Nix
I can't stand it anymore. I'm going to go check on Emily.
This week I've tried my damnedest to distance myself from her and I've done a good job of it. But I'm not liking it. And just like everything else in this world, that pisses me off.
I don't like having this unnatural attraction to her. And trust me, it's unnatural for Nix Caldwell to have any sort of passing interest in a female other than trying to get in her pants.
But I'm going to say it, and I'm going to kick myself for saying it. Emily is different.
She is.
I find her utterly fascinating and for a variety of reasons. First, she's apparently done a complete overhaul of her persona and character, because she deemed herself to not be a very nice person not all that long ago. I don't think many people ever go through life having that sort of epiphany and I'm strangely attracted to that.
Second, she is fierce. She's stood up to me, she's stood up to her parents, she's stood up to a guy that was probably intent on raping her, and she stood up to her psycho, stalker ex-boyfriend. She's tough as nails and I like that a lot.
Third, and most importantly, she seems to get me. I don't know the how's or the why's, but I have watched her handle me like a pro. She has found some secret to unlocking my defenses, yet she knows exactly when I've had enough. That, in and of itself, makes me start to trust her just a tiny, tiny bit. I feel like I could open up to her, but when I've had enough, she will back off. My dad is really good at that, too. Linc, not so much, but he's just being a pestering younger brother half the time, so I'll cut him some slack.
I wash my hands in the shop sink and dry them off. I have a ton of other stuff to do, but like I said...I can't stand it anymore and so I'm lifting my self-imposed Emily Exile.
As soon as I enter the house, I hear her singing. And while I've recently come to admire many of Emily's qualities...let's just say singing will never be one of them. I smile to myself as I picture her with earbuds in her ears, bopping to some tune that only she can hear.
As I walk into the living room, I'm momentarily stunned to find she's not singing to any music.
Nope. No earbuds in her ears.
She's just belting out a song on her own. No wonder why she's not in tune.
I have to almost bite into my tongue not to laugh out loud at her. She's singing the theme song from
True Blood,
and trying to replicate the low, low, baritone of Jace Everett. She's perched on the top rung of the ladder I left out for her. She's got a paintbrush in her right hand and she's balancing herself with her left hand on the ceiling. She's shaking her ass to the song she's singing...badly...
When you came in the air went out.
And every shadow filled up with doubt.
I don't know who you think you are,
But before the night is through,
I wanna do bad things with you.
I watch mesmerized as she belts at the top of her lungs, her gorgeous hips gyrating back and forth. Surprisingly, her paint line is super straight. She's clearly a multi-tasker.
And while her tune is off and she doesn't carry Louisiana hillbilly off very well, the words to the song and just imagining she is singing those words to me sends a wave of hot longing straight below my belt. I walk quietly up behind her and stand at the base of the ladder, looking up.
I don't know what you've done to me,
But I know this much is true.
I wanna do bad things with you.
I wanna do real bad things with you.
I clear my throat. "Who do you want to do bad things with?"
Emily shrieks and turns around so fast, her flip flop gets stuck in the ladder rung and she pitches sideways. The brush flips out of her hand and hits me on the side of my face with a wet slap, before grazing down my neck and bouncing off my shoulder. I reach out instinctively as she falls and she slams into my chest.
I had a brief moment of panic—just a mere second—when she started to fall. Then when I caught her in my arms, panic turned into something hot and carnal.
She comes to rest perfectly with her chest mashed to mine, her arms draped over my shoulders. We came perilously close to banging heads, but I don't even consider that. Instead, I consider the fact that I can feel her heartbeat slamming from her chest into mine...and the fact that her lips are mere inches away.
My arms wrap tight around her waist and although propriety would dictate I should lower her immediately to the floor, I say to myself,
Fuck Propriety!
I'm staring straight into her eyes and they are warm and languid. I lower my gaze and her lips are slightly parted, and one soft pant comes out. Her legs are hanging down against my crotch and I know she can feel the erection I started sporting the minute I really paid attention to her lyrics.
Neither one of us moves, and I am just considering if I should kiss her or let her slide down, when she does the unbelievable and lowers her mouth to mine.
I didn't expect it. I had no clue Emily even felt the slightest attraction to me. But the minute her lips feather over mine, I know without a doubt she was singing those lyrics with me in mind.
I want to see how far she takes this, because this is new territory for me. If a woman laid her mouth against mine, with the same look that Emily is giving me right now, she'd be in my bed for the rest of the night. But I don't want to make that assumption about her.
I want it to be true, but I don't want to assume.
Emily pushes a little harder against my mouth and I let my lips part. I have blood rushing to my head, and more blood rushing to my other head.
When she slips her tongue into my mouth, it's all over for me. With one hand firmly around her waist to hold her body against mine, I bring the other one up to grab her hair. I fist a good chuck of it right near the nape of her neck and tilt her head to the side with a slight tug. It opens her mouth further and I plunge back.
The contact is explosive. I groan at the same time she lets out a feminine whimper. Her arms curve all the way around the back of my head and she grips my hair.
Really hard.
Then she uses her arms for leverage to pull her body up, wrapping her legs around my waist, crossing her feet behind my back. She slides down a little and it puts her softness in direct, molten contact with my hardness. I flip our bodies around and push her up against the freshly painted wall. I can feel the wetness against my arms that are probably crushing her right now.
The kiss becomes deeper, hotter, wetter. It goes on for an eternity, yet not long enough. I flex my hips against her, pushing her back into the wall. She rubs herself against me and although she doesn't break the kiss, she somehow manages to push the words, "Oh God" into my mouth.
When I woke up this morning, I never thought in a million years that I would be on the verge of pulling Emily's pants down in the middle of my newly painted living room with the idea in mind of plunging mindlessly into her.
Over and over again.
And now that I'm on the verge of doing that, a small kernel of doubt starts to take hold.
I'm holding Emily Burnham in my arms. Congressman Alex Burnham's daughter is molded to my erection. Insanely wealthy and formerly bratty Emily is rubbing herself all over me.
And while it feels so right...so very, very right, I'm aware that too much of this could be wrong. I'm sure Emily has some wealthy, educated stud in her future that she will marry and with which she will have two point three little, rich babies. I don't have anything in my future except offering her an orgasm...or two...or three.
For tonight.
Because let's face it...I don't do relationships and Emily is built for them. She's too sweet not to be.
I'm too rotten.
My thoughts sound rational but do absolutely nothing to cool the raging lust I'm feeling, so it is with great difficulty I make myself tear my lips from hers and I drop her like a sack of hot potatoes. Luckily, the wall is there to support her because I immediately take one step backward to get some distance. Emily puts her arms back against the wall for support, before sagging completely against it. She's going to be covered in paint when she walks out of here.
Both of us are standing there, our chests heaving with desire and need. We are staring wide-eyed at one another...disbelief on her face...resolve on mine.
"This can't happen, Emily."
The disbelief on her face pours through into her voice. "Why?"
Why indeed?
All of those reasons that were sparking through my brain are lost. I know I had sound logic not just ten seconds ago, but I can't grasp it right now.
"Because...we're not...compatible."
She stuns me when she laughs, genuine delight showing in her eyes. "Oh, we're compatible. Your working parts and mine were in perfect alignment just a few seconds ago."
Damn, that is hot!
She's clearly saying that wasn't just a kiss. She's saying she was imagining those multiple orgasms just the way I was. I almost lunge at her to pull her back in my arms, but I have a shocking moment of clarity.
I shake my head at her. "Our parts are definitely compatible, Em. But that's all it would be. It would never be anything but a fuck."
I expect those words to hurt her...to enrage her...to make her realize that Nix Caldwell is the world's biggest asshole. I hope those words cause her to go running from my house in tears.
Instead, she says, "So?"
Well, shit. I'm kind of incensed—on her behalf—since she's clearly not smart enough to be. "So? Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She looks at me like I'm a dumbass. "Yes," she drawls. "You're saying this would just be casual. No-strings sex."
Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Why does she sound so damned okay with that concept? This is sweet, Emily Burnham here. The one that wears buttercup, yellow dresses and sleeps with my dog's foot pressed against her nose.
I don't buy it for a second. "Come on, Emily. You're not a casual sex type of person."
Her eyes flare at me hotly. "What makes you think I'm not? I can do casual sex. If I want, I can do lots of casual sex. And it doesn't even have to be with you."
Shit. I've offended her big time and her comment about implying she can do casual sex with other men pisses me off. But I don't backpedal. I'm determined to talk her out of her foolishness. "Get real. You are flowers and romance. I'm down and dirty."
The hot look in her eyes goes nuclear, and my heart skips a beat with wariness. She bends down and picks up the wet, paintbrush off the floor and takes a step toward me. She slaps it against my chest and I feel little paint splatters against my neck. My hands reach up automatically to grab the brush as she releases it. "You don't know shit about me, Caldwell. I'm done for the day. Clean up your own crap and I'll see you on Monday."
She stomps around me and leaves the living room. Just before she walks out of sight, she turns around and looks at me. Her voice isn't quite as frosty when she says, "You know, Nix. I've made it my mission the last few years to experience as many new things as I can. I bet I can get just as down and dirty as you can. Maybe even more so."
With that, she practically flounces into my kitchen and out of my sight. I hear the back door slam and seconds later, her car pulling out of my driveway.
Fuck. That went well.
I know her last words are going to haunt me for days. And there's not a doubt in my mind her words were calculated on her part to do just that. I've just added deviousness to Emily's list of attributes I'm beginning to admire. Just imagining Emily getting down and dirty with me is going to ensure I stay immersed in a cold shower for the foreseeable future.
Emily
My cab pulls into the front of Le Bernardin about ten minutes early but I know my parents will already be here. They habitually arrive early to everything, just as I do. I pay the cabbie and step out of the car. It's been awhile since I've dressed up, as there's not much of a need living the life of a college student.
I smooth down the front of my cream colored, Valentino dress. It's one of my favorites. It's perfectly tailored to fit my curves and stops just above my knee. It's sleeveless and has a mandarin collar. A lightweight black jacket and black peep toe pumps complete the look. It's nice to play dress up every now and then, but these clothes represent such a small part of my life now.
I'm finding myself more partial to paint covered cargo pants than anything.
But just that thought makes me fume over Nix’s misplaced sense of decorum. How dare he even place a label on me? I had just spent two years digging myself out of a category, and he was pushing me right back into one.
Bastard.
Maybe I should just show up Monday to work and drop my clothing on the floor and see what he does. I'll show him down and dirty.
I walk into Le Bernardin and scan the bar. My parents are sharing a table and have drinks in front of them. I approach them with nothing less than dread in my stomach. The main topic of our conversation I'm sure will center on my degree and how wrong it is for the family.
My heart hurts a bit that I can't have the type of parents that would be ecstatic just to come and have some quality time with their daughter. As I approach their table, they both look up at me. My father's smile is warm but he stays seated. My mother rakes her scrutiny down my body, taking in my appearance. Approval of my dress is the only thing reflected on her face. What I wouldn't give for both of them to jump up, yell out to everyone in the restaurant, "Emily, we've missed you."
But to be fair, it's not like I'm running to them either. In fact, I feel like my pace is slowing, such is my aversion to this meeting.
When I reach the table, my father stands and gives me a hug. He pulls a chair out for me and I lean over and kiss my mother's cheek before I sit down.
"You look very nice, Emily," my mother comments.
It's a compliment and I greedily soak it in. "Thank you. You both look wonderful as well. What are you doing in New York?"
"Just a few fundraisers. We're staying with Reynolds and Libby Fischer," my father supplies.
My father is a very handsome man. His dark hair has gray at the temples and his brown eyes are welcoming to me. It’s a stark contrast to my mother's lovely, Nordic features.
A waiter approaches and asks what I'd like to drink. I ask for some iced water, as my mouth has been dry as hell since I left my apartment. I'm sure it has nothing to do with nerves.
"So, how is school going?" my dad inquires.
My eyebrows rise slightly. I'm not sure if he's baiting me or not, but I cautiously answer.
"It's going great. I really love all of my classes." And then I decide I better break the ice. "I really love Economics of Sports. It's so fascinating and I was lucky to be able to get into it this semester."
I hear my mother make a weird sound in her throat and I see her hands are clenched on the table. My father surprises me when he says, "That's wonderful, Em. I'm glad to see you enjoying your studies."
I suppose my mother couldn't stand this farce any longer. She reaches over and lays her hand over my father's. "Now Alex, don't encourage her."
"Well, why not," my father booms. "That class sounds really interesting."
I'm sort of enjoying this. I can tell my father has no clue that he's talking about a class that directly supports my forbidden major of Journalism. For even if he truly doesn't care what I major in, he would never intentionally say something to upset my mother. One of the reasons he's an awesome politician is because of his ability to keep the peace.
"Alex," my mother warns, in temperatures that range from frigid to downright arctic. "We discussed this."
And then my father shocks the hell out of me. "No, Celia. I believe you discussed this. I didn't seem to have much of a say-so." He then turns to me. "I'm proud of you kiddo. You pursue your dreams as best you see fit."
I stare at my father dumbfounded. He has never, ever, gone against my mother. In fairness, he's usually gone most of the time so governance of their children usually fell to her. My mother gasps over his comment and stares at him as if she's planning which form of murder will be less likely to be traced to her.
"Alex," she says and I didn't think her words could get any colder. "A journalism degree is not the absolute best choice for your campaign."
My father takes a sip of his drink and says, "Screw the campaign, Celia. Stop trying to control everything. It's not like she's learning how to be a stripper."
I can't help myself but I actually snort out loud. My mother glares at me, and then glares again at my father. My father shoots a wink over at me and I give him a toothy grin.
"Well fine," my mother huffs. "I'm just trying to do the best possible job that I can to help you achieve your goals."
Leaning over to kiss my mother on her temple, my dad smoothes her ruffled feathers. "And you do a marvelous job, darling. I wouldn't be what I am today without you."
Awww. That's so sweet. I’m delighted to see the tension leave my mother's shoulders and she gives him a fond smile. Maybe this dinner won't be so bad after all.
"Hello, Congressman Burnham...Mrs. Burnham..."
I turn in my chair at the voice that just spoke out from behind me and realize that this dinner was about to get very bad.
"Todd!" my father says in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
Indeed! What the hell is he doing here?
My mother stands up and gives Todd a warm hug. It pisses me off because clearly, I didn't rate one. "I invited Todd to join us tonight. Isn't that nice?"
Todd looks down at me with a sly, smile on his face. I can see he's happy to have trapped me here in his presence. I can see him mentally patting himself on the back.
"Emily. You look beautiful," Todd says as he leans down to give me a kiss on my cheek. I'm beyond furious that he thinks he can get away with this. I push my chair back abruptly to avoid his kiss and stand up. Todd actually has to jump back a foot so the chair doesn't ram into him.
I look at my mother. "I told you, Mother, that Todd and I are not dating, nor will we be in the future. I will not be having dinner tonight if he's here."
"Emily," my mother hisses at me. "That is completely rude. Todd is our guest and you will not embarrass our family further."
I close my eyes and try to garner as much strength as I can. Opening them back up, I look to my father first. He's looking at me with worry. Glancing at my mother, she's completely affronted. Todd is merely smirking, convinced that I'm going to bow to my mother's declaration.
I muster as much calm and gentility as I can. "Mother...I told you this summer that things ended badly between me and Todd. I don't understand why you can't accept that and stop pushing us together."
"Don't be silly, Emily. Everyone has problems with their relationships. You just need to sit down and talk things through."
God help me, but I've never wanted to throttle my mother before but I was on the verge now. "No, Mother. Some problems can't be talked through."
My mother completely ignores me. She leans toward my father and says, "Honestly, Alex. Emily can be so dramatic sometimes." She slaps his arm playfully. "I think she gets that from you."
Then my mother actually giggles over that remark.
I, on the other hand, feel like the top of my head is going to blow off. I have no control over my next words. "Mother, would it make you feel any different if I told you that Todd was physically violent toward me? He slammed me into the wall in my bedroom so hard that a painting fell off. How's that for dramatic?"
The patronizing smile slides off her face and my mother's lips press severely together. "That's a very serious accusation."
Deep down, I knew my mother wouldn't believe me. Not necessarily because she thinks I'm dishonest, but because it would ruin all of her plans of matching me with Todd Fulgram and his father's huge war chest. She wants it to be false, therefore, she will do anything in her power to make it false. It still hurts like hell that she doesn't immediately jump up and shove Todd out of the restaurant.
"It's not an accusation, Mother," I say on a heavy sigh, and the full truth of how I feel comes pouring out. "It's a fact. And honestly...I’m a bit heartbroken that my own mother cannot even take my side. You’ve managed to alienate your son, now you’re doing it with your daughter. You need to wake up, Mother, and get your priorities in line. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to leave."
I turn around and walk out the door. Tears start pooling and I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes to dash them away. They immediately fill back up again.
Just as I step out onto the sidewalk, I feel someone grab my arm. I wheel around, thinking it's Todd, but it's my father. His eyes are filled with heartache and I know immediately that he believes me.
He holds his arms open and I walk into them, tears now pouring down my face. "I'm sorry, honey. I wish you would have told us."
"Why?" I mumble into his chest. "Mother doesn't believe me."
He kisses me on top of my head and pushes me back just a little so I can look at him. "Your mom tends to get too deeply involved in appearances. It's something she has to work on and it’s something I will talk to her about. But don't ever forget, she's your mother first. She'll always be that for you in the end."
His words sound nice but I’m having a hard time accepting them. Just the mere fact she couldn't even hug me but had a warm embrace waiting for Todd told me all I needed to know. That made the tears continue to fall.
My father frames my face with his hands and wipes away the wetness with his thumbs. "We both love you very much, and are proud of you. No matter what we say to you, or anyone else says to you, you go after
your
dreams. You don't let anyone stand in your way of what you want. Not even your parents. Okay?"
I nod my head and give him a shaky smile.
"How about we go get some dinner somewhere else...just the two of us?" my dad offers.
"That's okay, Dad. I think I'm just going to head home."
He's worried...I can tell by the look on his face. "Are you sure?"
I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. "I'm sure. We'll get together next time."
Then he wraps me in a big, bear hug and whispers in my ear. "I love you, Emily."
"I love you too, Dad."
Stepping back from me, my father rakes his hand through his hair. "I guess I need to go back in and threaten Todd if he ever looks at you again I'm going to kick his ass."
I start giggling. "That's awesome."
But then the repercussions of this whole Todd fiasco come crashing down on me. "But what about his father?"
"To hell with him. I don't need him to get elected. Not at the expense of my little girl." He reaches out and strokes my cheek.
"Thanks, Daddy," I whisper and then turn abruptly away to hail a cab before my tears start again.