He plays with her because he can.
"Is that all your father's life is worth to you?"
With a smirking smile and twinkling eyes, he sees Emma rise to the bait. Sometimes it's too easy with her, poking and prodding to get a reaction, and when she sets herself up for a fall, she stalks away when she loses. It's been awhile since he's volleyed silly words and childish quips with anyone else. For so long it's been about anger and vengeance and that undeniable rage of grief. Stepping into her space, she holds her ground, and it's fun, this thing between them. He can see the quirk of her mouth as she denies him a smile and how her eyes narrow slightly as he bobs his head down towards her.
"Please, you couldn't handle it." Emma juts her chin out a little, defiant of him moving closer and closer to her.
It's a clean shot though; he smiles a touch wider as she engages in the game.
"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it."
Touché, I think you'll find, Miss Swan, he thinks as she stares at him for a moment. Her eyes flicker across his face and for a split second he's confused. Hands grab at his coat and the back of his head as warm lips press against his own. Without want or realisation, his own hand goes up to cradle Emma's head, stroking down soft blonde hair as he lets her take her fill of him. Then it's glorious as she opens her mouth up under his, drawing him into this little spell of hers where it is all want and pleasure and yes. Her grip on his collar drags him even closer and he feels himself almost fall on her and they stumble together in their passionate embrace. It feels like they kiss for an age, sharing breath, and Killian feels something, for the first time in a long time, "That was…"
"A one-time thing," Emma asserts. She's panting slightly and wavering on unsteady legs before she lets him go and walks away. He's not surprised that she leaves him there or that it comes with a list of instructions: "Don't follow me, wait five minutes…go get some firewood or something."
Her breath isn't entirely back and he holds on to that, to the idea that she is just as affected as he is. She can't see that he bows a little, both inside and out, to her will.
"As you wish."
Then she's out of sight.
A part of him wonders if what has just happened has even come to pass. He presses two fingers to his lips and they're warm, and damp, and it's real. That sinks in for a moment and he exhales under the weight of it. This feeling, that tingle he felt as Emma kissed him, only grows when he thinks of how things might change between them. The things he could show her, the stories he'd tell and she would understand. She would understand him and how he was just like her. He could have more than rage, anger and grief, and regret. He could have so much more than regret. He could have the life he always wanted: an honorable one.
He could be happy.