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He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “You could come back tonight.”
Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra, her heart thumping like crazy. “I can’t.”
“That’s up to you.” He fastened her bra, his fingers trailing along the edge. “I told you yesterday, whatever you want.”
“I thought you meant in bed. In the bath. Or the shower.” She teased, sucking in a deep, wavering breath. “My favorite was the ottoman—”
He pressed a finger to her lips, a broken groan leading into his words: “I’m already late.”
She pressed a kiss against his fingertip and was instantly rewarded by the flare of his nostrils. “I’m not keeping you.” She loved the way he responded to her. Especially the way his jaw muscle locked tight…like it was now.
“You have no idea.” His blue eyes locked with hers. “Think about it. Tonight.”
“We leave for Virginia after tonight’s concert. Besides, you have a game and I’d wear you out with the new list of wants I’m already making.”
“I can imagine.” He shook his head, swallowing hard. He hesitated, then drew her into his arms. He had a way of kissing her that made her head spin. Holding on tight was her only option. But she didn’t want to get him in trouble, so she pulled away from his kiss.
“Good luck Sunday. I’ll be there in spirit, cheering you on.” She rested her hand on his chest. “Is this where you tell me you’ll call me but then I never hear from you again?” It was a joke—but the longer he didn’t answer, the harder it was to breathe.
“No. You’ll hear from me.” For a minute, she thought he had something more to say.
She smiled, her hand slipping from his chest. “Be safe, Brock Watson.”
He pulled her close again, pressed a hard kiss to her forehead, then hurried out.
As soon as the door shut, her heart slowed and began to ache. This was real—this had really happened. She could smell him on her skin. Still feel his touch, inside her, exploring her. She blew out a long slow breath, the ache building. He’d asked her what she wanted. The same thing she’d always wanted: Brock. It scared her how much she wanted him. More than his body, though the last twelve hours had been incredible. No, she wanted so much more.
Sawyer arrived shortly thereafter, armed with a bag of clothing and coffee.
“Thanks.” She peered into the bag. “Nothing like a massive sweatshirt, baseball cap, and…what is this print?” She held the sweatpants up for inspection.
“Cats and thunder.” Sawyer shook his head. “Krystal.”
“Give me a sec, will you?” She changed in the bathroom, tucked her old clothes into the bag, and laughed at her reflection. “I’m not sure what sort of fashion statement I’m making.”
Sawyer’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t comment on the outfit. He was all bodyguard on the way out, shielding her from onlookers, guiding her down the back stairs, and sneaking her into the black Suburban waiting at one of the hotel’s rear service entrances.
“That exit route was super covert.” Emmy paused. “The outfit, not so much.”
“Good morning,” Krystal said, giving her a once-over. “Someone looks happy.”
She smiled, letting Krystal fill her in on a new song Travis and Jace were working on. Once at the hotel, they headed straight to their suite. Emmy put her purse on the counter and dropped the bag of yesterday’s clothes onto the floor, hoping there was time for a nap.
“Oh goodness. I thought you’d already headed to the stadium.” Momma jumped up and took one look at the papers spread out on the floor, couch, and coffee table. But she paused, giving them a slow head-to-toe inspection. “What are you wearing?”
The likelihood of Krystal answering and actually speaking to Momma were slim. It was up to her to find a reasonable explanation for her un-Emmy getup. “We went for a walk.” Breathe. “What are you working on?”
“It’s just a little project I started when I was in rehabilitation.” CiCi smoothed her hand over a page. “Journaling. It helps get all of the things out that you could never say out loud.”
“Makes sense.” Emmy had kept a diary until high school until Momma had read it. It went missing shortly thereafter. Not long after, Travis had his phone taken away for inappropriate searches and videos. Apparently, Momma didn’t just go through their rooms; she monitored their texts and phone calls, too.
Once Brock had been drafted into the AFL, she and Brock decided writing good old-fashioned letters was the only way to ensure their conversations were private. Getting the mail had been Travis’s chore and, as long as she’d kept him stocked in candy, he’d gladly kept their secret. Until the letters stopped coming.
“I’ll go get food.” Krystal left the room without acknowledging Momma.
“Since things are at a standstill with your daddy’s career, I thought I’d put it all together. Maybe a memoir?” Momma paused.
Emmy Lou froze. “To publish?”
