Emma met Brody’s gaze again. Heat and something that looked like pride shone back at her. It warmed her some. Scared her more. “Though we haven’t actually made it to a bed yet, have we?”
“Not yet,” he murmured in a gravelly tone that said, soon, baby, soon. Moving in, he encircled her waist and gathered her close. She would like to say she had no choice but to sink into him, but that was wrong. She had a choice. She made it and let him hold her steady in those incredibly strong arms.
“You and Emma, Kane?” Flynn asked, dividing a glance between Brody and Emma. He looked like he was itching to high-five his friend. Typical man.
“Me and Emma,” Brody said quietly, as if that explained everything. His gaze remained fixed on hers, a sensual tractor beam that trapped her immobile.
“People are looking at us,” she managed.
“Let ’em.” He kissed her, a full claim of her lips, taking total possession of her body and soul, in front of God and everyone. This was not supposed to happen. Any of it. When he released her, she was a shaking mess. “Get a good look, Cross?”
“If I was a chick, I’d probably be clappin’ and hootin’,” Flynn said, “but as I’m a red-blooded Texan-American male, I’ll just say this. About f*ck
in’ time.”
A resounding thud redirected the room’s attention to the pole—and the woman in a crumpled heap beside it now holding her wrist.
Coldplay-loving, fresh flowers–hating, would-be stripper Gabby let out a drunken moan.
“Shit! And no one saw me do the spin.”
“Jesus, Gabby,” Olivia said, “stop pissing around.”
Brody caught Emma’s eye with that smile she loved—a rare Brody Kane blast of sun. Oh God, he needed to stop that, because now everything was piling up on her. The things she knew about him, the things he didn’t know about her. This dumb old heart of hers threatening to eat a hole in her chest. Me and Emma, he had said. Like they were a thing.
A team.
She immediately averted her eyes, because to seal their gazes would have resulted in a wordless, but terrifyingly real, exchange.
Holy wow, you are in big, big trouble here, Ems.
Chapter Eighteen
As Brody checked the fridge for champagne, his phone rang with a call from Flynn. He was tempted not to answer, especially as he had a gorgeous woman chilling on the balcony of his penthouse, but he needed something from his friend.
“Just the cock blocker I wanted to talk to,” Brody said while his eyes roved the fridge’s interior. No champagne. Unsurprising as he hadn’t had much to celebrate recently. “I need a favor.”
“No favors until I hear the details about you and Emma.”
Brody had known it was a boneheaded move to visit his sister at the Peninsula, but Flynn had wanted to “lay some groundwork for later” with one of Liv’s friends, which meant stopping in for a cocktail at their hotel room before they went on their bar crawl. Brody was trying to be a good pal, and playing wingman while your best friend f*ck
ed his way out of his misery seemed like the thing to do.
He hadn’t expected Emma to be there. Or a stripper. Or a half-eaten penis-shaped angel food cake with a large chef’s knife embedded in one of the spongy testicles.
Neither had he expected his own reaction, the roaring—and very public—uprising of his innate instinct to protect her from anyone who might criticize the choices she’d made to survive. Her response had torn the air from his lungs.
Something monumental had happened in that hotel room. They had claimed each other.
“I’m waiting…” Flynn prompted.
Brody sighed, knowing he couldn’t avoid the sordid confessional any longer. Bless me, Flynn, for I have sinned. Once he’d unburdened in as minimal detail as possible, Flynn asked the billion-dollar question, “So what about the strip club guy? Grigson.”
Flynn might be a gossipy, matchmaking idiot but he was also as quick as a whip and recognized the underlying problem.
“I’m expecting he’s got something up his sleeve,” Brody said. “Dollar signs in his eyes.”
“And Emma?”
The other billion-dollar question. What did Grigson have on her—and how far was she willing to go to escape his clutches? Memories of another woman’s betrayal seeped into his skin, but Emma was no Kerry. Emma would never try to trap him. Hell, getting her to accept his help was like trying to cuddle up to that cat of hers.
Her walls had walls. He just needed to build a better sledgehammer.
Brody blew out a breath. “I think I’m going to have to fire her.”
“And I think we already had this conversation. You can’t fire her for having that job or being a pseudo-stripper or even because she has a cat you don’t like. These are not valid reasons.”
“I can’t get any work done when she’s around.”
“You can’t manage your dick and she loses her job?”
“Well, I can hardly fire myself.”