"Emma?" Killian whispers her name into the quiet, shifting his weight enough to slightly jostle her, but she doesn't respond. He wasn't particularly expecting her to – it's been some time since her weight settled against him, sleep claiming her quickly.
He sighs, leaning back into the couch, careful not to disturb her. This Emma, asleep in his arms, peaceful in spite of the dark shadows under her eyes, this is the woman he wishes she would allow out more often. She has her reasons, and he bloody well knows it, but the mask she insists on putting on for the world hides the warmth he knows lives in her heart.
Her hair tumbles down her back in a snarl of curls, his fingers twisting in the silky strands. He can't stop touching her, needing to feel the hum of connection between them. He told her he loved her – again – told her that her stubbornness and fear won't change how she feels about him.
She said she bloody knew.
It isn't quite what he wanted to hear – he wants more than I know. But she didn't resist when he gathered her close. He's not sure how long they've been here on the couch, but Emma's actions say much more than she'll ever allow her words to.
When sleep begins to claim him, he forces himself to open his eyes. As much as he wishes to stay here with her, they can't sleep like this on the couch – and there's no reason to with a perfectly good bed just down the hall.
His brows furrow as he debates his next move, glancing down at the woman in his arms. Emma didn't say anything about returning to his bed, but he can't bear the thought of her spending another night away from him. Perhaps it's selfish, but tonight of all nights, he needs her. And by how easily she fell asleep in his arms, he suspects she may need him, too – even if she is too bloody stubborn to say so.
She did say she was tired of fighting, he reasons, winding his arm around her back. She mumbles something unintelligible in her sleep, nuzzling into his chest as he gathers her up, but she doesn't wake.
He means to put the bloody pillows back, he does. He knows Emma's rules, and he's trying to give her as much room as she requires to be comfortable. But when he sets her down on the bed, she reaches for him, and he just can't.
It doesn't matter that she's asleep, or even half-asleep. He can't resist this request of hers. So instead of putting up another wall between them, he takes only the time to strip off his shirt and change out of his jeans before joining her.
He tells himself this is enough, the warmth of her beneath the sheets without their cotton and feather pillow barrier, that he doesn't need to have her in his arms, no matter how badly he craves it. But when she seeks him out, reaching across the bed in her sleep, when she relaxes into his tentative touch, he knows it will never be enough.
Emma is only half-conscious when she becomes aware of Killian's arm heavy across her waist, his chest pressed to her back. In spite of the blankets pooled at her hips, she isn't the slightest bit cold in the air conditioning – Killian is like a furnace beside her, his bare chest burning through her thin tank top. She doesn't open her eyes right away, her mind still muddled by sleep, his closeness nearly overwhelming.
She doesn't remember going to bed last night.
I must have fallen asleep.
And somehow they ended up...here.
When she blinks her eyes open, the pile of pillows on the floor greets her, the usual armor against him cast aside. She's back in his bed, which shouldn't come as a surprise with him wrapped around her, but it seems like it's been weeks since she's been here – and she didn't give him permission to bring her back. And she wants to be mad – he knows how she feels about this – but she can't seem to summon the emotion.
There are too many other things in the way. Killian's embrace is cozy and tender and safe. She likes being back in his bed. Emma can't remember the last time someone gave her the sense of security he offers in the warm cocoon of blankets and his touch.
Except that's not quite true – Killian has been doing it for months.
He was right last night. Ignoring the pull between them won't make the emotions she's trying so hard to avoid go away – it won't make her want any less. If her heart had its way, she would stay right where she is.
Emma has spent the last twenty some-odd years learning that following her heart is a sure fire way to end up more broken than she started. This one morning – this morning, last night, the last six months – won't change that.
The sleepy murmur that escapes his lips as she eases away is almost enough to change her mind. She freezes, but his hand is still dead weight on her back, so she resumes her slide across the bed.
He stumbles into the kitchen an hour later, eyes widening at the array of pancakes, bacon, home fries and eggs she's whipped up. If he has an opinion on why Emma has picked today of all days to make an extravagant breakfast, he keeps it to himself.
She pushes a cup of coffee into his hands, silently begging him with her eyes to just sit down and eat breakfast without bringing up anything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours. And whether it's because he can really read her that well, or the universe is on her side for once, that's exactly what he does.
Emma breathes out a sigh of relief and tries to keep any lingering tension to a minimum. She pretends not to notice the weight of his stare as she moves around the kitchen, the questions he's too polite to ask swimming in his eyes.
It's a quiet day. They don't leave the house, and they barely talk, but it's not the heavy silence of the last few days. This is an easy silence, where he sits beside her skimming industry news in Variety and looks up with a soft smile when she lets her eyes fall on him.
She tells herself she won't miss him when he leaves just after six for a photoshoot downtown. He mentioned it a few weeks ago – something about a rooftop and Regina's promotional machine. He seems reluctant to leave, dawdling in the kitchen with her, but she forces a smile and sends him on his way.
She tells herself her heart doesn't beat a little harder when he brushes a kiss against her hair, when he says not to wait up since the shoot will likely go well into the night.
She tells herself she's not stalling as the hour grows late and she dawdles by the fire on the patio, listening for the sound of his car in the driveway. But eventually, the early morning catches up with her, and she drags herself to bed.
She tells herself she's too tired to stack up the pillows, that he'll do it before he comes to bed, but she floats toward consciousness just before dawn to find his knee wedged between hers. He's curled around her, his breath warm on her shoulder, but all she does is snuggle closer before sleep claims her once again.
She's pretty sure he's pretending to be asleep when she wakes a few hours later, his breaths a little too irregular to be natural. She stiffens as she realizes how close together they are, the entire line of his body pressed to hers, and she tenses her shoulders to put some space between them. It doesn't do much good, the heat of his skin still radiating into hers.
Why can't the man wear a shirt to bed for once in his life?
But the distraction of Killian's skin against hers where her shirt has twisted doesn't change that here they are, tangled up in each other – again. For someone who isn't supposed to be giving this man hope or mixed signals, she's doing an awfully crappy job of keeping her distance. And yet, in the space between falling asleep in his arms on the couch and this morning, she doesn't want to keep her distance anymore. Is it really so bad to give into the comfort of his touch? Sleeping like this doesn't need to mean she's prepared to give herself over to him. It's just sleep. Right?
Right.
He stays in bed while Emma gets up, swims laps and sets about making scones. There's only so many cupcakes she can bake, and despite his assurances cupcakes make a fine breakfast, she isn't buying it. Besides, she hasn't made scones all that much, and the task gives her something to concentrate on when all her thoughts keep drifting back to the man down the hall.
She definitely does not smile to herself as she drops chocolate chips into the batter. Her eyes are not tugged toward the bedroom by the same strange warmth that sneaks up on her when she thinks of him.
It's not until she dozes while watching tv that night and he suggests going to bed that the choice she has to make occurs to her. The first night he carried her back to his bed and decided against the pillows, not that she fought him on it in the morning. Is it really a surprise he made the same choice the second night, when even she wasn't entirely committed to the idea of resuming their prior arrangement? It's not at though she bothered to put the pillows on the bed herself – and she can't deny her first thought at finding him so close once more was good.
Tonight, she's too awake to hide behind any appearance of forgetfulness or unintentional choices. She can stack the damn pillows between them again, or she can accept this shift in their relationship. His point of view is clear – he chooses her. She hasn't fought him on it, hasn't even mentioned it to him. Maybe when she went to bed last night with the pillows on the floor, that was the tipping point, the proverbial pebble in the pond. Tonight...tonight seals it.
When she nods her agreement to go to bed, she sees the hope shining in his eyes. He tries to mask it, looking away and teasing her about her constant yawning, but his jaw is tight and his expression guarded as they walk into the bedroom.
Emma's stomach clenches as she enters the closet, taking her time changing before ducking into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. She realizes with a jolt she's actually nervous.
She finds Killian sitting on the edge of the bed clad in only the deliciously thin pajama pants he wears to bed, fidgeting with one of the pillows. She's seen him without a shirt plenty of times before, but tonight, knowing what comes next, the sight warms her cheeks. She has to fight the urge to look away before he catches her, forcing her gaze to his face.
His eyes latch onto hers when he hears her, and his attempt to hide his emotions has either become too much or he's just given up. Every last hope and desire burns bright in his eyes, and she should maintain this line between them, but she can't – a tiny part of her already accepts she wants this, wants him.
She takes a deep breath, crossing the room to stand in front of him. "Ready for bed?" is all she says, gently taking the pillow from his hands.
"Aye. I washed up while you were changing." His eyes follow the pillow as she walks around to her side of the bed, dropping it into the pile with the others as she goes. She doesn't look back after she's done it, forcing herself to keep going. It isn't until she's gotten into bed and turned off the lamp that he says anything.
"Emma, are you…" His voice is filled with hesitation, but the sheets rustle as he moves closer.
"Yes."
He breathes out in a rush of air, but Emma is still holding her breath. Is he going to wrap himself around her again? Is he just going to go to sleep?
Is he going to try to kiss her?
She doesn't want him to. She definitely doesn't want him to kiss her.
If she repeats it to herself long enough, it might even be true.
He's almost too close, his palm sliding over her waist until his arm drapes loosely over her it. She tries to relax, to not tense under his touch as a shiver runs down her spine. "Is this all right?" It's a whisper in the darkness, but there's so much buried in his words – this means something to him, something far more than she should allow, but she doesn't want the alternative.
She doesn't want to look into his eyes and see barely concealed hurt – she doesn't want to push him away.
Not anymore.
"Yes." The word comes out more breathless than she would like, and she winces, because he's got to hear it in her voice. What is she doing encouraging him? But it's only a fleeting thought – relaxing into him is as easy as breathing, and she's asleep before she knows it.
Which is how it comes to be the third morning in a row she's woken up in his arms.
Emma sucks in a deep breath through her nose, letting the air out slowly through barely parted lips. It's different today – their legs are tangled together, her face pressed to his bare chest and his arm snug around her waist. It would take only the barest of movements to brush her lips against his skin, a slight nudge on his shoulder to push him onto his back and lay her body over his. She doubts he would object, the proof of his desire hard against her hip where they're tightly knit together.
For a second, she almost gives into it while he's still asleep. A nagging curiosity has taken hold over her, an almost desperate need to know what it would be like for this to be real – for a kiss between them to be not an explosion of emotion or a contrived act, but soft and real.
But real is also terrifying, so she doesn't move. It's still early. She allows herself a few more moments tucked up against him, breathing in the scent of his skin and listening to the even beating of his heart.
But that's all she can allow before gently disentangling herself and leaving the room.
She's afraid of what she might do if she stays. She has enough guilt about their new sleeping arrangement. The look in his eyes last night warned of the emotional tsunami waiting in the wings, ready to crash over them both.
She shivers in her tank top in the cool morning air once she's away from the warmth of the bed and steals one of his Henleys from the closet. She shouldn't – she should grab one of her own sweatshirts – but his shirt is softer...and it smells like him.
Padding out to the kitchen, she shoves the too-long sleeves up her forearms, yawning as she goes. Her thoughts drift back to Killian asleep in bed, the warmth….the solidness of him. Her cheeks warm at the memory. There wasn't an inch of their bodies not touching this morning, and she felt everything.
"Stop it," she mutters to herself, closing her eyes and struggling to direct her thoughts elsewhere in spite of being half-asleep. She starts coffee, squinting in the early morning light at the tiny digital clock while she stretches. She sort of likes that he has a plain, old-fashioned coffee pot instead of a Keurig or a fancy espresso machine, not that she'll ever admit it when she's teasing him about it.
Killian mentioned blueberry muffins yesterday while devouring the scones, something about one of these mornings he's going to fetch them breakfast from a bakery he likes. And she's not making them for him – she just can't stop thinking about blueberry muffins.
She hasn't decided if she's going to go running this morning or just do some yoga in the backyard, so she watches the drip of the coffee and keeps half-heartedly stretching in the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients for muffins.
She drinks her second cup of coffee on the patio, her legs curled under her as she savors the quiet and the muffins cool on the kitchen counter. It's remarkable how with one of the largest cities in the world sprawled beneath her, the only sounds up here are the faint rustling of the grasses beyond Killian's manicured lawn and the occasional squawk of a passing bird. The breeze is so light this morning that even the palm fronds barely move.
He shuffles out onto the patio with his own cup of coffee while she's going through her yoga poses. She catches her foot in her hand as her arm stretches forward into dancer's pose, a recent favorite. It gives her a sense of grace she's never experienced before.
She lowers her leg slowly, rolling her shoulders as she notices him watching. "Morning," she says softly, gesturing toward the kitchen. "I made muffins."
"Aye, blueberry muffins. I saw." There's a teasing lilt to his words, like he's seen through her intentions, but he doesn't say anything else about the baked goods. Instead, he nods toward her mat in the grass. "You've gotten good at that bit."
"Lots of time to practice." She does her best to keep her tone light, turning back to the mat as she drops to the ground to move into another pose. "You're up earlier than usual."
"Dave called. We're going riding at the ranch today." It's true but it's not the real reason he's awake. He wakes when she leaves every morning, the bed suddenly empty without her, but he forces himself not to go after her.
She's still too skittish to be chased. And he's not about to do anything to disturb the gift she's given him, finally giving up on the bloody pillow wall. He's not doing anything to jeopardize the scent of Emma's skin on his, the feel of her body entwined with his.
He's a patient man.
"Your trainer is better?"
"Aye. At least, Dave says so." He sips his coffee, noting the ease with which she moves her body. It's a dangerous pastime – watching her bend on that mat only makes him think about all the other ways they might enjoy her flexibility together.
"All right. Will you be back for dinner?"
The question jerks his thoughts away from her body, a pang he doesn't anticipate in his chest at the idea of being away from her all day. Things are changing between them – he saw his shirt balled up on the kitchen counter, right next to the muffins he knows she made for him, can still practically feel her on his skin. He's terrified if he leaves her alone with her thoughts today, he'll come home and discover she's convinced herself to once again keep him at a distance.
"Come with us," he says instead of answering her, blurting out the thought swirling around his mind. "Get out of the city. It's been…it's been a trying week. The ranch is lovely."
"You have to know I've never been on a horse in my life."
He shrugs, trying not to plead because he can see the tiny smile on her lips, the way the thought grows on her, and he doesn't want to scare her off. "So watch us torment ourselves. Come for the drive and read one of your books under a tree."
She stares at him, and he sees her mind working, the hesitance in her eyes as she considers his offer. He worries he's pushed too hard too fast, and practically sighs with relief when a small smile plays across her lips. "Okay," she agrees, leaning back on her heels. "When do we need to leave?"
"Right about now."
"You're not even dressed!" she protests, getting up instantly and hastily rolling up her mat. She has flecks of grass in her hair and stuck to her pants, and he can't help but smile at the sight. "Let's go."
She berates him – playfully – the entire way back to their bedroom, slapping his hand away from the plate of fresh muffins with a glare as they pass. "You can have one in the car," she says, pushing him toward the shower.
He shuts the bathroom door, leaning back against the wood as he closes his eyes, taking a few precious seconds to savor the morning.
Emma in his arms, her breath hot on his chest. Emma stealing his clothes with a closet full of her own within easy reach. Those bloody blueberry muffins he mentioned in passing yesterday now waiting for him on the kitchen counter. Emma's eyes dancing with mischief and affection as she teased him.
Perhaps winning her heart isn't quite as much of a longshot as he'd once feared.
His smile broadens as he fiddles with the temperature of the water, glancing back at the door like he can somehow see her through it. It's been a good morning – he's hoping for an even better afternoon.
Emma steps out of Killian's car with a container of muffins in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, her bag slung over her shoulder. The heat slams into her like an open oven, her jeans instantly sticking to her thighs. She wore them on the odd chance she finds herself on a horse, but maybe shorts would have been a better idea. What business does she have getting on a horse, anyway?
The look in Killian's eyes when she agreed to try it comes flooding back, and suddenly the heat doesn't seem so bad.
David is waiting for them, a perturbed look on his face, but he brightens considerably when he sees Emma. "So nice of you to join me, Jones. Though I see you've brought along more pleasant company today."
"Nice to see you again, David." Emma rolls her eyes as the two of them begin bickering, holding out the food. "I brought muffins."
"Killian didn't eat them all in the car?"
"Not for lack of effort," Emma says wryly as the two men each grab a muffin, crumbs everywhere in their eagerness to consume the confection. "So where's the trainer?"
David points toward the barn, swallowing his mouthful of muffin. "She's probably getting the horses saddled. I told her I would wait out here for Killian."
"Your trainer is a woman?" Emma asks with an arched eyebrow at Killian. The spark of jealousy is a foreign sensation, but what's stranger is that she recognizes it for what it is almost immediately. The strangest thing is she doesn't want to take it back. As far as the world is concerned, Killian belongs to her – she has every right to be a little jealous.
The look he gives her in response is oddly satisfied, as though he can read her thoughts and he's pleased. "Aye, Swan. She's a woman. Mostly, she enjoys other women, so you needn't worry."
"I wasn't…"
He wraps his arm around her, bends low and whispers into her ear, "Aye, lass, you were." But he doesn't sound annoyed or angry – he sounds downright happy. He kisses her cheek, which Emma chalks up to David's presence and tries not to read too much into it.
"You boys have fun. I've got my book." She looks up at Killian, struggling between playing her part and just being herself – not that she's entirely sure there's much of a line left between the two anymore. "Come find me for lunch?"
"Of course." He bends, brushes another kiss against her cheek and grabs two more muffins with one hand before he starts toward the barn with David, leaving her with the container.
Emma can't help the small sigh that escapes as she watches him walk away. His jeans and snug T-shirt leave little to the imagination after how they woke this morning, the fit of his body against hers. She's been craving his touch since she slid out of bed.
You want him. Admit it.
Heat rises in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the day as she turns away from him, pulling out her book. Maybe she shouldn't have come – being here feels an awful lot like playing with fire.
Or maybe she's in the mood to get burned.
"So you haven't told her I know about you two." They're well out of earshot, nearly in the barn when David says it, his voice a strange mix of amusement and accusation.
"Know what? I'm quite certain I've told you nothing of our relationship she wouldn't already be aware of." Killian grins at his friend with false innocence, glancing over his shoulder to watch Emma settle herself in the shade with her book, the sun bright on her hair.
"Sure you're not using it as an excuse to keep up the act?" This time, it is an accusation.
"There are plenty of other people around, Dave." Killian levels him with a look of contempt, gesturing to the few people milling about. "It's not all about you."
"You're an ass. Let's go get the horses." David gives him a shove into the barn, but he's laughing as they go.
They spend the morning practicing jumps in an outdoor ring. Emma isn't far, reading under the tree, but Killian notices as the morning goes on, she seems to be paying far less attention to her book than the two of them.
By mid-morning, she's given up all pretense of reading and moved to sit on the rail circling the ring, watching intently as he and David take turns racing the horses at one obstacle or another, their trainer alternating between encouragement and barked orders. Killian is hot and sweaty and covered in the sandy dirt the horses have kicked up, but he couldn't be happier. It's good to be moving, and that's part of it – he's gotten good at this – but having Emma watch with an awed pride is the icing on the cake.
He's looking forward to their afternoon. After lunch, they plan to go out into one of the fields to practice the high-speed moves, the gallops and sudden turns, all to give it the appearance of effortlessness when they finally get to shooting.
If they get to shooting, he reminds himself with a mental grimace. The role isn't his yet, no matter how many promising meetings Regina claims to have had.
Does it really even matter anymore? It's brought you Emma, hasn't it?
His eyes drift back toward the rail, catching Emma's eye. She grins in response, a happy, real grin he can't help but answer.
Emma knows they're here for a purpose – this movie is important to Killian. But she also thinks they may secretly just like it – from what she's seen this morning, neither David nor Killian particularly need the practice.
But it's Killian she can't take her eyes off.
"Care to join us?" Killian offers as he swings up into the saddle after a simple lunch in the shade, holding his hand out to her. "You can ride with me out there and then watch. Bring your book if we're not entertainment enough."
She stares up at him, eyeing him with an unexpected rush of desire. His eyes are alive today, bright and happy, and entirely focused on her.The brief break hasn't done much to improve the sweat-soaked shirt or wind-blown hair, and he was rushed this morning so his stubbled beard is a touch more wild than usual. He's much less Hollywood actor today, something primal in his eyes, and she's drawn to it.
But Emma regards the massive horse with a wary eye, still hesitating. "I don't know…"
"Try something new, darling. It's called trust." The words are gentle, his tongue curling around darling like a caress. Her eyes shift from the horse to his wide blue eyes filled with hope, and it's no longer a matter of making a decision. She simply takes the offered hand, shoves her foot in the stirrup, and lets him haul her up in front of him.
The sudden closeness is a shock to her system. They're reaching the hottest part of the day, and Killian's skin is damp with sweat. Her thin tank top isn't in much better shape, her jeans plastered to her thighs. The saddle doesn't afford them much room, either, the heat of his body pressed to hers.
He chuckles low in his throat as she fidgets, his free arm coming around her waist. "It's all right, love," he says gently, pulling her against his chest. "Just take a deep breath. He'll sense if you're upset, and then he'll get upset." Killian leans past her, gently stroking the horse's neck as he adjusts Emma's position. It presses his chest to her back all the more snugly, the scent of him – sweat and musk and Killian – washing over her.
In the end, their thighs are tight against each other, his arms on either side as he holds the reins with one hand and anchors her against him with the other.
As the horse begins to walk, he murmurs soft instructions in her ear, his breath on her skin sending a shiver down her spine. "Don't squeeze with your thighs too tightly. I've got you, love. Just relax." He sways with the horse's movements, easy and loose, and she closes her eyes and leans back into him, trying to match his movements.
It's disconcerting at first, being this high up with a powerful, unpredictable animal beneath her, but Killian's steadiness puts her at ease. She forgets the heat of the day, instead letting her body rest against his, move with his. The ride to the open fields goes by faster than she would like.
It's too easy to think of how their bodies found this natural rhythm together – and what other rhythms they could learn just as effortlessly.
His breath falters every now and then, the arm on her hips drawing her closer. He seems to catch himself, sit up a little straighter, breathe a little more evenly, but then he's right there again, his nose skimming the shell of her ear until she shivers in spite of the heat.
She should put a stop to it.
She doesn't.
David shoots them an odd look when they finally reach the field and Emma slides down from the saddle. Riding at a walk out here with Killian was enough – she has no desire to go tearing across the field full tilt as they're about to.
But it is something to watch.
Emma is left to gape and gawk to her heart's content. It's amazing to witness, having not truly known Killian was good with horses. He rides how he walks – with grace and a natural ability to be one with the animal. The horse wheels about this way and that, and she has no idea how he controls the beast so effortlessly, but he moves like he was born to this.
She smiles at the sheer joy of it, her heart full. Killian's laughter and whoops carry across the field, and she doesn't have to see his face to know the happiness in his eyes.
By the time the two men come back for her, horses and riders alike are panting with exertion, but Killian and David are grinning wildly as they exchange high fives. "You sure you don't want to have a go, Swan?" Killian asks as he gets down. He's more sweat-soaked than ever, dirt clinging to his jeans and his face, and it shouldn't be attractive that he's such a mess, but all she can think about is what his lips must taste like, salty and soft.
"No, I'm good." Her voice isn't as steady as she'd like it to be, and damn him, he notices. His response is a single raised brow, but she knows that brow, and this has got to stop.
David joins them, and Emma swallows thickly, forcing a smile back on her face and ignoring the simmering heat low in her belly. They walk the horses to a small stream on the other side of the rise, lingering in the hot sun and long grasses.
All she can think about is getting back on the horse with Killian, her body tight against his, rocking together with the rhythm of the horse's steps. She's driving herself crazy with it, barely listening to a word either of them has said while staring up at the sky and trying desperately to think about something else before her face gives her away.
The ride back to the barn is torture of the sweetest kind. She shifts back against him almost unconsciously, and he sucks in his breath, his fingers tightening on her hip as he growls in her ear, "Careful, Swan."
There's a note of warning in the words, but she's only dimly aware of it. She's pushing him, and she shouldn't. It's a sinful game they're playing with each other today, and he's just as guilty as she is, but at some point, one of them has to stop before it goes too far.
It won't be him.
She's increasingly certain it won't be her, either.
Killian swings off the saddle behind her, and turns back to help her down once they reach the barn. His hands on her waist are strong and steady, but his grip causes her shirt to ride up, and his thumb grazes the bared skin longer than it should – not that she minds. Her legs are weak and shaky, and she can't tell if it's from the newness of riding a horse or from him. "Emma…" His voice is a low murmur, her back to the horse effectively trapping her where she is as his breath warms her cheek. "I…"
"Hey, do you know where the brushes went? They were right…" David's voice trails off as he comes into view, a smirk stretching over his lips. "Never mind. I'll just go check the tack room."
Emma flushes deeply, though there's no reason for it. As far as David knows, they're a couple. Why shouldn't they be pressed together as they are? But she knows and that's enough to make her slip out of Killian's grasp.
"Emma…" He calls her name again, but before he can say anything else, David returns with the brushes. He tosses one to Killian with another smirk before disappearing to look after his horse.
"Do you want to help?" Killian asks, holding the brush out to her. His voice is all tightly-laced control, and it makes her temperature tick up a notch. She takes the brush hesitantly, running her fingers over the stiff bristles while he works to remove the saddle.
"I've never…"
"It's not difficult." There's a bit of amusement in his gaze, but she's not watching his eyes when he lifts the saddle and moves to set it down, the muscles in his arms and back flexing with the effort. He catches her stare, and she expects him to say something, some innuendo-laced comment or another, but he simply waits.
She nods then, tentatively holding the brush up to the horse and stroking it over the massive body. "You don't have to be quite so gentle," Killian says from behind her, his body close as his hand covers hers, pressing down slightly harder. It makes her breath catch, his chest once again against her back, fully invading her space. "They like it, a lot of the time. I imagine it's a bit like having someone run their fingers through your hair."
"I wouldn't know." The words come out without her meaning them to, and it's not entirely true, because Killian's done it a few times, when she's been all but asleep.
It's the only time she's allowed it.
"We'll have to change that." His voice is low again, thick with the growing tension between them, his arms around her as they continue to brush down the horse.
"Killian, I…"
"Hey, you guys about done?" David's interruption brings on a rush of guilt all over again, and she immediately puts some space between them. It's probably better he walked in when he did, stopping her from saying the words on the tip if her tongue, the admission that was ready to spring free.
She wants him. There's no more fighting it.
"Yeah. I'm just going to go find a bathroom before we head back to the city. Long drive and all." Emma smiles, but she knows it's that forced, too-bright smile she hates – the one Killian will see through in an instant. But she hurries out of the barn, anyway. She needs to put more than a few feet between them before the long car ride, before they go back to his house where they share a bed – where there is no David to interrupt them.
Killian watches her go, his blood running rampant in his veins. His thoughts are already on their evening alone in the house. After a day like this, a day where he's been on the verge of exploding more times than one, maybe she's finally ready to give into the heat between them. There's something different about her today, something deliberate and far from innocent about how she's molded her body to his as the day has worn on.
He's so deep in his thoughts he doesn't notice David until his hand claps him on the shoulder, startling him. Killian scowls at his friend, shaking him off as he turns back to finish with his horse before they leave. Whatever he's about to say, Killian isn't in the mood for another of David's lectures.
"I don't know who you two think you're kidding," David says, leaning against the wall as he watches Killian carefully. His tone very clearly conveys the answer – no one.
"You know I haven't any idea what you're talking about when you speak in riddles." Killian knows exactly what David means – it's all he's been able to think about today, especially sharing the saddle with Emma. She did much more than play her part today, but daring to hope has gotten him in trouble before.
David rolls his eyes. "You and Emma. All day long, you've been…let's put it this way. If I saw Mary Margaret act with another man like Emma was with you today, I'd want him dead."
"She isn't aware you know."
"That's a bullshit excuse and you know it."
Killian sighs, leading the horse to his stall before turning to David, wiping his hands on his dusty jeans. "She's not ready," he says simply, his eyes on the barn's open doors, the late afternoon sun bathing the property in a soft light.
"Looked pretty ready to me." David claps him on the shoulder once more before heading for his car. "Tell Emma goodnight for me. I'm going to hit the road."
Killian nods, slowly following his friend out of the barn and searching for Emma, his thoughts alive with the possibility of the impossible.
So I keep saying each chapter is my favorite, but this one, this one really turned into something I love. Hopefully you loved it too. Thank you to oncepromised for telling me this whole excursion wasn't lame. HUGE thank you to onceuponsomechaos for the MANY hours spent working on this beast of a chapter and demanding shoving nudging me into making it the piece it is now. May the shower epiphanies live on, my friend.