by Shannyn Leah
Samantha’s lips tightened into an upward sneer. “Aren’t you a sassy one.”
“Takes one to recognize one,” Melissa said.
“You should recognize that you don’t belong here,” Melissa said, her eyes moving to Emma. “Any of you.”
“Grayson, it’s done,” Brock said, tossing his napkin on the table.
“I think you missed the wave of awkwardness when you arrived,” Melissa squeezed in before Brock continued.
“Whatever game this is, I’m finished. Take her away. My guests don’t deserve to be witness to such ignorance.”
That got Grayson’s wandering attention. “Game? I don’t play games.”
“No, but she does,” Brock barked.
Emma found herself slouching down in the seat now. Luckily, they were secluded and far enough away from other guests and hopefully the piano music drowned out their voices, too.
“She’s not the only one,” Grayson snarled back.
Brock stood, his fists drilled into the table. “Son, you have something to say to me then you come out and say it. I thought we were past this.”
Izzy squeezed Emma’s arm.
Grayson took a deep amusing breath. “Will we ever be past it? Will it ever stop?”
Tom touched Grayson’s arm. “Grayson, I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Maybe you should go sleep it off.”
Grayson yanked away. “Always taking his side,” he growled.
Emma stood, pulling Izzy up with her and hoping the other two took the hint. “I think we are going to excuse ourselves.”
“No.” Brock’s fingers wrapped around her wrist. “You three stay. You two go,” he said to Grayson and Samantha.
“What a warm welcome back to the family,” Samantha said.
Back to the family?
“Oh darlin’, you are never going to be a part of this family again,” Brock’s disgusted, firm voice spit out his anger.
Emma glanced up to find his face beat red.
When she looked back at Grayson, she found the matching color, tightness and glare. These two were so much alike.
Grayson’s stare was locked to Brock’s hand wrapped around her wrist, more penetrating then Brock’s touch. Those burning pupils locked on Brock, hatred consuming them.
“Papa bear might go down,” Izzy whispered.
“Izzy.” The moment Emma’s eye contact swayed from the scene, to glare at her sister, so did Grayson’s control.
Their area roared into commotion. Grayson started around the table at Brock. Tom jumped up, chasing him. Samantha stepped in the way, causing an uproar from Linda, who kicked her chair over, standing up and jumping into the scene.
Brock let go of Emma, stepping away from them as Grayson closed in the area between them. This was all Emma’s fault.
Grayson threw the first punch and Emma winced, unable to look away from the damage for which she was responsible. Grayson wasn’t fighting a weak, older man. Brock was built and he was also sober.
Brock ducked out of the way, and sent Grayson a verbal warning. “You’re drunk. Go back to your cabin.”
Grayson replied by throwing another drunken, weakened punch that sent him stumbling forward, but not stopping. He regained balance and the two men played a circling game.
Emma went to step into the center, but Izzy had a firm grip on her. Izzy had to understand this was all her fault, she had to fix it.
Grayson threw another punch, in no condition to fight, and Brock, again, sidestepped, but this time threw an uppercut into his son’s jaw sending Grayson stumbling back. He fell right into Emma. There was no way she could keep them both standing. Grayson was huge, all muscle, drunk and not in control.
Izzy screamed.
Panic arose, as they tumbled, but Grayson caught the back of a chair with one hand, and Emma’s waist with the other, keeping them upright.
A scream almost left her, too, but she controlled it. They’d already attracted too much attention.
Where was Micah and Casey? Hopefully in an entirely different restaurant.
Gripping the front of his jacket, and arching her body against his, she scolded herself for feeling every last part of him through their clothes. This was not the time to notice how his touch inflamed her insides.
She found a bleeding gash on his chin.
“Break this up before the cameras start rolling,” Tom scolded in the background.
“I will take you when you’re sober,” Brock said.
“You will not!” Linda shouted.
“Now is not the time. Emma, take Grayson to his cabin,” Tom ordered as Grayson stood them up.
For a moment, Grayson stared at her, and for the first time, she saw his raw emotion, his pain and hurt...over her.
Grayson turned to go back at his father for the next round, but Tom stood in the middle. “Now!” he yelled at Emma.
What was Emma supposed to do? Grayson was a grown man and would do as he pleased.
When Samantha offered to take Grayson, Tom and Linda stepped into her path, blocking her.
“Please,” Linda asked Emma.
Grayson was pulling away, and without any other choice, and everyone looking at her to solve this fight, Emma gripped Grayson’s shirt and forced him to look at her.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Please.”
He stared hard down at her.
Emma was nothing in comparison to him, and she hoped, as she began walking away, pulling his jacket with her, he would silently follow. To her relief, he did.
Emma couldn’t have thanked the heavens more, walking away from the battlefield with Grayson. She even let him wrap his arm around her waist until they got back to his cabin.
Grayson collapsed on the couch, pulling the knot of his tie loose, and laying his head back on the couch, revealing the bloody, swelling mark on his chin. All because of her lie.
Against Emma’s better judgement, she stayed, heading to the kitchen for ice.
She had to tell him the truth so his anger would be directed at the right person. Directed at her and not his dad.
Chapter Twenty-Six
GRAYSON’S JAW STUNG, but it was nothing compared to his throbbing head. He could hear Emma moving around the kitchen in his cabin.
Why hadn’t she left? He hadn’t extended an invitation for a reason. She would have only made his jaw tightened more in anger, making his pain worse.
He was going to regret everything in the morning. He knew it. Inviting Samantha was an asshole thing to do. Even if it had only been to prove...he didn’t know what to his dad...and to Emma.
Instead, it had ended up bringing stress to Tom and Linda, which wasn’t fair to either of them.
Yes, regret was going to be a bitch in the morning. So was his jaw. He’d felt the blood, hoped he didn’t need stitches, and damn his dad for getting in the only good punch.
Take me when you’re sober.
Grayson would drill the poor old man to the ground, which was why he hadn’t ever made the move when he was sober. Brock wasn’t exactly a defenseless old man, but he had twenty plus years on Grayson, and Grayson was in far better shape.
“Grayson?” she said, and he felt the couch shift slightly as she sat beside him. “I want to clean up the blood on your chin and you need ice for the swelling.”
Why was her voice as sweet as a summer’s day, soft as a breeze drifting across the lake, and yet so harsh earlier when she’d confessed about being with his dad?
“No.” His words came out gruff, harsh, repelling her.
“Alright. I’ll leave it on the table.”
Good. He needed space and sleep. Drinking and anger were not a good combination for him.
He felt her presence unmoved beside him.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
Talk?
He could barely think coherently enough to get out a straight thought.
Grayson opened his eyes, and tilted his head to look at her. She was sitting close to him, as she
had on this very couch, in this very spot more than once this week. Her legs and body were tilted in his direction, and her hands clasped together on the lap of her snuggly fit dress.
As drunk as he was, he hadn’t missed how the lace hugged her curves in all the right places and how her plunging neckline strummed up his cravings to see more under the dress. She was gorgeous. But tainted.
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.” It came out as another gruff snarl.
She had slept with his dad. This was a pretty open and shut case.
Emma didn’t listen. There was something bothering her, he could sense it...he certainly couldn’t see it, his vision was blurred at best.
Who cares?
He shut his eyes.
It’s not your responsibility to figure this woman out.
“When you confronted me this afternoon, accusing me of sleeping with your dad, I wasn’t upfront with my reply.”
What did that mean? Was it less confusing than he thought it was?
Grayson lifted his body away from the couch, and settled his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together and looking at her...two of her at times.
Had he moved to watch her more closely, or to get closer to her...or was it because he was preparing to storm off, uninterested in the direction of this conversation.
Emma didn’t back away like he’d expected her to. Silence passed between them. For someone who wanted to talk, she was doing very little.
He was tired and his bed called. It was time to move this along. “You say ‘accused’ like I was wrong,” he pointed out.
“I did spend the night in your dad’s cabin.”
Grayson felt his anger return.
“I was a mess last night. I guess I was stumbling around the hallway trying to get into my cabin with a bank card.” Her light laugh contained no humor. “So, I went back to his cabin, I guess. I don’t remember.”
Grayson groaned and rubbed his hands across his face, leaving his head there in the darkness. He grimaced when his hands rubbed over the fresh cut.
Emma’s hands were on his instantly, her warm touch confusing him. “Grayson, please put some ice on that.”
“No.”
“This is all my fault. I should have told you the truth today, but you made me so angry.”
Grayson grunted. “I made you angry?” He looked at her. “You slept with my dad.”
“I didn’t sleep with your dad.” It broke his resolve to hear her say it so sadly. “I let you believe I did, because, well, you’re a jerk for thinking I would. Everything we’ve done, and after I told you I’m falling in love with you and you think I would just jump into your dad’s bed?”
Grayson blinked, but said nothing.
“Did you hear me?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m right here.”
“Yes, you’re here and drunk like a fool.”
“You let me believe you had sex with my dad.”
“You deserved it, you stupid ox. You accused me of having sex with your dad.”
Grayson’s head pounded.
He had accused her and she hadn’t done anything. She hadn’t slept with his dad. Seaweed scum didn’t even cover what he was. He was the scum on top of seaweed scum. What had he done?
“What is this?” Emma picked up his stack of photos off the coffee table.
Grayson couldn’t even remember...what they were. His mind fought hard to remember. Then, like a flash, it came to him, and he reached for the photos. “Nothing.”
Emma pulled away and stood, holding the entire stack. “This is Samantha...and you.” She flipped through them. “Now...and...in the past. You’re younger here.” A little gasp left Emma’s mouth and her hand covered her mouth. Grayson knew she’d found the pictures of her and Brock. Her hand covered her mouth. “What is this?” She glared at Grayson. “Did you have me watched? Followed?”
Grayson groaned.
Damn it, he was in no shape to handle this.
“No. Part of it is from Samantha. You and my dad are from Micah.”
“Micah?” She sounded horrified.
“He followed you last night−”
“This is me and you. At the arcade.” She flipped a photo. “The library.” Another photo. “The spa. I’m going to be sick.”
Grayson stood up and took the pictures from her, tossing them on the table behind her. “I dealt with it. The only proofs or prints are right here in this room. You don’t have to worry about them going public.”
“Public?” Her surprised tone said she hadn’t considered that possibility yet. “What? Why? What are all the connections here?”
“Emma, can we do this in the morning?”
She folded her arms and glowered at him.
“Fine, then I need some coffee,” Grayson huffed, striding past her. He couldn’t have just stayed home last night, then he would still be missing Emma, rather than having to break her heart some more. But if he hadn’t, Micah would have run with the story, sold the pictures and humiliated her. This was better.
EMMA STARED AT THE pictures scattered across the kitchen table. Pictures of her that Micah had planned to publish, alongside pictures of Grayson with Samantha. She wanted answers and didn’t care how intoxicated Grayson was, she wasn’t leaving until she got answers.
“Coffee?” Grayson asked.
“No.”
He sat on the couch, set the coffee on the table long enough to scrub his hands over his face, then turned to face her. “I don’t know where to start. This is complicated.”
“What’s the angle? Why are we connected?”
“Micah’s words were, ‘Emma Caliendo mixed in a Cohen love triangle.’”
That sneaky little seaweed scum.
It was Emma’s turn to rub her hands across her face. “And Samantha? Who is she? Your family obviously dislikes her.”
“Samantha is my ex-wife,” Grayson said.
Emma stilled. Her hands fell to her side, and her eyes landed hard on Grayson.
What? What!
“You were married?” The words barely made it past her lips.
Married? When?
“How did I not know this? How was it not in the papers? Announced across the world? When were you married?”
“Six years ago. Eloped and annulled days later.”
Emma held her hand up, not ready for her other questions to be answered. “Wait...you were married?” she repeated.
Grayson stood and closed in the distance between them. “Yes.”
Emma felt the betrayal and anger seep through her pores as her hand lifted and slapped him across the face. The contact rang in her ears, and the pain stung her hand, but it was worth it.
“You lied to me,” she accused. “Flat out lied to me. You said I was the only one to share your bed. You made up a lie to make me feel special.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Is that how you do it with women? Lie to them, sweet charm, talk and treat them, but really you’re just a liar.”
“And you aren’t? You promised you wouldn’t get hurt and you got hurt.”
“It’s not the same thing! You shared a bed with her, a house...a life together.”
“Days Emma. Did you hear me? Days.”
Emma stalked past him, when her hand touched the door he said, “You want to know what keeps me from saying ‘I love you’?”
Emma should have turned the knob and left. Did it really matter what he said now...after everything?
She didn’t move.
“I’m scared, Emma.” He sounded drained. Drunk and drained, but she was worn out too. Where could they even go from here?
“Don’t go.”
She turned. “What do you want from me?”
“I could use a friend. My friend.”
Emma was exhausted.
He’d done everything he possibly could to hurt her, and still she couldn’t walk away. His jaw was still swelling.
“Put ice on your jaw,” she snarled, taking her hand away from the
doorknob and feeling like it was the best and worst decision she’d ever made.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“ARE WE ALLOWED to laugh about this yet? Izzy asked, returning from the bar with a round of drinks for everyone.
“Margarita.” Abby named her drink, sitting up from the lounger under the cabana and reaching her hand out to Izzy.
“Such a girly drink,” Izzy teased, taking a sip before giving it to Abby.
“It’s a drink for pleasure, not one for getting drunk. I feel like we’ve had enough drinking drama this trip.”
Abby glanced at Emma and winked. Emma had to admit, although Abby was a firecracker like her sister, but Izzy, by far, gave a brighter bang.
“You’re lucky you’re not related to me,” Emma was only half-serious.
Abby waved at her. “Please girl. I’m practically family. Besides you can’t be mad at me after the two of you...” She pointed a finger at Melissa and Emma. “...tried to break up Marc and my sister. It’s like a silent rule that I’m allowed to harass both of you whenever I want...for life.”
“It’s only silent if you don’t bring it up.” Melissa didn’t sound angry, but her tone was crisp.
Abby waggled a finger at her. “Someone is cranky today.”
Melissa waggled a finger back at Abby. “I don’t care.”
Abby laughed and leaned back. “I guess after all the details you gave at the bar, trying to steal Marc would be the last thing you’re worried about.”
Melissa paused as her hand touched her drink, her face growing serious. “What are you talking about?” She genuinely looked concerned at the possibility that she’d said something she hadn’t wanted to share.
“Melissa, she’s teasing you,” Izzy said. “Besides, we weren’t talking about you. We were talking about the Cohen threesome.”
Emma groaned. “Stop calling it that.”
“It was a good show. A boxing match up front and personal,” Izzy said.
Emma took her drink and stretched back out on the lounger. She’d managed to steer clear of all Cohens, and Casey and Micah this morning and into the afternoon, giving her head a chance to clear and sort out where she felt she stood with Grayson. Friend or lover? She wanted both with him and, at the same time, she wanted neither. She’d snuck out of his cabin early this morning after cleaning his wound and lying with him on the couch. There had been no more talking.
