Exposure

by Ember Dante

  He had absolutely no idea how wonderful he truly was, or how much that question meant to me. How much he meant to me. “Fuck Brett. I’m not going to let him ruin our entire evening. Besides, I need a drink—something stronger than beer.”

  “Whatever you want, baby.” Ian laughed, lacing our fingers together and leading me back to our friends.

  It was fortunate that Jules witnessed the entire confrontation with Brett and filled everyone in so I didn’t have to retell the story. Tyler was in hysterics.

  “Why the hell does shit like that always happen when I don’t have a camera ready? We needed video of that so I could post it on YouTube. That shit would go viral.” He raised his glass in toast. “Not bad, Emmy Lou, not bad. But if it were me, I would have punched him in the balls.”

  I shook my head. “Ty...”

  Raising her glass, Jules gestured between Ian and Parker. “Personally, I think you two should have dragged him outside and beat the shit out of him.”

  “Too many witnesses, babe, and the club would have to call the police,” Parker muttered.

  “But fucktard started it. He grabbed her as soon as we came out of the bathroom,” Jules complained.

  Ian draped his arm around me, and a dark look crossed his face. “Oh, believe me, he’s lucky he was able to walk out of here. But Parker’s right—as satisfying as it would have been to beat him to a pulp, there were too many witnesses. Police involvement would have made things messy.”

  “I guarantee he’ll be back,” declared Jules. “He’s too stupid to just walk away. It was almost like he was waiting for us, even though he claimed he didn’t know she would be here.”

  “This was just a freak occurrence,” I said, waving off her concern, sounding more confident than I actually felt. “He’ll probably forget all about it five minutes after he leaves.”

  The others at the table shared a dubious look, and it was obvious each held a different opinion. Except for Becky, who simply stared into her drink, twirling her straw through the ice.

  “Do you still want that drink?” asked Ian.

  “God, yes. A dirty martini—extra dirty.”

  He placed a sweet kiss on my temple. “I’ll be right back.”

  Becky waited until he was out of earshot. “Why didn’t you just talk to him? Wouldn’t that have been easier than making a scene?”

  “What are you saying, Becky?” sputtered Tyler.

  “Maybe he just wants to apologize.” Becky flicked a hand in the air. “I don’t know. What harm could it do?”

  “Then why now? Why not any time during the past year?” I asked.

  “Because you won’t take his calls, remember?” Becky snipped. “You know, you could at least hear what he has to say. You don’t have to forgive him, but you could at least do him the courtesy of listening.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jules raged. “It wasn’t just a one-time thing. It had been going on for quite some time, and God only knows how many others there could have been. Not to mention the fact he’s an abusive, controlling asshole.” Her head swiveled toward me. “I wouldn’t give the bastard the time of day. Call the police if he tries to contact you again.”

  “That’s a little unnecessary, don’t you think?” huffed Becky. “He’s human. He made a mistake.” Her shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Maybe he still cares about you and wants a chance to make things right.”

  “You have lost your damned mind,” I said, shaking my head. “Why are you on his side?”

  Ian returned in time to hear Becky’s reply.

  “I’m not. I just think it would have been easier if you had decided to talk to him rather than throw a temper tantrum like you always do when you don’t get your way.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “Like the other day when you got pissed off because Kyle critiqued your article a little harshly. You’re human, too, you know. He’s just doing his job, making sure you do yours.” Becky’s tone turned snotty and somewhat condescending. “But he hurt your feelings, and you got all pissed off about it.”

  Anger flooded my body, and I pointed a finger in Becky’s direction. “For your information, I wasn’t pissed about his critique. I was pissed because he’s an unethical bastard and wanted me to invade a man’s privacy. I refuse to be a party to that sort of journalism.”

  “Why haven’t you ever mentioned those concerns before?”

  “What’s the point? I didn’t want to create any more tension in the office.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Emmy, you can be such a drama queen sometimes,” Becky snorted. “You’re not writing about the fucking Pope. You’re writing an article about someone you barely know. You said yourself you didn’t know anything about him before you interviewed him, and now you’re getting upset over the way your boss wants you to write the assignment.”

  “Becky, you shouldn’t comment on things when you don’t have all the facts,” said Tyler, punctuating his words by smacking his hand on the table.

  Ever the peacemaker, Madison tried to placate us. “Why don’t we all calm down a little? The thing with Brett has everybody on edge.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Becky exclaimed. “Boo-frigging-who, Brett had the nerve to show up in a public place, and heaven forbid he try to talk to someone he knows. Oh. My. God.” She threw her hands in the air. “Kyle had the nerve to ask Emmy to do her job. Let’s all have a fucking nervous breakdown over it. Why do you give a shit about some guy you don’t know? For all you know, he fucks all of his models which, according to you, would make him no better than Brett.”

  Ian flinched in his chair. I knew he wanted to say something but was trying to stay out of it.

  “Just shut up, Becky. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Tyler.

  “That’s why I want the princess there to explain it to me.”

  “That’s enough,” Ian said before I had a chance to respond. His voice was low, the same tone he used with Brett. “I don’t know what your problem is, and I don’t care. I do know that you two are supposed to be friends, and you’re not going to speak to Emmy like that in front of me.”

  Becky’s eyes widened. “Sorry, dude, but this is between her and me.”

  “Allow me to enlighten you. She was pissed because your prick of a boss asked her to compromise her integrity. When she stood up to him, he threatened to fire her over it.” He paused. “She was protecting me.”

  Confusion filled Becky’s face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Ian, you don’t have to…” I whispered.

  “The guy you just blithely dismissed as a womanizing asshole is sitting in front of you.” Pausing, he watched Becky’s expression to make sure that sunk in. “I’m Miles Shaw. Emmy didn’t know that when we met, and I had no clue she would be the one to interview me until she came to the studio. She disagreed with his ideas about whether or not to include my personal information in the article, and I’d prefer the details of my business operations not be publicized.” He leaned over the table separating them. “And just so there’s no confusion—I don’t fuck my models. I never have.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She gave our other friends a brief glance. “Did all of you know?”

  I almost felt bad about the look of pain on Becky’s face. Almost. “Only Tyler and Jules knew,” I answered.

  Blushing, Becky grabbed her purse. “I have to go.” Ignoring everyone but Madison, she waved a half-hearted goodbye. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  I began to stand, but Jules stopped me. “Let her go. She needs some time to think about things.”

  “I just want to be sure she’s okay.”

  Jules raised her eyebrows. “What? She just said some really hateful things to you, and you’re worried about her?” She laughed. “That’s why I love you, Emmy. You are a far better person than I am.”

  As usual, Tyler was the first to break the tension. “So, how about some s
hots to loosen things up again?”

  I was still agitated when we arrived at Ian’s apartment. The confrontation with Brett was only a minor blip on the evening—I refused to allow him to hold any more power over me. The argument with Becky, however, was far more disconcerting. Ian, for his part, was even more attentive afterward, which endeared him to me all the more. My only hope was that I could keep my mouth shut and not blurt out the truth about how I felt.

  “Emmy, is everything all right?”

  Ian’s brows were furrowed, his head cocked to one side.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I was daydreaming.” I gave him an embarrassed smile. “What did you say?”

  He dragged his fingers down my arms, the tips just grazing my naked skin. The light touch made me shiver.

  “I asked what you wanted to do. Are you ready for bed, or would you rather hang out a while longer? We can have another drink if you’d like.” He brushed his lips across my forehead. “We can even watch something if you want to unwind a bit more.”

  I smiled and tossed the same question back at him. “What do you want to do?”

  Carefully avoiding my darkening bruises, he tightened his hold on me and released a long exhale. “As long as I’m with you, it’s all good, baby.”

  Could he be any more perfect? “Could we just hang out? I still feel wired after everything that happened tonight.”

  “Of course.” He smiled, stroking the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “Why don’t you get changed, and I’ll pour some wine? When you come back, we’ll find something to watch, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I changed into my standard nightwear—a camisole and sleep shorts—and washed my face before rejoining him in the living room. He was reclined on the sofa, minus his shoes and belt, with two glasses of wine on the coffee table. I cuddled beside him, my legs tucked under and to the side. Remote in hand, Ian folded his other arm around me and flipped through the channels. The warmth from his body enveloped me, and I released a contented sigh as I burrowed against him.

  “What would you like to watch?” he asked.

  “I don’t care. Something light and funny.”

  He kissed the top of my head and gestured toward the TV. “Have you ever seen Evolution?”

  I stretched my arm across his stomach. In all honesty, it didn’t really matter what we watched. It was just noise as far as I was concerned. “No, that’ll work.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching—but not really watching—the movie. He set the remote on the cushion while his other hand rubbed circles on my back in an almost absent-minded fashion. I wiggled closer, prompting him to tighten his hold.

  “Has he tried to contact you before tonight?” Ian asked the question casually, his eyes on the screen, but the tension in his body said he was anything but relaxed.

  “Who? Brett?”

  “Yeah.”

  I sighed. “He calls and texts me every day—two or three times a day. He leaves notes on my car. All of his messages say the same thing—he wants to talk. He’s even sent flowers to work a few times. I would block him, but I’m afraid he’ll show up wherever I am. It’s kind of starting to creep me out.”

  “He’s a fucking idiot,” he muttered. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to pulverize that asshole for pulling that shit tonight. For putting his hands on you.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. He’s not worth the effort, believe me.”

  He tilted his head, looking at me for the first time since I sat beside him. “I want you to promise that you’ll tell me if he tries to contact you again. I want you to promise me you’ll be careful. After tonight, there’s no way to know what he may do.”

  My heart thumped loudly in my chest at the seriousness in his eyes. Seriousness tinged with a deeper emotion, one I recognized in myself. In an instant, the mood shifted, becoming tender and intimate. The air crackled with life, and I straddled his lap, nodding my answer. My fingers skimmed over his jaw before wrapping around the back of his head and weaving through his hair.

  “You got a haircut.”

  Ian’s hands traveled from my thighs to hips before continuing to my ribcage. His fingers flexed, pressing into my sides in a rhythmic pattern and mimicking the erratic pulse in his neck.

  “Is that bad?”

  Shaking my head, I lowered my mouth to his. “No. You look hot. It draws more attention to your eyes.”

  “Glad you like it.” He smiled.

  I nodded again and tightened my fingers in his hair, holding him in place as my tongue darted into his mouth. His fingers swept around my back and constricted, digging into my spine, and at the same time, he jerked me flush against him. I deepened the kiss, grinding my hips into the coarse fabric between us. I could feel his dick pulse through the thick denim, and thoughts of everything else flew from my mind.

  “Ian?”

  “Hmm…?”

  I tried to hold back but failed. “Make love to me.”

  He gasped into our kiss, and a long, low moan echoed deep in his throat. Using slow, deliberate movements, his hands skated beneath my top, peeling it off me before wadding it into a ball and tossing it beside our neglected wine. His eyes never left mine as his hands glided down from my shoulders to cup my breasts, his thumbs tracing circles around my pebbled nipples. He pulled away just enough to flip me onto my back so he could remove his own shirt. His lips were soft, yet firm, feathering kisses down the column of my throat, over my collarbone, and across my sternum. Every synapse fired when he plumped each breast before pulling its hardened peak into the warmth of his mouth. It was too much—I felt too much, felt him everywhere, all over me, at once. The sensations were so intense that I began to lose my grasp on the here and now.

  He curled his fingers in the waistband of my shorts.

  “Tsk, tsk. This will not do,” he murmured against my belly, his breath hot as he dipped his tongue into my navel. A chill settled over me when he backed away, sending the offending garment to the same fate as his shirt. “Nice panties,” he said with a smirk, tracing both index fingers from the apex of my thighs to the slender band around my hips, allowing them to dip inside briefly on each pass, going deeper each time. “Would you be terribly upset if you didn’t wear them again?”

  “Wha—?” I asked, lifting my head at the exact moment the delicate lace snapped. “I can’t believe you just did that.” I thought that only happened in cheesy romance novels.

  “I’ll buy you a new pair, baby.” He grinned, dropping the ruined scrap of material on the floor.

  Tightening my legs around his waist, I reached for him and popped open the top button of his jeans. “These need to go. Now. Along with what’s underneath.”

  “Bossy, aren’t you?” he teased, standing to do as I asked.

  “I am right now.”

  He kissed and teased me with that glorious tongue until I was begging—for more or for mercy, I wasn’t sure. When he covered me with his mouth, I fell from my precipice into my first orgasm of the night—first because I knew there were more to come.

  He moved up my body and kissed me, deeply, slowly, languidly, as if that moment was all that mattered. I groaned in frustration, desperate for more, my hands and legs moving around and over him restlessly.

  “Ian, please…”

  Grasping my knee, he opened me and slid inside, giving me what I craved. His groan of pleasure rumbled within his chest and vibrated through me.

  “Harder, please...more…”

  Hot breath washed over my cheek and neck with each thrust. He rose to his knees, and without breaking our intimate contact, he remained upright and hooked his arms under my knees to both lift my pelvis and spread me wider. He arched his back, bowing slightly away from me, and rolled his hips, thrusting with a slow, even tempo. The change in angle increased the friction exactly where I needed it, and I fell with a loud, almost inhuman moan escaping my throat when I climaxed. He found his own release as my spasms began to fade and he collapsed onto h
is forearms.

  “Are you ready for bed?” he breathed into my ear.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He stood slowly, helping me from my prone position before clicking the button on the remote.

  “We’ll take these with us,” he said, handing me both glasses of wine.

  I giggled before taking a gulp from one of the glasses. Luckily I managed to swallow the mouthful before Ian swept me into his arms and carried me, bridal style, into the bedroom. I didn’t spill a drop.

  My eyes squinted open when my hands encountered cold sheets. I lifted my head and found myself alone. In an almost exact replay of last Saturday, Ian’s voice drifted in from the other room. I smiled at the memory and climbed out of bed for another trip to the bathroom before helping myself to one of Ian’s shirts. Surely he wouldn’t mind.

  I found him on the sofa, freshly showered with his feet propped on the coffee table, his phone in his left hand and his laptop on the cushion to his right. He was wearing a Boston Red Sox T-shirt and cargo shorts. He even looked hot when he was just lazing around the house. Noticing my approach, he moved the laptop to the table and patted the place beside him. I pantomimed drinking coffee, asking if he wanted a refill. He nodded, continuing his conversation, and handed me his cup when I reached him.

  “I read your email. I can leave for San Antonio Monday morning. That will probably be a two-day shoot. I can head to Austin after that, but I have to be back here Thursday night.”

  The thought of him being gone most of the week depressed me. How sad was that? Coffee in hand, I returned to the living area and placed his cup on the table and lowered myself into the empty place to his right.

  “I already told you my exhibit opens Friday, and then I’m taking the weekend off. I’ve got to have a break. Yeah, I can still go to Amarillo on Tuesday.”

  He paused a moment to listen and winked at me, nodding appreciatively at my choice of attire. I smiled and blew him a kiss.