At Last

by Addison Fox

  And they’d both come out with the upper hand the day the judge signed the papers that said he was officially her child.

  Nick had never known the truth, but he suspected there’d been some sort of payoff as well. That information hadn’t bothered him—no matter how many ways he’d attempted to turn it—which had been another revelation of sorts.

  Nick might carry the old man’s name, but in every way that mattered, he had a new life. One that had shaped him and molded him into a man of value, character, and worth. Louisa had given him the values that had influenced his life. Football had taken those values and rounded off the rougher edges, shaping his character. But coming to recognize his worth was his own doing.

  He’d never have had any of those things had he stayed in Arch Kelley’s controlling, abusive clutches.

  “You okay?” His brothers rarely pushed—joking was the preferred method of communication among their trio—but Landon’s gaze was serious.

  Damn, but the memory had come on strong. He’d long ago accepted the realities of his childhood, but it never failed to surprise him how it could reach up and swipe at him with the right provocation. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Sure.”

  The cop who’d taken his statement told him he could go, and assured him they’d take a closer look at the jerk making trouble. Landon had already rounded everyone up, and Nick was surprised to see Emma in the midst of their group. Those enticing freckles over her nose wrinkled in distaste, and her gaze was dark with a wash of questions and accusations.

  The day he’d chalked up to halfway shitty moved firmly into the realm of fucked.

  He was on a waiting period in his quest to purchase the Unity. His father’s ghost had risen from the shallow grave he normally tossed it in. And now he looked like some meathead brawler who attacked random strangers.

  Suddenly Landon’s zombie apocalypse looked like one hell of a place to escape the shitstorm that his life had become.

  Chapter Seven

  The burger was thick and juicy, with the proper ratio of ketchup, onions, and good, old-fashioned American cheese. Even with the delectable combo still fresh on her tongue, Emma couldn’t shake off the horror of what she’d seen in the park.

  That man—the same jerk who’d given her the black eye—had kicked his girlfriend. Or was it his wife? Who the heck knew, and their relationship status had no bearing on such an ugly action.

  He’d kicked her.

  And she, Emma, had stood there and watched it happen.

  No matter how bad things had gotten with Cole, she’d never feared for her physical safety. He’d done a hell of a job emotionally, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to getting in a few verbal licks of her own. In the end, they’d both realized they weren’t meant for each other and ended the marriage.

  But she’d never feared for her physical safety or imagined, for a single moment, he’d harm her.

  Yet Nick had seen the risk. He’d understood what was happening on that blanket and had acted in a heartbeat, leaping all over the guy who’d turned on his girlfriend. In that moment, Emma understood something she’d only sensed on Friday night.

  Nick Kelley was a protector.

  He didn’t simply own the End Zone. Nor was he just an aspiring business owner in Park Heights. He was part of the neighborhood, focused on contributing to it, and making it better. She’d seen that firsthand in their discussions today. It was like he saw something beyond the investment in the Unity—beyond a financial return—that involved expanding the brewery’s role in the community.

  Her grandfather had understood that. A part of her remembered when her father did as well. But somewhere along the line, Peter Vandenburg had come to see the business as a noose instead of a lifeline.

  Was it possible Nick was the better choice for the Unity? She’d resisted asking herself that from the moment Nick had walked into the conference room and confirmed his intentions to buy the business, but it would be sheer ignorance not to consider it. He had chosen to make Park Heights his home after retiring from football. Since then, he’d become part of the fabric of the community, and a key thread in its renaissance. She might not like her father’s decision to sell, but she could hardly argue with his selection of Nick.

  A happy shout pulled Emma’s attention from her thoughts, and she glanced around the bar. It was Monday night so the crowd was small, but it maintained that steady hum of quiet groups of people enjoying themselves. Conversation and laughter filtered into the atmosphere, everyone seeming to enjoy their evening.

  Emma’s impressions of the crowded bar on Friday night gave way to a clearer view of the inside of the End Zone. The feel of an old fashioned watering hole, so evident from the thick mahogany bar with its brass rails, was consistent throughout the rest of the place. Scarred wooden tables filled the space, and large, comfy booths ran the length of the walls. The lighting was warm. It was easy to see why denizens of Park Heights regularly found their way to Nick Kelley’s doorstep.

  “More fries all around.” Patty dropped two plates of warm fries on the table before setting a large plate of cheese fries in front of Fender. “Just the way you like ’em.”

  “You spoil me.”

  “You won’t be saying that when you’re having an angioplasty at forty.”

  Fender stood up and placed a big smacking kiss on Patty’s lips. “You sweet talker, you.”

  Patty swatted him on the side of the head before bouncing off with a smile. Emma was pretty sure the byplay wasn’t new, the easy familiarity between the two barely drawing a glance from the rest of the table.

  She wasn’t, however, so sure about the angioplasty. Fender’s large, lean frame seemed to be nothing but muscle clad in a black T-shirt, jeans, and an attitude. The man probably worked out enough to handle a bit of extra cheese. The real surprise was the easy and teasing nature that seemed to soften those bad-boy edges. The boy with the memorable name and electric green eyes had grown into a fascinating man. Emma hadn’t missed several longing gazes tossed in his direction when they’d made their way to the back of the bar.

  Nor had she missed his unwillingness to linger on any of them for more than a wicked smile.

  The lighter crowd had given them a chance to snag a large round table along the back wall, prime real estate to enjoy the view. Their group spread out before her in easy conversation, their original six expanding to include Tommy and his wife.

  “What the hell happened tonight?” Tommy reached over and snagged some fries. “Olivia and I were halfway there when we got Landon’s text with the change of plans.”

  “That jerk I told you about. The one in here last Friday night. He was at the park.”

  Nick’s words were clipped, his attention returning quickly to his burger. Despite the clear “no trespassing” signs, Tommy pressed on. “And?”

  “And Nick beat the shit out of him.” Landon quickly summed up the events, his tone casual, even as he kept his attention on his brother.

  Emma watched it all, fascinated by both what was said and what wasn’t. Fender and Landon managed the table, their quick smiles and easy words as much a sign as their physical positions. They’d literally and figuratively closed ranks around their brother.

  With the gregarious good nature that had made Tommy Santola the king of the playground at eight and Park Heights’s most promising real-estate professional a quarter century later, he lifted his beer. “To shit-kicking assholes, then.”

  The rest of the table lifted their glasses in toast, cries of “hear-hear” overlapping with the clinking of heavy glass.

  Emma took a sip from her glass, her gaze drifting over to Nick. The misery stamped on him since the fight in the park hadn’t vanished. If anything, it had grown more pronounced. The round table made it easy to see everyone, but no matter how many times she tried to get his attention, he deftly avoided her gaze.

  Was it the adrenaline crash?

  Sh
e dismissed the thought as soon as it came. Something was bothering Nick. And five minutes later, when Landon ordered a second round and Nick leaped up to make the drinks, her instincts were confirmed.

  She kept her interest casual, but her seat at the table gave her a direct line of sight to the bar. He worked the stick, pouring beer refills before getting a fresh glass of wine for Becky. But when he finished the order, he handed everything over to Patty and made a beeline for his office.

  Nick repressed the urge to slam his office door, pushing it closed with barely a thud. Damn, why couldn’t he settle? Landon’s idea to get some food and a few drinks had been a good one and he’d thought he would have calmed down by now. But fuck it all, his hands still shook and he couldn’t get rid of the buzzing in his head.

  Or his father’s voice.

  Arch Kelley’s bellow still echoed in his mind, imprinted on him as surely as the memory of that awful night when he’d beaten back his father.

  “You’re mine. You’re my legacy.”

  Damn it.

  He gave in to the urge to throw something and hurled the foam football he kept on his desk at the far wall. It hit the brick at the far corner of his office before bouncing on the hardwood and settling against the couch.

  Legacy.

  His father had said a lot of other things throughout his life. What a stupid shit he was. How he’d never amount to anything. How he thought he was better than everyone. The words changed to fit the old man’s mercurial moods, surfing the highs and lows of addiction.

  But his father had loved the idea of Nick as legacy. A freaking human memorial to the fucked-up, wasted life of Arch Kelley.

  Nick understood the cause, knew it was his father’s condition that was responsible for the endless streams of ugly words. Mama Lou had seen to that. She’d innately sensed what her boys needed and, despite Nick’s embarrassment at going to see a psychologist, she’d insisted on the visits.

  So he’d gone. For her, he’d have done anything. He’d sat through the sessions, angry and sullen and mad at the world, but he went. Until the day something had broken wide open, and all the fear and hatred and mind-numbing terror that he’d end up the same as his father had come tumbling out.

  A hard knock broke into his thoughts, and before he could move behind his desk in an attempt to look busy, Emma’s head poked through the door. “You okay?”

  Nick hovered there, between the door and his desk, frozen to his spot. “Sure.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Sure. Right. It’s just—” Emma stopped, as if wrestling with a decision, before firmly stepping into the room and closing the door. “It’s just that I need to leave, but I wanted to talk to you. About tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Tomorrow? The vague memory of their plans coalesced in his mind. “Right. The sales meeting.”

  “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”

  “I’m in, Emma.”

  “I know. It’s just that it was a tough night. And you’ve got a lot going on running this place. I just wanted you to know you had a pass tomorrow. If you wanted it.”

  A pass.

  Whether it was the words or the moment or the mere fact she was handy, Nick had no idea.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A perfect reason to kick me out of the Unity.”

  “No. I . . . No.” She stopped, her voice growing firm. “That’s not what I meant. We dumped a schedule on you today and didn’t even stop to think that you have other things going on. There’s always another sales meeting. Another chance to go out with the sales team. It can wait.”

  Wait.

  As if he wanted to wait one more fucking minute for his life to start. His future. “No, it can’t wait.”

  “Fine, then. I’ll see you at eight.”

  A small spark fired in the depths of those chocolate eyes, and it lit something inside of Nick. She didn’t deserve the jerk routine, but damn it all if he could hold back the sudden rush of emotion and frustration and need that filled him.

  Something shifted as he stared at her. The attraction he’d tamped down earlier beneath a thin veneer of control. All of it flared to life—a match to that spark he saw in her eyes. Heat. Passion. Need.

  Emma Bradley—fuck it, no, she was Emma Vandenburg—had something buried beneath that surface, and he was suddenly too charged up to keep that thin veneer in place.

  Right now, he wanted to see if he could make her moan.

  His gaze roamed over the slim lines of her body—the rose-colored sleeveless dress hugging her curves like a caress. He skin was a pale alabaster, smooth and untouched, a match for her pale blonde hair.

  For the moment, Nick hesitated. Did he dare touch her? Did he even have a right? Their kiss on Friday night had existed in the blessed oblivion of ignorance. But if he kissed her now . . .

  If he kissed her now, he did so in full understanding of the situation they found themselves in. Opposite sides of a chasm that had a clear loser.

  “Nick?”

  His name on her lips captivated him, and all thoughts of what might come vanished in the sight of her. In this moment, they still stood on opposite sides of that chasm, a strange sort of limbo that trapped them both.

  Yet in that prison both were still free to choose.

  And he chose her.

  Emma.

  Nick moved into her, the moment of hesitation vanishing as if it had never been. His hands wrapped around her wrists, capturing them as surely as he planned to capture her lips. He saw her eyes widen for the briefest moment before something else rose up, expanding her pupils in the muted light of his office.

  Desire.

  And then there was no waiting. No more wondering. No more heated thoughts left unfulfilled.

  His lips came over hers, her slim form pressed to his office door as he pressed his body into hers. Their height difference had him bending toward her, and the contrast in their physical sizes struck him once more. She was so fragile.

  Yet strong.

  In the long, slender lines of her body, he sensed the same power that fired her personality. Like titanium, she had a deceptive strength, one that could hold great weights without breaking.

  He wanted to explore her, but something held him back. Some line he innately sensed he couldn’t cross, for fear of never returning. So he held tight to her hands, pleased when she linked her fingers with his and hung on.

  Male.

  The word whispered through Emma’s thoughts over and over as Nick Kelley ravished her against his office door. His lips danced over hers—at times firm, at others soft and yielding, playing to a wicked tune.

  He was so male. So strong and physical, his body an absolute contrast to hers. Where she had curves, he was straight, layered in muscle and sinew. Where she moaned softly, from the very depths of her throat, a hard groan echoed as his tongue dueled with hers. And where she pressed against the door, no match for his strength, he cradled her with his body as if she were the most precious of gifts.

  So this was desire, she marveled, half dazed with his mouth a brand against hers. This was what they wrote songs and books and poems about.

  His fingers tightened over hers and she was tempted to unlock them, allowing her hands free rein over his body. The hard lines of his back, tapering to the slim lines of his waist. The thick ropes of muscle that corded his forearms. The firm lines of his buttocks, taut as she pulled him tighter against her body.

  She imagined it all, but something held her still, her hands firmly wrapped in his.

  This joining, yet not, had its appeal. As if she hadn’t fully committed herself to her attraction for Nick, but rather, danced just at the end of a tether. She could still pull back. Could still be pulled back by the winds of change and the great, sucking sound of her life as it currently stood.

  That alone nearly had her pulling away from the kiss, but Emma held her ground. She’d not miss this glorious moment because of t
he ongoing fight with her father, or her lingering embarrassment over a marriage gone bad, or even the confusion about battling Nick for the Unity.

  Oh no.

  To walk away from this moment would be a betrayal of every dream, every fantasy, she’d ever had. And she wasn’t quite ready to wake up.

  Another wave of desire buffeted her as his tongue wrapped around hers. Her entire body responded, from the heat that pooled at her very core, to the tight press of her nipples against her bra. The silk of her dress wrapped around her legs, torturous chains that kept them from fully experiencing each other.

  Yet one more tether against the reality of giving herself fully to Nick. Even as she wanted to whimper at the sensations he could bring to life with just a kiss, Emma knew it was for the best.

  She wanted him.

  The sensation wasn’t new. She’d wanted him years before, when she didn’t even understand the needs of her body, but did somehow sense that the raw, restless feeling that would settle low in her stomach was different. Was foreign and adult. So she’d buried it beneath shyness and a lack of understanding about the feelings of a woman trapped in the skin of a growing girl.

  Now that she did understand, she wanted him with a fierceness that bordered on madness. A wholly female need, matched to the male wrapped in her arms.

  But giving in was tantamount to losing. Losing the Unity. Losing her future. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, losing herself.

  The thought nearly had her pulling back when a hard knock echoed at her back.

  “Nick!”

  He lifted his head, his vivid blue eyes hazed with such blazing desire, Emma nearly reached up and pulled him back down, the whole world—her very future—be damned.

  “Nick!”

  “What!” The shout came out as a growl, the air vibrating with his frustration.

  “You’re needed out front.” The joking that had layered Fender’s voice earlier was gone. Even through the thick wood door, Emma heard the tension.

  “For what?”

  “Cops are here.”