I tiptoe along the road, heart beating so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear anything else. It’s only as I creep closer toward the house that I can make out the indistinct murmurs of Catherine and Emmett talking.
Is Catherine crying?
I shake my head and decide not to overthink it. I let her put on whatever kind of show is fun, because I imagine being stuck here filming for several weeks has gotten stale as hell. I almost feel bad that she’s spent so much time here all for nothing. But at least the end is in sight.
When I make it through the back door—almost silently—I click the lock shut and let loose a heavy, relieved sigh.
Then a small laugh. Because what the fuck am I doing? Sneaking around like this is… hilarious.Ridiculous.
They say that love can make you crazy, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s why we’re here. Doing this.
With Emmett still out front, I pad through the house, analyzing it with fresh eyes. It’s barren, basically unlived-in. There’s not much character in the place, no real sentimental pieces dotted throughout. Even though this is where he spends his summers, it feels like a stopping point.
I make my way toward the living room, avoiding the front entryway and any of the windows that might face out toward Emmett, Catherine, and the army of cameras I’m sure is eagerly recording their every move.
“I promise it’s going to be okay,” Emmett says, and his voice sounds reassuring as Catherine sniffles something back quietly.
“Have a good night and don’t overthink it,” he responds. “We’re going to make it through this, all right?”
I know they’re faking it for the cameras, but my hackles still rise at the use ofwe.
Unable to sit still and wait, I prop a hip against the back of the large leather couch and stare at the antique-looking piece of cowboy art hanging on the wall behind it. It reminds me of hotel art. Most likely one print of millions.
Nothing special in many ways.
And yet it ended uphere. I wonder how.
The sound of the door clicking shut doesn’t make me turn. I can hear Emmett’s footsteps as he pads into the living room, and just knowing he’s approaching sends a spray of goose bumps across my bare arms.
I can feel the burn of his stare when it lands on me, and my stomach erupts with butterflies. I feel like a teenager with a crush. I want to turn and gawk at him, but the thought of making eye contact also makes me nervous.
As though we haven’t been alone before.
It’s been two days since I was last naked underneath Emmett Brandt.
The last of the summer sun drops behind the mountains, but the heat of Emmett’s gaze licks up my spine all the same.
I finally cave and glance over my shoulder. I almost groan when I see him. He has no business being this fucking hot.
Leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his denim shirt cuffed up to show forearms thick and roped with tension. His jaw ticks once, and when I shift my weight from one foot to the other, his eyes drag down my body like he’s stripping me.
Hell, maybe he is.
I turn to face him, ignoring the tightening low in my pelvis and trying to appear more casual than I feel. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to think you’ve got something to say.”
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even blink, just pushes off the corner. Every movement slow and sinful. The man drips sex. The look in his eye?Filthy.
This version of him is what Richard has wanted for the cameras, and a thrill travels through my body that he’s only giving it to me. He’s always stoic during filming—nothing like the man prowling my way right now, who looks like he wants to make a meal out of me.
“I do have some things to say,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “And I’ve been really polite about not saying them all damn day.”
He stops in front of me, one hand reaching over me as he backs me against the wall. The other curls around my hip, searing my skin through my clothes. His blue eyes are molten. His muscles taut. His powerful body barely held in check.
Everything about him feels wild and dangerous, and it makes my breath catch as I drink him in.
“Then stop being so polite,” I whisper, baiting him. Wanting him to snap. To take all this pent-up tension out on me.
His nostrils flare. “You sure about that, doll? ’Cause once I start tonight, I’m not stopping until I’ve had you in every way I damn well please.”
