his fingers through it and murmured, “You sensed it, you were gonna end it. Now it’s all done, honey.”

She shook her head even as it drifted to the side, stammering, “I… I…” She looked back to him. “That’s gross, Jacob.”

“He’s a good-looking guy, Emme. Lots of women would go there. He’s a dick. He’s a criminal. He’s a liar. And I learned tonight he’s shit in bed. But none of that is on you. You felt it. You were making moves to end it.”

“You don’t think this reflects on me?” she asked.

“I don’t think you should care what people think,” he answered.

“I don’t care what people think. I’m asking you because I care what you think.”

That meant so much to him, his frame froze solid.

She was detached and had always been that way. Her cadre was small and tight and she didn’t often let people in.

But even if she let you in, even though she was warm and affectionate, it was strange, but she still somehow managed to be distant. Therefore, not always, but sometimes with Emme, you had to search for clues that something you said or did meant something. And since he told her where he was going to take them, he’d been searching. She gave it to him, but he’d also had to look for it.

Except when she told him she missed him, wanted the change in their relationship and, just now, telling him she gave a shit about what he thought.

“So, do you think this reflects on me?” she pushed, feeling the tenseness in his body, her eyes filling with concern she didn’t hide.

He forced his body to relax.

“I think you traded up and that works for me,” he answered and moved to conclude discussion about f**king McFarland by saying with finality, “That’s what I think.”

She studied him a moment before her body melted against his and she smiled, the dimple appearing.

Fucking finally.

“Now can I eat my sandwich?” he asked on a grin.

“I saw the kaleidoscope by your bed,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he whispered back.

“Just now and when I spent the night before.”

“Yeah,” he repeated.

“I wasn’t a mark.”

Irritation flashed and he gave her a warning squeeze. “Emme, I told you—”

She cut him off, “Just my way of saying I’m sorry, honey. I should have thought about that before and known I was wrong. I just,” she shrugged, “got bad news, reacted and by that I mean flew off the handle. I’m sorry I put you to trouble and lost it with you.” Her head tipped and her eyes lit. “Though, maybe not so sorry, considering how that concluded.”

He’d been worried for hours.

He’d just had his girl, gave her her first orgasm during sex and now they were cool.

So he was over it.

Before he could tell her this, Emme rolled up on her toes, touched her mouth to his, pulled back and asked, “Now, do you take mayo or what?”

Deck looked into her now just inquisitive eyes a second before he burst out laughing.

After he was done, he saw her smiling at him, gave her brief kiss getting a hint of the strawberry of her hair as he did it and liking it. He set her away from him and grabbed the mayo in answer to her question.

He went to the sandwich.

She went out of the open kitchen and he watched her walk to her clothes on the couch.

Then he watched her pick them up and start heading toward his room, Buford following her.

“Emme, where you goin’?”

She turned and looked at him. “Getting dressed then going home.”

He stopped squirting mayo and felt his eyes narrow. “Babe, just put Cletus in the garage.”

“Sorry, right, you probably didn’t have to do that. And her name is Persephone.”

Deck ignored that and stated, “You’re spendin’ the night here.”

Her head tipped to the side. “Why? Dane’s behind bars so I’m safe to go home.”

Why?

“Emme, you’re not spendin’ the night here because I want you safe from McFarland. You’re spending the night here because I want you in my bed.”

Her body froze.

“Oh,” she mouthed as he saw her lips form the word but he didn’t hear it.

Cute.

Little experience and no man had even made her come.