Chapter 11 A Bouquet of Temptation
She willed time to stop, to stretch this moment into eternity. The drip of the shower echoed in her ears as she studies her reflection, familiar yet foreign. Though last night’s pain had faded, unease still trembled in her chest. Every memory of his words sent a shudder through her. She was terrified.
With a sigh, Alison closed her eyes, letting the warm water cascade through her hair. No heat could wash away the panic thrumming in her veins. She lingered in the shower, dreading the inevitable moment she’d have to step out.
The bedroom beyond was bathed in dim, hazy light, faint from the living room lamp. Jack waited there. Logically, she should go to him.
But as she wrapped a towel around herself, she leaned against the glass door, hesitating. “Emily, are you done? Need a hand?” His voice was deep, magnetic, making her heart race.
She knew she had no more delays.
Gathering courage, she checked her conservative pajamas—the most covering she could find—though it did little to calm her. “Jack, I’ll be out soon. Wait in the living room, please.”
“Fine.” His curt reply relieved her. Only when his shadow moved away from the door did she finally, open it.
Barefoot, she padded across the carpet. A rich, aroma of red wine hit her.
On the table sat an open bottle and two crystal goblets, half-filled with the deep, crimson liquid.
As she stepped into the lamplight, Jack looked up, a lazy smile curving his lips as his eyes swept over her.
“Come here,” he murmured, his voice like velvet.
She had no choice. As she placed her hand in his, he pulled her into his chest, engulfing her in his musky cologne. She froze, rigid as a frightened kitten.
He swirled the wine, its bouquet filling the space between them. She tried to pull back, but he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze as he leaned in.
Trapped in his grip, she struggled in vain. He said nothing, just smiled softly before kissing her, the taste of wine—sweet, slightly bitter—mingling between them.
Whether he was drunk or she was lightheaded, it didn’t matter. The wine spread warmth through her body. Wine had always been a luxury, but now, there was no room for thought.
Before she could catch her breath, he lowered her onto the sofa, their roles reversing in silence. The kiss deepened, relentless.
In his eyes, her blushing face was a tempting rose—dangerous, alluring, impossible to resist.
Alison closed her eyes, surrendering to his touch, listening to her thundering heart. Just as she braced for more, he pulled back.
With a smooth motion, Jack sat up beside her. “You’ve always loved this, Emily. Drink with me.”
He poured a glass of crimson wine, handing her the same goblet he’d sipped from the one he’d pressed to her lips earlier.
Alison, cheeks still blushed, accepted it, her thoughts snagged on the intimacy of sharing a glass. He raised his goblet, clinking it against hers. “Cheers.”
The crystal chimed clearly, lingering in the air. As she watched him drain his glass, she took a hesitant sip. The wine’s aroma bloomed on her tongue: sweet, tinged with a delicate spice.
“How was it?” he asked softly, desire still smoldering in his eyes.
How strange—he managed to hold back his passion at the critical moment. This man’s motives remained a mystery to Alison.
She nodded faintly, “It’s tasty.”
“You always loved red wine. Glad I saved this bottle for you,” he refilled their glasses. “To us.”
The night was young; but each glass sent a warm haze through her, wine burning slow beneath her. She preferred guiding the glass to her lips herself now, rather than letting him feed her.
Jack set down his drink, eyeing her pajamas. “Emily, they are...unflattering. Where’d you get them?”
Regret stabbed her. She shouldn’t have chosen these frumpy pajamas—cheap, conservative, a ten-dollar bargain. Hardly Emily’s style.
Jack must have noticed. He was doubting her again.
Her mind raced. To salvage her cover, only boldness would work.
Alison stood up, “Jack, if you hate them, I’ll take them off.” Even she startled herself.
Jack’s lips curled into a knowing smile, his gaze intent.
She knew if she hesitated, his suspicions would grow. She needed the “Emily” mask to survive.
Biting her lip, she steeled herself.
“Need help, sweetheart?” His tone was disturbingly gentle—all night, he'd been soft, romantic, surrounding her with a beauty as dangerous as poppies.
She knew this deceptive sweetness was a trap. Indulge too much, and she’d drown in its poison.
They had only three short months of forced proximity.
What if this tenderness was a test? Panic flared at her thought.
Hiding her fear, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jack, I’m tired,” she whispered.
This time, she fumbled with her half-loosened pajamas, not him. Her heart thundered. Despite last night’s ordeal, his intense gaze made her shrink.
Feigning calm, she raise the hem, his gaze fixed, like an audience to a performance.
As the fabric slid from her shoulders, she threw herself into the role, masking her shame—a bold move with all her courage.
Their hearts pounding, they both knew what came next.
Eyes closed, she murmured softly, “Jack, hold me.”
I am Emily, she told herself. In this role, she could forget her true self, surrender to another woman’s shadow.
She was a substitute, by necessity, not choice.
Jack smiled, amusement in his eyes. “Look at you, Emily, you really know how to turn me on.”
He scooped her into his arms.
She expected the bedroom, but instead, he turned and gently laid her on the sofa.
Before she could breathe, his kiss crashed down—wild, hungry, inescapable.