La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink}

  Humiliated, she couldn’t bring herself to face him. She didn’t stop until she reached the curb and nearly walked right into traffic. He grabbed her arm and jerked her away from the street. “What are you doing?”

  Shaking off his constricting hold, she scowled. “Don’t grab me like that.”

  “Then get away from the street.”

  “I’m not a child, Riley! I know how to not get hit by a car.”

  “You went from totally okay to maniac in two seconds flat. Give me a moment to catch up.”

  Her mouth fell open and she shoved him. Didn’t he get what just happened? “I’m not crazy!” Turning, she marched toward home.

  “Damn it, Emma, wait!”

  “Leave me alone. You don’t get it.”

  He followed as she made her way through the oncoming pedestrians. “Leave you alone? Nice. We were having a perfectly good evening until they showed up. This isn’t my fault, but you’re sure acting like it is.”

  “That must be because I’m a maniac.” She crossed the street.

  “I meant you were acting like one. There’s a difference.”

  He was right, but she couldn’t get it together, not when all her imperfections were laid bare in the glaring light bouncing off Goldie’s pearly teeth and frosted hair. Her chest tightened painfully. These shoes were not intended for fast getaways.

  Her throat closed as she fought back the urge to cry. She was being a maniac and she didn’t know why—well, she knew, but her excuse was shameful. No one liked insecure women. Riley didn’t deserve this, but she was too far-gone to collect her dignity and act like nothing happened. She needed a few moments of privacy to fall apart in peace and then she could go back to acting like overly beautiful women didn’t intimidate the crap out of her—even when they stole her life and were living it better than she ever had.

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “God damn it, Emma. Do you want your wrap?”

  “What?”

  “Your shawl thing. We left without it.”

  “Great.” She’d just bought that, but it’s what she deserved for storming out of a four star restaurant like a jackass.

  He sighed, his frustration clear. “I’ll go back and get it.”

  “Forget it.” She sniffled, the loss of her wrap being the straw that broke the fat ex-fiancée’s back. “Please just leave me alone, Riley.” She didn’t want him to see her cry over stupid Becket. It was an unstoppable, pathetic female moment that was happening whether she permitted it or not. The less witnesses to her shame, the better.

  He stopped following her and her tears fell faster. She expected too much from him. This wasn’t Riley her roommate. It was Riley her boyfriend, and a breakdown over an ex-lover was the last thing he should have to witness, and the last thing she expected to happen—let alone tonight.

  “I’m going back to get your shawl. I’ll meet you at the loft.”

  She kept walking, needing the privacy to pull herself together. She’d ruined their night and that only made her more upset. The shock that Becket could still affect her in such a way was too much to process and the fact that it happened right in front of Riley was beyond humiliating.

  When she finally entered the loft, she threw her purse at the couch and marched straight to her room. Yanking off her heels, she hurled them into the closet. The moment she caught her reflection in her vanity mirror, she broke and cried in earnest.

  Lip gloss gone, her mouth was stained from merlot. Black makeup ran down her cheeks leaving her resembling a drunken raccoon. And under it all was her pale, unmanicured, frizzy haired, plump self. She yanked off her earrings and chucked them on the vanity.

  The front door slammed and Marla let out a sleepy woof from the bed. “Emma?”

  She really didn’t want him to see her right now. Maybe if she were quiet he’d leave her alone.

  The door creaked as he stood at the threshold to her bedroom, her wrap draped over his arm. “What are you doing?”

  Wiping her eyes, she added another smudge of black to her cheeks. “Please go away, Riley.”

  “No.” He walked into her room and tossed her wrap on the bed. She lowered her head as he paced behind her. Embarrassment constricted her breathing as she waited for him to yell at her for acting like a psycho and a shrew. He had every right to be angry. She was angry with herself.

  “Why are we fighting over your ex?” he snapped.

  “We’re not fighting,” she argued, her adrenaline fading to emotional exhaustion.

  “The hell we aren’t. You freaked out, left me in the middle of a restaurant, ran from Central Park West to here and freaking shoved me. What the hell, Emma?”

  “You called me a maniac!” She lashed out, too overwhelmed to argue logically.

  “You were acting like one! I was only trying to understand what was wrong and help you, but you jumped down my throat.”

  Disgusted with herself and her behavior, she wiped her nose. “I’m sorry.”

  He stopped pacing and shook his head. “Just...just tell me why you’re so upset.”

  She laughed and started to cry again. “Weren’t you there? Didn’t you see her?”

  “Who? Goldie? Yes, I saw her, but I didn’t see anything special.” He let out a frustrated breath. “Is it...Grayson? Are you jealous she has him?”

  “No,” she spat. “It’s not that she has him, it’s that he’s with her.”

  She couldn’t compete with that runway height or poise. There was an extreme difference between women like that and ordinary, dumpy women like her. Sooner or later there would be another Goldie, only this time she’d take Riley, which she couldn’t stomach. Feeling threatened and small, she gave up, too much insecurity to explain in one evening.

  “I don’t understand why she matters, Emma. Please talk to me.”

  Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she mumbled, “All this time I’ve been telling myself he downgraded.” She laughed derisively. “What a joke. Clearly, I was wrong.”

  “Are you...” He laughed. “Are you out of your mind? Emma, that girl back there, nothing about her was real. She probably spends hours trying to imitate a quarter of the natural beauty you have. Girls like that are everywhere. It’s a matter of buying the skank clothes and paying for a spray tan, some Botox, and whatever else the sugar daddy will provide. It’s all fake.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s what guys like and none of it is me.”

  In a low voice, he said, “It’s not what I like.”

  He crouched beside her vanity and cupped his hands on the side of her neck, urging her to face him. “You’re beautiful, Emma. You don’t need any of that fake crap. Girls like her wish they had what you have.”

  He handed her a tissue and she wiped her nose. “But he doesn’t see it that way.”

  He looked down and she hated that her confession hurt him. “I see.”

  “I just wish he knew what he lost. I wish he saw me the way you do.” And I wish I had a guarantee that you’ll always see me that way.

  “Why does it matter, Emma? There are some people in this world whose views and priorities are so screwed up we’re never gonna impress them without sacrificing what really counts. They’re judgmental and critical and overly concerned with superficial bullshit. Don’t lower yourself to be something according to their standards, because their standards are garbage.”

  He shook his head, as if struggling to clearly explain his thoughts. “You’re a unique brand others can’t replicate, Em. Be okay with being you.”

  Even in her most illogical state, he was patient. When would she finally accept that he was not like other men? Her mouth tightened as she wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry I shoved you and spoke to you that way.”

  He kissed her nose. “I forgive you.” He stood and pulled her to stand. “Come with me.”

  She followed him into the kitchen where he sat her on a stool. Unfolding a dishtowel, he ran warm water over it, and wrung it out. Tipping up her chin
, he gently wiped at her eyes.

  Concentration played on his face, as he focused on her cheeks and the soft skin beneath her lashes. She closed her eyes, trembling, trying to recall when anyone other than her mother took this much care or showed such concern for her.

  “You don’t need any of this,” he whispered, swiping the wet cloth over her lids. “There.”

  Cool air teased her damp face as she opened her eyes and blinked at him. Her heart pinched so tight with unprecedented emotion, her voice strained to speak. “Where did you come from, Riley?”

  He smirked and tossed the cloth in the sink. Taking her hand, he led her to the couch. Stripping off his jacket, he sat in the center, and pulled her to his lap so she was straddling him.

  She was wrung out from crying. Tired. Pulling her into a hug, he pressed her cheek to his shoulder and rubbed her back. After a few minutes of simply holding her, he gently unzipped her dress and ran his fingers over her spine. His touch soothed her like nothing else could.

  His mouth closed over the edge of her shoulder, gently kissed as the sleeve of her dress lowered. “These shoulders,” he whispered, “they say a lot about you.”

  He caressed her throat and dragged his lips to her other collarbone. “When they’re low, I know something’s weighing on you. Do you know how beautifully you wear your courage? I love watching your shoulders rise in the face of a challenge. It’s not the delicate slope that turns me on. It’s the language they speak when you’re silent. Your whole face lights up when you hold your shoulders high. It’s like you’re fearless.”

  His hands traced her calves, up to her knees then to her hips. As he gathered the skirt of her dress, she lifted, allowing him to pull it off. A slow chill crept over her exposed skin as he studied her.

  “What you call flaws I call feminine, Emma. Your curves don’t detract from your beauty. I like softness, boobs, hips, and all those things I don’t have. Don’t let some plastic reproduction make you ashamed of your natural form.”

  He dragged his hand over her lower belly and she instinctively sat up. “See this,” he whispered. “Soft. I love your little tummy. I think it’s ultra feminine, like your thighs. Those curves are lush, fruitful, something a healthy woman should have.”

  He unhooked her bra and pulled it away. Cupping her breasts, he leisurely massaged. “I don’t care about the symmetry of your tits or the size. I just like to hold them, play with them, watch the blood rush to the tips as your nipples get hard and you get aroused. I think about your boobs all the time, Emma, and I never think a negative thought. I love them. I want to build a fort between them and suck them and blow motorboats on them because I’m a guy and that’s the dumb shit we’re into.”

  She laughed, her tears of sadness washed away by tears of relief. He was right—perfect even—and she hated that running into her ex had made her question their special connection.

  “There’s that beautiful smile.” He grinned. “The day we went to the park, right after we got Marla, I told you that you were a great person and you turned and smiled at me. I was lost in that moment, Em. Between your smile and those sweet brown eyes, I’m a goner.”

  He nudged her hip. “Stand up.”

  She slid off of his lap and stood in front of him as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. His belt loosened and he unclasped his slacks, noticeably hard.

  When he rested his arms on the back of the couch, he took a long look at her. She tried not to fidget, but it wasn’t easy.

  “I think the most attractive thing about you, Em, is that you have no idea how beautiful you really are. Your laugh, your scent, they’re all parts of your attractiveness, but everyone doesn’t get the chance to make you laugh or smell your neck first thing in the morning. That mole you hate on your back? I’m obsessed with it. It makes me crazy when I catch a glimpse of it under your bra strap.”

  He leaned forward and carefully removed her panties. Her lashes lowered as excruciating awareness stole over her, making it difficult not to cover herself, but she remained still for him. His finger teased at the soft hair at her apex and she sighed. Her sex pulsed when she heard the clank of his belt hit the floor. Scooting forward, he kissed her stomach and cupped her ass, pulling her closer as he stroked himself.

  His teeth nipped her hip as he pulled back and took her hands, guiding her to his lap again. Although they were running through every flaw she personally hated, he’d somehow managed to change her thinking, offering the slightest glimpse of her through his eyes. If he only knew how she saw him. But he never would, because there simply weren’t words for how incredible he was to her.

  Straddling him, she braced her hands on his shoulders as he stretched, dragging his arousal between her thighs. Parting her sex, he released his flesh and cupped her hips, pressing her low.

  She gasped as he slowly filled her. He thrust leisurely, dragging her body over his, creating delicious friction as she adjusted to his width. His hands fondled her breasts as he studied her.

  “It doesn’t matter how you dress or do your hair, Emma.” He leaned close and kissed her shoulder. “The sexiest thing you can wear is a smile I gave you, the kind that goes all the way to your eyes.”

  Locking her fingers behind his neck, she lifted and deliberately came down, taking him deep. His words, more than his body, had her physically trembling.

  Pulling his mouth to hers, she kissed him and whispered, “You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met. I love you for loving me the way you do.”

  “I love you so much. Never doubt that, Em.”

  She tightened her arms around his neck and found his mouth with hers. Making love had never been so raw or vulnerable, but she had no defense against him.

  There was no hiding from Riley and there never would be, so long as he continued to look past the surface and see the real her he’d always have every bit of her soul, even the ugly pieces she struggled to disguise. But that was okay, because he apparently wanted them too.

  Chapter Ten

  “Can you wash the strawberries?”

  Riley carried the basket to the sink and adjusted the water. It was Thanksgiving and Emma was wearing the little apron with the pink polka dots, so he was on high alert. Whatever she was baking smelled awesome and he couldn’t wait to eat it.

  Lexi came out of Rarity’s bedroom, her black hair in perfect order as she buttoned her jacket. “Something smells delicious. What are you making, Emma?”

  “Strawberry short cake. It’s my special recipe.”

  Rarity joined them, stealing a strawberry. She hugged Lexi and kissed her long cocoa neck. “I’ll call you when I’m back.”

  Lexi sent her a sidelong glance, which he interpreted as disappointment.

  “Sittin’ out another holiday, Lex?” Riley thought it was ridiculous that his sister still hid the fact that she was a lesbian from their parents.

  “Not by choice,” Lexi said, her frustration clear. Nabbing a berry for the road, she grinned and grabbed her purse. “I’ll see you guys later. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Rarity smacked him in the head and water splashed on his shirt. “Watch it! I’m handling the berries.”

  “Thanks, moron,” she snapped, going after Lexi.

  “You shouldn’t have said that, Riley. You know how your parents are.”

  He shut off the faucet and carried the fruit to the counter. Maybe they were all hiding from his parents to some degree. “I know. I can be a jerk. I’ll apologize when she comes back.”

  “Do you want to start slicing?”

  “Sure.” He grabbed a knife and began butchering a strawberry.

  “No.” Emma took the knife. “Like this.”

  Stepping behind her he rested his chin on her shoulder as she showed him how to properly chop a berry. Sighing, he slipped his arms around her waist, hugging her from behind. “I’m not gonna lie, you in the kitchen totally turns me on.”

  She giggled. “It does?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He breathed in her s
cent, pressing his face to the curve of her neck.

  “Riley, I’m using a knife.”

  He kissed her ear and she shivered, pressing her cheek to her shoulder and forcing him out. “Let me feed you berries while you’re wearing nothing but that apron.”

  “Okay,” she agreed easily, immediately doubling his excitement. “But not today. We have too much to do.”

  He groaned. Holidays were so tedious. His family always managed to screw up the simplest meal with talk of disappointments and unreachable expectations. Maybe her family dinners would be different.

  She handed him the knife and he carefully cut them as instructed. He really would’ve liked some morning sex before they started the busy day, but when he woke up she was already running around like a crazy person. The idea of meeting her parents had him mildly freaked out. Sex would’ve been a nice stress reliever.

  Trying to keep his thoughts away from the boudoir, he focused on other things. “I think strawberries are one of the sexier fruits.” He really had a one-dimensional mind.

  “What?”

  “Well, there’s the banana, of course, but that’s obvious.”

  “Are you telling me you find fruit erotic?” She used that weird wire tool to make the frosting he wasn’t allowed to taste.

  “Only the sexy ones. Kumquats should be sexy, but they’re not. They’re just a sad cross between a yellow tomato and an orange, but with a filthy name—kumquats.” He loved pronouncing it in a slow Sean Connery voice.

  She added sugar. “You’ve really thought about this.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “No.”

  “I bet they do. They just don’t talk about it.”

  “I’m pretty sure they don’t. When you’re done slicing them put them in this bowl.”

  He scooped up a handful and tossed them in the dish. “Not only is the juice of a strawberry sexy, like, I want to smear it on your boobies sexy, but the seeds scream suggestive. I mean, they’re wearing their fertility where everyone can see. It’s more than sexy, really, they’re a little slutty.”

  “That should be enough berries. Stick the rest back in the fridge.” She took the bowl of cut berries and sprinkled sugar on top.