At Last

by Addison Fox

He paid the cab fare and followed Emma out of the taxi. The rain had stopped, but there was a heavy wetness in the air, and a cold that seeped into the bones.

  “Thanks for seeing me home.”

  “I’ll walk you up.”

  “It’s not necessary.” She stopped, her head drooping. “Thank you.”

  Nick avoided the stairs this time, taking the elevator for the most expedient path up to her apartment. In minutes, they stood before her door, her keys in hand.

  “I appreciate you staying with me today. Especially after—”

  He nodded, taking her keys from her and opening the door. “Especially after.”

  The words that had haunted him all afternoon continued to burn his throat. “Look. About before. I’m sorry I said what I did. I was out of line.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, Emma. It’s not okay. It’s anything but okay.”

  She took her keys and tossed them in a bowl by the door as she walked into her apartment. Her shoulders slumped, she turned to him. “I’m too tired to decipher whatever it is you’re trying to say. You apologized. I’m okay with it.”

  And that was when it hit him, everything he’d struggled to understand opening up before him with absolute clarity.

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  “Well, I am. I’m always okay. I have to be.”

  “Not with me you don’t. You can be mad at me. You can yell at me, too.”

  “Nick, it’s fine. Leave it alone.”

  “Because that’s what you deserve? You just accept shitty treatment as a way of life?”

  The slender thread of control she hung on to snapped, clean in two. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who said mean, ugly things. I’m not sure what I’m more offended about. Your comments about my marriage, or all the fucking we’ve been doing for the past three days that clearly meant nothing to you.”

  Oh, it meant something. More than he could have possibly imagined, it meant something. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he leaned in, his face millimeters from hers. “Bring it on, baby. I won’t break.”

  “I didn’t want my marriage to end.”

  “Of course you didn’t.”

  The patronizing tone did its trick, and she flashed from tired, beaten serf to warrior, in a heartbeat. “I had a life! A marriage. A baby on the way. A future. I had all of it until my husband came home one day and told me I wasn’t enough. Told me it was a blessing in disguise I lost our child. Told me he wasn’t happy, and he didn’t love me, and that things weren’t working.”

  “Was he right?”

  “How the hell should I know? I was too busy trying to be a wife to know I fucking sucked at it. I kept a home, but when he got disgusted because I spent all day in it, I went out and got a job. And then when he was sick of me working late hours, I quit that job and got pregnant. When that didn’t work, I went back to school. I tried everything to keep him happy. To find some way of filling whatever void existed between us.”

  Her sadness and anger and hopelessness seemed to fill the room. Like the eye of a hurricane, she stood square in the middle of all the emotion and anger and frustration swirling around her, building from the power she wielded.

  “Do you think I want to tell you this? Like that’s something a person wants to admit? That you’re not enough? That the person you vowed to spend your life with casually decided to move on, discarding you with all the attention he would a piece of trash?”

  “What did you say when he told you?”

  “What the hell could I say? I was three days away from taking my final exams when he dropped his little bomb on me. So I moved in with a friend for a few days, took my goddamn exams, and then fell apart.”

  “Did you pass?”

  “Straight As.”

  “Impressive, Vandenburg. Damned impressive.”

  It was then that he saw the lone tear leak from the corner of her eye, and it nearly unmanned him. When they started down this path, he thought to push her, to see all that glorious power in action, but now he just wanted to draw her up in his arms, bury his face in her hair, and say he was sorry.

  And spend all night trying to show her just how sorry.

  “You’re more than enough.”

  She shook her head, dashing at the tear as well as all the ones that followed. “Please leave.”

  “I think you’re stuck with me tonight.”

  “Nick, come on.”

  It was then that he reached for her, pulling her close and settling her head against his chest. “I’m sorry. So sorry for all I said earlier.”

  “It’s—”

  “Not okay.”

  “You’re right.” She nodded against his chest, the wet heat of her tears soaking his shirt. “Thank you for realizing that.”

  Nick kept her tight in his arms, his mother’s voice from earlier wending its way through his thoughts. There had been shame in her words. The same shame and embarrassment he heard in Emma’s.

  Was this what people did to each other? He was no expert in love—far from it—but he’d never imagined it so dark and desolate, nor did he realize it left some people with damage and scars that never fully healed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Strong arms enfolded her, a comforting—yet odd—end to a day full of some of the most surreal moments of her life. Emma took the moment, recognizing Nick’s need to give solace and comfort nearly as badly as she needed to receive it. And she couldn’t help wondering where this left them.

  He’d lashed out today, his anger sniping and snapping like a wounded animal.

  Yet he’d apologized, too. Had recognized his behavior for what it was and made amends. That counted for something. A lot of something.

  None of it changed the fact that they were still on opposite sides of the Unity, but there was something building between them, too. Something special that had even managed to make their distance across the negotiating table seem less consequential than it was.

  Was that a mistake? Was she risking her professional future for her personal one? And why did they have to be mutually exclusive?

  “I want to ask you something,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “Did you start this, what’s between us, because of the Unity?”

  “No.”

  His response was so swift, his voice thick with shock, that she believed him.

  “Why would you think that of me?”

  “I don’t. But I wanted to ask.”

  “Are you in this for the Unity? As some way to wear me down into just giving up?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

  She waited a few moments, still searching his features for something—anything—to suggest she shouldn’t make the next move. When she found nothing, Emma pushed forward. “I want two weeks.”

  “Two weeks of what?”

  “Us. Whatever this is we’re enjoying. I want two weeks without the Unity hanging over our heads. Without questioning if I’m going to lose out on something if I let my guard down with you.”

  “Whatever this is, it’s not about business.” Nick remained quiet, his blue eyes searching. “But the brewery is hanging over our heads.”

  “So we remove it. Because I’m not ready to give this up yet. And I don’t want it tainted by a game one of us is going to lose.”

  He seemed to consider a moment before a broad smile made her knees week. “I’ve never liked losing.”

  “I heard that about you.”

  “No strings attached?”

  Emma was about to agree when she realized it wasn’t about strings. “I’d put it a bit differently.”

  “Oh?”

  “Anything we do or say together, outside the brewery, is about what we want to talk about. It has no bearing on the final contract, and it can’t be used against either of us.”

  “I like it.” He extended a hand. “Deal.”

  She stared at his hand for a few extra beats, those long, competent fingers
extended in promise. In pact. When she finally did take his hand, it was like coming home.

  “Deal.”

  “Then that means I can do this.”

  Before she could anticipate his plans, Nick had her pulled into his arms, his mouth pressed to hers.

  The dining room table tempted, their round of lovemaking on its hard surface still a vivid, vibrant memory in his mind, but Nick had other ideas, and they involved a bed. In moments, he swept her up in his arms, his steps sure and solid as he moved them to the bedroom.

  “Nick!”

  “Don’t wiggle like a fish.”

  “Why are you carrying me?”

  “Still wiggling.”

  Emma stilled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Is this more of that gentleman’s service you’re so fond of? Walking a woman home. Escorting her to her door. Now carrying her to her bed.”

  “Nope.” He laid her down on the bed, then followed, pinning her with his body.

  “No?” She tried to scramble up, but he held her in place, his hands reaching for the fabric of her blouse. “Why not?”

  “This is where the gentleman vanishes and the big, bad wolf comes out to play.”

  She giggled as his hands feathered over her stomach beneath the soft cotton of her shirt. “You going to huff and puff and blow my house down?”

  He stopped and grinned down at her. “I was thinking of a few other strategic uses for my mouth.”

  “Consider me intrigued.”

  “Then consider me more than willing to oblige.”

  Nick took her once more, his teeth scoring her lower lip with a small tug before he swept his tongue through her welcoming mouth. She met his thrust with one of her own, the erotic play a warm, willing precursor to what was still to come.

  Had he ever tasted anything so sweet? Or wanted a woman more? The thought stilled him, his hands hovering over her waistband.

  Had he ever wanted a woman like this before?

  He didn’t think so, but knew it for the truth when a quick jaunt down memory lane couldn’t even muster a face, let alone a name. The women in his past were a blur, a pleasant haze of experience that seemed distant. Vague. And somehow not quite . . . enough.

  Those faceless memories faded as her hands went to his waist. She pulled off his shirt; he tugged hers from her waistband. Their clothes came off in a frenzy, and it was only once they were naked, skin to skin, that Nick took his first easy breath.

  Had he really been such a fool to pick a fight over something as warm and amazing as her caring and compassionate nature? Since the answer to that was a resounding yes, he could only be grateful she’d seen past his boorish behavior.

  Supporting himself on his forearms, Nick looked down at her. The dark pools of her eyes looked even deeper in the dim light of her bedroom. Even with the muted lighting, he could see the desire that swirled there, anticipating.

  “Nick?”

  He had no idea where the words came from, but suddenly it was deeply important to him that she understood he wasn’t there for the brewery. He’d never joined her in her bed for any reason beyond wanting her.

  “This. Us. It matters.”

  She nodded up at him, able only to agree.

  “It matters.”

  Emotion clogged Emma’s throat, the moment nearly overwhelming in its intensity. She’d believed herself aware of the game. Able to play at sleeping with Nick like an adult.

  And well able to walk away when things came to their inevitable end. Only he’d gotten the better of her.

  She’d convinced herself two weeks would be enough. To get him out of her system? A lifetime wouldn’t be enough to accomplish that.

  To satisfy an itch? If sleeping with Nick were only about the physical.

  To fill the void inside ever since Cole left?

  That was where she stopped herself. Nick wasn’t a replacement, for her ex-husband or anyone else. He was his own man and more, he was more special—more precious to her—than she ever could have imagined.

  Much as she wanted it to last—and increasingly “last” meant forever—she was pragmatic enough to know she needed to enjoy him for the time they had. Needed to savor every single moment they shared, so that years from now, she could still pull this time out, reflect on it, and keep it tucked away in her heart.

  He’d shown her so much already. The joy in giving and receiving pleasure. The simple way he shared his family with her. And the laughter that could be found in quiet moments.

  She wanted to give something back to him. Pressing on his shoulders, she moved so he rolled on his back.

  “Emma?”

  “Shhh. Let me.”

  Shifting to straddle him, Emma began at his forehead and worked her way down. Warm, whispering kisses over his eyes. A hot puff of breath over each ear. Featherlight caresses of her lips over his cheekbones.

  When she got to his lips, she paused and nearly lost the upper hand to the powerful play of his mouth—the hot, erotic motions of his tongue. She stilled, allowing him that moment of exploration before she continued on. The thick cords of his neck muscles curved and gave way to solid play of muscles over collarbone, shoulder, and biceps. She appreciated the marvel that was his body, the well-developed muscles clear marks of his athleticism.

  And still she continued on, encouraged by the restless movements of his legs, shifting underneath her, and by the soft groans that fell from his lips.

  The tight points of his nipples, the broad curves of his chest, the ridged perfection of his ribs—each received attention, each treated as essential instruments of his pleasure. Her lips lingered over the range of stomach muscles that curved into rows of half-moons, his body growing more restless as he pressed himself against her.

  “Rushing, Mr. Kelley?” She stared up at him, rewarded with a world of desire staring back at her, before moving over his proud erection and on down to his thighs.

  He groaned again, but she didn’t miss the harsh laugh that accompanied the sound. “You’re killing me, Vandenburg.”

  “That’s the whole idea.” She lightly bit his inner thigh. “So you better lay here and take it like a man.”

  When she nipped him once more, she got another sexy groan for her trouble, and decided she needed to think about a few other ways to use her teeth. As she kissed lower, the skin beneath her lips changed, and she shifted, curious at what she felt. That’s when she saw the long, jagged scar that ran from midthigh to the top of his calf. Curious, she ran her fingers over the puckered flesh.

  “That was the big one.” Nick’s voice was still husky with need, but his tone had changed—softened—and she didn’t miss the small layer of resignation that threaded through his words. “That’s the one that put me out of football.”

  “It’s big.”

  “Lady, you’re awfully close to something bigger and considerably more impressive, to be tossing that word around.”

  Emma knew the humor for the deflection that it was, but also knew talk of his injury had no place in the moment. With a delicacy she increasingly didn’t feel, she pressed a line of kisses along the scar before settling herself above him and taking him in her mouth.

  A delicious, salty tang met her tongue before she explored his flesh, working her mouth over the head. He practically quivered beneath her, his body straining against her as she explored.

  She took what she could of him in her mouth, then used her hands to work the thick base of his cock, pleased when he increasingly responded beneath her. She’d delighted in the complete way he abandoned himself to her, but felt his hands wrap around her shoulders as a hard groan seemed to rip through him.

  “Now, Emma. I need you now.”

  His hands dragged at her hips, pulling her up until she was seated over him.

  She wanted to protest—wanted to continue on the path she’d begun—but he’d already begun to move, his hips lifting to thrust into her. Her own pleasure—banked by her focus on him—roared to the fore, a hard cry spilling from he
r throat as he pushed up again, slamming into the most sensitive spot.

  Emma screamed, her orgasm catching her off guard, and Nick used the moment to push upward once more, milking her body’s response. Whatever idea she’d had to control the moment and drive their lovemaking vanished as Nick simply consumed her.

  With one hand at her waist, he moved the other to where their bodies joined, cleverly coaxing yet another wild response from her still-quivering body. She tightened around him once more as another climax came over her, and Nick used that moment to drive into her one final time, the sweetest moan of pleasure cresting his lips.

  Bright, vivid light exploded through her. Sweet. Warm. Gorgeous.

  As the shock waves continued to crest, one after another, she fell over Nick and buried her face in his neck, breathing in deeply.

  And as she struggled to come back down, Emma couldn’t deny what existed between them was more than sex. More than an arrangement. More than a fling.

  It felt, despite her better judgment, like everything.

  The alarm clock stared at her, one minute flipping into the next, as she lay in Nick’s arms. She’d already set her alarm for five o’clock so she could get to the hospital for her father’s surgery, but Emma couldn’t sleep.

  “What time is it?” Nick’s arms tightened, his hand drifting over her stomach.

  “Too early. Don’t wake up.”

  “You’re up.”

  “Which is one of us too many.” She rubbed a hand over his. “Go back to sleep.”

  She lay still, convinced he’d fallen back to sleep, when he shifted behind her, moving up on the pillows. “Want to talk about it?”

  “What’s there to talk about? It’s routine surgery.”

  “It’s still big surgery. It’s okay to worry.”

  “I know.”

  And she did know. Aside from the fact the surgery was necessary, her father should see his health improve once he healed. If only he were in a better frame of mind.

  Nick knew all that—he’d seen her father in action—but somehow it felt like a betrayal to talk about all she’d observed in her dad since moving home. She’d sworn to herself the Unity didn’t have any place in their bed, yet sharing her father’s vulnerabilities seemed tantamount to giving Nick an upper hand. Her father might claim that he wanted to sell, but once he made it through his surgery, would he feel the same?