Off Limits

chapter 10



Nix



I wake up early, even though I've only been back to sleep for a few hours. The couch is fairly comfortable but it's been hard for me to sleep with Emily in the next room. Harley had started up on the couch with me but that didn't last long. He ended up hopping off and padding back to my room to jump in bed with Emily.

And now I'm slightly envious of the dog. Which is weird, since I don't like sharing my bed with anyone but Harley.

It's perplexing to me why this woman is plaguing my thoughts. Sure, she's beautiful, but that's clearly not it. I've seen and been with my own share before. I wish I could put my finger on it because then I'll be able to fix it.

Rolling off the couch, I stand and stretch. I kept my jeans on to sleep just in case Emily came out of my room. Modesty is normally not one of my virtues but I doubt Emily would appreciate stumbling upon a naked, sleeping man.

Sadly.

I head down the hallway to the bathroom and as I pass my bedroom, I peak in. The door has been left open just a bit, probably when Harley pushed his way in last night. The coming dawn is letting in just enough light that I can see Emily on her back, one arm lying across her stomach and the other on the pillow above her head. Harley is in bed beside her. His head is down at her feet and he has his bottom legs lying across her chest. One foot sits about two inches from her nose. I can't help but grin at the picture before me.

In fact, I have to turn away before I start laughing and wake them up. I'm finding this new emotion called amusement tastes like Sweet Tarts in my mouth.

After I take a quick shower and brush my teeth, I head into the kitchen. A quick peek back in my room shows me that Emily hasn’t moved in the past few minutes. Not surprising though. The sun has barely started to rise and I figure Emily has to be exhausted. Harley, however, is wide awake and he trots out of the room to greet me.

“Come on, little man,” I whisper. “Let’s go for a walk.”

I clip on Harley’s lead and we head out into the cool morning air. The more I think about what that jackass did to Emily last night —what more he could have done to her had I not shown up —makes my stomach burn. She seemed so lost last night, not willing to believe that monsters can exist in her world. I have a feeling she's been sheltered most of her life and last night may have been a bit of a rude awakening for her.

When we get back to the apartment, it’s quiet so I assume Emily must still be sleeping. I brew a pot of coffee and take a cup to the outdoor balcony. I sip at the brew and watch the sky turn from gray, to pink, to light blue by the time I finish. Walking back inside for a refill, I come to a dead stop as I enter the kitchen.

Emily is standing at the coffee pot, pouring herself a cup. She's standing on one leg while resting one foot on top of the other. Her hip is cocked out in a completely "I don't know I'm sexy" way. She's in nothing but the t-shirt I gave her and while it provides her the same coverage, if not more, than the dress she had on last night, she looks f*cking sexy as hell wearing it.

Her hair is a mess, and the t-shirt is wrinkled but I'd rather see her like this than that knockout number she had on last night. I wonder how much of that feeling has to do with the fact that it's my clothing she's wearing.

Emily senses me standing there and whips around. She doesn't seem embarrassed to be standing there in only my t-shirt and gives me a sleepy, quiet smile. "Good morning."

"Hey," I say lamely. I walk to the coffee pot and she picks up her cup, stepping aside. "How'd you sleep last night?"

"Great actually. Thanks again for giving me your bed."

After I pour my cup, I turn around and lean back against the counter. Taking a sip, I watch her over the rim. "After you finish your coffee, I'll take you home."

"It's a plan." She blows lightly on her coffee then takes a sip. "So when do you think you'll have your house ready to move back into?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not on any deadline and just working on it in my free time."

"I bet you're ready to get back though, huh?"

I shrug indifferently. "Sure. I mean, it's closer to my work...just a short walk from the back door to my shop."

She looks strangely at me. "But it's your home. I thought you'd be more comfortable there."

"Why's that?" I ask. I have no clue where she's going with this.

"It's just...you seem like a man that likes his personal space."

Aaahhh. Now I see where she's going. "You'd be right about that. I do like my personal space. But honestly, one bed is just as good as another. I don't have any personal connection to that house."

"It's hard for you to make personal connections, isn't it?"

Now there's a stark question, brutally honest and cutting to the bone. I almost tell her to mind her own f*cking business, because that's what I would normally say to anyone that tries to psychoanalyze me.

Instead, and without a trace of bitterness or scorn in my voice, I say, "Yes."

It's a stupid response on my part because it only invites the inevitable follow up question I know is coming.

"Why is that?" Her question is soft...hesitant...nervous. It makes my skin crawl and leap in turns.

"Making personal connections is easy. Losing them is what's hard. It's easier to avoid."

She's staring at me, her eyes are wide and sympathetic. "I imagine you've lost a lot. I'm sorry."

That's all she says and I don't feel like she needs a response from me. I was expecting her to push, prod, and attempt to pull information from me but she doesn't. And she doesn't because I know she can sense that I won't go any further with my sharing.

And this is what's strange about that. Normally, I cut people off with a glare, or glacial frost in my words. It's the standard cue I give when someone needs to back off. Sort of like hackles rising on a dog.

Here I didn't do that. I apparently didn't need to do that. I answered her questions honestly and she knew, on her own, that I'd had enough. She backed off without me needing to become Nix Caldwell, the prick extraordinaire. Emily has a part of me figured out that most don't.

At that intrigues the hell out of me.

***

I'm driving Emily to her apartment. She's changed back into her sexy dress and my mind is having a hard time not considering the miles of leg she that is blatantly inviting me to stare at. You would think the harsh light of day would cause some of the sex appeal to diminish but she had scrubbed her face last night before going to bed, so she looks fresh and young. Her hair is pulled up into some kind of messy concoction on top of her head that makes me want to pull it back down again. She looks supremely beautiful and I’m betting Emily Burnham doesn’t know how to look bad.

Her beauty, though, is not what makes her interesting. I hate to admit it but she's managed to pound a chink in my armor, which has in turn made me curious about her. I'm finding I want to know things about her. Things that I wouldn’t normally give a rat's ass about.

"So, what did you do to piss your parents off that got you cut off from your money?" I broach a subject that will result in, what I hope to be fruitful conversation. The type of conversation that will provide some lucidity as to why I find this woman so intriguing.

She snorts. "I tried to have a life."

I glance over at her and there is bitterness and hurt in her voice. I don't know the story but it makes me want to ring her parents' necks.

"Want to expound?"

She turns in the seat and looks at me. I glance once at her, taking in her bourbon colored eyes that are now filled with acerbic memories. I hesitate a little longer than I should, swimming in her eyes when I should be looking at the road. Her next question jolts me back to reality.

"Have you ever been under someone's complete control?"

"Sure," I answer easily enough. "The Marine Corps. I did what they told me to do, no questions asked."

She's silent because I know I make it sound so effortless and I don't want her to think that is the way of all things. So I clarify my statement. "But, I knew that going in and I accepted it."

"Well, I don't accept it and that's what pisses my mother off."

"So, the little girl is rebelling? Nice!" I'm trying to tease her and it goes over like a ton of bricks.

"I'm not rebelling," she snaps. "I'm trying to live my life with freedom. I'm an adult."

The air is heavy with tension and I feel bad that I made light of what is apparently a very touchy subject for Emily. I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, and the fact I feel badly about it is a new emotion for me. Most of the time, I do mean to hurt people's feelings, so they'll back off and leave me alone. That I want the opposite here has me searching for a way to make this right.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to tease you and apparently, I suck at it. So tell me what you want that is so different than your parents' aspirations."

She takes a deep breath. "My father is Alex Burnham...do you know him?"

I whistle through my teeth. "Uh...yeah...who doesn't know him? He's the ranking member of the House Armed Services Committee. And he's eying the White House."

"Well, when you come from an affluent and political family like mine, you tend to have all of your choices taken away."

I glance over at her skeptically. Surely, she's exaggerating just a bit. "All of your choices?"

"Most of them. I mean, I do get to choose when I can go to the bathroom." Her tone is snide and she's shutting down on me.

"Give me examples," I prompt her. "So I can understand."

I want to see just how bad she really has it. Because it must be so terrible to come from all that money and political standing. And yes, that's the sarcastic Nix Caldwell surfacing for an appearance.

Emily takes a deep breath before making her pitch to me. "Okay. Let's see...well, I am told what to wear, who to socialize with, how to talk, how to act, what friends to have, what degree I can get, and how much food to eat because God forbid I'd get fat and look terrible on camera."

"Is that it?" Which, okay, that's really pretty bad now that I think about it.

"No. One of the worst things is my mother trying to push an ex-boyfriend at me only because his father is one of my father's biggest campaign contributors."

"The stalker?"

"The one and only. And they could care less that he is violent. As long as I don't rock the money boat."

"What the f*ck?" I exclaim loudly. "He was violent with you?"

She nods. "Just once, but I broke it off with him immediately."

I'm blown away. "And you're parents still want you to see him?"

"Well,” she hedges. “They don't exactly know what he did to me. I just told them that it ended badly. I don't exactly have the type of relationship with my parents where I can confide in them."

Something about her tone of voice makes my heart hurt a little for her. She is clearly lacking something in her relationship with her parents and I wonder if it's something as simple as love. I throw out just to see what she'll say, "Maybe they would understand if you told them."

"Maybe."

She slouches down in the seat and crosses her arms over her stomach. The move causes her dress to ride up another glorious inch. My mind is still very much involved in this conversation but I can still appreciate the breathtaking view to which I'm being treated.

I decide to change the subject a bit. "So which one of those edicts did you break that caused you to lose your money?"

She actually snickers. "I declared journalism as my major and my mother stroked out. She wanted me to go to law school or medical school."

"What's wrong with journalism? It's not like you're going to stripper school or anything."

She sits up in the seat tall and turns to me with excitement. "Exactly! That's the same thing I've been thinking to myself. You get me, Nix."

I give a short laugh. Maybe I am starting to get her.

"So, have you always been this rebel of a daughter?"

I can see from the corner of my eye that her shoulders slump again and she hangs her head just a bit. I've hit on something that appears to be very demoralizing. Her body language reads loud and clear.

"No. I never rebelled," she says quietly. "You wouldn't have liked me very much just a few years ago."

I try to lighten the mood a little because her voice sounds so embarrassed. "Who says I like you now?"

I'm rewarded with a solid punch to my arm.

And then she twists my guts. "You like me."

It twists my guts because I'm afraid she may be right. Her voice is soft and sexy. And she's not meaning for it to come across that way, but that's the way I'm choosing to take it.

Time to lighten the mood again. "You're okay, Burnham. For a girl."

She laughs and it's that husky laugh that tightens my stomach even further. My dick starts to twitch and I have to talk him down.

Must think of something else.

"So why wouldn't I have liked you a few years ago?" If she's that bad, it will forestall a hard on, I'm sure.

"Oh, let's see. I was spoiled, vain, narcissistic, capricious, entitled, bitchy, bratty and snide. And that's just for starters."

Her voice is light but I can tell she really believes she was all of those things.

Surely not? Not the Emily I've seen and come to...admire?

"You're not those things now." I state it emphatically. She may come from money and affluence but she's never once come across as anything but a down to earth kind of woman to me.

"Thanks, Nix. That's the nicest thing you've said to me. I bet that's about the nicest thing you've ever said to anyone."

I glance over and give her a short smile. It's true. That is probably the nicest thing I've said to anyone...at least for a very long time.