Her hand flattens on my chest. “What about Derek?”
“We’ve filled in the holes in your past, which was what I wanted handled before he had a reason to look any closer at you.”
“He is looking closer at me as of yesterday,” she says. “I saw that in his eyes. I’m a target.”
My mind goes to the recording I’d made outside Teresa’s house last night; I should have already played it back. If it’s as perfect as I think it is, I own my brother. “He can’t touch you,” I say, cupping her backside. “Just me, sweetheart, which is how I plan to keep it.”
“I like how you touch me,” she says, and despite her daring, her cheeks flush, a contradiction of qualities I find sexy as hell.
“Screw the pancakes,” I say, setting her on a barstool, and going down on one leg in front of her, my hands settling on her bare thighs. “It’s you I want.”
She smiles, and sighs follow, but pancakes do not. We order room service. I think Emily and I will be ordering a lot of room service, and that suits me just fine.
*
Despite the early six o’clock hour, it’s already dark outside when we arrive at my parents’ house. I park the Bentley at the rear of the house, next to Derek’s Porsche.
“I’m suddenly nervous,” Emily says, as I open her door and help her to her feet, the dim glow of outdoor lighting surrounding us, a light breeze lifting her long, dark hair.
“Don’t be,” I say, draping a black cashmere wrap over her navy blouse, which I’ve matched with my tie, skipping a jacket. “You know my family and you were right. You do handle their games well.”
“I hate that the word ‘family’ means games to you.”
I gather her hand in mine and kiss her fingers. “Family means you to me now, Emily.”
Her expression softens. “That is the best thing you’ve ever said to me. You’re that to me too. You really are and it’s kind of scary.”
“Then we’ll be scared together.”
“You? Scared? Never, Shane Brandon.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” I admit. “Alone is safe. There is no fear of losing anything. You can’t get hurt.”
“Then you’ve never truly felt alone, because alone is a cold, empty place.”
I cup her face. “You will never feel that again. And before you ask, I promise.” I lean in and kiss her, my tongue doing one slow, caress against hers, followed by her shiver. “Let’s get you inside.” I drape my arm over her shoulder, and we enter the open foyer with towering ceilings I always take for granted, but Emily is amazed, walking to the center of the tiled room, and staring up at the domed ceiling.
“I love this so much,” she declares as my mother enters from the kitchen, and laughs.
“I still do and say that sometimes,” she declares, looking lovely as ever in black pants and a matching blouse, and while I’d love to just be proud of my mother, I can’t. The son in me is thinking of her nabbing Mike, a younger, powerful man, and how that might be related to positioning herself for the future.
“Come to the library,” my mother says. “Our chef says he needs another thirty minutes to serve and your father has a predinner announcement that even I’ve been kept in the dark about. Frankly, I’m eager to find out what it is.”
Emily and I share a curious look, and I close the space between us, taking her wrap and hanging it by the door before lacing the fingers of one of her hands with mine. Together, we walk ahead of my mother and under the winding stairwell to the right, passing through the towering arched wooden door. Once over the threshold, we find my brother and father standing at the fireplace against the far wall, in deep conversation.
“It’s gorgeous,” Emily murmurs beside me, while my gaze lands on Derek’s hand, which is now well bandaged. I am struck by how alike my father and brother are tonight, both dressed in starched white shirts, both tall and striking in similar ways.
Shaking off the idea that I too am like them, I turn my gaze on Emily, to find her taking in the walls, lined with bookshelves, and topped with another domed ceiling that is painted to look like a globe, and the fireplace burning in the center of the far wall.
“My parents do have good taste,” I agree. “And I wonder how my brother explained that bandage on his hand.”
“I was wondering the same,” she replies softly.
“I have the champagne,” my mother announces, breezing past us, and toward my father and brother, while I guide Emily that direction and inside the square formed by the dark brown leather couch framed by chairs.
My father motions to Derek. “Give it to him.” He eyes Derek. “Open the bottle, son.”
Derek lifts his hand and my father grimaces. “Right. The attack of the steak knife your date somehow landed in your hand.” He looks at me. “Get it done, Shane.”
Derek’s expression darkens with the irony of the moment that says I always have to come to the rescue, and the look he gives me is pure hate. I open the champagne while my mother holds out glasses, which I fill as she passes them out. Finally, I set the bottle on the ledge above the bar and step to Emily’s side.
That’s when Derek’s eyes land on Emily. “Had I known we were bringing dates, I could have brought one myself.”
“If your date is Teresa Martina,” I say, “we’re all better off with you leaving her at home.”
“And yet Emily is welcomed?”
“Emily won’t get us all killed,” I say, while my father adds, “I invited Emily.”
“And I want her here,” I add, “because she’s now family. She lives with me.”
“Oh my,” my mother says. “That’s amazing.” She smiles at Emily. “I knew there was more to you two.”
“Interesting,” Derek says, his eyes glinting with a purpose I don’t like and will shut down.
“Let’s move on,” my father says. “Originally, this was going to be a dinner to announce the vote for head of the table. New events have occurred and I’m canceling the board meeting.”
It’s not a completely unexpected move, considering my father is now looking to control Mike before that vote, but it does seem to indicate his desire to do so is newfound.
“What new events?” Derek demands, his voice cutting with irritation.
He holds up his glass. “Seems I shouldn’t drink my way through chemo, and to my grave, after all. This drink is for show tonight, at least, for me. There’s a new experimental cancer treatment I’ve been approved to take part in. Of course, a generous donation to the right people helped.”
My mother’s eyes go wide, relief filling her face. “What treatment? How successful is it? When can you start?”
Her response pleases me, but I’ve researched these experimental treatments and fear she is simply headed for more pain.