She brushed past him, pulling away from the hand he put on her shoulder.
“Everything okay?” Brock was waiting for her.
All the irritation and frustration melted away. She was so happy. Maybe a little too happy. But he was here. Finally. Big and beautiful and within touching distance. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling—she didn’t want to. There was a very real chance of her hugging him, right here and now and in front of everyone.
Until she saw his face.
Brock, scowling at Sawyer.
Sawyer, scowling at Brock.
Without another word, she squeezed between them and went to stand by the edge of the stage. Melanie hovered, holding Watson in his little cat purse. She didn’t say anything—something Emmy Lou was grateful for.
“Two minutes,” the production assistant said. “Let’s get your mic on.”
“Am I good?” she asked Melanie, running her hands along the pink-and-white polka-dot dress she wore beneath her rhinestone-studded white denim jacket. Her boots were light tan with the Three Kings logo stitched into the leather.
“You look great. But smile.” Melanie handed her the cat purse. “Have fun.” She waved.
“Maybe we should go get a spa day? What do you think, Watson? Just me and you?” Watson meowed in answer. “You think so? Me, too.”
“Em?” Brock interrupted Emmy and Watson’s conversation, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks. You did, too. Until you went all territorial back there with Sawyer. I have enough people protecting me,” she said.
His smile faded.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome country superstar Emmy Lou King and football champion Brock Watson to the stage.” Elaine stood, giving them each a hug and kiss on the cheek. “We’re happy to have you both here.”
Emmy Lou pulled Watson out from his cat purse. “Three of us.”
Elaine “awwed” like the rest of the audience.
Conversation started with Drug Free Like Me and the matching program they were running for the rest of November. Elaine said she was going to out-donate Guy James and that she was a huge Bremmy fan.
“Now we’ll get to the important stuff. I have a list of general topic questions.” Elaine stood up. “Brock, you’re playing for this side of the audience. Emmy, this side is yours.”
“What are we playing for?” Brock asked, rubbing his hands together.
“It’s a surprise.” Elaine smiled. “Ready?”
Emmy wasn’t competitive by nature, but right now, she was up for it—especially if she beat Brock. “Ready.”
“What is the number one color picked as their favorite color?” Elaine asked.
“Blue!” Emmy yelled.
“Correct.” Elaine nodded. “Number two—”
“Hey, there’s no buzzer or raising your hand?” Brock asked, raising his hand.
“No, but thank you for the demonstration, Brock.” Elaine laughed. “Moving on. What is Brock’s favorite food?”
“Chicken fried steak.” Emmy jumped in again.
He sat back in his seat, pointing at his mouth. “The words were right there.”
By the time it was all over, Emmy Lou had won her side of the audience a copy of the Three Kings’ latest CD. But then Elaine gave CDs to Brock’s side, too—because that’s what Elaine did. Still, Emmy Lou had bragging rights.
“That was great.” Melanie held out her water bottle as she walked off the stage. “She is so funny.” She led the way toward the small studio green room.
Emmy Lou nodded. “What’s next on the agenda?”
“Lunch?” It was Brock.
She turned, doing her best not to act like her heart wasn’t totally picking up speed over his dimples and smile and blue eyes.
“You are scheduled to have lunch now—with your brother and sister,” Melanie announced. “I can call ahead and add another person to the reservation.”
Emmy Lou glanced at her assistant in shock. “No.”
“Em.” Brock’s voice lowered.
“I… I have a phone call to make.” Melanie left, closing the door behind her.
“You’ve totally flustered Melanie.” Emmy tried not to stare at him. Tried not to picture throwing her arms around him and kissing him senseless.
“She’s not the one I’m trying to fluster.” He stepped forward. “I am sorry. He put his hand on you—you pulled away. It went all over me the wrong way and I reacted. Actually, I didn’t. But I thought about it.” He took another step forward. “Mad at me?”
Was she? “No.” She shook her head, closing the distance between them in three steps. “No, I’m not.” She sighed when he wrapped her up in his arms. “It’s been a weird morning.”
“It was pretty good for me.” She could feel his breath on the top of her head. “I knew I was seeing you.”
She tilted her head back and smiled up at him. “Brock Watson. Will you have lunch with me? And my sister, her boyfriend, and my way obnoxious brother?” She paused. “Also, my bodyguard, who has a serious ax to grind with you, and my assistant, who might be crushing on you.”
“I can deal with your family.” His kiss was soft. “Whatever problem Sawyer has with me is his problem.” Another kiss. “Melanie? Nice to know. If things don’t work out with us, I have other options.”
She pulled away from him. “Us? Is there an us?”
“I’m hoping there is.” His brows rose. “If you’re willing to try?”
Her pulse was in full gallop now. She was willing. More than willing. This is what she wanted. And exactly what her mother, bodyguard, and sister were worried about. “How do you feel about keeping things in stealth mode for now? I mean the real us—not the Bremmy thing.”
“I’m in favor.” He smiled, another kiss. “Stealth it is.”
She leaned into his hand, against her cheek. “You can keep your hands and lips to yourself?”
“In public?” he asked, pressing a series of kisses along her neck. “Yes. When it’s just the two of us?” He cradled her face in his hands. “Hell no.”
* * *
Brock lit the candles, straightened the large silver bowl full of strawberries he’d ordered from room service, and made sure the bottle of champagne was mostly submerged in the ice. He didn’t like strawberries and he couldn’t drink champagne, but if it made her happy, he was happy.
He’d enjoyed exploring San Francisco with her. Sawyer continued to scowl like an asshole most of the day, but Travis lightened the mood with his constant teasing and wisecracks.
There was a knock on the door.
Emmy Lou.
He turned off the overhead lights and pulled the door open.
“Brock.” CiCi King was the last person he’d expected to see. Ever. “Can I come in? This won’t take long.” She didn’t wait for an answer.
Fucking great.
“Expecting company?” CiCi asked, her smile tight and brittle.
He turned on the overhead lights. “What can I do for you, Mrs. King?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” She did a little circle, taking in the room—the room service and the champagne bucket. “I didn’t think a recovering addict could drink?”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, so that bottle is for your company?” CiCi shook her head. “A whole bottle to herself?”
Brock ran a hand over his face, trying not to laugh. Then again, it was hard to imagine Emmy Lou drinking an entire bottle of champagne. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea.
“I never thought a football star like you would need to ply a woman with alcohol?” She wrinkled her nose and held up her hand. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Hell yes. She’d talk, he’d pretend to listen, then he could get back to important things. Like Emmy.
“I didn’t say a damn thing.” When the hell would he learn to keep his mouth shut?
“Right, I remember now. You’re not playing a game.” She took a deep breath. “You’ve just been pining away for her, all these years, but kept quiet? And now that your position is threatened by some younger, faster player, you’ve decided to try to win her back publicly?” To listen to her, anyone would agree that he was a self-serving bastard using her daughter for PR.
He knew better. “Is it so hard to imagine that I care about Emmy Lou?”
“Now?” She nodded. “Yes.”
Brock shook his head. “Not now. Always.”
Silence descended, seeping into every corner of the room.
Whatever CiCi was feeling, she masked it well.
Eventually, she looked at the table, the strawberries, the champagne, and the candles. “A deep, abiding love.” Her eyes narrowed.
He bit down hard.
The intense vibrating of his phone made them both pause.
“Do you need to get that?” she asked, staring at his phone.
He crossed the room, hit the mute button, and shoved it into his pocket. “Nope.”
“There is no one else here. Me and you.” She picked up a strawberry. “What will it take to get you to leave Emmy and my family alone?”
“Excuse me?” He didn’t like this.
“You heard me. I want you to think about it,” she said, searching his face. “I don’t know if this is about getting even with Emmy or… Is this to spite me? Because you blame me for your heartbreak all those years ago?”
And that’s when he understood why she was here. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”
“Of what? You? Oh, sugar, you have no idea.” CiCi smiled. “You think you got that Roughnecks contract on your own? You think Hank being drinking buddies with Ed Salinas didn’t help? Ed Salinas, the owner of your little football team? Wake up, Brock. Hank saw what was happening. The minute someone interferes with his family, his children, he removes the obstacle. Why do you think you were drafted so quickly? Your talent? This family has helped you out more than you deserve. Didn’t your father ever tell you it’s not smart to bite the hand that feeds you?” She stepped forward. “I’m not scared, Brock. If anyone should be scared, it should be you.”
“Leave Emmy Lou alone or face the consequences?” He had to smile. “You do realize that sounds pretty damn over-the-top, don’t you?”
“I do.” She nodded, her smile wide. “You’re good at knocking people on their asses on the field. I’m excellent at knocking people on their asses in real life. Try me.” Her gaze bounced to the room service table. “You enjoy your evening. I’m taking my girls out to this fun little sushi place on the wharf.”
He didn’t move until the door had closed.
“Fuck.” He paced the length of his hotel room, sat on the couch, then stood and paced some more. He pulled his phone out from his pocket and opened it.
The first was a picture of Emmy, pouting, with Watson. Momma has sabotaged our night. Miss me.
I do. He smiled, running his finger along her face.
The second message was another picture. Emmy Lou, lying on the bed, holding her phone over her, with Watson curled and sleeping in her hair. Silly cat.
Smart cat. He saved the pictures to his phone and ran a hand over the back of his head. Have fun.
He blew out the candles, put the room service cart in the hall, and changed into his workout gear. There was a gym around the corner—one of the reasons he stayed here when he was in town. He headed downstairs, earbuds in, and spent the next two hours in the gym. Every time he thought about CiCi King’s hateful words, he had to run for another twenty minutes to get the roar in his head to ease.
By the time he was back in his room, standing under the steaming hot water, it was almost one in the morning. He was beat—but at least there was a chance he’d get some sleep now.
He climbed out, running a towel over his hair, when his phone vibrated.
Emmy Lou. Open the door.
He tugged on some clean boxers and sprinted to the door.
“Hi,” she whispered, the ever-present navy hoodie hanging to her knees.
He pulled her inside, closed the door, and pressed her against it. “Hi.” Kissing her was top priority. Breathing her in. Feeling her melt into him—her hands sliding along his bare back.
“You’re all wet,” she said against his mouth.
“Went to the gym.” He kissed her again. “Just got out of the shower.”
“I like it when you’re sweaty.” She wriggled closer, tugging the hoodie up and over her head.
“We can fix that.” He tossed her hoodie aside. “You forgot your bra.” He cradled her bare breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth. Nothing tasted like Emmy.
“No.” She was panting. “I didn’t.” She stumbled with him toward the bed, then stopped. “Wait.” Emmy gasped as he moved to the other nipple, his thumb tracing the hardened tip. “The hoodie.” She gasped, her fingers gripping his hair. “Condoms…”
He smiled, grabbed the hoodie, lifted her into his arms, and leaned forward, depositing her on the bed. Finally, he could touch her. He did—running his hands along her bare sides, teasing her with the lightest of touches. She shuddered beneath him, the tips of her breasts trembling against his chest. The bite of her nails on his back had him arching into her.
One thing he was learning about Emmy Lou. She didn’t apologize for one damn thing in bed. She gave in, got carried away, and enjoyed every sensation to the fullest. It was the hottest damn thing he’d ever seen. Watching her, hearing her, was better than any dream he could imagine.
When they were naked, he took his time enjoying the view. From the way her hair spilled over her shoulders to the dusky pink of her nipples, from the flare of her hips to the smile on her lips, there was so much to see and explore.
“Brock?” she whispered again, reaching for him. “Condom. Please.” Her gaze zeroed in on his rock-hard arousal and he stopped breathing. “Or…” She nibbled her lower lip, the slide of her fingers too much.
“Condom.” He shook the hoodie until several condoms fell onto the coverlet. “How energetic are you feeling?” he asked, counting eight so far.
“Very.” It was a whisper.
He loved the hitch in her breath when he rolled on the condom. Loved how her gaze locked with his as he lay her back on the bed. Lips parted, breathing hard, eyes glazed. “You are so beautiful.” He traced her jaw with the tips of his fingers.
“I missed you,” she managed, her head falling back as he slid deep.
He didn’t close his eyes. He didn’t want to miss anything. The way she arched up, wanting more of him, thrusting to meet him. Her fingers tangling in the sheets. Her knees pressing against his hips. The more erratic her rhythm grew, the more broken and frantic her noises became. She was gripping his back, holding on, pressing her lips against his throat to muffle the broken moan of her release. He held her there, one arm anchoring her against his chest as he moved into her. It didn’t take long for him to climax. It tore through him in waves, each rising higher until he was free-falling back onto the bed beside her, breathing hard—and damn happy.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Were those strawberries in the hall for me?”
“Yes.” His fingers traced the curve of her hip.
“And the champagne?”
“Yes.” He smiled.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier.” She sighed, burrowing closer.
“You’re here now.” That was what mattered. His fingers kept moving, drawing a lazy pattern along her side. Having her here made everything better.
Something tipped her off because sh
e was looking up at him. “What is it?” She reached up, pressing his forehead. “You’re frowning. Did something happen?”
“Your mother stopped by.” He sighed, admitting, “She’s dead set against us.”
“What?” Emmy Lou stared at him, blinking slowly. “I can’t…I can’t do this anymore.” She slipped from the bed, shaking. “I can’t.”
If that’s what she wanted, he’d do his damnedest to let her go. His chest hurt, his heart hurt, but he managed to keep his shit together.
“I keep trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. But her idea of the truth is whatever version best suits herself. Her addiction… I want to believe her. That it’s real and she’s getting help, but I don’t know anymore…” Her gaze darted his way, her lower lip wobbling.
He stood and wrapped his arms around her. “You think she’s capable of that?” He was no fan of CiCi King, but it was hard to wrap his head around what she was saying. “Why?”
“If she’s a victim, she can’t be blamed. I’m not sure she sees it that way or what she’s doing, it’s just…who she is. An addiction makes all the things she did or didn’t do not her fault.” She stayed in his arms, stiff. “I can’t believe I’m saying this…”
“It’s okay.” He hugged her closer.
“It’s not. She’s my mother.” There was a long pause before she spoke again. “But I finally understand why there’s so much tension between Momma and Krystal.” Her green eyes found his. “Krystal sees Momma for who she is, not who she pretends to be. And Momma can’t deal with that.”
He hurt for her, to the core. If there was one thing he could count on, it was his father and Aunt Mo’s honesty—even if it was hard to hear. Dealing with CiCi King hadn’t been pleasant, but he wasn’t her child. He’d assumed all her threats and lies were only for those she considered a threat to her family.
“I can’t blame her for keeping such a tight grip on me. If it wasn’t for Daddy, Krystal would be lost to her. Travis doesn’t put up with her drama, either, but he tends to tease instead of get worked up over it.” She stared up at him. “I was the only one who still wanted her approval. But now, I can’t help but wonder what she’s said and done and lied to me about…”
Song for a Cowboy Page 23