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Back The Companion Project Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Dedication
  2. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  3. ONE
  4. HENRY
  5. TWO
  6. EMMA
  7. THREE
  8. HENRY
  9. FOUR
  10. EMMA
  11. FIVE
  12. EMMA
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. HENRY
  16. EIGHT
  17. NINE
  18. TEN
  19. HENRY
  20. ELEVEN
  21. TWELVE
  22. EMMA
  23. THIRTEEN
  24. HENRY
  25. FOURTEEN
  26. HENRY
  27. FIFTEEN
  28. SIXTEEN
  29. EMMA
  30. SEVENTEEN
  31. HENRY
  32. EIGHTEEN
  33. HENRY
  34. NINETEEN
  35. HENRY
  36. TWENTY
  37. TWENTY-ONE
  38. EMMA
  39. TWENTY-TWO
  40. EMMA
  41. TWENTY-THREE
  42. HENRY
  43. TWENTY-FOUR
  44. EMMA
  45. TWENTY-FIVE
  46. EMMA
  47. TWENTY-SIX
  48. EMMA
  49. TWENTY-SEVEN
  50. HENRY
  51. TWENTY-EIGHT
  52. EMMA
  53. TWENTY-NINE
  54. HENRY
  55. THIRTY
  56. HENRY
  57. THIRTY-ONE
  58. HENRY
  59. THIRTY-TWO
  60. EMMA
  61. THIRTY-THREE
  62. HENRY
  63. THIRTY-FOUR
  64. EMMA
  65. THIRTY-FIVE
  66. EMMA
  67. THIRTY-SIX
  68. HENRY
  69. THIRTY-SEVEN
  70. EMMA
  71. THIRTY-EIGHT
  72. HENRY
  73. THIRTY-NINE
  74. HENRY
  75. FORTY
  76. EMMA
  77. FORTY-ONE
  78. HENRY
  79. FORTY-TWO
  80. FORTY-THREE
  81. EMMA
  82. FORTY-FOUR
  83. EMMA
  84. FORTY-FIVE
  85. HENRY
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. ALSO BY CHELSEA CURTO
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I half wish he would have picked me up, laid me across the counter, and ravaged me to within an inch of my life, leaving warm chocolate kisses down my body as a reminder of him. Of what he could do and what he could give.

I sprint out the front door of his complex, the cool air of the outside world a bucket of ice water, dousing the gnawing need residing within me.

This isn’t going to be an easy itch to scratch.

TWENTY-THREE

HENRY

The drive to Emma’s house to pick her up is an out-of-body experience, rivaling a funeral procession or another major event that might alter the course of my life forever. My brain is hundreds of miles away as I stop at red lights, use my blinker to turn right then left, motion for someone to merge ahead of me before finally pulling into her driveway and parking my car.

I take a moment to bask in the silence, collecting myself and studying her home through the windshield. It’s small and unassuming, with a brick facade. There are flowers blooming in two wooden beds under a large bay window and the blue mailbox out front looks welcoming and inviting, adding a pinch of color to the monotone exterior.

Turning off the ignition, I hop out of my truck and walk toward her front door. Before I can climb the three small steps and knock, it’s opening, revealing Emma, her suitcase, a bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of wine.

“Hey!” I greet her brightly.

“Hi,” she answers, shifting on her feet.

We exchanged a handful of messages in the aftermath of Cookiegate the other night. I’ve tried to ignore the lingering scent in my kitchen she left behind; apples and vanilla with a hint of chocolate. I’ve attempted to forget how she felt in my arms, warm and content, the perfect fit. Like my favorite things: a nice hot shower, a good meal, hugs from my friends.

And, most importantly, I’ve done my best to block out how I wish she had never left and the loneliness that’s engulfed me in the time we’ve been apart. I wanted to hear her talk all night about anything, everything, and nothing at all, her voice a soothing melody as we drifted to sleep under blinking city lights and dreaming about hopeful tomorrows.

I’ve failed miserably at all of these things. Emma’s been at the forefront of my mind for days on end, and our time spent getting to know each other is about to come to fruition in a few short hours. Soon, we’ll walk through the doorway of my childhood home and begin what brought us together in the first place.

A lie.

A job.

A paid favor she does for dozens of men, not just me.