Emerett Has Never Been in Love (Love Austen 1)

He gasped, and Knight drank it in.

Shock rendered Lake motionless as Knight brushed the softest kiss from one corner of his mouth to the other.

Lake’s breath hitched, lips parting, and Knight hummed, dipping to capture his bottom lip. Sensation surged through Lake; his knees buckled, and Knight braced him against the frame. A low, surprised sound vibrated out of Lake, and Knight drew back an inch. Their gazes held for an electrical second, and softly uttered words fanned over Lake’s lip.

“Maybe we need to bury our fear of the forbidden.”

“Maybe.” Lake shook off those persistent shivers at his side, at his lips. “What were we talking about?”

“Rent. You want to move in permanently.”

Surprised laughter bubbled out of him. God, he felt lightheaded. “Martin. Look, I’m guessing you told him to take Harry out for dinner? Maybe ask him to move back in?”

Knight’s shrewd gaze latched on his suspiciously. “What do you know?”

“Martin asked Harry last night, and Harry let him down gently.”

Knight’s face crunched into confusion. “What?”

Lake repeated himself, and Knight’s jaw twitched in indignation. “Why would he do that? Did he misunderstand?”

“He wasn’t one-hundred percent sure of Martin’s feelings, but he was sure of his own.”

“What did you do, Emerett?”

This time Knight’s emphasis on his first name did not feel good.

Lake lifted his chin. “He was hesitating. He said that probably wasn’t a good sign.”

“You persuaded him into letting him down.”

“I told him he was the only one who could look into his heart.”

“I know you. Your silence would have said a thousand other things.” Knight strode toward the kitchen.

Lake followed with a miserable lump in his stomach, and a stubborn one in his throat.

“Jesus, Lake. You have no idea of your influence.”

“Harry is a grown man—”

“Who wants you to like him.”

Knight poured himself another coffee.

Lake couldn’t stomach a drop more, but he refilled his mug anyway.

Knight cursed under his breath. “I warned you not to mess with people’s love lives.”

“He really likes Philip! Maybe turning Martin down was meant to be.”

Knight set his coffee down, grabbed his phone from the charger, and slipped it into his pocket. “I hoped you’d see it for yourself, but enough. Philip is not moon-eyed over Harry.”

Fright prickled Lake. What did he mean? Surely not . . . no. Outrageous.

Knight didn’t pay close attention like Lake did. Lake had seen Philip and Harry’s spark. It was cheerful and sweet and worth pursuing.

“Where are you going?” Lake demanded.

Knight could barely look at him. “I need a walk. Don’t touch any more of Harry’s things.”

“You’re that mad at me?”

“I’m that frustrated.”

Lake’s stomach dove out of his feet. It took everything to hold his head high. “I only wanted him happy,” he called after a retreating Knight.

The front door shut with typical Knightly restraint.

Lake sagged against the counter and tipped his coffee down the drain.

Knight was wrong.

Certainly about Philip, and tonight would prove it.

Lake sat cross-legged, surrounded by a moat of open books.

Knight returned after an hour’s “walk” and strode directly to the back yard, not commenting on Lake’s intensive study of Shakespeare, Bacon, Austen, and Christie.

Words blurred. He was sorry. But . . . he couldn’t say it. Worse, he itched to prove he was right about Philip and Harry.

He was right, wasn’t he?

He jerked his fingers from his mouth. He needed to stop tracing over the lingering weight of Knight’s kiss.

The lure of the forbidden is what made it feel like he was falling from great cliffs, chasing gravity. Thrills unparalleled.

If this was what Harry felt for Martin . . .

Lake understood how tempting it was.

How easily one could confuse it with having feelings.

But there were no feelings between him and Knight. Absolutely none. Knight was Lake’s biggest critic, and his kiss was merely an illustration of his refusal to be pegged as level-headed.

Being level-headed was one of Knight’s best qualities. Lake gritted his teeth at Paul throwing Knight’s good traits down the drain.

Love was stupid without someone impartial to guide it.

Lake vowed to forget Knight’s moment of weakness, steer him toward available men, and never think of that kiss again.

Footsteps thumped down the hall and Harry emerged, hugging a bucket of Ben & Jerry’s. He grabbed two spoons, jumped over Lake’s moat, and collapsed beside him.

Lake dug into some cookie dough. “Didn’t go well?”

“My lines went fine, and my monologues were good. Until they asked for more.”

Lake winced sympathetically. “You didn’t have more?”

“Nope. I completely blanked.” Harry sucked ice cream off his spoon, then waved the spoon at the books around them. “What’s this?”

“The definition of pitiable.”

Harry nodded compassionately and picked up Mansfield Park. “Ohhh, I love Austen. Well, okay, I’ve only seen the film adaptions. But I love imagining living in one of her worlds.”

Lake shook his head, aghast. “With all those meddling mothers? Good thing you’re spending the summer with me. Now, let’s find you a perfect monologue.”