Emma sweeps her gaze around the restaurant. Hopefully, she’s getting used to this kind of treatment. I’d like her to get used to it. There’s been a lot of beating around the bush tonight, but I’m trying to bring the conversation around to the topics I need to discuss, without being too pointed about it.
After the guys’ revelations, the little comments and allusions Emma is making have really been falling into place. What has become obvious to me is how she feels about each and every one of the guys. The way she talks about all of us — with deep fondness. This is no mere exaggerated affection that comes with a tenuous infatuation. This is genuine. And her grasp of us, the understanding and insights she has, it’s impressive. Emma’s acuity is profound. She sees right to the core of who we are as a group and as individuals. It’s unsettling, in fact. So much that I’ve wondered how Jax is managing it, if he realizes he can’t hide from this woman like he does with the rest of the world. But as unnerving as it is, I must admit it’s dangerously attractive. Her mind is a seductive thing. Incredibly so.
“I know you guys want what’s best for me. I don’t doubt that—”
“You don’t?” I don’t mean to interrupt her, but this is the subject I’ve wanted most to breach tonight.
Her eyes are kind as she smiles at me. “I don’t. But I have to admit that I’ve been scared over what has been going on lately. I wasn’t ready for this — or what it’s doing to the people around me.”
“How is Zoey?”
“She’s managing.” She lets out a breath laden with stress. “It was one thing when it was just me. I may even have been able to accept that what’s happening to Zoey is one big, fucked up coincidence. But my parents? Someone was in my parent’s house. That scares the shit out of me.”
I avert my attention momentarily as the waiter replaces the bifold on the edge of the table. The right side of my brain calculates a generous tip for what has been superb service as the left side focuses on Emma. “I know how it feels, Emma. I grew up in a pretty rough area. Not far from this restaurant, actually. Our house was broken into every couple years. My mother kept a shotgun in her closet and a knife under her pillow. I don’t know if she ever had a night of deep sleep. Living in that precarious state — it’s disquieting. And exhausting.”
With a flourish, I sign my name and look up at her. There are those eyes — those beautiful, kind eyes.
“That must have been very tough growing up,” she says.
“It’s over. Things are obviously quite different now,” I assure her. I shouldn’t have said anything, because this evening is about her situation, not mine. And usually, I wouldn’t. It’s not the sort of thing I mention to many people. But I can’t help myself; I like sharing these things with Emma. “Now, back to you. Are you sure you won’t let us assign a security detail to your parents’ home? Or with you and Zoey? I assure you, they would be very discreet.”
“Thank you, but no. The police are handling things, and I’m sure the… perpetrators have seen there is nothing to be found at my parents’. I don’t see why they’d come back. And Zoey and I will be fine. Your building has wonderful security.”
“It’s not just ours. It’s your building as well.”
She gives me a gracious smile, but there’s a slight purse to her lips, and my stomach knots with a realization. I know the experience of living on public assistance. Never really feeling like what you have is your own. That everything is temporary and even the things you cherish most could be ripped away from you without warning. Is that how she feels? That she wakes up in a bedroom that isn’t hers? Makes her breakfast in a kitchen which is being lent her?
“I just need to finish that last segment. I had a couple of breakthroughs last week. It’s almost there. I gotta say, I couldn’t have imagined how difficult this last bit would be. If I can manage not to get kidnapped or thrown into debtor’s prison, this will all be over soon enough.”
I rise from my seat, offering my arm to guide her through the restaurant. “About that, the guys and I have been strategizing about ways to keep you safe — ways that will not require a security team to follow you around—”
“Thank you, really, but I wasn’t meaning to imply I needed any kind of special protection. I was just joking, mostly. And venting a little bit.” She doesn’t ease her grip on my arm as we move through the restaurant, but there is just a hint of that distance she gets when I’ve overstepped my bounds. She’s already declined an offer for protection once, and here I am trying to use slight of hand with my wording, offering the same thing in a different package to get her to accept. She’s smarter than that.
“Of course, I want you to feel comfortable to vent whenever you need — without feeling like I’m going to try to come to the rescue. We all need someone to just listen sometimes.”
We make our way to the coatroom, and I present our numbers. I wrack my brain to come up with a way to transition into what the guys really wanted me to talk about.
Emma and I have a had a delightful conversation about everything from dirt bikes to exotic vacation destinations to coding. We talked on and off about her program and the kind of business Pentabyte engages in. She’s admitted to me that BHC has offered an incredibly generous package, enough to tempt an experienced businessman, let alone a young woman who’s been forced into financial hardship these last several weeks.
We’ve even spoken of the guys here and there, but nothing about her… relations with them. And why would we? It’s not exactly a normal venue of conversation while sitting down to dinner with another man, especially a man who is friends with all her… lovers? The word doesn’t feel right, but I’m not sure what the correct term is. This is an unprecedented situation, in my experience. But I admit, my experience is rather limited in that regard. I’ve never walked much outside the boundaries of convention.
And yet, I need to figure out some sort of way to bring it up. I help Emma with her coat then guide her toward the doors and out into the night in companionable silence. It’s a bit chilly out once again, but it wasn’t quite a mile’s walk to the restaurant, and I very much wanted to skip the chauffeured ride and enjoy the crisp, fresh air. And strolling down the sidewalk with her on my arm is a wonderful feeling.
The silence of our walk has fostered an atmosphere of comfortable thoughtfulness, and the chill has Emma pressed more closely to me than she was inside the restaurant. Her lips have parted as though to speak several times since we left the coatroom, and yet nothing has emerged. I’ve not hinted that I’ve noticed, preferring to let her talk when she’s ready, without pressure from me.
Finally, she says, “Knowing who to trust is difficult. I know this is just a product that I’m selling—”
“You’ve poured your life into this.” I dare the rudeness of interrupting, because I need her to understand that I know it’s much more. “It’s not just a product.”
She gives me that gracious smile once more and continues. “Thank you. It’s just that I am tired, and I’m perhaps warier of the people in my life than I should be. Or… maybe not. I’ve let myself be taken advantage of in the past by someone I cared for. A man who I thought was with me for more than just what he could take from me. But I was wrong — to him I was nothing but a mark, a way to springboard himself to success.”
Fury rises up in me. It’s not often that I feel extreme emotion, but to think that this beautiful woman has been taken advantage of — has had her trust ruined — by a man she put her faith in, it makes me sick to my stomach. I take her hand from where it rests on my bicep and hold it between my fingers. “I promise to do everything I can to ensure we’re men you can trust, fully. I’ll strive every day to be someone you can rely on.”
Her smile is back, but it’s bittersweet this time. “You have been nothing but good.”
“I know this is an intrusive question, so please deny me an answer if you wish — but can you tell me what happened?”
Her eyes dart to the sidewalk, to the storefronts, and t
hen to me. She huffs out a breath of air, which forms a cloud of condensation. “It was back in college. I wasn’t just younger, I was much more naïve. I fell for a brilliant programmer named Jeremy Brandt. He turned out to be brilliantly conniving, too. A real snake in the grass. Zoey and I call him Jackass Jeremy now.”
She says the name with disdain, and it resonates with deep-seated distaste in my own gut. The things that man has defiled by his touch continue to astound me. “I know of him.”
Her grip loosens, and I see the worry in her eyes. “You do?”
“Yes,” I admit. “I fully agree with your assessment. He is one of the most distasteful human beings I’ve encountered.”
Emma’s grip tightens again, and she leans her head against my shoulder for a moment, letting out a small laugh of relief. “Oh, I’m glad. I was worried perhaps you were friends.”
“Good God, no.” The idea is so repugnant, my lips curl back of their own volition. “But please, do continue.”
“Well, a friend had invited us to a conference panel, and we were both fascinated by a speaker who talked about the progress with drone development. The technology had so much potential, like keeping our military troops safer, if they could just fine-tune the logic controllers necessary for remote operation. So, Jeremy and I set out to write a program addressing those issues. We worked on it for ages and were finally ready to start the testing phase. It was looking promising. He put in some calls to friends, looking for a startup willing to let us try out the software on their drones. And then, he was gone — and so was the program. And the paycheck. He sold it without me. But he was kind enough to leave me with the debt we’d accrued to build the damn thing.”
“I’m so sorry that happened,” I manage to choke out, but the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end, and my heart beats irregularly as dots connect, one after another like dominos on a path of destruction. Drone technology. Military. Sonofabitch.
“Thanks,” she says. “It was a wake-up call, I suppose. I was too naïve, too trusting.”
I can’t bring myself to tell her. I want to strike out. I want to promise her I’ll ruin him. But I can’t find any words. My mind is reeling, and a numbness is taking hold. Part of me is in denial, just flatly refusing to believe it.
We walk in silence for several blocks, and by the time we’re nearing the high-rise we call home, I’ve decided to push it to the furthest reaches of my mind, for now at least. The last thing I want to do is upset Emma tonight. She needs a safe space to vent, a friend to talk to. That’s who I need to be right now, not the person who had a hand in one of the worst moments of her life.
“I’m sorry that’s the path that brought you to this point, but I’m glad you’re here, however it happened,” I tell her.
She gives me a beautiful smile, and I die a little on the inside, but I press on, trying to focus on her and on the task at hand. Tomorrow, I can wallow in the horror of my ignorance at not putting the pieces together sooner.
“The guys and I want you to know that we’re here for you — on your terms. Whatever you need from us, we’re here. It doesn’t matter if you sell to Pentabyte or not; I hope you know that. We’re pleased to consider you a friend.”
Her smile turns into one of quiet amusement. A few days ago, I wouldn’t have known why. But now I do. It’s the wry smile of a woman with secrets. She’s thinking of just how friendly things have gotten with the rest of the guys. But she’s too much of a lady to kiss and tell.
“You all have proven how much you are willing to be there for me,” Emma says, biting her lip to suppress that smile. “Thank you.”
Her hand slides down my arm until it reaches mine. Instinctively, I curl my fingers around hers. The unexpected intimacy throws me a bit, and I try to find something pleasant to focus on. “You know, despite all unfortunate events of late, good things have happened, too.”
She tilts her head. “Oh?”
“Indeed. It’s really nice having you in our lives. You’re good for us.”
Emma turns her hand over, and my thumb rubs across the warmth of her palm. Our pace along the city sidewalk slackens, each light from overhead exposing her beautifully thoughtful face to me. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Her eyes linger on mine, and my chest tightens. The spell she has over me with just a look. I chastise myself, reminding my rebellious body to conduct itself as a gentleman and a friend.
As if Emma can sense my hesitation, her eyes leave mine, searching for something to break the sudden tension between us. She smiles as her gaze lands on something. “Oh my God. I can’t believe they have those things on display out in the open like that.”
I turn around to search for what she’s looking for and see Madame Bovary’s Boudoir across the street. Having walked past it many times, I know it has a fine selection showcased in its front window. This evening’s feature is a lifelike manikin with an incredibly revealing set of lingerie. “Ahh. The place actually does a booming business. We’ve come a long way since the days of the fictional Madame Bovary.”
Emma swallows, studying the storefront. “I’ve never worn anything like that before. It doesn’t even look comfortable.”
“You may be surprised. Madame Bovary’s is a very high-end establishment. The price tags on those pieces don’t just ensure quality design — they’re tailored for comfort, too.”
Hallelujah, that smile of hers is now turning mischievous. A pulse of arousal surges through me again, and this time I don’t have the discipline to quell it. Not when she looks at me like that.
“You sound as though you are speaking from experience,” she says with a sassy grin.
I incline my head in acknowledgement. “I may have directed my business their way a few times. Come.”
Throwing all caution to the wind, I close my hand around hers and guide her across the street. I can see the excitement and curiosity in her expression as we dodge across traffic, headlights illuminating her dress and that gorgeous smile. Her bottom lip is tucked into her teeth as we enter the store, but her eyes are lit up like Christmas. I move to the display holding the beautiful lingerie Emma had fixed on from the street. An attendant is by our sides immediately, and I venture a guess at Emma’s size. She blushes but nods her head, and the attendant disappears in the back room.
Thinking of her wearing the piece is making the front of my pants tight. And then I picture the guys seeing her in it, too, and the thought has me hardening further. The reaction of my body to such a thought astonishes me, but I decide to share the idea with Emma.
“I think Trigg may be the one who would appreciate this the most — or perhaps Jax. It’s almost like a piece of art, don’t you think?”
Her lips part with surprise — and arousal. Emma’s gaze penetrates deeply into mine, and her eyes flicker back and forth as though trying to read me. “And you? Is it something you would appreciate?”
I can no longer resist adjusting my growing package, even in public as we are. I turn my body, using Emma as a partial shield, and her eyes — those gorgeous eyes — move down my body with delight as I slide my hands across the front of my slacks, shifting my stiffening shaft. “To say the least.”
The attendant comes back with a box complete with an elegant ribbon, and I hand her my card. Emma’s tongue slowly strokes her lips as we wait, and I allow my mind free reign to imagine those lips against mine — and further south.
Emma runs her fingers over the lace bow on the box. She’s bashful, but her words come out with a sensual drawl. “Seeing as I’ve never worn something like this before and you have such good taste and experience — would you like to be the one who sees it on me?”
Good Lord, we may have to call a cab to make it the last block if I get any harder. I clear my throat. “I can only reply with a most delighted yes.”
The attendant returns with my card. I sign and extend my arm to Emma once again. I lean against her to whisper into her ear. “So, you won’t wear an evening gown I buy you, but y
ou’ll wear lingerie. You, Miss Emma Collins, are a puzzle of the most challenging kind — a mystery I would love to unravel.”
19
Emma
I step back, taking myself in. The woman who stares back at me in the mirror is sexy and confident. I turn my body, trying to see how it looks from behind. Daniel was right — though the lingerie is made primarily of a lacy ribbon winding across my body, it’s comfortable to wear and conforms to my curves as if it were custom-made just for me. I’m in awe of both Daniel’s taste and his ability to know exactly what size I needed.
He was right. I don’t know what’s come over me. I wouldn’t wear the dress he bought, but I’ll wear a garment which doesn’t even cover my breasts. I smooth my hands across the lingerie, tracing the ribbons around my torso and down over my hips.
His comment about the dress made a little pang echo in my chest as I thought back to the first time he took me out for a business meeting-slash-date. That was a challenging night. And this evening hadn’t started well, either. It seems every time I’m alone with Daniel, my guard is up. He’s been nothing but a gentleman to me, always so warm and welcoming. It’s made me want to be the lady he deserves.
But despite Daniel’s comforting words tonight, it is hard to believe this isn’t going to blow up eventually. If I think about it too much, I fear I might chicken out. It’s not a light decision to sleep with Daniel. If I do this, I will have been intimate with each of these men.
Nothing of my experience with sex and relationships tells me this is feasible. And more importantly, this is out of my depth of experience. It’s not me. At least not the me I’ve been all my life, until recently. Before meeting these guys, I’d never slept with two men at the same time — or even in the same month. For Christ’s sake, I’ve had more hot sex in the past few weeks than… hell, who am I kidding? I’ve never had this much hot sex. It’s not just the quantity, it’s the quality. These guys know how to fuck me, as if their bodies are made for mine.
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