“I’d just think it was some painting book if not for your mother trying to read me every other chapter.” Emma decided to let him off the hook since he was starting to look uncomfortable. This probably wasn’t a book you wanted to discuss with your daughter. “I need to go get the food off the grill and you’d better go rescue Brant.” She had been planning to leave him to fend for himself, but she was supposed to be in love with him, and it might look strange if she sat at the other end of the table.
Luckily or unluckily, when she walked up behind him, the line of women automatically shifted down one seat and she slid into the empty chair next to his. He threw an enthusiastic arm around her, pulling her in closer to very tempting warmth. “Hey, baby, I missed you.” Everyone at the table gave an awww while she tried to tell herself that the pang she felt in her heart wasn’t real. Nothing about their rapport was real other than the fact that they worked together and, when this was over, it would be back to business as usual. Sure, they were both physically attracted to each other, but that changed nothing in the end. She was just too different from Brant for things to ever go any farther, wasn’t she? After all, the man sitting beside her now was an illusion. He was acting a part and she had to remember that. When they returned home, he would be the same uptight man that he normally was, and she would be back to calling him on it at every opportunity. She couldn’t be deceived by how good it felt to be a “we” and not just plain old Emma. Opposites may attract, but in this case, they may also strangle each other.
Chapter Eight
Brant had just finished eating his hamburger and Emma was now curled into his side. The mannerisms of being a couple seemed to be coming more naturally to him than he would have imagined. She had given him a couple of elbow nudges that kept him somewhat grounded in reality. Dinner with her family had been lively and fun. He didn’t have to fake his connection to her parents; it was genuine. He had carried on a long conversation with her father on everything from politics and the economy to college football. Her brother had invited him for a stroll on the beach to “burn one,” which he politely declined. Her mother and her friends were a constant source of off-color jokes and stories about their husbands, boyfriends and neighbors. As a group they were rather scary, but you had to laugh with them.
Once the food was cleared from the table, he watched in curiosity as one of the women, Doris, pulled a bag from her purse and shook out some jewelry. She passed what appeared to be a necklace to the other women. Emma held hers up and he could see what looked like a tiny tie, something that looked like a mask and . . . what the . . . handcuffs?
Emma smiled sweetly at his puzzled expression. “Could you fasten this for me, honey?”
“Um, sure, sweetheart.”
Her father stood up, saying, “Well, I think that’s my cue to head inside.”
Kat glanced at her husband, giving him a look that made Brant turn quickly away. The love and passion between them was obvious in every interaction they had with each other. “Honey, you’re welcome to stay. We have another man in the group tonight, so you might be more comfortable.”
Ken leaned down and gave his wife a lingering kiss before straightening. “I’ve got some calls to return. I’ll see you when your friends leave. Do you want me to open your bottles of wine before I go?”
As Kat nodded, Ken grabbed a couple of wine bottles from the kitchen, returning with one of them open. Brant saw the Sancerre label on the bottle and thought it was a strange pick for a book club meeting, but who was he to say since this was his first time. As Ken walked by him on the way into the house, he clapped a hand on Brant’s shoulder, saying under his breath, “Good luck, son.”
Twenty minutes into the meeting was all it took for Brant to go from alarmed to traumatized. When Doris was asked her favorite part of the book, she said, “I loved it when Christian took Anna into the red room of pain because nobody wants a vanilla relationship, do they?” He jerked back in alarm so hard that Emma almost tumbled off the seat beside him.
While the others at the table went off into a very long and detailed discussion of floggers and paddles, he pulled Emma closer, whispering in her ear. “What the fuck kind of book is this?”
She gave him an innocent look but couldn’t quite keep the mischievous expression off her face. It was there dancing in her eyes, impossible for him to miss. “Why, honey, I thought you knew that Fifty Shades was erotica.”
He gave her an incredulous look, hardly believing the shitstorm he had walked blindly into. “You set me up. Have you read it?”
Smirking, she admitted, “It’s one of my favorites; I’ve read it twice.”
Part of him was still pissed, but another part, mainly the one between his legs, was dying to know what her favorite part of the book was. As intrigued as he was, he knew one thing: He had to get the hell out of here before her mother detailed her favorite part and scarred him forever. He couldn’t bear the idea of accidentally picturing her and Emma’s father re-creating some scene complete with a spanking for the bad girl.