“Then let me give it to you.” Cool gray eyes warmed to mercurial silver. She parted her lips, let him slant his mouth over hers, slide his tongue in like it belonged there. His kiss consumed her, giving her exactly what she needed in this moment. Another memory she’d store for when she’d moved on.
He lifted her tee and bent his head to her breast. The moment his tongue touched her aching nipples, she moaned. How could feeling this good be wrong? So many reasons existed to not do this, yet every single one of them was trumped by his soul-deep suck on her needy flesh.
“Don’t stop, Brody. Please. Don’t stop.”
Out of the corner of her eye, a slight movement pinged her lust-soaked brain to attention. They were not alone.
“Well, bro, the bridesmaids are going to be so disappointed.”
Emma pushed her shirt down. She knew that voice, and if it wasn’t immediately registering with her, the “bro” endearment would have tipped her off. She tried to extricate her body from Brody’s grip, but he held her in place at her hip. One-handed, too, the bastard.
“For f*ck
’s sake, Liv,” Brody snapped, “what the hell are you doing here?”
“Getting my party weekend off to an icky start. I thought I’d never have an image horrifying enough to replace the one of walking in on you jerking off to a Victoria’s Secret catalog when you were fourteen, but this… Ah, hell, nothing will ever beat interrupting the VS shoot.”
Emma pushed Brody back and slid off the kitchen island, trying to blend into the granite countertop. Brody’s sister was blond, gorgeous, and much shorter than she sounded on the phone. A strange thing to say, but she always came across as so commanding. Some people might call her bossy or another B word, but Emma never indulged in that kind of hate on a strong woman.
She sneaked a glance at Brody, waiting to see how he wanted to play it. Please God don’t introduce her as Emma. It was bad enough she was caught in the act by his sister; she sure as hell didn’t want anyone knowing he was boning the help.
Priorities—she had ’em.
Olivia held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Brody’s sister, Olivia. I got all the Kane charm and personality. The looks, too.”
Emma took her hand and shook, enjoying the firm grip. “Nice to meet you.” Said like she was meeting the queen of England. Should she add a curtsy?
Olivia raised a royal eyebrow, expectant. “And you are…?”
“Um…” She looked to Brody for assistance. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Shit-hot, but probably not what she should be thinking on right now.
“This is…” Brody said, and Emma watched in slow motion as those full, sensuous lips formed her name.
“Chardonnay,” Emma said quickly. Good God, had she really just introduced herself with her stripper name? The muscle tic now motoring a mile a minute in Brody’s jaw confirmed that she had indeed made this boneheaded move.
She waited for Olivia to look down her nose at her because of the obviously invented, trashy name. She’d always seemed nice enough when she called, if a little impatient. She had once asked Emma if Brody could spare a moment from polishing the stick up his ass to speak to his sister. Emma had liked her immediately. But now she was here, meeting the help. That she didn’t know was the help.
There was something liberating about that. About slipping into another skin. Sure, hadn’t Emma been playing a part as Ms. Strickland for the last three months? Faking her way to respectability? Perhaps Chardonnay had somehow escaped the stripping business and was doing what she had always wanted. Going to school and finishing her business degree. Or running a cupcake shop. Or becoming an aerobics instructor.
Did people dream of becoming aerobics instructors?
“Chardonnay,” Olivia said carefully, taking in Brody’s shirt dwarfing Emma’s person and his large hand in a possessive—and protective—splay on her hip. Emma watched as Olivia checked her cultural memory banks for the name, trying to match it up with her notions of who, outside of Hollywood or a trailer park, would bless their child with such a dreadful start in life.
Breeding won out. With a perfectly straight face, she said, “That’s an unusual name.”
“Not for a stripper it isn’t,” Emma shot back. Shit. Apparently Chardonnay couldn’t quite escape her terrible past after all.
Brody’s fingers dug into her hip. Emma didn’t dare look at him.
Olivia’s eyes flew open. “A stripper.”
“People usually say exotic dancer, but I’ve never been one for eu—uh, for fancy names.” Chardonnay, with her grade-school reading level, probably didn’t know the word “euphemism.”
Sorry, Chardonnay.
“I call it how I see it,” Emma continued. “Just like he calls it when he sees it.” She jerked a thumb at Brody who, but for the forehead vein throbbing in a way that looked like a stroke in waiting, was taking this really, really well. “He likes to get bossy.”
Olivia stared at her brother, a wicked smile breaking wide. “Does he now? I had no idea. He’s always seems so—”
“Uptight? Yeah, we’re working on that. He’s starting to loosen up.”