Page 49 of Gilt

We fight closer. The kiss deepens as our tongues tangle greedily together, searching for more. I want all of him, no matter the consequences. My hand flattens on his hard chest. My heart jumps when I feel the speed with which his is racing.

He is my shouldn’t.

My impossibility.

My can’t.

And I’m not about to give him up.

When we break apart, we pant for air pressing sweaty foreheads against one another. “I need to go,” I say finally. “Dad will be home any minute.”

“Maybe I should stay,” he suggests.

“I think that kiss went to your head,” I tell him.

“Emma, we can’t avoid him forever.”

“We can try.” I trace an index finger along the curved lines of his abdomen. “We need a plan. Throwing this at him is the worst possible scenario.”

He kisses my forehead, and the sensation of his lips lingers there, making my head swim. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

“You have a lot more things to worry about,” I remind him. “Your mom is back now and—”

“I don’t want to sneak around with you anymore,” he stops me. His eyes sear into mine, and the weight of what he’s implying settles heavily on my chest.

How can I want to be with him and still be so afraid of the consequences? I lick my lips before I nod in agreement. “We can figure it out tomorrow.”

I can still put the brakes on this before we make any stupid decisions like announcing our relationship to my dad. What’s the rush to tell the world about?

“Do you have breakfast plans?” he asks pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertip grazes down my neck and it’s all I can do to concentrate on what he’s asking.

“Sleeping in. I’ll probably get up for lunch.”

“I like the idea of sleeping in.”

I shake my head. “Sorry, my bedis by invitation only tonight. The store is closed tomorrow. My Dad will be home all day.”

Jameson leans forward, slanting his head so that his lips hover over mine. “I really need to get a lock on your door, Duchess.”

My core tightens at the thought of being alone with him in bed again. I haven’t had time to go through my mental checklist, but I’m pretty sure there are very few boxes left to mark. The pulse beating a war drum between my legs seems to agree with that assessment.

“Now get out of this car before I devour you,” he threatens. His breath whispers over my lips before he pulls back and turns the engine on.

I practically stumble up the front walk and into the house. It’s worse than drugs the effect he has on me, but before I can turn my key in the lock, the door flies open. My dad glowers at me from the doorframe. His eyes flash to the black BMW still idling in his driveway.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demands. The vodka on his breath nearly knocks me over, and I move to shut the door, but despite his condition, he’s too fast for me. He’s on the front stoop before I can stop him.

“You get the hell out of here and stay away from my daughter,” he screams. “I know who you are!”

“Dad!” I clutch his arm and try to drag him inside, but he shakes me off so forcefully that I fall backward. Jameson is out of the car in an instant. I shake it off and scramble onto my feet to put a stop to this before it starts, but Dad reaches back and grabs a hold of my shoulder.

“What are you thinking?” he demands. “You can pack your bags. I’ve already spoken to your mother.”

“I’m not going to Palm Springs,” I shriek. I struggle to pull away from him, but his grasp only tightens, sinking into the soft flesh of my upper arm until tears smart my eyes. Jameson arrives and steps between us, forcing him to release me. “You won’t lay a finger on her.”

“I am her father. I say who touches her, and who gets the hell out of my house.” He lists a bit as he directs his attention back to me. “Emma, pack your bags. Your mother is sending the jet.”

I step out from behind Jameson and regard him directly.