“This is still okay, right?” Sunday’s gaze flickered from Emmett to Stefanie.
“Yeah. It’s been a busy weekend. I forgot about the cat, but it’s fine.”
Stef had a million questions, but she wasn’t going to dispense them with Sunday as an audience.
“I’m off to Denver. Thanks again. I’ll pick him up next weekend.” She moved to Emmett like she would have normally kissed or hugged him goodbye, when Stefanie wrapped both her arms around his waist. She stopped short of hissing.
Emmett’s arm tightened around Stefanie’s shoulders as if reassuring her. He nodded his goodbye to Sunday. “Have a safe trip.”
“I’ll let myself out. Nice to meet you, Emmett’s wife.”
“Stefanie.”
“Ferguson. I know.” Sunday let that comment hang and wiggled her perfect heart-shaped ass across the living room and out the front door.
Once she’d left, Stefanie let go of Emmett and lifted her arms in exasperation. “What was that about?”
“I’m going to have a drink,” Emmett had the nerve to say. “Can I pour you one?”
“Um. Hello?” She chased him into the kitchen. “Who was that? What’s going on?”
“That was Sunday Web—”
“Yes. I know her name. Who is she?”
“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” he stated simply. “Drink?”
“What’s your ex-girlfriend doing in your apartment? Why does she have a key?”
With a sigh, he pulled open a cabinet and extracted two wineglasses. He slid a wine bottle from a curved metal hanger on the wall and showed her the label.
Stefanie shrugged. That’s fine.
“I gave her a key when we were dating,” he said as he worked the corkscrew.
“And were you dating when you married me?”
“No.” He spared her a glance after he filled his glass, hovering the neck of the bottle over hers.
Stef nodded. She most definitely needed a glass of wine.
“And you watch her cat?”
“He’s funny with strangers.”
Her brow scrunched—she could feel herself scowling.
“Sunday and I are friends and I promised I’d cat-sit. The end.” Emmett handed Stefanie her wineglass. She took a sip, the bright red berry flavors bursting on her tongue. Unfortunately, the color of the wine reminded her of both Sunday’s lipstick and her low-cut sweater, so Stef found herself frowning anew.
“As you might recall, I had no plans to marry or date you three days ago.”
She crossed her arms, knowing she was being unfair but not caring. He rounded the stainless counter and set his glass next to hers, tipping her chin to address her.
“How do you think I felt when you were photographed coming out of a hotel room with Blake Eastwood?”
She blinked, stunned. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
A handful of seconds passed in silence, as if he was debating whether to continue. Finally, he did.
“If you had any idea what I wanted to do to him after I found out he’d touched you... After I found out he’d used you... If I didn’t value Chase’s reputation, or staying out of prison, I’d have torn Blake to pieces with my bare hands.”
It was wrong for her to luxuriate in the notion that Emmett was jealous, but she didn’t care. She let it surround her like a security blanket. All of her grew warm, starting with her cheeks.
“You didn’t like that I was with Blake,” she said, wrapping her head around his admission.
“No.”
“And you wanted to hurt him because he hurt me?”
“I wanted to erase him from this planet because he hurt you.”
She reached up and fingered the open placket of his shirt, his chest hot to the touch. “I feel the same way about Sunday Webber. Did you love her?”
“Did you love Blake?”
“Of course not. But you already know that. Answer me.”
“Sunday was... That was a long time ago.”
“She’s very pretty.” Stefanie unbuttoned another of his shirt buttons, then one more. “And very busty.” She pressed a kiss to his chest and he sucked in a deep breath, palming the back of her head. “Say something.” Stef rested her chin on his chest and peered up at him.
“What do you want me to say?” He looked down at her.
“What would’ve made you feel better after you found out about me and Blake?”
“If you’d never done it.” Emmett’s chest rose and fell, his hand in her hair.
“What if I told you that I was lonely, and he was falsely charming. Would that make it better?”
“No.”
“What if I told you that if I’d known you were in my future—” she undid his remaining shirt buttons and parted the fabric, sweeping her hands along his broad chest “—I never would have given Blake the time of day.”
Emmett struck like a snake, lifting her and depositing her on the countertop. She yipped in surprise, parting her legs for his big body a moment later when he stepped between them. “I’d say I liked that a lot.”
“Your turn.” She linked her fingers at the back of his neck and waited.
His granite-colored eyes warmed as he cupped her rib cage with both hands. “If I had any clue I’d earn my way into Stefanie Ferguson’s bed, I’d have remained celibate until my wedding night.”
She gulped. He’d rendered her speechless.
“Even if the wedding night was our only night together, waiting would’ve been worth it.”
She tipped her chin and he didn’t hesitate to kiss her. She wrapped her legs around the firm globes of his butt, rubbing her center against the hard-on that now pressed against the fly of his slacks.
“Lucky you,” she whispered against his panting mouth. “It’s not just one night.”
Fifteen
Emmett knew it was exactly what Stefanie had wanted to hear, but at the same time, it hadn’t been a line. He’d have forsaken all others and waited for her if it would have guaranteed him even one night with her.
It was a realization that shocked the hell out of him. He was coming to terms with the amount of pent-up attraction for Stef that he’d apparently been disregarding over the years, but he didn’t suspect there’d been more to it. And maybe there wasn’t. Maybe this was the responsibility he’d promised when he’d said “I do” combined with a hell of a lot of attraction. Maybe the core of what he was realizing was about vows and honor—loyalty. Loyalty, he understood.
Stef had nothing to be jealous of where Sunday was concerned. The relationship with his ex-girlfriend had been about companionship. Someone to share dinner or watch movies with. He’d mostly gone to her house, though there at the end, she’d talked him into giving her his key. That’d been the beginning of the end. Sunday asking for the “more” that he knew he was incapable of giving. Yet he’d found a way to give that “more” to Stefanie.
He’d told himself that marrying her was to save Chase’s campaign and keep Stefanie safe, but if he were forced to admit the truth, he’d been attracted to her for years. Attraction had been dressed up as concern, but it’d been there all the same. He’d shrouded what he now recognized as jealousy with a cloak of anger.
Now with his lips sealed over hers and the tip of her tongue dancing with his, he knew he’d been both attracted to her and burning with jealousy that she’d been in anyone else’s bed but his.
He hadn’t understood when she turned an envious shade of green over Sunday. Him being jealous of whomever Stefanie touched was understandable. But Stefanie jealous of another woman who’d touched him?
It was heady.
Made him feel powerful.
Made him want to strip her bare and take her right on this countertop.
“My queen,” he muttered against her throat when
he grazed her pulse point with his lips.
“Mmm, I really do like that,” she sighed sweetly in his ear.
“Is it too lowly to screw you here and now?” He slid one palm up her skirt and along one thick, honey-sweet thigh.
“You can screw me wherever you like, Keaton,” she said, raising her butt off the counter so he could shimmy her panties down her legs. His sly vixen. “I’m your wife. Not your ruler.”
“From what I’ve come to understand, those are one and the same.”
She snatched each side of his shirt and tugged him closer, her breath hot against his parted mouth. “Is that so?”
But she didn’t let him answer.
“Your mission this time—” she flicked her tongue out to lick his upper lip, and his balls tightened “—is to come before I do.”
He grinned, teeth and all. A low laugh rumbled in his gut. “Sorry, toots. You deliver first. Those are the rules.”
“We’ll see.” She grabbed his crotch and stroked his erection through his pants.
Up. Down. Hard. Fast. Then slow again.
He palmed her hand before he lost his mind. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
His wife smiled up at him. “Winning.”
Not on his watch.
He knotted his fraying self-control, snatching her hand and bracing it on the counter behind her back. He mimicked the move with her other hand so that her pert breasts were high and lifted with every breath she took.
Her pupils darkened with want, and his body protested not being touched.
“Is this how you want me? Under your control?” She hoisted one fair eyebrow in challenge. “I prefer things the other way around.”
“You deserve the royal treatment.”
Her expression softened, some of the determination seeping away. Stefanie wanted to be treated well. Deserved to be treated well.
And he was the man for the job.
He left her on the counter and grabbed a stool, sliding it across the gray-tiled floor and positioning it in front of her. When he sat, his mouth was perfectly at the junction of her thighs. A wily smile on her lips, she spread her legs and showed him a glimpse of the promised land.
“Keep those hands behind you or else,” he warned as he rested first one of her knees and then the other on his shoulders.
“You have five minutes. If you fail, then it’s my turn.”
“I won’t fail.” It was a vow he took as seriously as any other. Serving her was at the top of his priority list.
“We’ll see,” she said, and then he went to work.
* * *
“Dammit!” Stefanie breathed through her release, cheeks warm and mouth parted.
Emmett’s head rose from her thighs and he swiped his mouth before a smirk plastered itself there and stayed.
“So, you won this time. So what?”
He moved the stool aside while she pushed off the counter. When he turned to find her on her feet, he spun her around and smoothed his hands over her bare ass before pulling her dress up to her waist.
“Not done yet, wife.” His voice was gravel filled and her response was a whimper of capitulation.
A drawer to her left was slid open and he extracted a condom.
“Why do you have those in there?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
He rolled on the protection and stayed silent.
“For Sunday?” Stef peeked over her shoulder.
“Shut up.” His breath was hot in her ear as he pressed his erection against her. “Do you want this or not?”
“Yes.” She did. More than anything.
“Then behave.”
A moment later he was filling her, taking his sweet time stroking them both to oblivion. Her challenge, and the searching question about why he kept condoms in the kitchen drawer, was forgotten.
“Together.” She reached behind her and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. “Emmett.”
“Yes.” He nipped her earlobe and gripped her hips, plunging deep. Pleasure ricocheted through her body as he worked hard to match her pace.
“Now. Now!” She tightened her grip on his neck, vaguely aware of her nails digging into his flesh. And then...
They brought down the house.
Her cries mingled with his, their shouts competing for space in the kitchen. His grip loosened on her hips as his ragged breaths tickled her ear.
“That... Amazing.” Those broken words were the only two she was capable of.
“Better” came his argument.
She turned, stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to the center of his lips. “Merry Christmas, Emmett.”
A blip of what might be memory shadowed his eyes, but only for a moment. In a blink it was gone and replaced with a tentative smile. “Merry Christmas, Stefanie.”
* * *
His wife excused herself for a bath. He assured Stefanie the tub was clean—he was a borderline neat freak with a lot of free time on his hands. Once he showed her where the towels were and changed into jogging pants and a loose gray tee, he went back downstairs and refilled his wineglass.
His phone showed texts from employees who were part of Chase’s security team—no emergencies, just updates—and from a few friends wishing him a merry Christmas. They didn’t know not to. Stef knew not to, but she’d wished him a merry Christmas, anyway. He’d returned her sentiment, the barbs of his past not digging into his skin as deeply as before.
Could’ve been the world-class sex that helped with that endeavor.
He sat on the brown leather couch in front of a trunk that served as a coffee table, the exposed brick wall punctuated by a simple gas fireplace. He pressed a button to start it and for the first time considered what his place might look like to Stefanie Ferguson. She loved Christmas and twinkly lights and fluffy, fuzzy decorative pillows. He imagined she equated his place with a morgue for all the personality it had.
“Mowr.”
Emmett turned his head to find Oscar, Sunday’s twenty-two-pound cat, swaggering into the room after almost tripping down the bottom two steps. Graceful, that cat was not. He was good-looking, though, his bright, round green eyes and uniquely patterned brown and darker brown fur making up for the clumsiness.
“Mowr,” Oscar repeated, too masculine to manage a dainty sound like “meow.”
“I know,” he told the cat. “You’re stuck with me for about a week. It sucks, but I promise I won’t let you die.”
Oscar slowly blinked, sitting at the foot of the stairs and curling his tail around his feet. A tail the cat forgot was there a few seconds later when he stepped on it, yowled and sprinted into the next room.
From his seat on the sofa, Emmett shook his head. How he’d ended up with his ex-girlfriend’s cat for the week was simple. She’d asked and he couldn’t think of a single reason to say no. He’d spent time with Oscar before and noticed he and the feline had a few things in common. They were both supersize, neither of them into frills, both single and both enjoyed chicken salad.
It wasn’t Sunday’s or Oscar’s fault that Emmett had returned home from his trip married, so he couldn’t very well kick Oscar out.
The water upstairs shut off and he wondered how long his wife would soak. Wondered if he should join her. He smiled at the rim of his glass at the idea of climbing into the water with her and overflowing the tub. He decided to give her a moment to herself. She deserved a break. He’d been in her space, and then inside her, since they arrived at his house.
His phone rang. He answered it without looking. That ringtone belonged to only one individual in his contact list.
“Hey, boss.”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire your ass,” Chase said in greeting.
“I’m better at watching your six than anyone on the planet.”
A long beat of silence and then, “You hurt her, Em, you’ll hear from me. Decorum, my position as mayor of this city and our friendship won’t stop me from beating the shit out of you.”
“Understood.” He’d never roughhoused with Chase, but Chase was no weakling. He worked out, and while the mayor wasn’t as wide as Emmett, he had reach. Emmett imagined if he did hurt Stef, he’d deserve whatever justice her brother doled out.
“Is any of it real? I need to know if she’s...serving a purpose for you or if you care about her.” Chase’s voice was steel, his tone the dangerous hum of a transformer about to blow.
“She’s an adult. And I’m not Blake. Give me some credit.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I answer to you at work, not about my personal life.”
“Emmett.”
“Chase. I’ve been in your life for a long time. I care about everyone in your family. You shouldn’t have any worries as to whether I’d hurt her or not. I value your family more than my own life.”
Chase’s sigh was weighty. He had to know Emmett was telling the truth. Emmett placed loyalty above all else.
“If the scales start tipping,” Chase said, “if you notice that she’s beginning to care for you more than you will ever care for her, don’t drag her along. Let her go.”
Chase didn’t need to say more. He was talking about love. He meant if Stef started falling and Emmett wasn’t falling for her, that Emmett should let her go.
There was no fairer request than that.
“Promise me.” Chase’s voice was low. “Or it’ll be more than your career on the line. I’ll cut you out of my family so fast it’ll be like we never knew each other.”
Even issuing the threat, Emmett could hear in his friend’s voice that it was the last thing Chase wanted to do.
“If it comes to choosing between you and my family—”
“Your family comes first,” Emmett said, his heart cracking under the pressure of that realization.
He wasn’t family. He wasn’t blood. Blood in the Ferguson line mattered more than a friendship that spanned a decade. Hell, he’d been surprised Rider and Elle let him walk out of their home with their only daughter since he’d sullied the Ferguson family tree with a Keaton leaf.
A Christmas Proposition (Dallas Billionaires Club Book 3) Page 10