Olivia laughed. “I did.”
Emma met Brody’s gaze again. Heat and something that looked like pride shone back at her. It warmed her some. Scared her more. “Though we haven’t actually made it to a bed yet, have we?”
“Not yet,” he murmured in a gravelly tone that said, soon, baby, soon. Moving in, he encircled her waist and gathered her close. She would like to say she had no choice but to sink into him, but that was wrong. She had a choice. She made it and let him hold her steady in those incredibly strong arms.
“You and Emma, Kane?” Flynn asked, dividing a glance between Brody and Emma. He looked like he was itching to high-five his friend. Typical man.
“Me and Emma,” Brody said quietly, as if that explained everything. His gaze remained fixed on hers, a sensual tractor beam that trapped her immobile.
“People are looking at us,” she managed.
“Let ’em.” He kissed her, a full claim of her lips, taking total possession of her body and soul, in front of God and everyone. This was not supposed to happen. Any of it. When he released her, she was a shaking mess. “Get a good look, Cross?”
“If I was a chick, I’d probably be clappin’ and hootin’,” Flynn said, “but as I’m a red-blooded Texan-American male, I’ll just say this. About fuckin’ time.”
A resounding thud redirected the room’s attention to the pole—and the woman in a crumpled heap beside it now holding her wrist.
Coldplay-loving, fresh flowers–hating, would-be stripper Gabby let out a drunken moan.
“Shit! And no one saw me do the spin.”
“Jesus, Gabby,” Olivia said, “stop pissing around.”
Brody caught Emma’s eye with that smile she loved—a rare Brody Kane blast of sun. Oh God, he needed to stop that, because now everything was piling up on her. The things she knew about him, the things he didn’t know about her. This dumb old heart of hers threatening to eat a hole in her chest. Me and Emma, he had said. Like they were a thing.
A team.
She immediately averted her eyes, because to seal their gazes would have resulted in a wordless, but terrifyingly real, exchange.
Holy wow, you are in big, big trouble here, Ems.
Chapter Eighteen
As Brody checked the fridge for champagne, his phone rang with a call from Flynn. He was tempted not to answer, especially as he had a gorgeous woman chilling on the balcony of his penthouse, but he needed something from his friend.
“Just the cock blocker I wanted to talk to,” Brody said while his eyes roved the fridge’s interior. No champagne. Unsurprising as he hadn’t had much to celebrate recently. “I need a favor.”
“No favors until I hear the details about you and Emma.”
Brody had known it was a boneheaded move to visit his sister at the Peninsula, but Flynn had wanted to “lay some groundwork for later” with one of Liv’s friends, which meant stopping in for a cocktail at their hotel room before they went on their bar crawl. Brody was trying to be a good pal, and playing wingman while your best friend fucked his way out of his misery seemed like the thing to do.
He hadn’t expected Emma to be there. Or a stripper. Or a half-eaten penis-shaped angel food cake with a large chef’s knife embedded in one of the spongy testicles.
Neither had he expected his own reaction, the roaring—and very public—uprising of his innate instinct to protect her from anyone who might criticize the choices she’d made to survive. Her response had torn the air from his lungs.
Something monumental had happened in that hotel room. They had claimed each other.
“I’m waiting…” Flynn prompted.
Brody sighed, knowing he couldn’t avoid the sordid confessional any longer. Bless me, Flynn, for I have sinned. Once he’d unburdened in as minimal detail as possible, Flynn asked the billion-dollar question, “So what about the strip club guy? Grigson.”
Flynn might be a gossipy, matchmaking idiot but he was also as quick as a whip and recognized the underlying problem.
“I’m expecting he’s got something up his sleeve,” Brody said. “Dollar signs in his eyes.”
“And Emma?”
The other billion-dollar question. What did Grigson have on her—and how far was she willing to go to escape his clutches? Memories of another woman’s betrayal seeped into his skin, but Emma was no Kerry. Emma would never try to trap him. Hell, getting her to accept his help was like trying to cuddle up to that cat of hers.
Her walls had walls. He just needed to build a better sledgehammer.
Brody blew out a breath. “I think I’m going to have to fire her.”
“And I think we already had this conversation. You can’t fire her for having that job or being a pseudo-stripper or even because she has a cat you don’t like. These are not valid reasons.”
“I can’t get any work done when she’s around.”
“You can’t manage your dick and she loses her job?”
“Well, I can hardly fire myself.”
Flynn grunted. “You have gained entry into a land of sensual taboo and come up golden. Hot assistant by day, stripper by night, all wrapped up in a sweet package. You need to lock that down and stop worryin’ about the workplace logistics.”
The man had a point. Time to nut up or shut up. It was also time to face a few cold, hard truths.
“I need you to run a background check on her. Not that a shady strip club owner’s loan operation will be on public record, but I need to know what else is going on. School, jobs, family.”
Because if Brody knew anything, it was that Emma had gone to great lengths to hide all that sass and sexiness under a prim and proper exterior. Sex kitten masked as dowdy PA. Every minute with her increased his attraction and his curiosity to know the real woman.
She and her dumb cat had insinuated themselves into his quietly ordered life. But more than that, she hadn’t flinched at a single thing he threw at her, all his filthy demands. This woman understood his needs and was able to reconcile them with her own.
There was work to be done, a woman to unravel. He didn’t know if he could be what Emma wanted…he just knew that she might be exactly what he needed.
“Look, I’ll do the check,” Flynn said, “but what if you find out somethin’ that was best buried?”
“Better I know now.” That’s what had prevented him from pushing before: the notion that her past might make him care. Before he stepped off the ledge, he had to be sure she hadn’t left a string of broke, and broken, men across the country.
Of course, this reasoning assumed he wasn’t already in so deep that a recitation of her past misdeeds could stop him now. He suspected his heart was already in play.
And that didn’t scare him as much as it should have.
Emma had always loved heights. Roller coasters and thrill rides. Living on that sweet, heart-pounding edge. So looking out over Brody’s penthouse terrace was about as much fun as she could have with her clothes on.
The city stretched out before her, its gleaming glass and steel pronouncing progress, wealth, and beauty. She loved Chicago. Would love to have stayed.
Anger bubbled in her chest at the thought of having to start over. Brody would give her the money, but then it would always be between them. It was bad enough he’d forked over that cash to keep her out of Ray’s clutches for a week. If, or when, he found out about the video, she would be a shoo-in for the Women Who Betrayed Brody club.
She was falling for him. Into him. All that strength that drew her to sink against him and hold on tight. Relying on his solidity would be too dangerous.
Giving him up was so unfair, but people like her did not do happy ever afters. She could try climbing above her station, but it seemed she was destined to stay playing at dirt level. Too uppity, Granny Maude had called her as a child. She’d subsisted on delusions of grandeur, the hope that merit and hard work could trump the geography of her birth. This was America, for Christ’s sake. No point blaming Daisy, either. She was as much a prisoner of her upbringing as Emma. She needed to pick her up, get her out. Run as fast as her feet could carry her.
Leave this man she loved behind to protect him.
Damn, she had to go and fall for the one man who had every reason to despise her. He just didn’t know yet all the reasons why he should.
Footsteps sounded, and a shiver of anticipation danced through her.
Please have a pimple or a cold sore. Please don’t look perfectly lickable.
She turned. Shit. The old top-shirt-button-undone move and a wicked grin made for her. Forget about falling, she may as well have taken a spectacular header off the sixtieth floor.
Of course he looked the same as he had an hour ago when he kissed her in front of his friends and family like she truly mattered. He smiled that heart-stopping grin that, yep, stopped her heart cold. She turned back to the city because it was the best way she could think to restart it. But it only jumped to life when he encircled her arms and caged her in his strong embrace.
“Thanks for being so cool about today,” he whispered in her ear. “My sister, her friends, even Flynn. As usual, you handled everything with your typical flair. Makes me wonder.”
“What’s that?”
“Who are you again?”
She smiled into the night at this little running joke between them. “Emma Strickland, PA extraordinaire, cat wrangler, and sex goddess.”