Taking the Score (Tall, Dark, and Texan #2)

And she was Emma. His Emma.

Her body started to shake as if the mere thought of surrender—his, hers, who the hell knew?—had triggered her release. And that set off his own, a domino explosion that ripped through his cock and emptied inside her. On and on, a series of jerky thrusts until he had nothing left to give. She had taken it all.

They remained connected to each other, okay with being quiet.

“I’ll get right on those reports now, shall I, Mr. Kane?” she whispered against his lips.

He laughed, enjoying that immensely. Enjoying her, and the person he was becoming with her.





Chapter Fifteen

Brody knew he shouldn’t have come into the office. But he’d needed to pick up the latest contracts sitting on his desk, and a visit late on a Thursday night seemed like a safe enough bet. He just hadn’t reckoned on Flynn.

What he saw on his friend’s face as he stood at the door pinned him back. The guy looked like the apocalypse had landed on his head then backed up and rolled over to make sure he was decimated.

“You look like shit.”

“Becca dumped me.”

Hell, no. “You mean you had a fight?”

“Nope, I mean she dumped my sorry ass four months before I was supposed to scoot it down the freakin’ aisle.”

Given his own history, Brody had to ask, though it pained him to do it. “Is there someone else?”

Flynn came in and collapsed in a sprawl on the sofa. “Not me, and she didn’t say. Just that I’m not serious enough for the life she wants to live. Something about not being a big-picture guy. What the f*ck
does that mean?”

Brody had no idea. He’d given up trying to figure out what women wanted years ago. These days, he had better luck with cats. Flynn did have a man-ho past that might give any woman pause, but since meeting Becca, a doctor finishing up her residency in Houston, he’d settled down.

“This can’t be it, Flynn. Give her time to think about it.”

Flynn stared at the floor awhile, gave a curt nod that seemed to signal a decision had been made, and rose to leave. Good talk.

At the door, he stopped and turned. “So you banged a stripper and got yourself a cat?”

Brody crossed his arms and glared, any sympathy for his pal fading fast.

“Considering you and my sister seem to despise each other, you spend an awful lot of time chitchattin’ like teens at the high school lockers.”

“Did she say that? She despises me?” Strangely, Flynn looked bothered by this.

“You do remember that you teased her mercilessly when she was a kid?”

“Just followin’ your lead. Standard big brother position description.” Flynn pointed accusingly. “And stop tryin’ to change the subject. Your sister is worried that a stripper has gotten her painted toes under the Kane jewel-encrusted table. So I have to ask if this has anything to do with the strip club I steered you toward the other night, because my intention was not to throw you in the path of an exotic dancer, it was to—”

“Hook me up with my assistant?”

Flynn threw up his hands. “Yes, you idiot! Are you tellin’ me that you hit on a stripper while Emma, the woman who has been moonin’ over you for months, was serving drinks? Not even you could be that f*ck
in’ clueless.”

“Flynn—”

“Oh, I see. Your ethical boundary shit won’t let you cross a line with Emma, but you’re fine with doin’ the nasty with a stripper? When you gave that spiel to Hunter after he hired Tess to be his fiancée, I had no idea you actually believed your own bullshit.”

Self-recrimination boiled in his gut. That was exactly the line he’d given Hunter when their partner paid his actress-nemesis Tess to be his weekend fiancée with the full intention of having sex with her. The money exchange had set off alarm bells in Brody’s brain and he’d let Hunter know. Was smug about it, too. Now what the hell was the difference between that and the advantage he was taking of Emma?

She was flirting with the poverty line, and he was demanding she f*ck
his face. Good Christ, what kind of ass*ole

did that?

“Emma is my assistant, is all. As for Chardonnay—”

“Her name’s Chardonnay?” Flynn shook his head in wonder. “What’s the cat called? Pinot Freakin’ Noir?”

Because Flynn’s reaction to Emma’s stripper name was bordering on priceless, Brody continued to layer on the crazy. “Chardonnay was visiting last night and her cat, Kevin, was sick so she couldn’t leave him.”

“Kevin? Chardonnay?” Flynn rested his hands on his hips. “What the hell is going on here, dude?”