The Righteous and The Wicked (27 page)

Danni carries two plates of food to her dining room table. “Well, what do you think his intentions are? It seems obvious that he’s just interested in something physical. He is
using
her. You know how Emma is. She’s sweet and kind to a fault.”

“Babe, I love you, and I love how loyal you are to everyone in your life, but you can’t control how this is going to play out. Just let it be.” Sean grimaces as he forces the cork from a bottle of wine. “I wonder why Eric never said anything to me about her,” he muses as he sits down to eat.

“Well, he didn’t know that we knew her. He doesn’t seem like he wears his heart on his sleeve, anyway.” Danni sips her wine.

“We talk, Danni. He’s my friend. He just never said anything about being with Emma. To be honest, I think it’s great. Maybe she can tame the beast, keep him grounded. We should all hang out. Us, them, Abby and Jeff . . . it would be good.”

Danielle cannot imagine in what universe that would be good, but because she loves her fiancé and her friend, she will do it.

She grabs her cell phone and types out a text to Emma.

This Friday. The Golden Door. Bring Eric.

“I don’t know why you’re nervous.” Eric speaks to Emma’s bathroom mirror on Friday night as he slides a razor along his delectable jaw. “It’ll be fine. I can be very charming, you know.” Eric peeks around Emma’s bathroom door and winks at her, where she sits on the edge of her bed, putting on stockings. “Besides, you’re very good at keeping me on my best behavior.”

Emma has worried all week about Eric meeting her friends. The leftover pieces of her former self—her innate need to please everyone all the time—still exist. She slips on her heels and walks toward him. He’s shirtless and covered in shaving cream. A sight which incites a blaze inside her.

“There are other things I’m good at, you know.” She runs her hands over his bare chest. Just touching him sets her mind at ease. She feels his flesh prickle at her touch and his face changes from sweet to vulgar.

“So show me.”

She smiles, then opens his pants and drops to her knees. He watches her pleasing him and he touches her long layers of luscious hair. His heart thunders in his chest as her mouth and her lips slip over his hardness. He can feel the dark rising. He lifts her up to him. “Show me something else.”

Emma turns around and lifts her skirt, then bends over the sink. “How about this?”

Eric has had many women in this position, but he can’t remember a single one of them right now. He slides her thong to the side and runs his palms over her round ass. He feels her with his fingers and hisses as he enters her, overcome by the indescribable sensation. He moves in a languid motion, savoring her. He enjoys seeing her need for him course through her; he likes to watch it overtake her. Her complete submergence in lust gets him off.

Their eye contact in the mirror is fleeting but erotic. He grips her hips, pulling her against him again and again. He admires her body, fit and soft in all the right places. He looks at her reflection as she grasps the sink. Eric never dreamed he could feel this—lust without darkness, love without pain. He turns her to face him and kisses her. It’s slow and sensual and Emma’s rapid heartbeat slows to an even rhythm against his chest.

“Eric . . .”

He enters her again, lifting her body up onto the edge of the sink. He makes love to her with tenderness. He wants to stay like this with her, to make her feel good over and over again. Here in the bathroom, on the bed, the floor—but tonight, they have somewhere to be. He touches her where he knows she wants to be touched and says the words he knows she wants to hear. He may be an expert at receiving pleasure, but giving it is still new to him and he’s thrilled by her response as he works her body. He slides his hands over her hips, up into her hair and down her back as he grinds against her. Moans of pleasure reverberate off the bathroom walls, and they are very late to meet the other two couples at the club.

The black Jeep enters the parking lot and pulls up at the valet. Eric relinquishes his keys and takes Emma’s hand, her heels clicking against the pavement as he leads her through the golden door of the club. It’s dark and loud. Eric’s been here before. He remembers the reason, and feels shame. He wore black then, but tonight he does not. He squeezes Emma’s hand tighter, trying to remind himself he’s not that man anymore. He pauses, scans the crowd, and moves forward when he spots Sean.

Danielle notices Emma walking beside a smirking Eric. An angel and a devil. She swallows back the bile she feels rising at the sight of him, and wills a calm expression onto her face. Sean kisses Emma on the cheek and hugs Eric. Danni narrows her eyes. Eric steps toward her and reaches out his hand, but the perverted and smug expression she has seen gracing his face time and again is absent. He looks . . . normal.

“Hello, Danielle.”

Danni returns his polite greeting and he moves on to speak to Abby and Jeff.

The conversations are pleasant, but muted for Danielle. She’s astonished by this unforeseen turn of events. She was sure that Eric would continue to give her the creeps in spite of his involvement with Emma, but he has not. No trace of it. Danielle’s impressed, but a shadow still lingers over her perception of him. She isn’t convinced of his motives. He’ll need to prove himself to her.

“Wow. He is
way
hot, Emma. I would high five you right now if he wasn’t sitting right next to you,” Abby whispers.

“Thank you. And shut up.” Emma blushes.

The three couples sit on plush couches in the dark bowels of the club. The waiter brings bottle after bottle to them, all at Eric’s generous expense, and they become intoxicated. Everyone except Emma, who’s nursing her first drink. She watches with pride as Eric fits himself into this picture. Jeff is enthusiastic in his interaction with him, which is rare as he’s almost always reserved. Eric has made Abby snort-laugh on more than one occasion, and although this is
not
a difficult feat, it’s no less satisfying for Emma to hear.

She’s been watching and gauging Danielle’s reaction to Eric, but so far it seems she’s tolerating, if not almost enjoying his company. Emma leans against Eric, and his arm slides around her. She exhales a peaceful and contented sigh. Everything about this moment is perfect. She wouldn’t change a single thing.

Eric loves the feel of Emma’s body next to him, and even more than that, he loves the happy look on her face. He kisses her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

He leaves her side, and Emma embraces herself. His absence leaves her with a haunting chill.

Eric walks through the crowded dance floor, past the bar, toward the bathroom, and enters a narrow hallway lined with several graffiti-covered doors. One of those doors is open, and a woman is leaning against the jamb, staring at him.

She’s blond, she is beautiful, and Eric knows her.

It’s Deborah.

Livid, he reacts to her unexpected presence by grabbing her arm and dragging her through the door of the coat closet. He doesn’t want to be seen with her, but he has to know if she was the one who slashed Emma’s tires.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Are you fucking following me?”

“Jesus, you can be a bit aggressive, huh?” Deborah slips her fingers over his where they’re pinching her arm. “You’re flattering yourself if you think I’d follow you. This is a popular club,
Eric
.” She smirks at him, and Eric knows that look. This woman won’t stop until he gives her what she wants.

He lets her go when he sees she’s enjoying his touch. “Why are you fucking lurking in the shadows back here?”

“Lurking? I’m just checking my coat . . . I don’t know what you’re implying.” She bats her eyes and feigns innocence as she answers him.

He steps closer so his face is just an inch from hers. His anger seethes through him. “Don’t give me that shit. I know you fucked with Emma’s car, and I’m telling you,
stay away
from her.” His tone is coarse, almost a growl.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She looks him dead in the eye. It’s evident that she believes her own lies.

“That’s bullshit. You slashed her tires!” He grips both her shoulders in his hands and shakes her.

“What makes you think it was me? Maybe it was her
husband
who did it? Did you ever think of that?”

He pushes her back against the coat rack and she gasps. He’s shocked that Deborah would know such a personal detail of Emma’s life. “How do you know about that?”

“People talk in this town. I know plenty.” Deborah licks her lips. She enjoys seeing him this worked up, red-faced and shouting. He’s vulnerable, and she will use it to her advantage.

She slides her hands down to his waist. “I’ll stay away from her. I promise. Just stay here with me for a little while. I can make you feel good. Just give me a chance. Stay with me, here, and I’ll leave her alone.”

A few weeks ago, this scenario would have ended with Eric fucking the shit out of Deborah in this coat closet. He sees the events play out in his mind. His monster would enjoy the feel of Deborah’s hands on his skin. It would react to her touch because it wants her, but his mind and his heart do not. This woman’s advances disgust him. In fact, they fill him with rage. She leans in to him, to brush her lips against his, but he jolts back and grips her wrists, removing her hands from his body. He grips her with force. His touch is hurting her, there’s discomfort in her eyes, but he can’t stop himself. He
wants
to hurt her.

The violent storm still lives, and it will break free one way or another. If it doesn’t manifest itself in a violent sexual release, it will do so as just plain violence. Eric will fight to the death to protect the haven he has with Emma, to keep her and what they have between them safe.

“I’m . . . not . . . fucking . . . around. Leave her alone.” He grinds his teeth and grips her wrists harder, tighter.

A tear slips out of the corner of Deborah’s eye, but she’s smiling. “Of course, Eric. Whatever you say.”

He releases her and walks out of the closet and into the bathroom. He takes deep gasping breaths as he splashes water onto his face and stares at himself in the mirror. He feels the familiar release and nausea that comes after he indulges his demon, but this time it is violence, not sex, that he regrets.

It is fear, not relief, that he feels.

As the club is closing, the black Jeep waits for them. The valet gives Eric his keys and he helps Emma inside.

“Did you have a good time?” She runs her fingers along his arm as they drive home from the club.

He has an impulse to tell her what happened, and he should, but he won’t. If he tells her what he’s done, the rough way he handled Deborah, he fears Emma will be appalled—and she damn well should be. He’s so ashamed of his inability to control himself. Although he didn’t give in to the temptation to satisfy his sickness with Deborah, what he did to her was no less reprehensible. He has been rough with women while pleasing them, but he has never been violent. He has never caused anyone harm. That shadow from his childhood has never surfaced within himself. Deborah may have deserved it, and he may have left her with just bruises, but he’s no less repulsed. He reaches across the car and pulls Emma’s hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss.

“Yes, I did.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Emma awakens to the sound of banging. On a Saturday. She forces her eyes open and feels the empty space next to her where Eric should be. She sits up. Her body is sore and her hair is a ratty mess. She finds herself topless, in a black lace thong. The top sheet is tangled around her body, and the bottom sheet has pulled away from the four corners of her mattress. She rubs her eyes. It looks like a bomb went off . . . or a storm hit. Her comforter’s on the floor along with scattered, strewn clothing. Her bra hangs from the desk chair, and one of Eric’s socks dangles on her lampshade. She sighs and lies back down, thinking about how her bedroom got this way, but her smile fades as she remembers something else about last night.

Eric was different. The way he was with her was different. Beside the passion, there was fear in his eyes. She feels unsettled, grabs her robe and rushes downstairs, anxious to shake that image of him from her mind. She finds Eric in her kitchen, the counter cluttered with dirty bowls and dishes. It smells like sugar and warm butter.