I’ve just embraced how dangerous my guilt can be when a knock sounds on the door, followed by Seth calling out, “Shane.”
I yank the door open to find a woman in scrubs standing in front of me, Seth hovering behind her. “What is it?” I ask, bands of tension radiating up my spine as I wait for whatever this piece of news might be.
“Your wife’s out of testing,” she says, and just the inference that Emily’s alive delivers a small piece of relief. “We’ve set her up in one of your private rooms. The doctor would like to speak to you.”
“How is she?” I ask, stepping into the hallway and wanting some good news now, not later.
“I was told she’s still stable,” she says, “but I’m an aide. That’s all I know.” She gives an awkward gesture over her shoulder. “This way.”
She starts walking, and Seth and I fall into step with her, each at one of her shoulders. “How’s my brother?”
“He’s still in surgery,” she informs me.
“It’s been at least an hour,” I point out.
She directs us down a hallway to an elevator. “I really don’t know anything but what I’m told. I’m sorry.”
The elevator doors open and we step inside the car. Once there, the aide punches in the seventh floor, and the instant the ride begins, I flash back to the moment Derek flatlined in the ambulance; once again, I’m replaying the list of mistakes I’ve made, too long to even complete before we’ve finished the short ride. The doors part, and we follow the aide into a hallway, walking a long path that leads us to yet another hallway that leads to double doors. “This is your private suite,” she informs us, keying in a code. “One-eight-one-eight,” she says as the doors buzz open. “That will be your security code, which will remain intact until you depart.”
I take in the information, but I’m focused on one thing: Emily, who is on the other side of these doors, but I manage an agreeable nod and follow the aide inside. She pauses just past the entrance to wait on me. “I’ll leave you to the medical staff,” she says, stepping around me while Seth holds the door for her, but I’m already moving forward, eager for news on Emily. Desperate to see her and touch her, I round the corner to enter what equates to a giant suite, with a living area and kitchen to the right. But most important, to my left, there is a hospital room setup that includes a bed, and the sight of Emily on top of it, tubes in her mouth and arms, punches me in the chest.
Beside her bed, a tall man wearing blue scrubs, who I estimate to be in his forties, is speaking to the nurse I met in the lobby. Both seem to sense my presence at the same moment, ending their conversation to turn to me. “Mr. Brandon,” the man says, returning Emily’s chart to the side of the bed. “I’m Dr. Milbourn.”
“How is she?” I ask, walking toward her and him, only to have him do the same, placing himself between me and the bed, his tall, lanky body a wall between me and Emily that I want removed.
“She’s—”
“Stable,” I supply, anticipating what he’s about to say. “I keep hearing that. What does that mean?”
“Her scan shows swelling of the brain.”
“Swelling,” I repeat. “Of the brain. That doesn’t sound stable.”
“As dramatic as this sounds, in reality, all concussions are a swelling of the brain. The good news in this is that there’s no fluid to drain, at least not at this point.”
“Has she woken up?”
“No, she has not, and that isn’t a bad thing. She needs rest to heal, and that means we have to give her body the support it needs to make that happen. Which is why, thanks to the consent forms you signed, I was able to act quickly and place her in a medically induced coma.”
“Coma,” I repeat, angry. Afraid. “You put her in a fucking coma?” I lower my lashes a moment, tamping down on this wave of anger I didn’t invite and irritatingly can’t control. My hand lifts, and I look at him. “I’m sorry, Doctor. Please explain.”
“A medically induced coma allows us to slow her brain waves, which means the brain needs less energy to heal. And the sooner it heals, the less likely she’ll have long-term damage.”
“Long-term damage? Do we think—”
“No,” he says quickly. “I don’t anticipate long-term damage, but that’s experience and instinct speaking, not science. The brain is complex, and for all we know about it, we still know much less. I can’t promise you an outcome. I can, however, assure you that inducing a coma helps promote a good outcome.”
“And you can wake her up from this coma?”
“Yes. It’s essentially like having her under anesthesia.”
“And the risks in doing this are what?”
“Her blood pressure will be lowered, as will her heart rate, but we’ve placed a breathing tube and provided the necessary support to ensure she’s protected.”
“How long will she be like this?”
“I’d expect a week will do the job, but again, that comes from experience, not science. We’ll scan again in seventy-two hours. We can’t know how her body will react, but we should see improvements by then. For now, sit with her. Talk to her. We’re handling this.”
Sit. Talk. Wait. Things I’m not good at. Things that don’t allow me to fix anything. “And my brother?”
“I know his surgeon well and he’s one of the best, not just here, but in the country. Derek’s in good hands.”
“How long until we know the outcome?”
“I’ve seen these types of surgeries take two hours and I’ve seen them take eight. It just depends on what the doctor found when he got in there. The staff here in the private wing is in touch with that team. They’ll keep you posted on an hourly basis.”
I give a nod. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Hang in there, son.” He grabs my shoulder. “We’re going to take good care of both of them.” He releases me and walks away, but his nurse claims his spot, becoming yet another barrier between me and Emily. “A few instructions are necessary before I leave you alone.”
“I’m listening.”
“The door to the right of her bed is the entrance to the room where your brother will be after his surgery. We’ll update you on his condition every hour and long before he is brought there.” She glances at her watch. “I should have an update in another thirty minutes.” She lowers her arm and, seeming to understand that I’m not exactly in a chatty mood, moves on without waiting for a reply. “Both rooms have cameras and audio. We can see and hear the monitors from an adjoining booth, but there is also a remote control with a buzzer on the table by her bed. The refrigerator has snacks and the kitchen has coffee. And finally, as tempting as it will be to sit on the bed or hold her, don’t. We need to keep her completely still.”
“Understood,” I bite out, when all I want to do is exactly what she just said: hold Emily and never let her go again.
“Let me know if you need anything,” she adds, and once again she doesn’t wait for a reply. She steps around me, and her footsteps carry her toward the exit while my gaze lands on Emily. So pale. So unmoving. So lost to me. But her chest rises and falls, her monitor echoing with a steady beat. I want to go to her. I want to pull her into my arms. I want to fucking hold her and never let her go. But I don’t. Not yet. I need to be alone with her.
A buzzer sounds, and Seth and I both turn toward the entrance. While Seth walks to the door, I wait, holding my breath for news on Derek. Waiting for what feels like forever, but it is a mere thirty seconds before Seth reappears. “Your clothes,” he says, indicating a plastic bag in his hand. “You left them in the bathroom.” He crosses to the couch to the left of Emily’s bed and tosses the bag onto the coffee table. “The FBI will be handled, by the way. I’ve already called Nick to get him to call in favors to back this Dennis asshole the hell off.”
It’s important information. I should care. I don’t. “Leave, Seth,” I breathe out. “I need to be alone with Emily.”
With no discernible reaction, he simply says, “I’ll be close,” and heads for the door. No ruffled feathers. No politics. No pretense. That’s Seth, and if he was any other way right now, it wouldn’t end well. His footsteps sound on the floor, echoing like a drum, while my gaze lands on Emily, her face pale. Her brown hair a tangled mess. Her body still so damn unmoving. The doors open and shut, and then there is only the sound of the monitor, and my breathing, which is heavy, thick. I walk to the side of the bed, and my fingers curl into my palms, my need to grab her and kiss her almost too unbearable to contain. I inhale sharply and grab the rolling stool nearby and pull it to the bed, lowering the railing before pulling her cold, tiny hand into mine.
And suddenly I am back in time, remembering the first moment this woman touched my life. Back in the coffee shop of our building.
My order appears and I straighten, intending to claim my coffee and find a seat, when a pretty twentysomething brunette races forward in a puff of sweet, floral-scented perfume, and grabs my coffee.
“Miss,” I begin, “that’s—”
She takes a sip and grimaces. “What is this?” She turns to the counter and puts it down. “Excuse me!” she calls out. “My drink is wrong.”
“Because it’s not your drink,” Karen reprimands her, setting a new cup on the counter. “This is your drink.” She reaches for my cup and turns it around, pointing to the name scribbled on the side. “This one’s for Shane.” She glances at me. “I’ll be right back to fix this. I have another customer.”
I wave my acknowledgment and Karen hurries away, while my floral-scented coffee thief faces me, her porcelain cheeks flushed, her full, really damn distracting mouth painted pink. “I’m so sorry,” she offers quickly. “I thought I was the only one without my coffee, and I was in a hurry.” She starts to hand me my coffee and then quickly sets it back on the counter. “You can’t have that. I drank out of it.”
“I saw that,” I say, picking it up. “You grimaced with disgust after trying it.”
Her eyes, a pale blue that matches the short-sleeved silk blouse she’s wearing, go wide. “Oh. I mean no. Or I did, but not because it’s a bad cup of coffee. It’s just very strong.”
“It’s a triple-shot latte.”
“A triple,” she says, looking quite serious. “Did you know that in some third world countries, they bottle that stuff and sell it as a way to grow hair on your chest?” She lowers her voice and whispers, “That’s not a good look for me.”
“Fortunately,” I say in the midst of a chuckle I would have claimed wasn’t possible five minutes ago, “I don’t share that dilemma.” I lift my cup and add, “Cheers,” before taking a drink, the heavy, rich flavor sliding over my tongue.
She pales, looking exceedingly uncomfortable, before repeating, “I drank from that cup.”
“I know,” I say, offering it back to her. “Try another drink.”
She takes the cup and sets it on the counter. “I can’t drink that. And you can’t either.” She points to the hole on top, now smudged in pink. “My lipstick is all over it, and I really hate to tell you this, but it’s all over you too and…” She laughs, a soft, sexy sound, her hands settling on her slender but curvy hips, accented by a fitted black skirt. “Sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, but it’s not a good shade for you.”
I laugh now too, officially and impossibly charmed by this woman in spite of being in the middle of what feels like World War III. “Seems you know how to make a lasting impression.”
“Thankfully it’s not lasting,” she says. “It’ll wipe right off. And thank you for being such a good sport. I really am sorry again for all of this.”
“Apologize by getting it off me.”
Confusion puckers her brow. “What?”
“You put it on me.” I grab a napkin from the counter and offer it to her. “You get it off.”
“I put it on the cup,” she says, clearly recovering her quick wit. “You put it on you.”
“I assure you, that had I put it on me, we both would have enjoyed it much more than we are now.” I glance at the napkin. “Are you going to help me?”
Her cheeks flush and she hugs herself, her sudden shyness an intriguing contrast to her confident banter. “I’ll let you know if you don’t get it all.”
My apparently lipstick-stained lips curve at her quick wit, but I take the napkin and wipe my mouth, arching a questioning brow when I’m done. She points to the corner of my mouth. “A little more on the left.”
I hand her the napkin. “You do it.”
She inhales, as if for courage, but takes the napkin. “Fine,” she says, stepping closer, that wicked sweet scent of hers teasing my nostrils. Wasting no time, she reaches for my mouth, her body swaying in my direction while my hand itches to settle at her waist. I want this woman and I’m not letting her get away.
“There,” she says, her arm lowering.
Not about to let her escape, I capture her hand, holding it and the napkin between us.
Those gorgeous pale blue eyes of hers dart to mine, wide with surprise, the connection sparking an unmistakable charge between us, which I feel with an unexpected but not unwelcome jolt. “Thank you,” I say, softening the hard demand in my tone that long ago became natural.
I blink back to the present, with the certainty that I’d fallen in love with her right then, right at that moment. It had been the way she was nervous yet brave. Daring and yet shy. The combination of those things had hinted at the depth of her spirit, the beauty of her character that is so much deeper than the surface beauty, impossible to miss. I glance at the steadiness of the monitor, then at her lowered lashes, and I’d give anything to look into those blue eyes of hers now. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I whisper. “I should have gotten you out of here. I should have gotten us out of here.” I think of my promise to Derek to save the company, but he needs to survive and save it. He will. I won’t. “We’re going to leave,” I promise Emily. “We’re going to New York. And I’m going to make every second of every day count.”
And it won’t matter that Derek can’t handle Martina on his own. Martina will be dead.
The thought of killing Martina delivers not anger, not agitation, not pain. It delivers a sense of peace to me that I welcome. It also gives me a sense of control. A sense of direction and focus. I kiss Emily’s hand, then kiss her cheek. Then do both again, before I push to my feet and start to pace, plotting the many ways I could, can, and will destroy Martina. The gloves are off. The rules no longer apply. Time ticks by, and I alternate pacing with standing beside Emily, caressing her cheek, checking her monitors. The cycle starts and ends two times before I call the nurse for an update on Derek, which she doesn’t have. Another four cycles repeat, and the door to the room buzzes open.
In a rush of energy, Jessica is in the room, hurrying toward me, her newly extended long blonde hair a rumpled mess. “Shane,” she breathes out, the lines of her heart-shaped face strained with worry. “Where is she? How is she?” She stops dead in her tracks and stares at the bed. “Oh God.” Her hand goes to her head. “Oh God.”
I step to her side. “That’s how she is.”
“Oh God,” she says again. “I did this.”
“You were drugged.”
“Not that badly or I’d be in here like Cody. I was still functioning. I should have followed her to the bathroom when she was sick.”
“I should have protected her.”
At the sound of Emily’s bodyguard’s voice, I rotate to find Cody Rodriguez, moving toward us, obviously having entered with Jessica, and while he’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his broad shoulders are slumped, his dark complexion pale. “I did this,” he repeats, and he is suddenly on a knee.
“Cody!” Jessica shouts, rushing toward him. “You crazy man,” she hisses, settling on her jean-clad knee beside him. “You are supposed to be in a hospital bed.” She looks at me. “The kidnappers gave him enough of that drug to put down an elephant.”
I move to help him, kneeling to take his arm. “Why are you here?”
“She was my responsibility,” he says. “I’m her bodyguard.”
“You didn’t do this,” I say. “You need to get back to bed.”
“No,” he says, shoving to his feet while Jessica and I both follow him, holding on to his arms. “I’m staying with her,” he insists. “You don’t have to pay me.” He pulls away from Jessica and me and walks to the couch beside the bed, where he sits. “I’m staying.”
I close the space between us, towering over him. “You need to go get well, Cody.”
“I’ve been worse off than I am now,” he assures me, “and I still killed the other guy like I should have tonight.” His eyes lock with mine. “I’m your reminder.”
My brow furrows with the odd comment. “Reminder?”
“You haven’t punched me yet or kicked me out, which means you aren’t blaming me. You don’t own this, but you think you do. And believe me, man. I know how it feels to want to own it. I know that guilt.”
I don’t blink. I don’t react. He doesn’t know me and I don’t appreciate his attempt to get inside my head, but the very fact that he’s here, facing me in his condition when I could blame him, says he’s honorable. I’m not sure when this is over if I’ll ever be honorable again. I don’t feel apologetic for that fact, and I wonder if that’s how a person like Martina becomes a person like Martina. Whatever the case, knowing that could well be my path, it doesn’t change how much I want and need Emily, who is as pure as snow. Maybe the bad in me just made me selfish, because I have no desire to do right by her and leave her. I just want her. Now. Always. Without the fear of Martina or anyone from her past coming for her. They all have to go. Every last one of them.
“Shane Brandon,” Cody says softly, jolting me back to the present, and the moment I refocus on him, he adds, “whatever you think you want to do now, wait a month before you do it. A month gives you time to see it clearly, which you don’t right now, I promise you.”
I’m not sure if his moral compass is a good thing or a bad thing right about now, and I don’t get to make that decision in the moment. The buzzer on the door sounds, and I’ve instantly dismissed his far too insightful comment, adrenaline roaring through me with the anticipation of news I might not want. Turning toward the door, I find Seth entering the room, accompanied by a short, burly man in scrubs.
“I’m Dr. Ryland,” the man announces, offering me his hand, which I accept, noting the salt and pepper of his thick, neatly trimmed hair, which I hope speaks of experience. “I’m the surgeon who operated on your brother.”
Jessica quickly joins us. “How is he?”
“There was a lot of damage to his heart,” he says. “But it was also easy to locate and repair, thus why we’re already done.”
“Which means he’ll recover?” I ask cautiously, not yet ready to allow myself hope.
“The next few hours are critical,” he says.
“Critical,” I repeat. “Meaning he could die at any moment.”
“I won’t mince words,” the doctor says. “Yes. He could die at any time.”
Derek could die at any moment. I feel the doctor’s announcement like yet another blade cutting through my heart. “And if he makes it through tonight?” I ask. “Then he’s out of danger?”
“Really the next few days,” the doctor states. “I did my part, but now it’s up to his body to do the rest. I’ll be in the hospital all night. If he needs me, I’ll respond.” His phone buzzes, and he pulls it from his pocket to read a message and then glances at me. “He’s being rolled into the connecting room now. His wife is already in the room. And I apologize, but I need to respond to another patient in need. I’ll check in on him once he’s fully settled.” He turns to leave, and Seth’s brow furrows.
“Wife?” Jessica asks, clearly voicing what Seth and I are both thinking.
“Teresa,” I murmur, already turning and walking to the adjoining door, where the next Martina game awaits for me to end, like I plan to end Adrian.
I step into my brother’s room, a duplicate of Emily’s, and find an empty spot where his bed should be but has yet to arrive. At the entrance, a familiar dark-haired woman standing at the window with her back to the room rotates on a sob, confirming I was right in my assumption of her identity. The “wife” the doctor spoke of is indeed Martina’s sister, Teresa.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her face swollen from the overflow of tears. “I did this. I knew Ramon was a monster. I should have left sooner. I should have stayed away from Derek.”
“You can’t be here,” I say. “I can’t, and won’t, have your brother—”
“I forbid him to come here,” she says vehemently. “I told him I’d kill him if he came, and I will. I will kill him. He’s why any of this could happen. He is why it all happens. He killed my brother. Now. Now … now he might have killed—”
“No,” I say sharply. “Derek is not going to die.”
“Do you know something?” she asks hopefully. “Is he okay?”
“He’s not okay,” I say. “But he is out of surgery. He’ll be here any moment.”
“Please don’t make me leave. I love him,” she sobs. “I’m begging you.”
I’m thrust back to the memory of being in that ambulance, Derek pleading with me to tell her he loves her. “You can stay.”
It’s in that moment that a bed is rolled into the room. Seth steps to my side, and Teresa hovers on the other side of the room. In a matter of sixty seconds my brother is the centerpiece of the room, lying in the bed, a tube in his mouth.
“You need to call your parents,” Seth says.
“Not yet,” I say.
“Shane—”
“Not yet,” I bite out. “Not until he wakes up.”
And I refuse to believe he won’t.
“Shane—”
“When he wakes up,” I repeat, refusing to believe he won’t. Refusing to accept any outcome but him and Emily walking out of this hospital alive and well. And I don’t give Seth time to argue my decision as I step farther into my brother’s room to talk to the nurse. From there it’s like I’m back in the restaurant, in a tunnel. I watch and listen as she gives me and Teresa, his “wife,” instructions. When the nurse leaves, I don’t give Teresa time or consideration. I claim a seat next to my brother and I sit down. I talk to him as if he can hear me, when there is nothing to indicate that he can. And finally I stand and face Teresa, wordlessly sizing her up.
“I love him,” she repeats, her voice vibrating with emotion. “I’m not leaving without a fight.”
I believe her, just as I believe my brother loves her. And he needs a reason to live. Maybe that’s her, and for that reason, I can’t send her away. That doesn’t, however, mean I trust her. She’s a Martina who chose to live, work, and exist within the reach of the family business. I can’t dismiss that as the problem it represents or the loyalty to a criminal organization it suggests. It’s not even like my brother thought otherwise. He wanted to be part of the Martina operation. He accepted being with her as being part of her family. Ultimately that makes her the devil’s sister, but I accept her version of evil as tolerable for the moment.
I walk to the door, where Seth waits, or rather, stands guard. At my approach, he disappears into the next room, and I pause in the archway between the adjoining rooms, speaking to Teresa without turning to face her. “Leave the door open,” I order, and I don’t wait for an answer.
I enter Emily’s room, and I swear a knot of emotion forms in my chest with the familiar scent in the room that is her. Every part of me wants to turn to her, to go to her, but I know with absoluteness that if I look at her right now, some part of me will shatter, and I don’t know how and where those pieces will land. With Herculean effort, I instead hone in on Cody, who is now on the opposite side of the room, sprawled out on the couch in the living area, a gun on the coffee table beside him, his hand on it.
“Does his medical staff know he’s here?” I ask as Seth steps in front of me.
“I’ll make sure they do.”
“What can I do?” Jessica asks, joining us.
“Go home and rest,” I say, unwilling to answer the questions I know she’ll soon ask.
“I’m staying,” she says.
“You’re not staying,” I reply.
“Emily’s my friend. You’re my friend.”
“I’m your boss,” I amend. “Go home.”
“Shane—”
“You’re a smart woman, Jessica,” I say. “You know there are things going on here that don’t exactly smell good. And thus, you have to know you could be in one of these beds tonight. Don’t argue and don’t ask questions I’m not going to answer.”
“I can handle this,” she says. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
“I don’t want you to handle it,” I reply. “I want you to go home.”
Her expression tightens, that stubbornness I know in her brimming from her eyes. “People are going to ask me questions.”
“Send them to me,” Seth offers.
She looks like she wants to argue, but she manages a tight-lipped “fine” in reply. “I’ll leave. I’ll dodge and weave questions. For now. But I’m involved. I want answers, and I’ll be back early with a change of clothes for you, and for Emily, when she wakes up.” She turns and walks away, Seth on her heels, while my mind is on her reference to questions she might ask, on top of Seth’s reference to my parents. I need answers of my own. I fish my phone from my pocket and key in Martina’s number.
Martina’s line rings at the same moment the door slams shut with Jessica’s departure. He answers in one ring with, “I understand my sister is there.”
“Alive and well,” I say, “unlike my brother and my woman. How well is this situation contained?”
“Completely,” he states. “Derek and Emily had a car accident while being driven by a car service, and the driver will back that story up fully. Details are in a folder being delivered to your man Seth. Coincidentally, there was a break-in at my restaurant tonight that ended in tragedy.”
“What happened to the jealous lover story?”
“It places them at my restaurant.”
“And what’s going to hit the press?”
“The robbery,” he states. “The car accident is fully suppressed. When and how you tell people your situation is on you.”
I don’t ask how he’s coordinated this with medical and law enforcement involved. I end the call at the same moment Seth returns. “The press isn’t an issue,” I say, relaying the call details.
“I’ll look at the information he sends us and confirm we’re covered,” Seth replies when I’ve finished. “And if it checks out, you have some time with the stockholders, and your parents, but you don’t have a lot of time here, Shane.”
“We hired Nick and his team for a reason,” I say. “They need to make sure I have whatever time I decide I need. Including containing Agent Dennis.”
He gives me a several-second unreadable stare before he says, “I’ll handle it,” and then changes the subject. “What do you want to do about your unexpected visitor?”
Understanding his meaning, I glance at Cody, who still lies dead to the world on the living room couch—but that hand of his remains on his gun, ready to act. “Leave him,” I say. “He can sit with Teresa when he’s well.”
Cody sits up, swaying and a little green, to announce, “I’ll do it now” before standing up and, with remarkable speed, considering how drugged and violently ill he was only hours before, walks toward us and I watch as he continues on to my brother’s room.
“You don’t blame him, or Nick’s team, for Emily’s kidnapping,” Seth says.
“Blaming other people is an escape we give ourselves, which I don’t want, or need, right now.”
He narrows his eyes on me, looking beneath the surface of my answer, and while I have no idea what it is he finds, the slight darkening of his eyes tells me he doesn’t like it. But to his credit, and good sense, he leaves it alone. “I’ll get to work on our cover story, and should it check out, ensure everyone, Jessica included, is using it. Consider it done, unless you hear otherwise.” At my nod, he adds, “I’ll be in the building,” before he turns and starts walking toward the door.
I stand there, listening to his footsteps, inhaling the sweet, floral scent of Emily that not even blood and bullets has erased. She is sweetness. She is perfection. She is the light in the darkness that I can find nowhere else. The door opens and shuts, and finally I am alone with the woman I love, and every hole this night has created and every emotion it’s stirred have had time to settle into those now hollow places.
Inhaling again, I rotate, walking to the end of Emily’s hospital bed. My gaze lands on her face, that damn tube in her mouth. My eyes lower and I’m back in another memory:
I’m pulling my tie from my neck and standing before her panties ever hit the ground. “I’m going to tie you up, Emily,” I say, closing the small space between us to tower over her.
Her response is quick and unexpected. “On one condition,” she says.
“I’m listening,” I say, and suddenly, while waiting on her answer, I realize she might be without clothes, but I am naked in every other possible way. And I know then that I am fucked up tonight, both looking for her confession of fear and dreading it.
“When this is over, you will not question how or why it happened. This is my choice. You didn’t intimidate me into saying yes. You didn’t scare me. I chose to give you this control because I trust you. Because I am not afraid of you, and when you are like you are tonight, I still won’t be.” She offers me her hands.
Every nerve in my body is jumping. Every dark part of me is now on fire. Every emotion is a twisted knot that torments me with a demand that it be named. I won’t allow myself that kind of weakness, and the theme of this night returns: anger. Emily is the one pushing me to feel these things. She is the one pushing me to prove one thing: that I didn’t see what I saw in her eyes tonight.
I toss the tie away and drag her to me, tangling fingers in her hair again and cupping her backside. “Denial is destructive. You know that, right?”
“I do,” she says, her fingers on my chest. “I know, but do you?”
“Damn it, Emily,” I growl, my mouth coming down on hers, my tongue sliding past her lips, a band of tension wrapping around us, my need to bend her will, to force her to admit the truth, dominating, the way I want to dominate her. But she doesn’t let me dominate her.
Her kiss is as fierce as mine. Her tongue as demanding, while her soft little hand manages to slide under my shirt, which is somehow untucked, and scorch my skin. I deepen the kiss and squeeze her backside again, not sure who is pushing whom. Not finding the fear I’d sought or expected, and that drives me to want it, to want her, all the more. I raise my hand and give her a smack on the bottom just hard enough to get her attention.
She yelps and then pants into my mouth. “Was that supposed to scare me? Because it didn’t.” She pulls back and looks at me, no hesitation in her words or eyes. “In fact, it turns me on. Everything with you turns me on, Shane. Do it again.”
Possessiveness rises hard and fast, unfamiliar and intense. “Who spanked you before me?”
“Nothing matters before you,” she says, her fingers curling at my jawline. “Do it again. You want to. I feel it. I know it.”
“Holy fuck, woman. I was worried about scaring you.”
“You mean you were convinced I was already scared. I wasn’t and you can’t scare me, but you can piss me off like you did when Martina left. That wasn’t fear you saw in my eyes, Shane. That was anger. I was pissed. I still am.”
I don’t do us the injustice of pretending to be naive. “Because I didn’t want you to hear that meeting.”
“Yes,” she says. “And you know my past and all the secrets and lies. You know the lie I have to live to survive. Don’t give me more of the same.”
“I also know the reasons your family gave you to feel insecure. I don’t want you to feel that.”
“Secrets make me feel that.”
“It’s not about secrets. I was—”
“Don’t say ‘protecting me’ again. Don’t even say it. Even now you want to be the person you were in that elevator, and you won’t. Give me everything or nothing. I can’t do in-between. So you want to fuck me, you want to spank me? Stop holding back.” She grabs my shirt. “Stop holding things back from me. I want the good, bad, and ugly. I want—”
I kiss her again, and damn it, if she wants the bad and the ugly, I’ll give them to her. I lift her and carry her to the couch, sitting down, and before she even knows my intention, I have her over my lap, my hand on her backside. “I’m going to spank you now.”
“Do it,” she hisses. “Do it now.”
I blink back to the present, and while some might see this as an oddly timed memory, I do not. To me it’s about the many intimate things we’ve shared. About the many layers there are to this woman, layers I have only just begun to discover, when I want to know them all. It’s about how she challenges me and forbids me to hide from me. It’s about strength. Hers. Mine. Ours together. It’s about how fucking much I need her to wake up and challenge me again and again and again.
I grab the railing in front of me. “I need you, Emily,” I whisper, and still she doesn’t move. Still she is just lying there, barely living. My head lowers, my chin at my chest, and I swear I can’t even catch my breath right now.