* * * *
I’m here to stay.
Brock’s words echoed through Emma’s head two hours later as she sat on Olivia’s couch, trying to get her still racing heart under control.
“Trinity, how could you bring that man into the club?” Olivia demanded while she rubbed Emma’s back in a soothing motion. “And walk away before even telling us what was going on.”
Trinity shook her short cap of black hair. “I didn’t know he’d lock on to her like a heat-seeking missile. I heard him asking about her at the door. I brought him over where we could keep an eye on him. I went to get M in case we needed his help.
“A little warning next time, Trin,” Olivia scolded.
“Emma, honey, you might need to let us in on the big Brock secret in case he shows back up,” Briley stated from her position on the wide leather chaise longue.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she denied even while heat flamed her cheeks. How could he still taste the same after all these years? And how could her traitorous body still burn for the hard feel of him?
“Emmy, from where I stood, the two of you sparked enough energy to light up the city for a month,” Recee said, a knowing smirk curving her lips.
“Get your eyesight checked,” she advised, not willing to admit the same spark of desire still existed between them.
“So I imagined the serious tongue action between the two of you?”
“Recee, lay off me, or so help me, I’ll turn you into my next character.”
While most people would be thrilled to be the muse behind a writer’s talent, Recee backed away. “Fine, but I’m just saying…” The other woman pouted as she leaned against the wall.
“We all know there’s something between the two of you. We’re just saying it might help us understand if you explain your history,” Olivia explained in her gentle tone.
“He did say you’re engaged to be married,” Trinity chimed in cheerfully while she snagged popcorn from the air with her mouth. “Though the rat bastard didn’t mention that when I let him in.”
“Were engaged,” Emma said emphatically. “As in past tense.”
“Sounds like this Brock person isn’t thinking in the past tense. He sounds more like a present or future kind of guy to me.” Briley gave her a knowing look, and Emma felt the weight of everyone’s curiosity.
“There’s nothing glamorous or tragic about our relationship. We met, fell in love—or at least I did—he left for his first tour, came back and broke off our engagement three weeks before the wedding.”
“Your leaving a lot of the details out of the story, little girl,” Recee pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone. “If it had been that cut and dried, you wouldn’t be up here hiding away from that mighty nibble-worthy man.”
Feeling caged in, Emma stood. “Why do the details matter? It’s over; we’re over. Just because Brock got some wild hair up his ass six years later means nothing. I won’t allow it to mean anything.”
“Because if you did, then you’d leave yourself vulnerable to that pain all over again.” Having gone through a painful breakup pre-Ethan, Olivia best understood Emma’s pain and wariness.
“Yes,” she agreed softly, “something like that.”
“But, Emma, if you don’t allow yourself to feel pain, you’ll never feel happiness. The good always comes with the bad. It’s what makes us appreciate happiness so much more.”
Emma was shaking her head before Olivia had finished speaking. “I’m not that strong, Olivia. I can’t risk loving him again. It nearly killed me when he walked away the first time.”
“How did it happen? Like with Scott? You caught him cheating?”
Not even aware of what she was saying, Emma opened her mouth and let the dark secrets haunting her heart spill into the light of day.
“Six years ago, I went home for the summer. My hometown is pretty small and there’s not much to do there. I generally spent my time swimming or at the library. One day, I went in and found this good-looking guy sitting in what I considered my chair. I asked him to move, he offered to let me sit in his lap.” She chuckled softly. “Then I tried to wait him out, but Brock was way more stubborn than I was. Finally fed up, I gathered my things, told him he could keep the damn chair and left. Five minutes later, he was outside following me, apologising. He’d deliberately sat in that chair knowing it was the one I always claimed. Said he’d been looking for a way to meet me without coming off like a stalker. I laughed, he laughed and we were inseparable until the day I left for my junior year.”
Emma stopped for a breath, tears trailing down her cheeks.
“Even being two hours away, we still found ways to be together. Brock took as many as three jobs during the week so he would have the money to see me on the weekends. When I came home for Christmas, he asked me to marry him. I said yes and started planning our big June wedding. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, Brock had signed up with the National Guard to earn extra money for our honeymoon. The last thing he expected was for his unit to be called up and sent into a war zone, but it happened. I cried for a week straight after he left. I sent letters and packages almost daily. He’d send me e-mails, telling me he loved and missed me and we’d be together soon. Then the letters started coming further and further apart until one day he stopped writing.”
Emma paced the elegant floor, wringing her hands as she relived those horrible days in her memory. “I thought he’d died. I walked over to his parents’ house to wait for the bad news with them, but his mother said he’d e-mailed her just that morning. Confused, I went home and prayed for his safe return. Three months later, my prayers were answered, sort of.
“Brock did come home, but not as the same man he’d left. He’d grown hard, cynical, and nothing I said or did could break through the shell he’d wrapped himself in. Three weeks before the wedding, he showed up at my window saying we had to talk. I met him in the backyard just as the sun started to rise. In the calmest tone I’d ever heard, Brock told me he couldn’t marry me. He was very sorry if this caused me any pain. I begged and pleaded with him to tell me what changed, but he kept saying he couldn’t marry me. Fool that I was, I refused to believe him. I told him we’d talk later and sort everything out. Instead, his mother handed me a note and told me Brock had reenlisted and was already on his way back to his unit.”
Emma gave a small sniff and wiped the moisture from her face. “That’s the last time I saw him…until tonight.”
“Oh Emma.” Olivia was there with her comforting embrace, rocking her gently and murmuring nonsense words designed to ease her pain. “I’m so sorry. I wish I’d let Recee at him now.”
“Hindsight and all that, doll,” Recee muttered, looking angry all over again.
“He’ll be back, or at least he said he would be. We can let her have a go at Brock then,” Trinity offered with a small smile and a handful of tissues.
“And what if Brock is actually sincere?” Briley said, startling the group with the sheer belief in her voice. “What if he understands the mistake he’d made and is looking for a way to make it up to Emma? Do we kick him while he’d down?” She lifted her perfectly waxed eyebrows at them. “I, for one, will allow him his chance. The man served our country and deserves our respect for that if nothing else.”
“But, Briley, he broke Emma’s heart,” Olivia protested as her arms tightened protectively. “Surely you can’t mean to let him do it again.”
Standing straight, Bri met each woman’s gaze. “And who’s to say he’ll be the one to break her heart. From what I saw downstairs, the man has it bad. And,” she said, walking closer, “don’t forget he did say he needed to explain some things to you. What if those things include his behaviour six years ago? Are you so scared that you’d miss out on finding the answer to all your questions? Or are you brave enough to finally stop running and face the demons from your past?”
Briley’s light brown eyes raked scathingly over the small group. “Contrary to popular opinion, I haven’t
made a pact with the devil, but I do recognise someone who’s been to hell and back, in the literal sense. And your man has, Em. Cut him some slack, listen to what he has to say. If you don’t like it, leave, but at least you won’t keep wondering for the rest of your life.”
She shrugged on her coat, dug into her pocket and waved one of the club’s napkins in the air. “It’s his contact information. Use it or don’t, but at least this Brock will know he had the guts to face you and try to make things right. Will you be able to say the same, Emma?”
The words echoed in Emma’s head and heart as her friend slammed out of the apartment. Maybe Briley had a point, but what about Emma’s feelings and fears? How could she trust Brock not to destroy her world all over again?
Chapter Three
“I fucked up big time,” Brock said over his glass of single malt whisky.
“What, you thought she’d take one look at your ugly mug and swoon in your arms?” Garen ‘Flash’ Swifthorse asked, not sounding sympathetic.
“Shit, man, I don’t know what I thought. For years, I’ve been planning how this op would go down. Then one look at Emma and bam, all my plans go down the drain.” More than anything, Brock wanted to go back in time and fix the mess he’d made. But wishing wouldn’t change fact, and the fact was Emma hated him. Not that he could blame her, not after the way he’d ended things between them, but damn it, he didn’t want her hate. He wanted her love. He always had.
“So what’s plan B?”
Brock lifted his head to stare at his best friend. Though he’d never understand it, women were drawn to his friend like bees to honey. Must be something to do with his Native American father’s side of the family. His buddy had the stoic routine down pat. With his black hair, black eyes, bronzed skin and prominent cheekbones, Garen couldn’t deny his heritage. A heritage he used guiltlessly to seduce woman with astonishing success.
“There is no plan B, yet.” In order to have a second plan, Brock needed to think. In order to think, he needed to stop the pathetic pain shooting through his chest with every thought of Emma.
“Let me get this straight. All you want to do is talk to the chick, tell her why you freaked and ran six years ago. You’re not going to do anything that will allow her to press charges or start our business off on the wrong foot?” A snort of disbelief came from Garen before he slapped Brock on the back of his head.
“What?” His head jerked hard from the ridiculous question as much as the slap. “I’d never hurt any woman, much less Emma. And so long as we keep the fat cats happy and smug in their little secular world, they won’t care what we do.”
Garen nodded. “This has got to be the easiest rotation we’ve ever pulled. Legally breaking into top-notch facilities and getting paid big bucks to do it. Oh, how I love stupid people with lots of money.”
Brock agreed. After finishing his last tour and knowing he wouldn’t make it out of another one alive or sane, he’d retired and started wondering about his future. A picture in his memory of Emma’s bright, laughing eyes convinced Brock he wouldn’t have a future without the woman he’d never stopped loving
“Kidnap her.” Garen said suddenly.
“What?”
“Snatch her when she’s away from her friends, take her someplace she can’t get away from you. Then you can take your time explaining everything.” The stress Garen placed on the last word added a fresh layer to the mountain of guilt Brock carried.
“You want me to kidnap Emma?” As ridiculous and asinine as Garen‘s plan sounded, part of Brock’s brain sat up and listened.
“Look, man, we both know you’d never hurt her. Somewhere deep down, I think she knows it too. Women are like that, they know shit without anyone saying a word. Tell her you just need the chance to explain and tell her how sorry you are for the way things turned out. If it doesn’t work, then she’ll walk away, but at least you’ll have given it your best shot. And if it does,” Garen’s black brows rose and fell in a mocking parody, “come up for air at least once to let me know you’re still alive and kicking.”
It will never work, Brock’s brain told him.
But what if it does? his stupid heart taunted. What if he could get Emma alone long enough to explain then beg, on his knees if necessary, to give him another chance?
At this point what else did he have to lose?
“Explain to me how we’d go about kidnapping the woman I love and not getting our asses thrown in jail?”
Garen clapped him on the back and laughed. “So happy you asked, my brother. It just so happens I have a plan.”
He reached beneath his chair and pulled out a thick stack of papers.
“Just so happens, huh?”
Garen gave a careless shrug. “Had to do something to keep myself busy while you were busy getting taken down by a bunch of helpless females.”
The thought of any of Emma’s Valkyrie friends being considered helpless with their knives and balls-to-the-wall nerve amused the hell out of him. Laughing, he reached down to clear off the old wooden coffee table. “I’ll remember that if you ever run into one of them in a dark alley.”
Spreading the blueprints and handwritten notes on the scared surface, Garen just grinned. “Just let me at them, my brother, I’ll have them under me and purring before they know what’s happening.”
Feeling optimistic for the first time since kissing Emma, Brock laughed and punched his friend in the shoulder. “You keep thinking that, buddy. I promise to claim whatever remains are left after they get done with you.”
* * * *
“Really, I’m fine. I just want to take a hot shower then climb into bed and sleep for a week,” Emma assured her well-meaning, but overprotective friends. After promising to call should she need anything at anytime, Emma finally ended the call and powered off her phone.
“I just need twenty-four hours of peace and quiet,” she told herself as she stripped down to shower.
Flipping the water on as hot as she could stand it, Emma stepped under the biting spray, moaning when the heat hit her tense muscles. Taking her time, she slowly washed and conditioned her hair, took care of her necessary shaving and scrubbed every inch of wet skin with her favourite strawberry salt scrub.
Twenty minutes later, when she stepped out into her steamy pale green floor mat, Emma’s control was back. Not all the way, she knew, but enough to keep her from doing something stupid, like falling straight into Brock’s lying arms and begging him to take her.
“Yeah, and that worked out great the first time you tried that, my girl.” The warning, while well meant, wouldn’t do a thing for her if Brock showed up. Something in her, a part she hated, always caved when it came to that man. She could be strong, fight off greedy agents, stingy publishers. Hell, throw in a mugger or two and Emma would come out smelling like a rose, but add Brock anywhere into her equation, and she folded like a cheap umbrella.
Years ago, she’d thought taking another lover would break the strange hold Brock had over her, but it hadn’t happened. While sex with Mitch had been good—she’d come after all—deep in her heart Emma knew something had been missing. The something that was always there when Brock touched her, that singular feeling that went straight from her pussy to her heart, however weird that sounded.
After ending things with an understanding Mitch, Emma went searching for a new source of personal satisfaction. Stumbling over several discreet websites designed for ladies’ pleasure had led to several nervous orders.
When her purchases had come, the toys were everything the site had said and more. They vibrated, rolled, shook, and on her favourite, Big Blue, the synthetic cock crevasses were filled with beads, which moved erotically with every pull of her vaginal muscles.
Her first experience with the thick blue electric erection had almost caused her to pass out, the pleasure had been so intense. But even with the best orgasms in the world, Emma still felt empty once the pleasure faded away. There were no strong masculine arms to hold her, no scent o
f sweaty male to fill her senses and no steady heartbeat to lull her into sleep.
“Stop it, Emma. You’re being maudlin and childish. No one has it all.”
Olivia does, her childish inner voice taunted. She has the relationship, the career and the friends.
So, Emma consoled herself as she shut the house down for the night and climbed into her wide soft bed, two out of three isn’t bad.
And if in a small part of her brain laughed at her foolish notions, Emma ignored it and willed herself sleep.
* * * *
The simple cottage was perfect for his Emma, Brock thought as he scoped the neighbourhood with his night vision goggles. From the simple white paint to the bright blue shutters, the house looked inviting and cosy, a place where people would be welcomed. Even the picture perfect white picket fence fit with the fairy tale air of the cottage.
“Last light out twenty minutes ago.” Garen’s voice flowed through the earbud in Brock’s ear.
“Let’s give her another thirty before we infiltrate.” Shit, he could not believe what his friend and business partner had talked him into. Breaking and entering his ex-lover’s home with the sole intention of kidnapping. It sounded like the plot out of a really bad movie. It ate him up to use the skills Uncle Sam had taught him to defend his country on a small helpless woman. “But all’s fair in love and war, right?” He leaned his elbow on the car door and let out a long sigh.
“Damn straight,” Garen agreed from his position in a large oak tree overlooking the back of Emma’s house.
“You do realise we’re going to hell for this?” Brock asked, barely whispering the words through the lip mike.
“Aw, come on, Cage, don’t be such a pansy ass. You love Emma, and from what I saw in Club B tonight, she’s still got it bad for you. Our plan simply eliminates loud and sexy obstacles.”
Enticing Emma Page 2