Shirt unbuttoned, she paused. “I’m not sure.” He could hear her breathing, see the tremor in her hands.
“We have all night, if you want.” He closed the distance between them, running his hands along her arms to take her hands.
“And I have a purse full of condoms.”
“Not what I expected you to say.” He shook his head. “And definitely not what I expected Emmy Lou King to carry around in her purse.”
“Oh, no, they’re not mine.” She frowned. “Of course they’re not.”
“Of course not.” He shook his head, close to laughter. “Anything else I should know?”
“Let’s see.” Her green eyes traveled over his face, locking on his lips. “Maybe one thing… I don’t want to be the nun of country music.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Em.” He tilted her face up, his thumb tracing her mouth. “Damn, you’re beautiful. Soft.”
“I’m going to tackle you now.” She wriggled out of her shirt.
His lungs deflated at the sight of her pink lace bra. The scrap of her pink lace panties—she had no problem getting out of her jeans—just about brought him to his knees. She smiled up at him then pushed with all her might, sending him back onto his bed.
Brock reached up and pulled her down on top of him, his hands sliding up the curve of her back and along her shoulders.
She leaned forward, her lips silky soft against his. He didn’t bother holding back his groan. Instead, he tangled one hand in her hair and held her there. He loved the way their lips came together, the slide of her tongue against his, and the rasp of their breath.
Cradling her close, he rolled them.
She was up, untucking his shirt, tugging and pulling the fitted fabric until his shirt was off—and sailing across the room. He reached for her again, pulling her beneath him. Stomach to stomach, chest to chest, he drew her close. His mouth latched on to her neck. The soft spot behind her earlobe. The more he tasted, the more he wanted. The curve of her neck. The blade of her shoulder. The hollow between her breasts.
Her fingers slid through his hair, clinging as his hand slid up her side to cup her breast. Through the lace, his tongue and lips explored, then sucked the pebbled tip into his mouth.
She was arching into him, her fingers biting into his scalp—gasping when he nosed the lace aside. One hand held her close, the other freed her bra. He took his time, learning the swell of one, then the other. He’d missed her. Everything about her. Her broken moan made him shudder. The scrape of her nails on his back made him grip her hip. When her legs parted and she arched against him, he was rolling off of her—smiling when her hands fisted in the satin cover.
He pulled the tie on his athletic pants, kicked them aside, and stooped, pressing kisses along her calf and knee. The tip of his tongue teased the skin behind her knee, his lips clung along the inside of her thigh, sliding her lace panties down and off her legs…but her hands were pulling at his shoulders—pulling him back to her.
He was kissing her then, fueled by her frantic sounds and this all-consuming hunger. It took seconds to pull a condom from her bag, seconds to roll it on—but then he forced himself to slow down. This was what he’d been dreaming about. Loving her this way.
He braced himself over her, his hands framing her face as he kissed her long and slow. Eyes wide, head arched back, she moaned at the feel of him against her.
His breath was a hiss, the first thrust burying him deep. He smoothed the hair from her forehead, watching her face as he moved into her. Her eyes fluttered, lips parted, skin flushed pink, and her hands flexed against his shoulders. He moved slowly, fighting to keep control. But it was too much; she was too much. This was Emmy. Warm and soft, tight around him. She was the one staring up at him, a smile on her lips. She was the one clinging to him and wrapping her legs around his waist.
He did his best to go slow, to hold on until she came first. But there was nothing calm about her. Whatever he gave, she wanted more. Her fingers dug into his back as he moved harder. Faster. Faster and faster until she bowed off the bed beneath him. The sound she made was raw, broken—almost surprised. It gave him the permission he needed to let go.
His gaze held hers, drowning in her eyes, straining against her body. Aching. Closer and closer. His climax slammed into him, on and on, until he was panting and leaning over her.
Her hand pressed against his cheek. “We need to do that again.” Her voice was breathy and ragged.
He laughed, rolling off of her to lie by her side.
She turned to see him, breathing hard. “Don’t laugh.” Wild-eyed and red-cheeked, she was beautiful. “I have a lot of time to make up for.” She stared up at the ceiling overhead, smiling. “Who needs bubble baths or strawberries?”
“Not me,” he replied, grinning at her.
She rolled up on her side beside him. “I always thought you’d be the first guy I slept with. I just didn’t think it would take this long. After that, I think it was worth the wait.” She sat up, stretched her arms over her head, and stood. “I’m getting some water. You want some?”
His brain had ground to a screeching halt somewhere between the words “first guy” and “I slept with.” He had not heard that. He must have misunderstood. Mainly because what she’d said wasn’t possible. “Back up a minute.” He sat up. “Repeat that.”
Her gaze traveled down his naked body, a soft whoosh of air sliding between her lips. “Do you want water?” She stooped, picking up his shirt.
“Before that.” He grabbed her hand, pulled his shirt from her hands, and drew her between his legs. “The other part. The part where you have never slept with anyone before?”
“Right.” She nodded, running her fingers through his hair. “Like I said, so much time to make up for.” Her green eyes met his. “I shouldn’t have said anything, huh?” she whispered, her smile fading.
Brock continued to stare at her. “How is that possible?”
“Well…we’ve already established I don’t normally carry around a bag of prophylactics. And for the most part, the men I spend time with are family or employees. I’ve had opportunities. I just…didn’t take them.” She shrugged. “It’s possible.”
He nodded, doing his best not to react. “I’d take some water.”
“Okay.” She kissed his forehead and left the room, giving him an incredible view of her naked ass.
Then she was gone and he could react. There was no reason to lie about this—which meant it had to be true. But how…and why? He ran a hand along the back of his neck. It wasn’t a big deal.
Bullshit. It was a huge deal.
He shook his head. She’d been the one to initiate everything. Her whole awkward and sexy-as-hell seduction thing? He’d never have suspected he…this… What the hell?
Well, her orgasm had sounded like a surprise.
He stood up and headed into the bathroom, opening one of the gift baskets the hotel had provided for the room.
“Brock?” Emmy Lou said.
“Bathroom.” He leaned over the garden tub, turned on the water, and poured in some Champagne Bubbles Bath Gel.
“What are you doing? All naked with your rippling muscles?” She set the glasses of water on the marble countertop, devouring him with her eyes.
He pointed at the bath.
She blinked, tore her gaze from him, and smiled. “A bubble bath?”
“You wanted one.” If she kept looking at him like that, the bath would wait. “No strawberries. Guess I’ll have to make up for it in other ways.”
“Okay.” She perched on the edge of the counter and reached for him. “I’d like to get started on that immediately.”
Chapter 15
“Are you sure?” Emmy asked, propped on his pillow. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. What happened when they left and returned to their respective lives? The
question had been bouncing around in her head since he’d slipped from the bed this morning. Maybe that was why she’d enticed him back to bed twice already. Not that he’d complained. “Absolutely sure?”
He laughed. “I was sure thirty minutes ago.” He pulled on a skintight, sleeveless, black compression shirt that hugged his muscles. “Just as sure ten minutes ago.” With a sigh, he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. “Now I’m sure I’m going to be late to practice.”
“Okay.” She swallowed her disappointment. “I’ll call my ride.”
He stood, hands on hips, watching her slide across the bed with the sheet wrapped around her. “You’ve been naked for the last twelve hours. Now you’re shy?”
She glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “I don’t want to make you even later.”
“Fair point.” He studied her bare back, his jaw going rigid.
Staring at him was bad. Instead, she dropped to her knees and reached under the ottoman for her panties. Who knew an ottoman was so useful? She did—now. Thankfully, this one was large enough for Brock to lay back while she enjoyed all the delights of being on top… A now oh-so-familiar throb began between her legs. Images assaulted her. Brock, groaning, the cords in his neck rigid, his hands gripping her hips, while she leaned forward to kiss him. An ottoman should definitely be a required bedroom accessory.
“My bra?” She stood, staring around the room. It had to be there somewhere…
“Here.” Her lacy lingerie hung from Brock’s finger.
She slid the bra off his finger, doing her best not to think about all the wonderful things he could do with his fingers. And his hands…pretty much every part of him. Everything about last night had been wonderful. Especially when, even in sleep, he’d pulled her close and wrapped her in his arms. “What happens now?”
“That’s up to you.” He’d been smiling and carefree the entire time they were naked. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
She scooped up the extra sheet fabric, held her clothes close, and hurried into the bathroom. She texted Krystal his hotel address.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “You could come back tonight.”
Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra, her heart thumping like crazy. “I can’t.”
“That’s up to you.” He fastened her bra, his fingers trailing along the edge. “I told you yesterday, whatever you want.”
“I thought you meant in bed. In the bath. Or the shower.” She teased, sucking in a deep, wavering breath. “My favorite was the ottoman—”
He pressed a finger to her lips, a broken groan leading into his words: “I’m already late.”
She pressed a kiss against his fingertip and was instantly rewarded by the flare of his nostrils. “I’m not keeping you.” She loved the way he responded to her. Especially the way his jaw muscle locked tight…like it was now.
“You have no idea.” His blue eyes locked with hers. “Think about it. Tonight.”
“We leave for Virginia after tonight’s concert. Besides, you have a game and I’d wear you out with the new list of wants I’m already making.”
“I can imagine.” He shook his head, swallowing hard. He hesitated, then drew her into his arms. He had a way of kissing her that made her head spin. Holding on tight was her only option. But she didn’t want to get him in trouble, so she pulled away from his kiss.
“Good luck Sunday. I’ll be there in spirit, cheering you on.” She rested her hand on his chest. “Is this where you tell me you’ll call me but then I never hear from you again?” It was a joke—but the longer he didn’t answer, the harder it was to breathe.
“No. You’ll hear from me.” For a minute, she thought he had something more to say.
She smiled, her hand slipping from his chest. “Be safe, Brock Watson.”
He pulled her close again, pressed a hard kiss to her forehead, then hurried out.
As soon as the door shut, her heart slowed and began to ache. This was real—this had really happened. She could smell him on her skin. Still feel his touch, inside her, exploring her. She blew out a long slow breath, the ache building. He’d asked her what she wanted. The same thing she’d always wanted: Brock. It scared her how much she wanted him. More than his body, though the last twelve hours had been incredible. No, she wanted so much more.
Sawyer arrived shortly thereafter, armed with a bag of clothing and coffee.
“Thanks.” She peered into the bag. “Nothing like a massive sweatshirt, baseball cap, and…what is this print?” She held the sweatpants up for inspection.
“Cats and thunder.” Sawyer shook his head. “Krystal.”
“Give me a sec, will you?” She changed in the bathroom, tucked her old clothes into the bag, and laughed at her reflection. “I’m not sure what sort of fashion statement I’m making.”
Sawyer’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t comment on the outfit. He was all bodyguard on the way out, shielding her from onlookers, guiding her down the back stairs, and sneaking her into the black Suburban waiting at one of the hotel’s rear service entrances.
“That exit route was super covert.” Emmy paused. “The outfit, not so much.”
“Good morning,” Krystal said, giving her a once-over. “Someone looks happy.”
She smiled, letting Krystal fill her in on a new song Travis and Jace were working on. Once at the hotel, they headed straight to their suite. Emmy put her purse on the counter and dropped the bag of yesterday’s clothes onto the floor, hoping there was time for a nap.
“Oh goodness. I thought you’d already headed to the stadium.” Momma jumped up and took one look at the papers spread out on the floor, couch, and coffee table. But she paused, giving them a slow head-to-toe inspection. “What are you wearing?”
The likelihood of Krystal answering and actually speaking to Momma were slim. It was up to her to find a reasonable explanation for her un-Emmy getup. “We went for a walk.” Breathe. “What are you working on?”
“It’s just a little project I started when I was in rehabilitation.” CiCi smoothed her hand over a page. “Journaling. It helps get all of the things out that you could never say out loud.”
“Makes sense.” Emmy had kept a diary until high school until Momma had read it. It went missing shortly thereafter. Not long after, Travis had his phone taken away for inappropriate searches and videos. Apparently, Momma didn’t just go through their rooms; she monitored their texts and phone calls, too.
Once Brock had been drafted into the AFL, she and Brock decided writing good old-fashioned letters was the only way to ensure their conversations were private. Getting the mail had been Travis’s chore and, as long as she’d kept him stocked in candy, he’d gladly kept their secret. Until the letters stopped coming.
“I’ll go get food.” Krystal left the room without acknowledging Momma.
“Since things are at a standstill with your daddy’s career, I thought I’d put it all together. Maybe a memoir?” Momma paused.
Emmy Lou froze. “To publish?”
“Just like Krystal, I’ve been struggling with something horrible…things beyond my control. Maybe my story can help someone.” She nodded. “It’s all here. Meeting your father. Being disowned by your granddad. The accident. You kids…and after.” Her breath hitched. “None of this is my fault. You know that. I’d do anything to protect you kids, anything.” She shook her head. “How many times do I need to apologize to her for my addiction?”
Her, meaning Krystal. Had Momma ever apologized? Did an apology count if the “I’m sorry” was followed by a “but”? Emmy Lou didn’t think so. And Momma’s apologies always came with a “but.” If she published this? Aired all their secrets for the world? Emmy felt sick.
“Food,” Travis said, carrying a large pastry box. “And coffee.”
Krystal followed, handing Emmy Lou her special meal bef
ore sitting with Travis at the bar.
“Tell me you’re eating something besides donuts?” Momma sighed. “You can’t keep your energy up if you’re full of sugar. Or keep your waistline under control for that matter.”
Even buried in Emmy’s purse, there was no missing her ringtone. “Sorry, I meant to silence that,” Emmy said. It wasn’t Melanie’s or Daddy’s ringtone; it could wait.
“I’ll get it,” Travis said, shoving an entire donut into his mouth.
“It’s okay, Travis.” Emmy waved him away from her purse.
“Want me to answer it? Or see who’s calling?” He winked at her. “Might be important.”
“No,” Emmy said. He was going to bait her about Brock with their mother in the room? She smiled when Krystal reached over and pinched their brother, hard. “It can go to voicemail.”
“What if it’s Daddy?” Momma said, turning. “Bring it here, Travis.”
It happened so quickly, there was no time to react.
One second, Travis was smiling like an idiot with her purse in his hands. The next, he tripped and fell. He caught himself, but her bag upended on the way to the ground, scattering its contents all over the hotel suite floor. Sunglasses. A compact. Two tubes of lipstick. Her phone and a comb. And at least ten red condom wrappers decorated with gold soldiers.
Her mother’s shock was one thing, but having Daddy and Sawyer walk in, right then, made it ten times worse. Tension flooded the silence, enough to make Emmy’s palms sweat.
“Really?” Travis started laughing. “Come on. Where’s your sense of humor? It’s a joke.”
All heads, including hers, swiveled his way. What?
“A joke?” Daddy ran a hand over his face. “You put a bunch of prophylactics in your sister’s purse as a joke?”
“Travis Wayne.” Momma was not amused. “What were you thinking?”
“What sort of joke is that?” Daddy added.
“Not a very good one, obviously. Since no one is laughing.” He pointed at Emmy, looking almost sad. “Condoms. Emmy. That’s funny. Hell, I think it’s hilarious.”
Song for a Cowboy Page 21
