She touched a finger to his lips. “She’s protective of you, and she has every right to be suspicious. Here I am, making myself at home with my cat. She doesn’t know me from Adam. You don’t know me from Adam.”
Yet he did. He knew that crease she got between her brows when she was annoyed or worried. That subtle lift at the corner of her luscious mouth when she had a smart-ass comment ready to deliver. He knew the sounds she made when he was inside her and the way her breath quickened when she was in his arms.
He wanted to kill Liv. She knew how much Kerry had hurt him. One minute he was on top of the world—a beautiful fiancée, a kid on the way, his life mapped out—and the next, he was wading in a shit pool created by his dumb na?veté. What he did not appreciate was his sister playing his personal bodyguard, matchmaker, and all-around pain in his ass.
“About my sister, she’s sort of, well, crazy. Overprotective, no filter, and spoiled rotten. She expects everyone to kowtow to her every whim and she also assumes she’s right about everything. The whole stripper thing sort of threw her. She doesn’t meet a lot of people outside her circle.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You mean, like me. Because even though she thinks I’m a stripper, a personal assistant leeching off her boss wouldn’t be much better.”
“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. And you’re not leeching.” He didn’t enjoy the insinuation that he thought like his sister or that Emma still thought she was using him. “You’re the one who went with the stripper persona. You could have said your name was anything but Emma, that you were anyone but my employee. But you chose that. Why?”
Discomfort brushed her features. “It was the first thing that came to mind.”
“Liar.”
“It was…” She tugged on Kevin’s leash, and after drawing him closer, picked him up. Her tell. When she was uncomfortable, she used the cat as a shield. “You ever hear that saying—I think it’s Mark Twain—if you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything?”
“You’re not a stripper, Emma. How is that remotely close to your truth?”
“Let’s just say that but for the grace of God, that could have been my life. I’ve worked my ass off to make sure it wasn’t my life, but sometimes it feels like I’m just one paycheck away from a soup kitchen. Or a permanent stripper job. Even now, after all that’s happened in the last few months—working at the club, stripper for a night—I feel I haven’t hit rock bottom yet.”
But she was hovering a few feet off the ground, was the unspoken implication.
“You haven’t. You won’t.” He wouldn’t let her.
Her smile was regal. This woman had such pride, and his heart tightened just thinking of how brave she was. Emma was the kind of woman who would charge hell with a bucket of ice water.
“I know I won’t. But I also know I—well, I have to make some changes. Take control.”
“What kind of changes?” There was that niggle again telling him he had barely scratched the surface of Emma Strickland.
“I found a studio apartment, and I’m going to see it tomorrow.”
Something in her voice sounded off, but he set it aside because this news should have pleased him. Emma and her demon cat would be out of his hair and he could get back to normal.
“Let me guess, some hovel in a bad neighborhood.”
Her pretty brows angled together. “Everything looks like a hovel when you’re living on the sixtieth floor, Brody.”
“Emma, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay. It will be okay.” The way she said that, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “Olivia said your ex-fiancée hurt you.”
So they were done talking about Emma. Okay, it was quid pro quo and she had peeled back a layer of herself; maybe he owed her a secret or two. Familiar needful things reared up. The need to connect with someone he suspected had undergone her own brand of suffering.
“My ex-fiancée said that I didn’t have it in me to give her what she needed. I was too busy taking what I needed. From her body. From her soul.”
“She sounds like a drama queen.” Beneath the dark veil of her lashes, she studied him, until recognition dawned on her face. “She couldn’t handle you in bed. Didn’t like when you got all bossy.” She pressed a hand to his chest, so small yet he felt trapped by her strength. It was a pleasant sensation.
“Something like that. She said I was selfish. Greedy.”
“It’s a two-way street,” Emma murmured, her words soft, but fierce at once. “Sometimes you have to take what you need and hope the other person can handle the invasion.”
“Invasion?”
“That’s what love is, isn’t it? Families, friends, lovers. It’s an invasion of each other’s space, minds, hearts. Someone’s always jockeying for control. For it to truly work, there has to be equality. Each side has to be strong enough to handle it.”