Authors: Karen-Anne Stewart
Emma crosses her arms over her chest and presses her lips tightly together, “I told you that I will not be the reason you miss the opening of the new Kylianna’s!”
“Emma, we’ve been over and over this. I’m not going.”
“Fine. Then I’m not moving into the new apartment,” she counters angrily.
“That won’t hurt me any; I’ve already told you that you can move into this house, I’m not using it,” I smirk, happy to see her anger at me over her disquietude.
Sinking defeatedly onto the sofa, she drops her head into her hands, “Please, Breck.”
The force behind the plea gets me, and I start to weaken, “I hired a manager with impeccable experience.”
“But it’s not his restaurant, it’s yours, and you are the one who busted your butt to make it all possible.” The supplication in her eyes enslaves me. “Please don’t make me have to know that I’m the one keeping you from one of the proudest moments of your life. I can’t handle that right now.”
Throwing my head back, I let out a loud groan, “Okay, you win, but only on one condition. You come with me.”
Pointing to her bruised face, she grimaces, sticking her tongue out, “I don’t exactly think I’m what you call arm candy at the moment.”
Laughing, I pull her off the couch and plop her down on my lap, “Arm candy? Hell, Emma, I’d be too busy licking and tasting you to do anything else now that you’ve planted that image in my mind.”
“You had your chance,” she teases, slapping my arm.
Since waking up this morning, Emma seems to be her old self again, for the most part. I catch her staring off into space with that soul wrenching sadness ripping my damn heart out at times, but, overall, she seems at peace. I’d like to think that her waking up in my arms had something to do with it, but the embarrassment that set her cheeks on fire when she caught me staring at her, lying like an angel with her head on my chest, her hand curled around my neck, and her breasts pressed against my stomach, takes away my bragging rights. She’s fronting on some level, and I know it. Just as long as she doesn’t know that I know, then I’ll play along. I’ll do whatever it takes to help her heal.
When she started to apologize for offering herself to me last night, I pressed my finger gently against her lip, rage burning like a demon ready to unleash the full wrath of hell on Edwin all over again when I brushed over her cut lip. It took all my self-control to keep from ravishing her as I made sure she understands that my refusing her last night had nothing to do with me not wanting her. Now, she seems to find humor in giving me hell about it.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I tug her backwards until she’s lying helpless in my arms, “Do you remember what I said the first time we met?”
“Um, which part? When you told me that the dress I was wearing didn’t suit me or when you accused me of being fake?”
“No smartass,” I smile down at her, my throat going dry as I get lost in the clear blue sky staring back at me, “when I told you that I will be inside of you.”
The skies darken, her eyes turning cobalt blue, unable to hide the brewing desire; she’s also unable to hide the uncertainty. I know she’s not ready, and I won’t do anything to rush her, especially after last night, but I’d give years of my life if I could change what happened, make her comfortable enough until she is ready. I’ve never felt need like I need her; it burns my skin, boiling my blood to the point that I swear I’m going to erupt just from touching her. If the caged beast in my jeans has any say, I’d burst inside of her with the force of a volcano as many times as she’d have me.
Her breath hitches from my words as I stare down at her in my arms. Her ability to speak seems to elude her. Giving a shy nod, the rose tint returns to her cheeks and the beast thrashes to be freed. Picking her up, I try to adjust her position so she doesn’t feel me harden underneath her, but it’s too late. I hear her faint gasp and, damn, if she doesn’t wiggle her ass, pressing her soft, plush denim covered flesh against my rock hard tip, sending me into a frenzied typhoon of ardent lust. Groaning, I shift her slightly, pressing myself against the softness between her thighs, causing her eyes to widen in shock when she feels the full length of just how much I want her pulsating against her wet heat, redeeming some of my earlier lost bragging rights. Sweeping my thumb across her cheek, my gaze penetrates her, “I have every intention on fulfilling my promise…when you’re ready.”
Gavin knocks once, not waiting on a response and using his key. Emma about busts her ass trying to scramble off me, but I tighten my arm around her waist, not letting her escape, as I give her a wicked grin when her jaw drops. Brushing my lips against her ear, I whisper, “If you move right now, he’ll see exactly what you do to me, Emma.”
She mercifully stops her squirming as her embarrassed gaze hits the floor. Gavin smirks before he gives me a look letting me know I’m not fooling anyone. I wasn’t trying to, I just didn’t want to lose the feel of Emma cradled on my lap and wrapped in my arms.
Gavin’s attention focuses on Emma, “How are you feeling?”
I feel her body tense, the reason behind it stripping all erotic notions.
“I’m sorry for how I reacted to you yesterday, Gavin.” Emma drops her head, “I didn’t mean to-”
“No apologies from you,” Gavin interrupts, “you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I’m just glad you’re okay.” His eyes shift to me, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Not wanting to, I release my hold on Emma as she slips off my lap onto the sofa cushion beside me. I nod towards the kitchen as Gavin follows.
“Word on the street is that Edwin and his goons were jumped last night by a rival dealer. With the bad blood between him and local gangs, it’s not being questioned.”
“Should I ask who started that rumor?”
Gavin slaps my shoulder, grinning, “Not a clue, mate.”
Wincing slightly, I roll my injured shoulder.
Nodding at my arm, his eyes narrow, “Did you get hurt?”
“Nothing serious. Look, you didn’t have to get involved any further than you already were,” I state, not having to tell him how much I appreciated what he did for Emma and, now, for me.
“We’re nowhere near even, and you know it,” Gavin responds, his voice solemn.
“Yeah, we are, man. Emma’s sitting in my living room right now instead of in some hospital bed.” Grabbing the counter, the veins in my hands bulge as I tighten my grip, “I almost killed him. I thought about it. I wanted to. Still do.”
“He would’ve deserved it,” Gavin states simply.
The unspoken words scream inside my head but I push them away, drowning them out. I have no regrets. I would kill for Emma, no matter what it takes from me.
“What about the neighbor? He knows your face from when you’ve taken Emma home, Breck.”
“He’s a fucking coward. He’s too scared I’ll follow through on my threat. He’ll keep his mouth shut.”
“How did she take the news about her apartment?”
“Better than I thought. She’s so damn stubborn and independent, but she’s also smart. She knows she can’t go back there.” Glancing around the corner to the living room, I shake my head at her tenacity, “We’re leaving for New York tonight. She’s stubbing up and refusing to allow me to miss the opening.”
Gavin takes a deep breath, leaning against the counter, “What exactly is going on between the two of you?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, my jaw tightening at how I’m may not be a low life like James, but I’m just as much of a coward, too fucking scared to tell Emma how I feel, too damn afraid to allow myself to kiss her, knowing that once I taste her lips, feeling them against mine, there will be no turning back.
“You need to be figuring it out before someone gets hurt,” Gavin warns.
I have no response; there’s nothing to say. This is new territory for all of us. Gavin knows more than anyone how I don’t make attachments, other than him and Jess. I don’t do emotional, or relationships. Never have. Until Emma entered my life, I would’ve sworn I never would. She’s the one exception to every rule.
Emma’s staring out
the window, that desolate, vacant fog killing the light in her eyes as she mindlessly twists the charm on her necklace.
“Maybe you should call your dad,” I suggest, already knowing her answer.
“I told you I will tell him, just not now. I need time.”
Sitting next to her, I pull her head against my shoulder, “Alright, Em. I still think you should call, but I won’t push you anymore.” I’ve tried since this morning to get her to call her father and tell him about the attack when I found out that she didn’t call him from the hospital, but she’s the one having to fight through the shit of what happened to her; I’ll follow her lead, for now.
“Everything is so beautiful from up here, so surreal,” she whispers, staring down at the earth below.
I can’t tear my eyes away from her to look at the view. The sight of her far surpasses everything I’ve ever seen, “You hungry?”
“A little.”
Happy to be able to at least do something for her, I call the hotel, making sure they have dinner delivered when we arrive. The rest of the flight is spent with Emma’s head resting on my shoulder as I enjoy every second of the time I have with her. Tomorrow will be crazy, and she refuses to go with me to the opening. I know she wouldn’t feel comfortable there in her current state, but I don’t give a damn about how she thinks she looks; she’s just as beautiful to me.
The light in her eyes returns as we descend. A smile curves her lips as she grins at me. “This is my favorite part of the flight. I love the feel of the pressure building and the rise and fall in the pit of my stomach.”
The things I want to do to her to blow those feelings out of the water play like erotic snapshots flashing in my head. Images of Emma’s body, laid out on the bed, me covering her, entering her, tasting every sweet inch of her, drives me insane. For now, I’ll have to live with holding her hand as I help her down the stairs of the plane and my thumb caressing her elbow as we ride the elevator to the penthouse suite. The feel of her back underneath my hand as I lead her inside the door threatens to push me over the edge.
Emma was hungrier than she thought and finishes everything on her plate before she decides to take a shower. This will be her third shower today. Staring at the closed door to the bathroom, I wonder what she’s doing in there, if she’s okay. I get the feeling she will be, it will just take some time. I’ll give her all the time she needs and tonight, I’ll follow through on my broken promise, holding her until night turns into dawn.
Trying to convince
Emma to do something when she’s already made up her mind not to is impossible. Finally giving up, I reluctantly agree to leave her at the hotel while I go to the restaurant to prep for the opening; it’s not like she gave me much choice. Her sweet southern charm apparently doesn’t apply when she’s being stubborn and blackmailing me like a pro, refusing to sign the lease on the apartment I found in a considerably safer neighborhood if I don’t go to Kylianna’s.
The softly lit patio is currently covered by a sheer tent with fire pits providing enough warmth for customers to comfortably dine outside, while the inside is sleek and sophisticated. A subtle blend of black, white, and red paints the dining area as candles flicker in mosaic holders. The bar boasts a hightop black granite bar with black leather stools. The booths are dark gray with the same granite as the bar covering the tables. Water trickles down stone frames as perfectly positioned lights gleam from the falling drops.
Questions and demands pull me from every direction as I bounce between going over the menu with the chef one final time, making sure the bar is stocked with a sufficient amount of each liquor, wine, beer, and ale, and meeting with the wait staff, giving finishing instructions of exactly what is expected. I call the hotel in between meetings, checking on Emma, her sweet, seducing voice making me wish she were with me.
The night goes without any major mishaps, only a few trivial hitches that are to be expected. Hours pass as the restaurant stays packed to capacity, including a few A-list actors and musicians, from the time the doors open until I sneak out early, leaving everything in the manager’s capable hands. Reporters and photographers bombard me as I leave, pissing me off. This is the part I hate, those damn spotlight vultures. Flashes of light streak the night air as I climb into my Hummer, grateful to shut the door and leave them behind.
Emma’s curled on the bed, her head resting on one pillow while another is tucked underneath her leg and arm as she watches some chick flick. “You’re back early,” she accuses, cocking her brow and I bite back a groan.