Taking the Score (13 page)

He snorted at that ridiculous notion. They both knew his skills were not in question.

“My sister thought that offering one of her friends in sexual sacrifice would drag me out of the rut I’ve been in.”

“But you just got laid. Very well, I might add. Isn’t that enough to tide you over for a while?”

“Maybe for a woman. But if a man doesn’t use the goods, they shrivel up—”

She rolled her eyes.

“—and now that I’ve realized what I’ve been missing, and you’ve done such a great job getting me back up on the horse, for which I’m immensely grateful, then I think I’m ready to spread my wings.” He motioned to the wing-spreading area. His groin. “This really shouldn’t go to waste, now, should it?”

Another sweetener packet suffered the same ferocious fate as its predecessor. Vigorous stirring followed. “So do you know this Gabby?”

“Might’ve met her once or twice. My sister’s a flavor-of-the-month kind of girl, goes through friends like water. If I recall, Gabby has amazing green eyes and legs up to here.” He motioned to his chin, then changed his mind at the last moment, and held his hand level at Emma’s nipples. “Superhot.”

“But she likes Coldplay.”

“We’re probably not going to be talking much.”

She squinted at him. “I know what you’re doing. You think I’ll be so annoyed at the idea of you banging someone else that I’ll raise my hand and say,
Tappable ass right here, buddy!
”

“Raising that T-shirt would be preferable. You’re only wearing it because you know it turns my crank, you witch.”

“You’re a man. Erections occur with the slightest breeze.”

“Jealous much?”

She stared at him, evident disbelief at his playfulness in those big blue eyes. He wasn’t a fun person to be around, as his ex-fiancée never failed to inform him, but something about outside-the-office-Emma tickled him to no end.

Outside-the-office-Emma
…the inklings of a plan formed in his lust-fried brain.

Raising her mug to her lips, she took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. Overly sweetened, he suspected. “Jealous like you were the other night at the thought of me doing lap dances for handsy old pervs?”

A growl erupted from his throat, an unabashed display of possessiveness that even he found to be clichéd. But it drew the perfect reaction. Her teeth snagged on the pillow of her lower lip and emerged moist. Her nipples budded against the thin fabric of his tee.

Ms. Strickland likes it when you growl.

He closed the gap between them, gratified when she stepped back against the counter.

“Admit you’re jealous, Emma.”

“Never,” she said defiantly.

“Just your nipples then. They’re pouting.” He inclined his head. “And these earlobes have a greenish tinge to them.” He brushed his lips across the delicate shell of her ear. “And this spot where your neck meets your shoulder”—he inhaled her scent and placed the lightest kiss at that sensitive patch of skin—“the most jealous of all. And you in that tee is not helpin’ anyone, baby.”

“Are you telling me your engine gets all revved up when you see an old tee?” Fake bravado trilled through her voice. She pulled at the hem of the shirt. It fell to midthigh, but her drawing attention to it stirred his blood into a cauldron of need.

“When I see
you
in it. Because now it’s going to smell of you.” Reaching behind her, he bunched the material so it shaped to her perky breasts. “I know it brushed your skin, rubbed your nipples, that you were wearing it when I fucked you to paradise on my bedroom floor. Maybe you hitched it up to your hips while you thought about me and stroked yourself last night.”

He gave her a moment to pull out of his grasp, and when she didn’t, he hiked the tee higher, up past her ass. A wisp of lace crashed into his vision field as she parted her legs on a moan.

“You have other clothes. Ones I bought you. You don’t have to wear this, so why are you tormenting me?”

Her breathing came in short tugs, her breasts straining against the fabric he held taut against her body. Every part of him howled to be completed by her surrender. He could dip his head and suck her stiff nipple, but she had to ask for it. Beg for it. Last time, he took.

“Why are you wearing it?” he repeated.

“Be-because it’s soft.”

“And?”

“Comfortable.”

Not satisfied with that answer, he nudged his knee between her legs. Her lips parted to reveal all that wet, succulent pink, mimicking the pliant heat he longed to plant his cock into over and over. “And?”

“It smells of you.” In a surprise move, she put him on the back foot by leaning in and inhaling from his neck. “But it’s a ghost of your scent and can’t possibly compete with the real thing. God, you smell so good. It was the first thing I noticed about you when I interviewed. You shook my hand and I walked out of there on a contact high. No one should smell that good or look that hot. And in glasses, too, you fucking dick.”

That’s more like the Emma I’m getting to know.
Chuckling, he rubbed his jaw against hers, her honesty unraveling a knot of longing inside him along with his dirty inner monologue.

“I’ve been fantasizing about you for months, Emma. God knows why, because you went out of your way to dress as unattractively as possible. I’ve jerked off to you in my office bathroom more times than I care to recall, every lash of my cum with your name on it.”

She whimpered. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips; that his words affected her felt like the sweetest victory.

“Wh-what else have you thought about?”

“I’ve imagined you against my office window with the heat of your breasts meeting the cool of the glass.”

She bit down on her soft lip, then gave a slow swipe of her tongue like she might lick the leaking head of his cock. “And then what happens?”

“I yank up your skirt and take you from behind.”

“No foreplay?”

“You’re already soaking wet, your body begging for it. And we’re in a hurry. There’s a meeting scheduled in five minutes and we have to do away with the niceties. Getting inside you is my prime directive.”

“And mine?”

He smiled, recalling one of his favorite fantasies. “To come when I tell you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Oh, mercy.
Emma was in way over her head here. She was supposed to be playing it cool and professional, putting their crazy-sexy-hot moments behind them.
Just make coffee, Emma. Just chat innocuously about your boss-roommate-hottie-in-a-suit’s upcoming weekend plans, Emma.
She had to go ask about the freakin’ bridesmaids. And he had to go show her that text message about Coldplay-loving, fresh flowers–hating Gabby.

Hey, jealousy.
Surely it was understandable when only yesterday morning, he’d been lodged so deep inside her that she felt him all the way to her heart. His mastery of her body had been a thing of beauty.

She should be able to turn this need for him off, like a lamp. She shouldn’t be lying in his guest room bed with the fifteen thousand thread count sheets, humping a pillow…and her hand…and wishing she could afford batteries for her vibe.

Biting her lip, she moved her legs together, but he separated them with his knee and planted his pillar-thick thigh there. The hard planes of his body were the perfect fit against her aching softness.

“Are you okay, Ms. Strickland? You look…agitated.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“I know. It’s not fair that you’re a walking temptation and are sleeping barely feet from my bed.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not sleeping.” She frowned, annoyed at that reveal. “Kevin’s nocturnal and requires everyone else to be as well.”

His smile lit him from the inside. He should never stop doing that.
No.
He should stop doing that immediately.

“I’ve had a taste of you, Emma, and it’s hard to imagine going back to before.”

Oh, she knew the pain of that. But if she let him in, breaking away would be so much harder. So why was it that the only thing she could fathom was his lips on hers, his hands kneading her breasts and ass, his cock driving home—and driving her to heights she’d never achieved with any other guy?

He leaned in close enough to kiss her. Burn her alive.

“Where did you come from, Emma?”

Not what she expected at all. After his provocative words, he could have taken her apart, body and soul. There would be no resistance.

“
Just a small-town girl
…” she sang softly. Probably tunelessly.

“Small-town girl, big-city dreams,” he murmured, his gaze no longer on her mouth but now locked on her with a regard that consumed her. His lie-detecting look. “Did the city eat you up?”

And spat her out. “It hasn’t beaten me yet.” Keeping the shake out of her voice took effort. The times she’d picked herself up and dusted off the latest disaster to befall her were too many to recount. Fighting was her default setting. “I’ll be okay.”

“That’s what we say. That being okay, operating on autopilot is enough. But what if it isn’t?”

She recognized a kindred soul in those words. The loneliness in them. For so long, she’d struggled to keep her head above water, and the thought of wanting more was almost foreign. Anytime she reached out, she had her hand snapped off. Sure, she was a tigress in defending her sister and she could color-code a filing cabinet to beat the band, but she’d always hoped there was more to her. That she had a future that didn’t involve subjugating every need, desire, and hope to the service of others.

But with this man who made her think the impossible could be overcome, she wondered if her dreams were too small. If Emma Strickland could be more.

He nuzzled her nose, the intimacy of it a balm. “Hey, where’ve you gone?”

“It just—it’s been a while since I’ve thought about what I want. And the other night when we were in that private room together at the club…” She hesitated, unsure how to verbalize it.

“What?”

“I had this supremely selfish urge to come all over your cock.”

His snatched breath was immensely gratifying.

“Clamp down tight and ride you to heaven or hell. I didn’t care which, because I knew the journey would be out of this world.”

His groan must have been heard in the lobby sixty floors below.

This anchor of Brody’s unrelenting desire for her was about the only thing she could depend on. His potency crashed through her resolve. The south just seceded.

He lifted her onto the island counter, like she was a slip of a thing. His hands fit into the indentations of her hips perfectly.
Kiss me, please. Make it better.

“You need this,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rusty with his desire. “Tell me you do.”

Somehow, he understood. Somehow, he recognized that the sanctuary of his body was necessary to her next breath. And somehow, she knew he wouldn’t demand more.

“Yes, Brody. So much.”

“Then let me give it to you.” Cool gray eyes warmed to mercurial silver. She parted her lips, let him slant his mouth over hers, slide his tongue in like it belonged there. His kiss consumed her, giving her exactly what she needed in this moment. Another memory she’d store for when she’d moved on.

He lifted her tee and bent his head to her breast. The moment his tongue touched her aching nipples, she moaned. How could feeling this good be wrong? So many reasons existed to not do this, yet every single one of them was trumped by his soul-deep suck on her needy flesh.

“Don’t stop, Brody. Please. Don’t stop.”

Out of the corner of her eye, a slight movement pinged her lust-soaked brain to attention. They were not alone.

“Well, bro, the bridesmaids are going to be
so
disappointed.”

Emma pushed her shirt down. She knew that voice, and if it wasn’t immediately registering with her, the “bro” endearment would have tipped her off. She tried to extricate her body from Brody’s grip, but he held her in place at her hip. One-handed, too, the bastard.

“For fuck’s sake, Liv,” Brody snapped, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“Getting my party weekend off to an icky start. I thought I’d never have an image horrifying enough to replace the one of walking in on you jerking off to a Victoria’s Secret catalog when you were fourteen, but this… Ah, hell, nothing will ever beat interrupting the VS shoot.”

Emma pushed Brody back and slid off the kitchen island, trying to blend into the granite countertop. Brody’s sister was blond, gorgeous, and much shorter than she sounded on the phone. A strange thing to say, but she always came across as so commanding. Some people might call her bossy or another
B
word, but Emma never indulged in that kind of hate on a strong woman.

She sneaked a glance at Brody, waiting to see how he wanted to play it.
Please God don’t introduce her as Emma.
It was bad enough she was caught in the act by his sister; she sure as hell didn’t want anyone knowing he was boning the help.

Priorities—she had ’em.

Olivia held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Brody’s sister, Olivia. I got all the Kane charm and personality. The looks, too.”

Emma took her hand and shook, enjoying the firm grip. “Nice to meet you.” Said like she was meeting the queen of England. Should she add a curtsy?

Olivia raised a royal eyebrow, expectant. “And you are…?”

“Um…” She looked to Brody for assistance. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Shit-hot, but probably not what she should be thinking on right now.

“This is…” Brody said, and Emma watched in slow motion as those full, sensuous lips formed her name.

“Chardonnay,” Emma said quickly. Good God, had she really just introduced herself with her stripper name? The muscle tic now motoring a mile a minute in Brody’s jaw confirmed that she had indeed made this boneheaded move.

She waited for Olivia to look down her nose at her because of the obviously invented, trashy name. She’d always seemed nice enough when she called, if a little impatient. She had once asked Emma if Brody could spare a moment from polishing the stick up his ass to speak to his sister. Emma had liked her immediately. But now she was here, meeting the help. That she didn’t know was the help.

There was something liberating about that. About slipping into another skin. Sure, hadn’t Emma been playing a part as Ms. Strickland for the last three months? Faking her way to respectability? Perhaps Chardonnay had somehow escaped the stripping business and was doing what she had always wanted. Going to school and finishing her business degree. Or running a cupcake shop. Or becoming an aerobics instructor.

Did people dream of becoming aerobics instructors?

“Chardonnay,” Olivia said carefully, taking in Brody’s shirt dwarfing Emma’s person and his large hand in a possessive—and protective—splay on her hip. Emma watched as Olivia checked her cultural memory banks for the name, trying to match it up with her notions of who, outside of Hollywood or a trailer park, would bless their child with such a dreadful start in life.

Breeding won out. With a perfectly straight face, she said, “That’s an unusual name.”

“Not for a stripper it isn’t,” Emma shot back.
Shit.
Apparently Chardonnay couldn’t quite escape her terrible past after all.

Brody’s fingers dug into her hip. Emma didn’t dare look at him.

Olivia’s eyes flew open. “A stripper.”

“People usually say exotic dancer, but I’ve never been one for eu—uh, for fancy names.” Chardonnay, with her grade-school reading level, probably didn’t know the word “euphemism.”

Sorry, Chardonnay.

“I call it how I see it,” Emma continued. “Just like he calls it when he sees it.” She jerked a thumb at Brody who, but for the forehead vein throbbing in a way that looked like a stroke in waiting, was taking this really, really well. “He likes to get bossy.”

Olivia stared at her brother, a wicked smile breaking wide. “Does he now? I had no idea. He’s always seems so—”

“Uptight? Yeah, we’re working on that. He’s starting to loosen up.”

Olivia plopped a large hobo purse on the kitchen island and took a seat. “So how did you two meet?”

Brody growled. Even with the shitstorm swirling around her, Emma’s loins could appreciate that.

“Never mind the details, Liv. How about you explain how you got in?”

His sister’s smile was sweetly poisonous. “I had a key made when I visited at New Year. And boy am I glad I did.”

She refocused on Emma, eyes sparkling with mischief. “A fun meet-cute, I bet.”

“We met at a st—Starbucks. Could you imagine this guy in a strip club?”

Olivia shook her head, enthralled. “No, I could not.”

In for a G-string, in for a dollar. “He stole my coffee and I had to chase him down to get it. Me in five-inch heels, and him running like he was trying to get away.”

“With your stolen coffee.”

“Right!”

They both laughed, though there was an undercurrent of steel to Olivia’s. She clearly felt protective of her brother. Understandable, given Brody’s wealth, and the fact that a stripper was on the premises, wearing his shirt and yukking it up about coffee-stealing shenanigans.

“And now you’re here. How long have you two…?” She waved a hand.

“Olivia, let’s discuss this later,” Brody said, “Or, you know, not at all. Why are you here? A day early, I might add. And where are the girls?”

“I flew in late last night. The F-Troop arrive tomorrow, though Gabby is going to be crushed when I tell her you’re otherwise occupied.”

“The F-Troop?” Emma asked, trying to keep the snarl out of her voice.

“Yeah, the Fu—”

“Olivia,” Brody grated.

She smiled so sweetly it could cause diabetes. “I’d offered up my wedding party so my brother could get his mojo back. And they’ve all stepped up. Even my matron of honor.”

A snake of jealousy ran through Emma. Coldplay-loving Gabby and the rest of them better turn their sweet asses around and head back to Texas. There was an alpha bitch in town and she wasn’t letting anyone get between her and her man.

Emma blinked.
Where the hell had that come from?

Kevin emerged from under one of the high stools and cozied up to Olivia’s designer shoe–clad foot.

“You got a cat?” Olivia asked her brother, her face crumpled in disbelief. “But you hate cats.”

“I don’t hate cats,” Brody said, and to prove it, he picked Kevin up. Kevin promptly bit him, dropped like an acrobat to the floor, and charged from the room in an affronted huff.

Brody glared at Emma as if her cat’s emotional problems were her fault and flexed his cat-bitten hand. “He’s a rescue cat. Led a hard life, so he’s getting used to people being kind to him again.”

Emma’s heart hitched. Poor Kevin. That’s exactly what was running through his pea-sized brain.

Olivia stared at her brother and gave a slight shake of her head. “I’ve clearly interrupted something here, so I’ll let you get back to it. Walk me to the door, Brody?” And to Emma, “Pleasure, Chardonnay.”

…

Brody followed his sister out. “Hand it over.”

“What?”

“Now.”

She placed a key in his outstretched palm, clearly miffed. Christ, she was so damn spoiled.

“I’ll be notifying the doorman that you are not to be allowed up without a call from downstairs first.”

“I can’t believe you scored with a stripper.”

“She’s just dancing to—”

“Put herself through graduate school?” she finished with a smirk.

He had no idea why Emma was doing this, any of it. Why wouldn’t she just take his damn help? There was that ping of doubt again. Grigson was more crooked than a barrelful of fishhooks. Maybe she was still working for him, embedded behind enemy lines while she reeled Brody in and bilked him for more than the few thousand dollars she likely owed. A long con.

He’d resisted the urge to run a background check on her. Part of him wanted to stay out of her business; the other part worried about what he might find. Needing to know more made her important to him. Made him want to trust her. The less he knew, the less he could be hurt.

The revelation that Emma might have the capacity to hurt him was like a bite to the back of his neck.

“She’s had a hard life.”

“Like the cat?” Skepticism pinched the corners of her mouth. “Brody, this thing with the stripper—and I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth—it’s just a fling, right? I’m sure she’s very nice, but my fiancé, the family values platform congressman, isn’t going to be too pleased to see her showing up as your plus one in two months. Tell me you’re not serious about her.”