But I was also weakened. So I sat down and let her serve me, knowing she took pleasure in doing that as well. I understood. Feeding people—pleasing them with food—was satisfying on a bone-deep level.

Delilah’s offer flickered through my head, causing my pulse to kick up a little with anxious beats. At one time, I’d wondered if I should become chef de pâtissier like Jean Philipe. But that hadn’t been his dream for me. He’d never truly gotten to see me play. What would he think of me now? Floundering without direction. He would have hated that.

Stomach quaking, I gave Emma what was probably a fake-ass smile as she set a bowl in front of me. “Thanks, Snoop.”

She took a seat next to me and started to eat, her gaze darting to me with clear hesitation. “You okay?”

She claimed she saw strength when she looked at me, but I felt as though I’d only shown her weakness.

“I’m good.” Another fake smile pulled at my lips. “Especially after your . . . what are we calling it? Remedy?”

“I was going to go with blow job,” Emma countered with a cheeky smirk.

“I’m good with that.” We ate in relative silence, and I let her fuss over me, getting me slices of bread, a glass of lemonade. Because it made her happy. And a happy Emma glowed with an inner light that I couldn’t take my eyes off.

I waited until she’d cleared the dishes, watched her pert ass flex and move beneath the thin cover of my shirt as she bent to put the bowls in the dishwasher. When she came near again, I hooked my arm around the curve of her waist and hauled her onto my lap.

She came willingly, laughing a bit, as if startled. Her weight settled on my thighs, warm and grounding. My hands found the juicy globes of her ass, and I gave them an appreciative squeeze as I drew her closer. That I could touch her now was a gift. A dream.

Emma’s hands settled on my chest. I felt that touch in the center of me.

“Hey,” I whispered, smiling as I kissed her softly, lightly. A little hello. A small taste.

I felt her smile against mine. “Hey.”

I kissed her again. An acknowledgement. “Thank you for taking care of me, Emma.”

The concession was worth it, just to see the way her eyes lit with happiness.

Her hands tunneled into my hair. “You’re welcome, Lucian.”

I wanted to make love to this woman. Take my time, learn her secrets, what made her sigh, what made her cry out for mercy.

My mouth moved over the satin skin of her cheek to the curve of her neck. She shivered, tilting her head to give me access, her fingertips pushing deeper into my chest. She smelled good, sweet. The swells of her breasts brushed my chest, and my breath hitched, my hands gripping her ass harder.

Needy. She made me needy. Took me apart in ways I couldn’t predict.

I loved it. Hated it. But I didn’t stop kissing her, my tongue slipping out to taste her skin.

Emma shivered again, rocked into me, her fingers threading through my hair. “Lucian?”

“Hmm . . .” My lids lowered as I nuzzled the hollow of her throat.

“I want to ask you something, but I’m afraid you’ll get upset.”

Her words crusted over my skin, rendering me still. Then I breathed, pretended my pulse hadn’t spiked. But she probably felt it, as close as she was.

More interested in kissing than talking, I trailed my lips back up to her jawline. “That sounds a lot like bait, honey.”

“It is.” She kissed my temple. The crest of my cheek. “But I’m also serious.”

I had two options. Retreat or relent. Given that the latter would allow me to continue touching her, I relented.

“Ask, then.” I nipped along the graceful line of her throat. “I’ll take it out on your neck.”

A sound of amusement hummed under her skin. “Fair enough. Your headaches. Are you seeing a doctor?”

I wasn’t surprised. Not even disappointed—she cared enough to ask. I still felt exposed. Weak. I kept my tone neutral, my hands busy feeling her ripe curves.

“Yes, Em. I’m being monitored. I went for a checkup last week. My brain is healing. Actually, it’s looking really good.” My doctor had been both impressed and pleased with how well I’d healed. “The headaches are actually reducing in frequency. Migraines tend to come in times of stress; that’s all.”

Emma’s swift expression of horror made me grimace.

“God, Luc—”

“I didn’t mean you—”

“You got one when you met me. And again when we . . .” She flushed, pained, her gaze darting over my face. “Do I stress you?”

I held her firmly, my eyes never leaving hers. “Em, no. Okay? The word stress is misleading. Last night was something I’ve been wanting since I met you.”