Authors: Karen-Anne Stewart
“Justin again?” Jess asks.
I would swear Emma winces when she hears his name. “I’ll call him later,” she mumbles.
“The boy needs to learn to take a hint and back the hell off you,” Jess rants.
Her words don’t resonate well with me. “Is he harassing you, Emma?”
“No,” she answers quickly. Too quickly.
“Bullshit!” Jess continues to rant, “he calls you every day, making you feel like shit when you don’t answer and making you feel even worse when you do.”
Emma shoots Jess a warning glare, making my admiration for her spike even further. No one stands up to Jess, except Gavin and me.
“Your ex-boyfriend sounds like he needs a good ass-kicking,” Gavin quips.
Gavin’s always up for a fight, but I’m with him on this one.
“Jess is painting the wrong impression,” Emma argues, “Justin treats me fine. He doesn’t harass me.”
“Anyone who keeps calling and pursuing you when you don’t want them to and they know it, is harassing.” Jess loops her arm through Emma’s, “And Justin
knows
; don’t fool yourself, sweetheart.”
Emma shifts in her chair uncomfortably. The light in her eyes dims as she takes a sip of her wine, “He’s harmless.”
“You sure about that?” It’s a good thing Justin lives almost a thousand miles away or I’d have to pay him a visit and make sure he gets the idea to leave Emma alone. A fierce need to protect her simmers inside. So does jealously. Roughly pushing away from the table, I ignore Emma’s questioning gaze as I storm towards the kitchen, refusing to feel that emotion. I don’t get jealous. Ever. I won’t start now.
Jess follows me, her hazel eyes full of concern, “What the hell is going on with you, Breck?”
“Nothing, Jess.”
“Do I have to call bullshit again?”
“Drop it!” I warn.
“You’re falling for her, aren’t you?” Jess shakes her head in disbelief, “No, Breck. Not with Emma. Not with her,
please
.”
“I’m not falling for anyone, Jess. I said drop it,” I warn again, my tone much harsher than before.
“Since when did you start lying? You may be a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.” Jess positions herself to where she’s sitting on top of the kitchen counter, “Look, I want you to fall in love one day and finally be happy, but we both know better than that, at least not without a few trial runs leaving behind broken hearts before you finally get your shit together. I don’t want Emma’s heart to be one of them.”
“I’m not going to hurt Emma,” I assure her. I won’t. She will be the one to hurt me.
“Everything alright in here?” Emma asks, her eyes darting questioningly between Jess and me.
“Just peachy,” Jess blurts, sliding off the counter, her own warning evident as she glances at me before walking out of the kitchen, leaving Emma and me alone.
Taking a tentative step forward, Emma fidgets with a string on the dish towel, “Did I do something to upset you?”
“No,” I lie, proving Jess wrong.
Emma twists the string around her finger as she nods, relief bringing some of the light back into her eyes. “Dinner was delicious. Thank you for inviting me over.” Emma turns towards the dining room, then stops. Her back is rigid as she stands silently and motionless for a few seconds.
Whatever she’s struggling with, it’s impossible to read, especially without seeing her tell-tale expression.
“I’ll help you clean up,” she finally speaks, her voice still pleasant but edged with a twinge of melancholy.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll throw the plates in the dishwasher.”
“You cooked; I can do that,” Emma insists, facing me. Her face is neutral, giving nothing away, but her eyes show more than she intends, sending a slow, crippling ache, giving me a taste of the divination that will ruin me.
I agree to let her, but just because I’m not ready for her to leave yet. Emma will be my destruction; I feel it, but I can’t stay away. I crave her,
need
her. She’s an addiction that is slowly poisoning my veins.
She smiles her sweet, beguiling smile and her venom seizes me.
“Stay for as long as you like,” I tell her a bit gravelly.
Gavin pops his head around the corner, “Is it safe to enter, or is Breck showing you his other expertise? A turkey isn’t the only thing he’s a pro at stuffing, you know.”
Emma’s cheeks flame.
Damn, I really need some new friends. “You’ll find out that it’s best to ignore everything that Gavin says. He lacks an inner filter, among many other things.”
Laughing, he picks Emma up, giving her a squeeze and making her look so small next to his large frame. Plopping her back on her feet, he flashes his player smile, “Glad you joined the crew. I’ll be happy to give you a proper initiation whenever you like.”
“Like I said, ignore him.” I take Emma’s arm, pulling her towards me as Gavin shakes his head, his playful gaze with Emma turning serious when it lands on me. No words are needed for me to understand what he’s trying to say. Emma’s become one of us over the last couple of weeks. We don’t fuck with one of our own.
He and Jess seemed to have forgotten that I’m the one who has protected them. The one who takes care of any threat, who always has. Now, they see
me
as one. Treacherous memories trickle through my wall; I know why they’re worried. Emma’s beliefs are my undoing. But, they’re wrong. I’m not the threat. She is.
“Jason’s family has this tradition where they get together and decorate the Christmas tree Thanksgiving night,” Jess rolls her eyes, stepping beside Gavin, “so, we have to go.”
Despite Jess’ outward protest, I know she enjoys being around Jason’s family. They’re loving and stable, two things Jess never had. She’s far from admitting the family thing is growing on her, but at least she took the first step and told Jason about her crack whore mom. What she didn’t say is what he really needs to know, but it’s her place to tell him, not mine. Not unless she makes it mine.
Gavin and Jess exchange a worried glance before Jess hugs Emma and they leave. Emma follows through on her offer and helps load the dishes, thanking me again for dinner. She does that a lot, thanking me, must be a southern thing. When she goes for her jacket, I do what I know I shouldn’t and ask her to stay.
“Stay?” Her fingers fidget with a button on her jacket, “What does that mean, exactly?”
Holding up my hands, I laugh, “All innocent.” I give a wicked grin, “For now.”
“What do you have in mind?” she inquires, a little devil of her own in her smile.
Things you aren’t ready for, not yet
. “Is a movie innocent enough for you, Ms. Jones?”
“Sure. Unless it’s porn,” she teases.
“The preacher girl knows about safe words and porn. Hmm, I’m starting to wonder just how innocent you really are, Emma.”
Emma arches her brow, “That’s irrelevant and undecided, Mr. Steele.”
A naughty side
.
Damn
. “What’s your preferred genre?” I ask, a hell of a lot more interested in finding out what her preferred position, or her favorite spot for my mouth to devour, would be.
“Sappy romantic,” Emma replies without skipping a beat, sitting on the sofa next to me, too far away for my liking, but a little closer than the past several times I’ve met her for lunch over the past couple of weeks, and the time when we stopped to rest on a bench when I showed her the sculptures in the park.
“Romantic?” I groan, “you’re killing me, Em.”
Her lips curve into teasing grin, “I just wanted to see you do that thing that you do when you dislike something.”
“And what exactly do I do?” I ask, curious, since I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Your lips turn down at the ends and your jaw clenches a little.” She points, laughing, “Just like that.”
I grow hard at how she’s paid attention to my minute mannerisms. I’ve already memorized all of hers, except what her expression would be when she finally feels me moving inside of her, my mouth tasting her skin, her breasts, the wet heat between her thighs. I’ve dreamed of how she would look lying underneath me. That image has consumed my thoughts for days. Growing harder, I want to take her hand and place it over the rapidly increasing bulge, showing her what she does to me. I don’t. I
will
have her, but not tonight.
Repressing a very needy groan, I playfully push her, “I should make you watch the Godfather for that.”
“How do you know that I don’t happen to like the Godfather?” she asks, pushing me back and cocking her brow, effectively torturing the hell out of me until I’m in a swollen, painful state.
“You don’t seem the type.”
Something flashes through her eyes fleetingly, leaving too quickly to give me the chance to read the emotion. “You seem to know me,” her voice is soft, a faint mix of surprise and comfort bleeding through her words.
I’ve made it a point to know her, to find out every tidbit of information I could unearth about her, even searching for pictures of her from high school and college in the annuals online. She was just as beautiful then, but there’s something about her that is different than what I saw in those photographs. The light in her eyes is brighter, her smile more relaxed, like she feels less …restrained.
Hearing what Jess said about Justin, and from the little Emma has divulged, I assume leaving him broke her chains. She may not be shackled any longer, but she’s not completely free, either. There’s a side of her that she keeps locked away. She thirsts for everything this life can give. Not monetarily. I found that out quickly. She doesn’t give a damn about money. The thousand dollars she earned from her design for Dur Acier was spent on a kid at the center. Patty told me that she had mentioned one of the kids usually in Emma’s art lessons was having a hard week when Emma asked why she hadn’t shown. The girl’s class was going to Florida for the band, but she wasn’t able to raise enough money for the trip, and the center didn’t have the extra in the budget. The girl would’ve been the only one left behind. The next day, the money showed up at the girl’s high school, left by an anonymous donor. The cost of the trip was one thousand dollars. I also noticed that Emma’s piece of shit car is still rattling like hell.
From what I can tell, Justin never tried to find out who Emma really is, what her dreams and desires are. There’s a wild, animalistic side to Emma that she’s terrified to unleash. The hunger’s inside of her; I’ve seen it, but she’s scared as hell that what she’s feeling is wrong, a sin. I’ve seen that, too. One day, she’ll act on her needs, and I want to be the one who sets her free.
We compromise and decide to watch a new comedy. Emma’s arm brushes against mine as she finds a more comfortable position and she doesn’t move it. One movie turns into two, my choice winning the second round. A gory part in the well chosen horror flick shoots across the screen, causing Emma to jump and look away. I scoot a little closer, placing my hand on her knee. Still, she doesn’t move. I let her have her way with the third movie, feeling sorry for her after the bloody, screaming banshee suddenly appeared out of nowhere and Emma jumped so hard, our popcorn went flying through the air.
A little into the third flick, Emma’s lithe weight leans against my shoulder. My pulse races, and my palms become sweaty, shaming me to the core at how all my usual perfected and repeatedly proven moves have vacated my body, taking the last shred of my pride with it. Her head slowly falls forward, leaving me with the horrifying realization that Emma has fallen asleep.
What the hell has happened to me?
I’ve made women scream, cry, and beg with pleasure, but I’ve never made one fall asleep before!
Gently taking Emma’s chin, I cup her face in my hand, laying her softly on my lap. The hardened beast twitches violently in my jeans as her cheek brushes against its sensitized shaft. Quickly readjusting, I move her head out of the raging danger zone. Her hair falls across her shoulder, the silky strands feathering over her arm and down her back as her chest slowly rises and falls with her slumbered breaths.
The slight part of her lips and gentle flutter of her dark lashes against their cream, velvet canvas leaves me breathless. A stirring deep inside paralyzes me. Brushing my thumb across her cheek, my gaze is frozen, locked on her natural beauty. Her innocence is heightened while she sleeps, her head peacefully against my knee, her body curved on top of cream leather cushions in a cloud of elusive redemption. The last piece of my damaged soul is lost, held out of reach by the angel who has no idea she’s shattered the heart that I didn’t know existed into a million splintering shards, leaving me bleeding and broken. The destruction has begun and I can’t walk away.
Emma
“I have to go. I have to leave. I have to go. Now!” My words tumble out in panicked haste as I crawl around the floor on my hands and knees like a babbling idiot. Pressing my cheek against the cold wood, I look under the couch for my missing shoe. “Where is it?” I shriek, slapping the floor.
“I think you need to bend over again to make sure you didn’t miss it underneath the sofa,” Breck suggests, his eyes roaming over my body.
“Shut up, Breck!” my voice is flustered as continue to search. “Ah, HA!” I squeal, finally finding it and hopping on one foot as I try to slip it on.
“Good, now I can walk you out instead of having to carry you to your car.”
“Please, stay. You don’t have to walk me to the lobby,” I practically beg.
Breck doesn’t even try to hide the amusement dancing in his piercing blue eyes, “And miss seeing your walk of shame?” His sinfully handsome smile widens wickedly, “Oh, hell, no! There’s no way I’m missing that.”
Cutting my eyes at him, my cheeks blaze, “We didn’t have sex!”
“You and I know that, but everyone in the lobby doesn’t. Besides, with my reputation, if you even suggest that we weren’t setting the sheets on fire last night, they will laugh your cute little ass all the way back to Pickens.”
He’s right! God, I want to hit him, “You find this humorous, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he chuckles, not able to hold back his laughter at my obvious agitation, “Immensely entertaining.”
Running my hand self-consciously through my tangled morning hair, I shoot him a look meant to be purely scathing but falling miserably short when I see the playful twinkle in his eyes, those blue, heart wrenching, soul stealing eyes. I storm past him, not wanting his bewitching charm getting him off the hook. Stopping at the door, I smooth the wrinkles in my sweater the best I can before peering into the hall, praying no one sees me.
Breck follows me to the elevator, all the while laughing as I cross my arms across my hopelessly rumpled chest, impatiently tapping my foot.
“That’s not going to hurry things along any, you know,” he smirks, nodding at my foot, which is rivaling Thumper’s.
When the elevator dings, I practically throw myself inside, pressing the button to close the doors before Breck can follow. No such luck. “Ugghh! You really are looking forward to witnessing my humiliation, aren’t you?”
Breck leans against the back wall of the elevator, casually crossing one leg in front of the other while he slips his thumbs into the pockets of his dark, well-worn jeans, “That would be a huge, unashamed yes!”
“Pay back is hell, Steele!” I warn, biting back my smile at how sexy he is in his just awakened form. His wrinkled shirt doesn’t look sloppy like mine; it looks alluringly hot, especially on Breck’s muscled body. His hair is the same disheveled perfection as always, except maybe even infuriatingly sexier with the sleep tousled locks, and the stubble on his chin makes me want to experience how it feels rubbing against my naked skin.
I hate what he does to me, even when I’m loving every sexually charged torturing second with him, I hate it! Scooting further away, I also hate how I want to press my body against his, feeling the hard, lean muscles underneath his cotton T-shirt. Waking up with my head in his lap, my face pressed against his rippled torso and my arm wrapped around his waist while his was thrown over mine, shocked me to the point of jumping backwards so fast that I propelled off the couch, crashing to the floor. Breck’s head had snapped up as the loud thud pulled him from a deep sleep, and he dropped to his knees to help me off the floor, making sure I didn’t break anything in the calamity.
“I hate you,” I pout.
“I know,” he winks, an exasperating smile lighting up his eyes.
The elevator dings again as the doors open. Frozen, I make no move to leave.
Breck tsks as he takes my elbow, half dragging my reluctant body into the full lobby, chuckling loudly when I protest and beg him to stay inside the blasted elevator so I can at least leave with a semblance of dignity. He declines.
Dropping my head, my eyes are glued to the floor until I mercifully make it to the door, desperate to join the sea of anonymity the strangers in the street a mere ten feet in front of me will provide. The greeter, Nathan, opens the pristine glass door, his gaze flittering between Breck and me, deepening my humiliation.
I flash an embarrassed smile, knowing I’ve just been registered with the countless women Breck has claimed. Hiding my face, I hurriedly shuffle past him.
“See you later, Emma,” Breck calls after me loudly while I assure Nathan that I don’t need to wait for someone to bring me my car when he dutifully asks. “Last night was amazing!” Breck shouts.
Ready to impale him with my keys, I spin around, finding him trying not to double over from laughter, probably from the horrified expression on my face.
Nathan covers his mouth, coughing to hide his own laughter.
Shooting Breck a look of promised death, I lengthen my spine, attempting to gracefully walk towards where I parked my car last night. The last few times with Breck play like shots of ecstasy and agony. He’s still insufferable, like this morning, but it’s different. He’s different. His actions are playful instead of angry like before. Something else that’s drastically different slams into me with such force, I nearly stumble. I may have been falsely registered as one of Breck’s sexual conquests, but I’ve just been anointed as the only one who has ever been privileged enough to have been acquisitioned in his home, the first one to be publically escorted to the door. That bit of honor lessens the pain of humiliation of my now damaged reputation. The thought of actually becoming his next conquest sends chills up my spine and heat pulsating between my thighs. I mean, they already think we’ve done the dirty deed, so it wouldn’t change what they think of me, which shouldn’t even matter, but it does. Another thing that matters is that Breck would change how he thinks of me. That sobering fact flushes the carnal thought from my brain. If he has me, we’re done, and I’m nowhere near done not with him yet.
“You stayed the
night with him?” Jess’ shrill screech pierces my ears.
“Yes,” I hiss, sinking in my chair, “but it wasn’t like
that
.”
“Exactly what was it like then, Em?” Jess interrogates, “and you better spill every last detail or I’ll torture it out of you.”
“We fell asleep watching movies,” I explain, the words sounding ridiculously unbelievable to me even though I know the truth; I was there.
“Em, if anyone other than you used that excuse, I would call them a damn liar.”
“Gee, thanks for not questioning my honesty while simultaneously insulting me,” I retort sarcastically.
“I have to tell Gavin about this! If he finds out that Breck actually just
slept
with a girl, Breck will never live it down.”
“Don’t, Jess, please. Things are going good between us lately; I don’t want him resorting back to his angry alter-ego.”
There’s a pause before Jess lets out a long breath, “You’re not falling for Breck are you? Because that would be a very bad idea.”
Braden walks by my cubicle, and I sink further into my chair.
Jess’ question nags at me. “No. Of course not. It’s just that, not being on the receiving end of his wrath is nice for a change.”
“Alright, good,” Jess sounds relieved.
The motives of her relief leave me confused, depressed, and a little jealous. That last feeling shames me the most.
They’re just friends
. I repeat that mantra in my head a few times along with the fact that she’s also my friend and she doesn’t want me to get hurt. I’m starting to believe that it’s too late for that. I’m already too far in with Breck; either way this goes, I’m going to end up hurt. The question is, which path will cause the least amount of suffering?
If I never act on the sensations rioting inside me whenever Breck is around, or when I even think of him, then my heart will slowly break while my body combusts into flames before burning into virginal ashes. On the flip side, if I give in and allow Breck to fulfill every fantasy I’ve ever had, and then some, my body will still burst into flames, but it will be my heart that simmers to nothing.
That saying ‘you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t’, is becoming synonymous with everything involving Breck. I don’t like the odds of ‘damned either way’. Closing my eyes, I rub my fingers against my forehead, “I have to go, Jess.”
“Come out with us this evening.”
“I have to get ready for the meeting with the gallery owner tomorrow.”
“Then you absolutely have to go,” Jess states, her mind made up, “it will distract you from your ridiculous self-demeaning worries.”
“You are just full on insults today aren’t you?” I tease.
“You love me, and you know it, which is why you’re going tonight. Meet us at Pylah’s at 8:00 p.m.”
“Fine, Jess. I’ll be there,” I relent, “but I have to go now.”
“Later, Chickie.”
Braden rests his arms against the top of the half wall cubicle as I hang up the phone. “Good to hear that you’re getting out some.” Giving me a friendly smile, he taps the wall before heading towards his desk.
The rest of the day goes by at an excruciating crawl until 4:00 p.m. decides to roll around. I take a long shower when I get home, well, as long as the warmish water holds out, since I only had time for a quick shower this morning after my proverbial walk of shame. Taking extra time to get ready, I decide on black leggings, a denim skirt, and a dark grey sweater while I braid my long bangs to the side and pull my hair into a ponytail.
Refusing to pull out my paintings to scrutinize them again, I grab my coat and slip into the hall that’s blessedly quiet at the moment. I realize why inside is silent as the cold wind whips around my body when I step outside, seeing my neighbor quickly pocketing a small plastic bag full of a white substance. The landlord is fully aware of the drug problem here, so are the cops. I’ve seen patrol cars drive by several times, but the dealers have their ways of staying under the radar.
Ducking my head, I pass my neighbor on my way to the car but not before catching how his usually pale skin is ashen, almost ghastly. Whispering a quick prayer for him, I slip into my car, wishing I could do something to help him and his girlfriend, but I don’t even know their names. The heat in my car has just gotten warm when I arrive at the new club I’ve heard the girls at work talking about.
Jess waves, unwrapping her arm from Jason’s to meet me, “I’m glad I didn’t have to go to your apartment and drag your ass down here. C’mon, Jason’s been waiting in line for an hour, saving us a spot.
I feel bad taking a spot next to her when I’ve just arrived and others have been there longer. “Don’t I have to go to the back?”
“Em, stop being so polite!” Jess chastises, “think of it like being at the movies and saving a seat. I would never survive living where you grew up. All those damn irritating southern manners would drive me insane.”
I let the third insult of the day go without calling her on it; I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. Twenty more minutes and we’re inside, sitting at a high top table in the back of the crowded club. It’s better lit than the Dark Hole, but the lighting is still low, shining in different soft shades giving that mysterious romantic vibe.
Gavin nods at us as he slowly makes his way through the crowd, stopping to bump fists with a few guys and to wrap his arm around several girl’s shoulders and waists, kissing a few of their cheeks, before making it to the table.
“How did you get inside so quickly?” I ask, knowing he wasn’t in the line when I arrived.
“Professional courtesy.” He gives me a wink, “Besides, I beat the shit out of one of the bouncers once at the Dark Hole. We’ve been friends ever since.”
“I will never understand men,” I laugh.
“If you want me to show you any of our inside secrets, I’m happy to oblige, sweetheart,” Gavin flashes a teasing smile, “I’d give you the full service, head to toe treatment.” Gavin’s British accent makes him sound sophisticated even when he’s being wildly inappropriate.
“Between you and Breck, you’re going to send our chaste friend here running for the hills,” Jason laughs.
“How ‘bout being a gentleman and go get us some drinks,” Jess pushes Jason to his feet. “I know better than to call you a gentleman, Gavin; it would be such a lost cause on you, but you can help with the drinks.”
“What do you want?” Jason asks Jess, his voice a little on edge.