Blitzing Emily

by Julie Brannagh

  The female anchorperson gave the sportscaster a smirk. “Isn’t Emily Hamilton also a redhead?”

  “No comment,” he said smoothly. “The Seattle Mariners are celebrating a nine-game winning streak with the latest victory by their red-hot closer . . .”

  Brandon shut off the television. “Best twenty-five thousand dollars I’ve ever spent.”

  Her stomach churned. So far, he was taking the brunt of this, and it wasn’t fair.

  “Brandon, we’re in a bunch of trouble, and that’s a lot of money. I feel really badly about this.”

  He put the coffee mug down on the nightstand with a thud, and gathered Emily into his arms. “Listen. Am I sorry that we did it? No. Am I sorry we got caught? Only because it might affect you.” He pulled her closer. “One thing’s for sure, it was pretty damn memorable.”

  Emily laid her cheek against his. “I’m worried about the photos that guy says he has—”

  “He doesn’t have any damn photos. He’s a liar.”

  “I’m sorry about the money.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I talked you into it.”

  “Your fingers talked me into it,” Emily said. She felt heat rising in her face.

  He tipped her chin up and waggled one hand in front of her face. “They’re still here.” The phone rang again. He ignored it. His fingers were already a bit busy. “I should shut that damn thing off.”

  “Oh, yes,” was all she could say.

  He reached over and pulled the cord right out of the wall. “Kiss me, sugar.”

  Emily was only too happy to comply.

  They didn’t get out of bed for the rest of the day. The next morning, though, Emily found several messages from Amy on her cell phone. “David’s looking for you. What happened yesterday, anyway? If he was with another woman—call me. Call me now.”

  David also left a message. “Sweetie, you’ve gone from famous to red-hot. You’ve had three more booking requests already this morning.”

  The sheer irony that getting caught naked in public with her fiancé would bring additional bookings wasn’t lost on Emily.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Brandon and Emily made a quick trip to her house on their way to Sharks headquarters. She insisted she needed a change of clothes. After a day and a night together he didn’t want to get out of bed, but they had to face the world at some point.

  “I’m writing a check, sugar, not accepting the Nobel Peace Prize,” Brandon called out from the kitchen, and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. Emily had already discarded three different outfits on the living room sofa.

  “I need an outfit that works for meeting your coach and my voice lesson this afternoon.”

  “This isn’t that big of a deal. I believe business casual will suffice,” he teased.

  Emily bolted from the room. He could only imagine the carnage she wreaked on her bedroom closet. Every time he went somewhere with his little diva, she required at least two costume changes before making up her mind about what she was going to wear. Maybe it was best to keep the truth about today’s appointment to himself, or they’d never make it out of the house.

  He should feign annoyance. It wouldn’t do to let her believe that he would happily wait all day for her. A man had to draw the line somewhere.

  “Let’s go, Miss Hamilton,” he shouted up the stairs.

  A few minutes later, Emily reappeared in the first outfit she tried on, a long sleeved, V-necked, floral print knee-length dress that showed off her curves to perfection. “Here I am,” she said, pulling on a pair of bright red high heels. She spun around in front of him. “How do I look?”

  He reached out for her hand, and twirled her into his arms. “Like my every fantasy. Where’d you find that dress?”

  “It’s a Ralph Lauren.” She glanced up at him under her lashes. “You don’t really care about designers.”

  “You got me. It’s a nice dress, but I’ll like it even more when you take it off again, sugar.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. He took a deep breath of the scent that always reminded him of warm peaches and freshly mowed grass. “I can’t go naked all the time.”

  He let out a laugh. “Naked always works for me.”

  Half an hour later he pulled into a parking space at the Sharks’ headquarters. The visitors’ parking lot was full, which wasn’t a good sign. Even worse, he saw news trucks lined up outside the building. Emily glanced around at hundreds of parked cars and turned to him.

  “There are an awful lot of people here today,” she said. “Maybe you should tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’m appearing at a press conference with the coach and the team’s general manager in a few minutes.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap, crossed her ankles and leaned back in the passenger seat. He saw the two little worry lines that bracketed her nose whenever she frowned make an appearance. In other words, she was mad at him.

  “I should have told you what was really going on, but I didn’t want you to worry. All you have to do is sit there and look gorgeous,” he reassured. “We’ll be out of there before you know it.”

  She shook her head.

  “Don’t be mad at me, sugar,” he cajoled. He reached out to lay one hand over hers.

  She was silent for a minute or two. She turned to face him. “It hurts my feelings when you aren’t truthful with me about what’s really happening. I feel like you don’t trust me when you do it.”

  He thought she might be a bit irritated with him. He couldn’t have been more shocked if she doubled up a fist and drove it into his gut.

  She pulled in another lungful of air. “If we’re going to stay together, if we’re going to move forward, I need to feel like you trust me enough to tell me what’s going on.”

  All he heard was “if.” Fear skittered up and down his spine, a cold, slimy presence. Her quiet anger shook him more than if she’d screamed at him. Even more, she didn’t wrap her fingers around his hand like she usually would. She turned to look out the window again.

  He swallowed hard. “You’re right. I should have talked to you about this. I’m sorry. I will do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

  She scooped her handbag off the floorboard. “We’re going to be late.”

  He hurried around the front of his car to loop an arm around her shoulders. A few seconds later, he felt her arm slide around his waist. He let out the breath he’d been holding.

  A SHORT TIME later, Brandon, the Sharks’ coach, and the team’s general manager sat before a packed room. Emily was sitting in a chair he found for her in the back of the room. He winked at her. He saw her lips twitch into a smile.

  “Mr. McKenna has a prepared statement, and then we’ll take questions,” the general manager said.

  Brandon cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and said, “I’d like to apologize to the young men who observed my conduct yesterday. It was regrettable, and I apologize to them and to their parents. The group will be my guests at an upcoming Sharks game as well. I have paid the fine I was assessed by the league. I hope that we can put this incident behind us and move on.”

  The first reporter didn’t even wait until the echo from the microphone was over. “Were you with Emily Hamilton?”

  “My mama always told me that gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.”

  “Has Miss Hamilton apologized as well?”

  “She has nothing to apologize for.” Brandon’s hands curled into fists. Wait till that guy was looking for “an exclusive” next season.

  The general manager held up a hand. “Let’s leave Miss Hamilton out of this.”

  “She was with you, wasn’t she?” The press smelled blood in the water. He wasn’t going to give them what they wanted.

  “No comment,” Brandon said.

  “If you weren’t with her, who were you with?”

  “No comment,” Brandon said, but with a bit more emphasis.

  “Are you and Miss Hamilton still engaged, and does she kno
w you were with someone else yesterday?”

  He really didn’t care what they said about him, but trashing Emily was out of the question. Don’t flip out, he told himself. It’s what they want. Stay calm. As much as he wanted to punch that asshole from the second-place sports radio station, it wasn’t going to help her. For the first time, the downside of being engaged to a man whose every public activity had the potential for media coverage was making itself known to Emily. More than his own embarrassment, he felt badly for her.

  Brandon scanned the crowd till he found Emily again. Their eyes met, and held. He saw color rising in her face, but she touched her fingertips to her lips, and lightly blew. At that moment, he knew he would walk through a wall for her.

  One of the female reporters spoke up. “What were you thinking, Brandon?”

  “What’s any man thinking when he’s alone with the woman he loves?”

  A wave of laughter cascaded through the room.

  “How’d you feel about the fine?” another reporter asked.

  “It’s the best twenty-five thousand dollars I’ve ever spent.” He grinned at the guy. “I think we’re done here. Thanks, everyone.”

  People yelled out questions about Brandon’s contract and would he be signing for another year with the team. He saw Emily surrounded by reporters. He hoped she knew the two magic words: “No comment.”

  He threw himself into the crowd. At last, he grabbed her hand. “Let’s go, sugar.” He swept her out of the room.

  More reporters and at least one news crew ran after them. Brandon hustled Emily through a door marked “Staff and Players,” shutting it behind them, and pulled her through another doorway and out into the parking lot.

  “If we run fast, we might make it,” he said.

  DESPITE TRYING TO blush herself into a coma, Emily was proud of how Brandon handled a roomful of reporters. They threw themselves into the Land Rover and drove away just as the reporters arrived in the parking lot.

  Brandon glanced over at Emily. “We’ll have to decide what we’d like for lunch.”

  “I’m fine with almost anything.”

  He played with her hand. She laced her fingers through his. Her voice was soft. “Those questions were pretty harsh.”

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Just a day’s work. Not a big deal.”

  Emily realized she was mad at him earlier for not being truthful with her, but this whole conversation proved what a hypocrite she was.

  She was too chicken to ask him if he meant it when he told the reporter he loved her; she didn’t have the guts to bring it up.

  “Somebody’s pretty quiet. Is something wrong?” Brandon said.

  “No. Everything’s fine.”

  “Now, I realize I’m a man and that makes me pretty much oblivious to this kind of thing, but I’ve had experience with that ‘everything’s fine’ stuff. Usually, it means something’s wrong.”

  “I’m still thinking about the press conference,” Emily said. She was lying to him, after she let him have it for lying to her. God, she sucked.

  “They wanted the details because it sells newspapers. I don’t like what they said about you. I know we both wanted publicity, but not this kind of publicity.” He shook his head. “I promise I’ll take care of this.”

  “You don’t have to do that—”

  “Trust me. I’ll handle it.” Brandon turned his attention to the road.

  “Maybe I can help,” Emily said. “It’s not fair that you should take the heat by yourself. I was there, too.”

  “Aren’t you sweet.” He flashed her a quick smile. “I know the press can be tough on women in these types of stories. They’re not so anxious to take me on, though.” He reached out for her hand again. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m starving. Let’s go get some pancakes, and then I’ll drop you off at your lesson. We’ll make some dinner later. I’ll teach you to make lasagna.”

  “Will there be more kissing?” Emily asked.

  “Absolutely.” He braked for a red light, and gazed into her eyes. “You’re my dessert. I do amazing things with chocolate sauce.”

  Emily’s toes curled.

  Chapter Seventeen

  * * *

  EMILY BREEZED THROUGH the front door of Amy’s flower shop five minutes after she opened for the day, carrying two nonfat lattes and a box of baked goods. Amy narrowed her eyes at her sister.

  “Nice to see you stopped by the bakery. I told you I was gaining weight.”

  Emily set the box and the coffee tray on Amy’s worktable. “It’s a pretty big occasion,” she said.

  “Better be.” Amy pulled a chocolate iced doughnut from the box and took a bite. “God, this is good. I can only imagine what you might be celebrating.” She leaned closer to Emily. “Let’s see here. Flushed, smiling, eyes sparkling, hair’s got that tousled look.” Her sister pointed at her with the doughnut. “You just boinked Brandon.”

  Emily bit into a lemon tart, and tried not to look so damn obvious.

  “Oh, I need all the details.” Amy grabbed her coffee cup and another doughnut. “Spit it out.”

  “Have you talked to Mom?”

  “Quit it. I need to know.” The phone rang. “This will not get you out of some answers. Hello, Crazy Daisy.” Amy listened for a moment, and Emily saw an evil smile steal over her lips. “Brandon, it’s so nice of you to call.” Emily choked on her coffee. “No, no, things are fine. I’d love to help you with that. Is there anything specific you’d like to send?” She listened for a few more minutes and said, “I’ll get right on it. What would you like on the card?” She scribbled on the notepad next to the phone. “I’ll make sure she gets them this afternoon. Thanks for thinking of me.” She laughed. “I’ll be sure to do that. You, too. Bye.”

  She hung up the phone and said, “If you don’t marry him, I will. He said he wanted to send something as lush and as beautiful as you are.”

  “He makes me sound like the Amazon rainforest.”

  “You’re getting Ariana roses and freesia,” Amy said. “Maybe some white lilies and greens. I got some this morning. They’re gorgeous.”

  “Maybe it’s bad that he’s not sending red roses.”

  “Everyone else does. They’re boring.” Amy grinned at her sister. “He said that I was the professional and I knew what would make you happy. He also said that he wants a bunch of my business cards to give out to guys on the team who are always looking to send flowers, so I scored. Maybe he’d like a case of microbrew as a thank-you gift.” She plunked down on the stool by the worktable. “Out with it. What happened yesterday?”

  Emily was ebullient, but also a little scared. She’d spent the previous night having sheet-scorching sex with a man she adored. A box of baked goods sat open in front of her, Brandon was sending flowers, and the day was shaping up to be spectacular. At the same time, she had a big confession to make.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Emily said.

  “Take him back to bed later. Doesn’t that sound like a plan? It does to me.” Amy bit off another huge chunk of chocolate-frosted doughnut.

  “I’m in love with him.”

  Amy flew around the table to throw her arms around Emily. “Finally. I have been waiting to hear you say that.” She returned to her chair, sat down, put her chin in her hand, and said, “You’re shaking. You’re scared shitless, you big chicken.”

  “I thought I was in love before,” Emily said.

  “You are the only woman on the planet that could have an evening with a man most women would do just about anything to body slam, and not be quivering with happiness afterward,” Amy said. “Buck up, little camper.”

  “It’s not that I’m not happy—”

  “I can’t believe you. You’re not doing this, Em. I know you. What happened?”

  Emily let out a sigh. “Well, you know about what happened at Icicle Creek.”

  Amy’s grin was positively saucy. “Everyone knows by now. Where’d you go afte
r you guys gave the Cub Scouts an eyeful?”

  “His house. We didn’t get out of bed all day yesterday.”

  “Details.”

  “I don’t think so,” Emily said.

  Amy took a sip of her coffee. “Was it good? And how many times?” Her sister was teasing her, but Emily saw the happiness in her face.

  “I’m not going to t—”

  “You tell me everything else.”

  Emily closed her eyes for a moment.

  “It was incredible. He’s—Amy, he’s beautiful. All of him. His chest is just—I couldn’t stop touching him. He smells so good, he tastes so good, and he’s an amazing kisser. He’s funny and wonderful, and he’s really good at taking my clothes off. He made me forget my own name.” Emily grinned. “Lots of orgasms. Lots of them.”

  Her sister’s mouth dropped open. “And you’re not home in bed with him now?”

  “He had to go to his workout, and meet with his trainer. I missed my lesson today.” Emily wrapped her arms around her midsection. “It’s going to cost me.”

  “Who gives a shit? I wouldn’t.” Amy shrugged. “Maybe I should date his brother.”

  “Dylan isn’t an athlete. He’s a doctor.”

  “I’m still not getting what the problem is here,” Amy said.

  “Maybe he doesn’t love me back.” Emily said.

  “If he’s not already in love, he’s been on his way for a long time now. Why do you think every guy you meet is another James?” Emily flinched, and Amy reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry. That was an awful thing to say, but Em, it’s true. You meet the greatest guy ever, and—well, that’s ridiculous.”