The Singles (34 page)

I got off the couch, a small smile playing at my lips as I walked in the direction of the hallway. “I’ll use mine this time, but thanks.” Peeking over my shoulder to examine the meaningful look she cast my way, I added, “I promise I’m going to call. I just don’t want whatever software you have on your phone recording my conversation.”

“I’m really not
that
bad!” she yelled behind me.

Shutting the door to my bedroom, I grabbed my iPhone off the charger. I hovered my fingers over the screen, but when I saw I already had a new text from Oliver, I eased down on my bed, releasing a heavy breath.

The Heritage ballroom. 10 PM tonight?

Dragging my gaze to the top of the screen, I saw it was already close to nine-thirty. I knew I looked like hell. The past few days had taken a toll not only on my mental state but also my appearance.

But I had to see him.

Rushing into my closet, I messaged him back, electricity rushing through my fingertips with each stroke.

I’ll be there.

*

T
hanks to a helpful distraction on Pen’s part, I managed to avoid the few reporters who’d been camped out in my apartment lobby hoping to get a statement from me.

Fifteen minutes after ten, I rolled into the Heritage parking lot and left my Mini Cooper beside Oliver’s Viper at the ballroom entrance. Dropping my keys in my purse, I smoothed my palms over the plain wrap dress I’d thrown on in a hurry before heading into the glassed-in venue.

The site of Margaret’s Halloween charity event was completely silent, but I quickly figured out where to find him. The door leading to the balcony was wide open, and my heart skipped a beat because I knew that just up those stairs—in the area where we’d once danced—stood Oliver. Waiting for me. Waves of fear crashed heavily through me, but I made it to the top of the staircase, squeezing the doorknob with all my might.

What if he asked me here only to confirm what I’d pessimistically convinced myself of?

But what if I didn’t go in at all? Could I really live with not knowing?

I turned the knob and stepped quietly inside.

Just like the first night I came up here, he was leaned against the balcony, staring down into the quietness. He was dressed simply, in jeans, his Redwing boots, and a black tee that hugged his biceps. I decided then and there that even if this were the last time we spoke, I’d remember the way he looked. The way he smelled.

The way he made me feel.

Settling my brown eyes on the bandage wrapped around his upper arm, I pressed my hand to my chest.  “I’m sorry you got hurt,” I whispered.

He whirled around to look at me, his face an avalanche of emotion that turned the slight pull in my ribcage into a harsh tug. Why did he have to look at me like that?

“Me?” He asked incredulously, his blue eyes narrowed. “Gemma, I’m
fine
.”

“You shouldn’t have come,” I said, but he strode over to me, framing my face with his large hands, bringing our mouths closer. “You should have—”

“Stayed away?” he countered, his warm breath spreading over my skin. When I nodded, he let out a choked noise. “Hell no, Gemma. I should’ve been there earlier.”

His harshly spoken whisper made me dizzy all over. Parting my lips to speak, he slanted his mouth over mine. His movements were cautious, drawing me into him with a gentleness that made me feel like I was breaking.

In a way though, I was.

I was breaking for him.

Drawing away, he rested his forehead to mine, locks of his light brown hair blending with my own. “I would’ve came to you, but I wasn’t sure—” He squeezed his eyes together, fighting for control. “I wanted to give you the choice to see me. I didn’t want to force you.”

For the first time in days, my world was turned upside down for all the right reasons. His mouth covered mine again—this time more demanding—and I was barely aware we were moving until I felt the soft cushion of the balcony’s loveseat against my back.

I broke this kiss, leaning away from him to catch my breath. “Linc told me you gave them your statement,” I said tentatively, and he nodded. “And that you had Easton set up cameras in Margaret’s office. You’re the reason why her confession about my dad was recorded.”

Pulling my hands in his, he kept his face an emotionless mask. “I was pissed at you for lying to me, Gemma,” he started, sending a delicious tingle down my spine at the way he said my name. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to him calling me that. “But I needed to know if you were right. After the night I confronted you, I had Easton go in and set everything up.”

“Thank you.” I realized I was crying again, my tears spilling onto the back of both our hands. “Thank you for what you did for me.”

Our eyes drinking each other in, we allowed the silence to float between us for a long time before his forehead creased into a frown. “I know about Finley and Greg.”

Dipping my head in shame, I looked down at my lap. He untangled our fingers and forced my stare back up. “And I’ve spoken to Mason” he said.

At the mention of my brother’s name, I slumped forward, hugging my arms around myself. “He hates me, doesn’t he? I broke up his family and he hates me.” I’d felt that loathing before—for Margaret—and it sickened me to know that the boy I’d only met a couple times might feel the same way about me.

But then Oliver pulled me close to him, turning my face into the soft fabric of his shirt. “He’s confused and he’s angry, but he doesn’t hate you. He wants to meet you.” My lips parted in a silent “Oh,” and he added, “His grandmother has him for now, but who knows how long that’s going to last. Apparently, she cut out after Finley gave birth to him and she might go again.”

I digested each of his words slowly, letting the harsh reality of the hand Mason Scott had been dealt seep into my skin. “I’ll always be there for him,” I murmured against Oliver’s chest. “And I want to meet him too.”

“Good.” I didn’t miss the relief in his voice, or the worry marring his bronzed features when he pushed me away and turned my attention back up to his face. “I love you, Gemma.”

It was so sudden, so unexpected, I just gaped at him, blinking for several seconds. “You ... love me?”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s only been a couple months or if you were Lizzie most of that time, I. Love.
You
. I’ve known it since before I figured out who you were.”

“But I lied to you.”

“And my mother lied to you. You did what you had to do to fix things, and I’m doing what I need to do to fix them.”

By telling me he loved me. When I lowered my face down to my hands again, I felt him stiffen beside me, but his next words sounded reassuring. “Gemma, you don’t have to say—”

Reaching between us, I covered his mouth with the tips of my fingers. “My life has been nothing but chaos the past few days. Over the last several weeks, I went from being Gemma Emerson the escort, to Lizzie Connelly the assistant, to Gemma the heiress.” I took a deep breath, fisting my free hand into my dress. “And through it all I haven’t been able to stay away from you. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind. I can barely breathe without thinking about you.”

He closed his fingers around my wrist and slid my hand up to kiss the heel of my palm. “This is a first for me.”

“Falling?” I whispered.

“Yes, falling. Wanting to be with someone so much it ripped my heart out through my throat. It’s—”

When he struggled for the word, I looked over at him, my brown eyes stinging from the tears. “Beautiful. It’s beautiful, and I love you too.”

His broad shoulders relaxed and a soft smile lingered at the corners of his mouth. Brushing his knuckles over my face to wipe away the tears, he asked, “Where do we go from here?” At my silence, he added, “Where do
you
go from here?”

I let out a throaty laugh. God, I wished I knew the answer to that. “I honestly don’t know. I thought I’d go back to Las Vegas. My
home
, but—”

He made a sound of disapproval. “Don’t. Come home with
me
.”

*

W
hen we walked through the door of his hacienda-style home in Malibu an hour later, every time we pulled away from each other to rip off another article of clothing, I saw the place with brand new eyes.

I wanted this to be my home.

I wanted to forget every awful thing that had brought me here.

I wanted to move forward, to forgive.

But first, I wanted Oliver.

As he pinned me to his king size bed, his muscled body flexing over mine, a soft sigh drifted past my parted lips. “Please don’t stop,” I moaned. He grazed my nipple with his tongue, and I lifted my hips against him. “Please don’t.”

Make me forget—at least for a little while.

“More?” he rasped against my damp flesh.

I lifted my head a little, taking in the sight of his mouth touching my breast, and nodded feverishly. Without a doubt, I wanted more.

Relinquishing his grip on my wrists, he pushed himself up so that our tongues met. I draped my arms over his shoulders. Threaded my fingers through his light brown hair while our tongues and bodies and hearts met.

“I want to make love to you, Gemma.”

Once again, that word—my
name
—coursed a tremor through my body.
Love.
When I came to Los Angeles, I’d never imagined my road would end with that word being spoken to me.

“Say it again,” I whispered into the darkness as he nudged his erection between my legs, testing the wetness he found there. He slid the head of his cock into my body, and I cried out. “One more time.”

“Which part?” he teased.

I let out a cry of pleasure as he pushed himself completely inside me, clenching my sex around him. “Love,” I moaned.

“I’m going to make love to you,” he repeated, a grin tugging his lips just before he lowered his head to kiss me again.

Racing my hands through his hair, I pulled his head back and his dark brows furrowed together. “And my name, Oliver. Say that again too.”

“Gemma.” He opened my legs a little wider and splayed his palms on my thighs. “
Gemma
.”

Lowering my lashes, I curved my body to his, letting the mesmerizing softness of his husky voice creep across my skin over and over. We moved together, crashing and drowning.

When the orgasm hit me, drawing a harsh gasp from my throat, he flipped us over so that I was on top of him. With his fingers feathering my cheeks, imprinting into my skin, we let go together, our bodies trembling.

As we lay next to each other in the darkness, he traced one fingertip around my belly button, moving it in lazy circles that brought a smile to my lips.

I had no clue what would happen tomorrow—or the next day—but I knew that the one thing I’d unsuccessfully tried to avoid had become the thing that would keep me grounded.

That would keep me
home
.

“Tomorrow, I’ll think about what to do next,” I finally said.

“Do you want me, Gemma?” At his question, I turned my head to look at him, vividly remembering when he’d asked me a similar question before.

“Yes, I want you.”

“And I love you,” he said.

“Yes, there’s that too.”

Supporting himself on his elbow, he brushed stray locks of my hair from my damp forehead. “Good.” His blue eyes penetrated mine. “That’s all I needed to know.”

-The End of
Uncovered
-

I
want to say a big thank you to my incredible Wicked Mafia crew—Kristen Proby and Michelle Valentine. I’m blessed to have such amazingly talented friends, and I love you guys!

To my “Your Toxic Sequel Support Group” on Facebook, thank you ladies so much for making me smile on a daily basis and supporting my books.

Thank you to my INCREDIBLE beta readers: my sister, Holly Malgieri, Christine Estevez, Stacey Mosteller, and Stacy Kestwick. Another huge thanks to Jenny Sims with Editing4Indies for her sharp eye and amazing patience!

To Letitia Hasser, my cover designer ... your artwork rocks my world, woman. You are one talented lady!

To all my amazing author friends—you guys kick ass. I’m so blessed to be a part of such a great, caring community. Lots of love to you all.

To the bloggers in the romance community—THANK YOU! Your support and love for my books mean so much to me. I appreciate you all more than you could ever imagine. Thank you for taking such good care of me and all the other indie authors.

And to you—thank you so for being so amazing. Your enthusiasm and support for my books amaze me on a daily basis, and I feel so blessed to have you. Thank you for all the emails, reviews, and Facebook messages!

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A Novel By

––––––––

EMILY SNOW

Copyright © 2013 by Emily Snow Books

A
ll Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the publisher in writing.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.