His agreeing with me just angers me more. “That’s what you have to say for yourself? Not an apology? Am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t just pull a one-eighty on me and demand we film at the The Ranch? Should I stumble all over myself to cater to your ever-changing whims? Because I’ve got news for you—”
He strikes like a cobra, capturing my wrist as he steps in to tower over me, pinning me against the back of the trailer. His heat sears the front of me, and the sun-warmed metal wall presses at my back.
“What do I have to say for myself?” he says harshly. His breath fans across my damp lips and frustration buzzes in the air around us.
But it doesn’t worry me. I’m safe with Emmett, even now. Even when I’m fuming and he’s seething.
“What I have to say for myself, Julia, is that I told you this already.”
Oh, thenerve.
“Told me what? Because the way I remember it is…” I slip into a mocking tone. “?‘The Ranch? No, that bar is where all the yuppies go. It’s not where I’d take someone I was actually interested in.’ Then you took me to the Sugar Saloon and led me to believe that—”
“Exactly!” He spits the word like it frustrates him. I’m taken aback by the venom in his tone, but even more so by what he means. “How can I go there with anyone else after…you.”
I shut up and blink at him, piecing it all together.
His blue irises burn hot, boring into me with an intensity I’ve only seen on his face when there’s a bull underneath him and a championship on the line.
My chest heaves against his, our bodies pressed together. My hands stay slack at my sides, but not Emmett’s. His free hand slides up my hip, leaving a trail of fire as it travels up my rib cage, over my airy, pale pink blouse, skimming the edge of my bra. Making my head spin and my skin heat.
His touch turns reverent as his palm slides over my sternum, achingly slow. His brows furrow in concentration as he stares at his hand, fingers splayed over my collarbone, my chest rising and falling beneath him.
And then he sighs. “You’re ruining me, Jules.”
His gaze flashes to mine, threads of confusion in the depths of his baby blues morphing into something that looks like resolve.
“Emmett,” I breathe. His gentle touch makes me momentarily forget why I’m angry with him.
Strong fingers go soft on my wrist, and one quick swipe of his thumb over my pulse point sets my heart to racing as quickly as my mind. He grazes the back of his knuckles up my arm before tracing the curve of my neck.
“Fuck,” he mutters with a subtle shake of his head.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, barely hearing myself over the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
He trails both hands up to cup my jaw, then he tips my head back, forcing me to look into his eyes. “What I should have done on that dance floor.”
Emmett’s mouth drops, and this time he doesn’t stop. His lips crush mine in a moment of pure desperation.
Right here, outdoors, on set. With birds chirping and crew chatting in the distance, Emmett kisses me, and every other protest in my mind disintegrates on the spot.
A shaky inhale reverberates between us.
We both pause, drawing away just enough to look at each other in shock. I almost wonder if he’s going to pull away.
“Em,” I breathe against his lips, which is all it takes for him to kiss me again.
My hands fist the sides of his shirt without hesitation as I lean into his strong body.
And then, there’s only him.
Firm lips, soft tongue, calloused fingers so damn gentle as he holds me in place. His fingers slip into my hair as he claims my mouth with a level of prowess that rocks me to my core.
Everything around us ceases to exist, every point of contact between us like a hot brand. And I’m frantic for more of him.
I press in, only knowing that I want to be closer. Knowing that every part of me is warm and safe wrapped in his arms.
My tongue meets his in a slow, intentional dance. He kisses me thoroughly. He doesn’t rush, but he’s not casual either. He kisses me with purpose.
