Taking the Score(33)
He made short work of her clothes. Already wet and hot for him, she parted her legs, accepting him into her body, stealing his strength for her own. She scratched at his ass, dug her nails, trying to draw out his beast. But instead, he gave her something else. Not Brody unleashed, but an aching honesty that matched hers. Each thrust brought her closer to release and sealed their connection.
“You won’t say it, then I’ll say it for you.” He slammed into her. “Me inside you. This is the truth, your truth. Not what you were before.” He withdrew and stroked again. Long, thick, consuming. His mouth, set to torture, claimed hers and destroyed every last barrier. “It’s this honesty you show me when I’m inside you. Nothing else matters. Just this.”
On his face was a look of such tenderness it gave her no place to hide. Love for him bloomed in her chest, and with each pump of his powerful hips, she recited an internal mantra.
No regrets. No regrets.
Because no matter how it ended, she would never forget that he loved her with his body and his acceptance, even if he’d never said the words.
Chapter Nineteen
Brody stood outside the door of his bathroom like a creeper listening to Emma butcher “Love Is a Battlefield.” He smiled down at his new socks, courtesy of Snoopy on the left, Woodstock on the right, then spared a glance for Kevin, who was eying the yellow bird with interest.
“Ready for breakfast, Kev?”
It was Sunday. Finally. His sister was heading back to Houston, thank God, and tomorrow…well, tomorrow the workweek would begin. How it would begin was still in question. What he knew for sure was that Emma might still be his assistant, but outside the office, she would be in his bed.
Permanently.
Emma was not in on this plan yet, though after last night’s revelations, the woman probably had some inkling about her future. Their future. Feeling light of heart, he headed to the kitchen and started on breakfast. He didn’t cook, but how hard could it be to scramble some eggs?
Harder than it looked, apparently. He probably should have made more of an effort to remove the broken shells and not checked the game scores while he did the one-handed stir. But really, his distraction was attributable to Flynn, who’d sent what he’d uncovered so far about Emma. Most of it confirmed everything she’d told him. He paused when he came to the section about her father, currently in a Pennsylvania penitentiary on a manslaughter charge after a bar brawl between rival motorcycle club gangs.
And Brody thought he had daddy issues.
So Papa Strickland wouldn’t be popping in for Thanksgiving dinner anytime soon. There were plenty of other ways Brody could help Emma. Her degree, her sister, her…nutritional needs.
“Whaddya think, Kev?” Kevin didn’t bother to raise his head from his curled-up position under the stool. “Yeah, we’re going out for breakfast.”
He headed back to the bedroom to tell Emma. She was still in the bathroom, the god-awful singing now replaced by the sound of a hairdryer. On the dresser, her phone vibrated. His head told him he shouldn’t look, but his heart and eyes were already there.
Ray Fucking Grigson.
Fury rolled through Brody as he picked up the phone, his hand moving of its own accord.
Got something on Kane I can use yet? My patience is at an end.
Brody scrolled up the message thread, his heart thumping at each new damning piece of information. Shards of white-hot anger sliced through his brain when he came to the video.
He didn’t need to watch it.
He didn’t need to be reminded of how he’d lost control at the barest provocation. How he’d let himself be goaded into drilling his dick into her soft, wet heat.
Blaming Emma for finding himself in this predicament would be pointless. He’d been played for a fool, but he was as much at fault here. More so. Because he’d known as soon as Grigson gave her up for a mere three thousand dollars that he’d let a vixen into the henhouse.
Doing nothing was the enemy. It was time to finish this once and for all.
…
Emma emerged into the kitchen, feeling cleaner than she’d felt in years. Amazing what a night of unburdening, toe-curling sex and a long, hot shower could do for a woman’s outlook. There was no sign of Brody, just a pan of very brown—okay, burned—scrambled eggs and a hastily scrawled note.
Gone to get bagels. B.
She allowed herself a moment to luxuriate in the domesticity surrounding her. And something else. Hope. Was it possible they had a chance? He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to boot her ass to the curb, but tomorrow they were back in the office. Could they really sustain whatever was happening between them and work together? She wanted to think so, even if it meant putting up with the workplace gossips. Flynn and Hunter were like a couple of old women.
He would help get Ray off her back in a heartbeat. She didn’t want to ask him, but she needed to put aside her pride, accept the help she knew he wanted to give, and hope that Ray would leave it at that.
Time to see if Daisy had checked in. Her sister had left a message last night and rather than listen to it, Emma called her back while she leaned on the counter. It had been two days since she’d spoken to her, and guilt at her neglect gnawed at her insides.
“Hey, is everything okay?”
“One of Ray’s guys stopped by.”
Her heart stalled, stuttered, and shuddered to a stop.
“In Philly? What did he say?” Please God, she hoped that’s all he did. Talked.
“Something about not knowing where you are. You went off with some rich guy and haven’t been seen since.”
Bullshit. Ray didn’t like that she hadn’t come up with a plan to screw over Brody.
“It’s sort of complicated—”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this! It’s one thing to have to wait tables with all those dirty old lechers, but now you’re taking your clothes off like the other sluts at the club?”
“I don’t do anything unless I want to.”
She snorted. “You’re no better than mom.”
Emma fell back against the kitchen counter, the force of her sister’s words like a gut punch. Brody’s absolution of her shortcomings in the big sister department came back to her—she’d screwed up but she sure as hell wasn’t her sister’s keeper.
Anger flared. “Why the hell do you think I’m doing this, Daisy? Do you think I want to be shoving my tits in some guy’s face? Have you forgotten how we got here?”
“I know.” There was a thud. Sounded like she’d thrown something. “I know this is my fault. I’m the reason you’re doing this, so now I’ve whored you out.”
“No. It’s not like that. I’m just taking a few days off from the club.” And ignoring Ray’s calls.
“And this guy you’re with? Was Ray making that up?”
“It’s just Brody.”
A heavy silence followed. “Brody? Your boss, the billionaire?”
“Yes, he’s been a lifesaver. And don’t even say what I know you want to say. Because how is that any different from whoring myself out?” A moment ago, she was ready to fess up and ask for his help, but she couldn’t have Daisy think that using a guy for his billions was the answer.
Daisy sighed like Emma was being the difficult one here. “Have you thought any more about getting away?”
That wasn’t the answer either. “I don’t want to do that. I want to face it. Figure it out.”
“Ray’s not going to let you figure it out.”
But with Brody on her side, Emma could do anything. “Let me worry about that. Call you soon.”
The first thing she had to do was ensure Ray’s goons didn’t pay any more visits to her sister. Which meant she had to pay a visit to Ray. Or at the very least call him, because Brody would be back soon and he’d bind her to the bed with his sexy ties before he allowed her back to the club. She had no clue which was hotter: the idea of being restrained and at Brody’s mercy or his possessive growl when he was laying down the law.
Scrolling back up, she saw that a new message had come in from Lord Voldemort himself. Icicles of fear tightened her skin. Shit, no. The message had already been read—then she remembered what else was in the thread.
The video. It had been forwarded from her phone to…Brody’s number.
Gone to get bagels? Oh, hell.
…
“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” Brody said as he was ushered into Grigson’s back office. A little deference to the host always went a long way. “I’ve no doubt you’re a busy man.”
“Never too busy for a fellow businessman, Kane.” He looked at the business card Brody had given one of Grigson’s muscle to gain entrance, as if it could tell him exactly how much Brody was worth.
At least several thousand times more than you, Grigson.
“What can I do for you? A drink? A line of coke? A girl?” He grinned malevolently. “Or maybe you already have a girl. One of my girls.”
“I’m fairly sure that slavery was abolished in the nineteenth century,” Brody said. “Emma doesn’t need this job. I’m here to compensate you for your loss. Businessman to businessman.”
Grigson puffed up at that, evidently torn between the dent to his pride at losing Emma—the worst stripper ever, Brody was tempted to add—and his excitement at the prospect of an epic payday.