Emerald (Steele Investigations) (12 page)

Tom is finalizing the purchases
from the bridal wear shoppers, so I set about cleaning the kitchenette and by
the time that's done, it's time to shut the doors so we can do a final tidy
before we head off for the day.

"What are your plans for
tonight?  Doin' anything interesting?"  Tom asks nonchalantly as he Spray
'n' Wipes the counters. 

Yes! We're going to home to
Travis's to have wild passionate sex and it's going to be a.w.e.s.o.m.e! 
Selfish Jemma is strutting her stuff like Miranda Kerr in
her most expensive Victoria's Secret panties and bra set.

Stop thinking with your
hormones.  We're going to take things slow.  Slow and steady wins the race. 
Those adages weren't coined for the fun of it, Jemma. 
It's a wonder Rational Jemma doesn't have wrinkles the size
of boats in her forehead; she scowls so often.

"Not a whole lot.  Probably
just chill out, watch a movie.  You know, the usual,"  I reply, but
secretly I'm siding with Selfish Jemma.  Just the thought of doing things with
Travis sends a tingle throughout my body before it settles between my thighs. 
"What about you?"

"I have a date!" He
claps while bouncing from foot to foot.

"Really?  That's great.  How
did you meet?"

"Actually we met a few years
ago at a movie premiere, we hit it off and had a few dinners but then he moved
to the east coast for work so we sort of lost touch.  Anyhoo, he's back, looked
me up and now we're goin' out for dinner."

"Well, that's great.  You
must've made quiet the impression if he's gone to the trouble of looking you up
now that he's back in town.  I hope everything goes good for you two," 

"Yeah.  I hope he hasn't
changed or anything.  That'd be a bummer."  Tom says, scrunching his
nose.  I start giggling and it isn't long before Tom joins in my laugh-fest. 

"Seems like every time I walk in on you two, you're
laughin'.  That all you do here?"

Tom and I both startle and spin around to see Travis's
amused face watching us.  Arms crossed, muscles bulging, looking every bit the
god that he is.  I feel a quiver between my thighs just looking at him.

"Seems like every time you walk in on us, the shop's
shut and you scare the shit outta us, Mr. Guns." Tom snaps.  My head
swivels to him when he calls Travis Mr. Guns and my heart pounds a little
harder and a little faster.  I think Tom was just playing but what if Travis
takes offense and unleashes his guns on my poor friend.

"Mr. Guns?"  I turn my gaze to Travis and see his
lips twitching and he has one eyebrow raised and he's looking at Tom.

"Duh!" Tom replies gesturing towards Travis's
ample arm mass.

Travis just shrugs then makes his way over to where I am
standing, slightly confused but a whole lot relieved that no guns were
unleashed, and places a gently kiss on my forehead before pulling me into his
arms and holding me tight.  Of their own accord, my arms instantly find their
way around his waist and hold him to me.  I vaguely hear Tom gasp beside me,
but I’m too wrapped in Travis to care.  I love the feel of his strong arms
around me, protecting me, keeping me safe.  But this time is different. 
Something is off.  I don't know what it is, but I do know that I want to rid
him of it.  He holds me tight for however long before he loosens his grip and
bends down to kiss my temple then whisper in my ear, "Ready to go,
mama?"

Mama.  I like it when he calls me babe, but I
love
mama. 
My stomach dips and clenches and I pull back to look into his eyes.  The usual
vibrant green is clouded by something I can't name, but I have a feeling that
cloud is the reason for his embrace.

"Yeah," I reply, then add, "just let me grab
my purse from the back."  Then, I don't know I do it, but I do.  I lean up
on my tippy toes and softly touch my lips to his.  I go back down on my feet
and give him what I hope is a reassuring smile then I go and get my purse.

Tom is yapping to Travis when I make my way back after
retrieving my purse and making a quick bathroom break.  They stop talking as I
make my way to them and Tom turns to look at me.  "See ya tomorrow,
girlie," he gives me a quick hug.

"Yep, see ya then," I reply.

"Later, Tom," Travis jerks his chin.

"Later."

Chapter 9

"Can we make a quick stop at the grocery store?" 
I ask Travis as we head off in his Camaro.

"Yeah," he replies, though he sounds a little
distracted.

"It's just, you cooked for me this morning, so I
thought I could repay the favor - you know, cook you dinner.  I was thinking
beef stroganoff with rice.  That is, if you eat that.  If you don't, that’s
cool, just tell me what you like and I'll make it," I ramble.

"Beef Strog is fine, babe," he says softly.

Travis pulls into the car park of the grocery store and we
make our way inside. He grabs a hand basket and follows me around the isles and
I get the beef strips, onions, mushrooms, canned tomatoes, sour cream, cream of
mushroom soup and rice for our meal. 

"You don't look like you belong in a grocery store,
Guns," I tease.

"Hey, it's Mr. Guns to you, miss," he teases back.

I giggle as I place a bottle of juice in the basket. 
"Do we need anything else?" 

"Nope. Think that's it, babe," he smiles.

"Checkout, then," I state.

"That'll be thirty two sixty," the cashier mutters
in a bored tone.

I dig in my handbag amongst the receipts, chap stick and
other essentials I carry to retrieve my purse. 
Finally!
I unzip it and
fish out my last fifty dollars for the week.  Good thing it's only two days
till pay day. 

"Have nice day," the cashiers mutters in the same
bored tone.

What?

I look up to see Travis gathering our grocery bags at the
same time he's stuffing a receipt into one of them.

"You paid?" I glare at him while trying to
strongly resist the urge to tap my foot impatiently.  I do, however, plant both
my hands firmly on my hips which, frankly, everyone knows (even me, who has
lived a somewhat sheltered social life) that when a woman puts her hands on her
hips She. Means.
Business.
  Travis either did not know this, or did not
care (I’m going with option two!) because he did not heed the warning posture –
no, he completely ignored it.

"Let's go," is his reply.

"
You
are not supposed to pay. 
I'm
supposed
to pay."

"Why?" he questions as he herds me out of the
supermarket.

"Why?" I repeat, now trying hard to resist the
urge to stop and stamp my feet.

"Yeah, babe. Why?"

"Because I wanted to cook for you.  It was
my
idea.  What we're going to be eating was
my
choice.  Therefore,
I
pay. 
You
can't just barge in with your shiny car and big muscles and handsome
good looks and
pay
for something that was
mine
to pay for. 
Whelp! That settles it. 
You
will just have to cook,"  I huff,
hands on hips, glaring at him in the parking lot.

"K, babe.  I'll cook.  We done here?"  His lips
are twitching.

Well, shit. 
Backfire!

"Is something funny, Travis Steele?" I snap.

He sits the bags on the cement and gets in my space.  I lift
my chin to keep him in the sights of my narrowed eyes.  Finally, he comes to a
halt.  He's extra-super-dooper close.  I feel the fog of a Travis Trance
soaking in from the sides of my brain. 
Not today, Mister
I think as I
work to push it away.  "Well?"  I try to snap, but my voice comes out
breathy and husky. 
Damn him
.

"Love the attitude, mama," he says softly, then,
whispering, he adds, "makes me hard."  Then he pushes his hips gently
into mine and I can feel his hardness against me. 
Oh, Lordy.
  My whole
body trembles and my breathing gets shallow.  "So, we gonna go so
I
can cook, we can eat and then we can play?"

"I want to cook," I mutter sullenly.

"Okay, mama, you cook, we eat then we play. 
Happy?"

I feel a quiver at his words and my belly dips.  What I
really want to say is
How about we play then if we get hungry, we'll eat but
otherwise we'll just keep playing ... maybe for days, or weeks even ...
Instead
I whisper, "Yes." 

We make it back to Travis's place in record time.  Unloading
the groceries on the bench, I tell him to go and make himself comfortable
before I set about fixing dinner.  I slice the onions and mushrooms and place
them in a casserole dish (I'm surprised he had one but he did) along with the
beef strips I browned in his kickass stainless steel fry pan which looked like
it had never been used and was the super-humungo-family-sized-fry pan to end
all fry pans, mushroom soup and canned tomatoes.  Then I place all of that in the
oven to cook.  I put the rice on to boil and season with some salt. 

"Wine?" Travis asks as I'm wiping the bench clean.

"Sounds good," I reply.  I hope I like wine.  I
haven't had it before and I've heard some people say it's an acquired taste. 
He hands me a wine glass three parts full with white wine.  I take a small sip,
swallow, and then take another sip.  Yum.  Travis grabs a beer from the fridge,
takes a hearty swig and comes to stand in front of me, right in my space.  This
is becoming a pattern of his.  A pattern I like and I hope he continues.  I
look up at him and he leans down, gently touching his lips to mine.  He tastes
like beer and badass. Double yum.  I press my body into his and he holds me
steady with one strong arm around my waist - the other cradling his beer.  My
lips part and his tongue sweeps inside my mouth.  I melt into him as he deepens
the kiss.  I'm completely, totally, irrefutable in a Travis Trance by the time
he pulls back.  We're both panting and my lips are tingling and feel swollen. 
Between my legs is hot and wet.  I can feel him hard near my stomach.  My
nipples are achingly erect and tingling, though it's a different kind of tingle
to the feeling on my mouth.  He rests his forehead on mine and breathe each
other’s breath while our heart rates slow.

"Fuck, you're amazing," his voice is gruff and
rumbly.

I don't reply because I'm pretty certain I've taken up
permanent residence in the county of Travis Trance.

His phone ringing snaps me back to reality.  He pulls his
cell from his pocket, looks at the display then to me, and then says,
"Sorry, mama.  Gotta take this."

"Sure," I reply, then add, "I'll just finish
here.  Dinner shouldn't be too much longer."

He touches his lips to mine again in a soft and quick but
still incredibly sweet kiss and then takes his call.  I busy myself tasting the
rice, deducing that it'll need about five more minutes, and checking the
casserole.  The casserole is ready so I take it from the oven and sit it on one
of Travis's awesome extra chunky wooden chopping blocks (it's made from small
squares of wood which are all different shades of brown) to cool.  I drain the
water from the rice using the saucepan lid because I couldn't find a colander,
then I fetch the sour cream from the fridge and stir a hearty tablespoon
through the Stroganoff.  Once it's melted and combined I'm ready to serve. 
Travis is still on the phone and he's ventured to the other room so I help
myself to another glass of wine, cover the rice, put the lid back on the
casserole and decide to quickly use the bathroom to change into my fancy
underwear in preparation for tonight. 

I stare at myself in the mirror. One would not describe my
fancy underwear as "sexy", but I love them.  Every other pair of bra
and panties I own, is cotton and is plain.  Except this set.  Smoky grey satin
fringed with dusty pink lace.  I fell in love with them when I was at my last
job and I ate cup-a-noodle soup for three days so I could buy them.  I've only
worn them once before and that was when I first purchased them.  I had them on
for about an hour before I decided that they were too precious to wear for no
good reason and one day a good reason would arise and I would be able to wear
them.  I told myself this, but I never believed it.  Now, I do.  Tonight is
definitely a good reason to wear my fancy knickers set!

I pull my cut off jean shorts and pea green camisole over
the top of my fancy undergarments and then pack the clothes I'd just dispensed
with back in my bag before heading back out to the kitchen.  Travis is just
coming in from the opposite direction and his eyes widen as he notes my change
of clothing.  I simply shrug and ask, "Hungry?"

"Yes," he growls and I get the distinct impression
his answer isn't in relation to food, but in relation to something else
entirely.  Something that makes my stomach dip and my insides tighten.  My
teeth sink into my bottom lip as I fight back the urge to jump him right here.
Right now.  His eyes instantly move to lip and his thumb and forefinger reach
up to cup my jaw.  His thumb then moves to release my lip from its toothy
confines.  "Don't," he whispers, before adding, "I'm trying real
hard to be a gentleman here, Jemma."  Then he bends down and melds his
lips to mine in a swift, wet kiss and pulls back but not before he touches his
tongue to mine, leaving parts of me quivering, other parts of me tingling and
other parts quivering, tingling
and
clenching.

"Let's eat.  Smells good," he announces as he sets
about getting some plates and forks. 

I grab a serving spoon and dish up a mound of rice on my
plate and a mountain of rice on his (he is a badass hot guy whose profession
puts him in dangerous situations and requires him to be fit, so therefore he
should feed those muscles and his body accordingly - right?), then I grab
another serving spoon and ladle the Stroganoff on top of the rice.  Then, I add
a dollop of sour cream on top and grab his plate and mine and carry them to his
dining table.  He follows with a fresh beer and my refreshed glass of wine.