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Her response was the final snare. He was stuck, trapped, and he didn’t care. He’d stay lost in her. Her shudders and gasps, the thrusts of her hips, and the taste of her were all that mattered.
Knocking. On the door. As effective as an ice-cold shower.
Her eyes popped open.
“Fuck,” he growled, blindsided by the raw hunger clouding her green gaze.
She was still holding on to him, breathing hard and dazed, when the door opened.
“Emmy
Lou.” Sawyer. The bodyguard. Of course.
She went rigid, her panicked attempt to untangle herself almost sending her to the floor—but he steadied her. When she was on her feet, with her skirt in place, he stepped away, putting several feet between them. He ran a hand along the back of his neck. Shake it off.
But she was still shell-shocked, staring at him with wide eyes. Rapid-fire emotions crossed her face. Disappointment, frustration—then embarrassment. She covered her face with her hands, shaking her head.
“There are some people who need to use the room.” Sawyer cleared his throat.
“Of course,” Emmy Lou mumbled from behind her hands. A deep breath and she repeated, “Of course.” Her hair was messy, and she still looked pretty wild-eyed. Then again, she’d had her head thrown back, grinding against him, breathing heavy, and clinging to him less than a minute ago.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
The bodyguard was staring at him. Hard. The man didn’t say much, but his body language said it all. If this Sawyer had a problem with him, fine. But finding Emmy Lou with her legs around Brock’s waist didn’t exactly make Brock the aggressor here. So, what the hell was the stare-down all about? How far did the man’s protective instincts go?
“Here.” The man took Emmy’s arm.
“Thank you, Sawyer.” She squeezed past Brock, avoiding his gaze and stepping carefully around him. Was she embarrassed about what had happened? Or because they’d been caught? If she hadn’t touched him, kissed him, wrapped her leg around his waist, nothing would have happened. When her green eyes darted his way, he realized what was troubling her.
He’d kept control.
She hadn’t.
For all her practiced charm and calculated maneuvers, Emmy Lou King wasn’t as in control as she wanted to be. She wanted him. Bad. It was empowering as hell.
Chapter 8
Emmy Lou stood in the spotlight, a mic in her hands. She patted her left hand against her thigh, the champagne sequins of her minidress bouncing to the beat. When the guitar kicked in, she took a deep breath and started singing.
You think you’re something special, staring my way.
You think I feel so lucky, like you’ve made my day.
But here’s the truth, listen closely, cuz there ain’t no way.
I’m looking for Mr. Forever, not you—Mr. For Today.
You’re smiling like you’ve got a secret that I want to know.
But, honey, we’ve been down this road and that just ain’t so.
Let’s not waste each other’s time putting on a flirty show.
You’re just fun and games so, darlin’, time for you to go.
But go on, keep on smiling. Feel free to keep on trying.
I know what I want. Nothing you can do.
