Page 19 of Off-Limits Bad Boy
“Then why didn't I see it coming?” There's frustration in her voice, a plea for some kind of understanding.
“Because you deserve better,” I say firmly. “You deserve friends who respect you, who care about you without an agenda.”
She lets out a chuckle that sounds more like tears. “I thought he did.”
“Anyone would have believed the same in your place.” My hand finds its way to her hair, fingers gently stroking along her scalp and sending a shiver through her. “You've got a big heart, Emma. It's not your fault someone tried to take advantage of that.”
“Kade...” Her voice is a whisper, a mix of relief and something else I can't quite name.
I pull her closer. With her head against my chest, my heartbeat seems to sync with hers. I pet her hair, each stroke meant to soothe, to comfort. She relaxes against me, her body melting into mine as if we were made for each other.
And damn if it doesn't feel like heaven.
I press my lips to the top of her head, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair in a gesture meant to be comforting, but she tenses and pulls away. Her sky-blue eyes, usually so full of mirth, now swim with confusion and hurt.
“Why are you still here, Kade?” She wipes at her cheeks, a futile attempt to erase the evidence of her tears. “I told you to leave a while ago.”
This is going to be tough to explain, but I'm going to give her the truth. She deserves that much. “I couldn't leave,” I admit, my voice gruffer than I intend. “I was sitting outside in my car, trying to figure out what my next move should be.”
“Next move?” She cocks her head, her brows furrowing as she tries to figure out what I mean. Her sadness seems to dry up all at once, and I can’t hold back a smile. She's always been quick to rebound; she’s resilient in ways that surprise me.
“Yeah,” I say, raking a hand through my hair. “I was worried about you. I wanted to help... but felt kind of helpless.”
She blinks, taken aback by my honesty, and then something like appreciation flickers across her face. But it's gone before I can be sure, replaced by a practicality that's all Emma.
“Hungry?” She points at the pizza with a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
“Sure,” I say, happy to share a relaxed moment as friends, even though I want her more than I could ever admit. I see her cheeks going pink, feel the tremor that runs through her body.
We sit on her couch; her cross-legged and casual, and me with my feet on the floor with my feet and knees far apart in a comfortable position that feels natural, as if this were any other night and not the first time we’ve done something like this.
We talk about the pulsing life of the club, how much Alex irritates her, and her family—a topic that's both simple and complex.
“Mom's planning another one of her infamous Sunday dinners,” she tells me, a laugh escaping her as she bites into a slice piled high with mushrooms and black olives. After chewing thoughtfully for a moment and swallowing, she lifts both shoulders and inspects the slice. “You know how she gets. She wants everyone there.”
I sense there’s more to that topic and I want to dig, but gently.
“Grace is a force of nature,” I say, and it's true. The woman has held her family together through a husband walking out, a heart attack, and Emma herself running off without a word for a while. What she’s experienced would’ve broken anyone else.
“I still feel guilty,” Emma says, still staring at her pizza. She's got a speck of sauce at the corner of her mouth, and damn if I don't want to reach over and wipe it away with my thumb. But I don’t. Instead, I focus on the warmth of the moment, the easy banter, and the way she's slowly opening herself to me.
One thing we both refuse to talk about is what went down between us at the club. Even though all I can think about is how I’d almost kissed her, her quick breathing when I’d pinned her hands above her head, the fiery challenge in her eyes... and as we talk, I wonder how long it’ll be before we’re in a similar position... and I don’t hold back.
The grease-stained pizza box lies discarded on the coffee table as I lean back against the couch, arms stretched out, one hand dangerously close to where she sits, curled up like a cat seeking comfort.
“Hey, I heard you played hero at work,” I start, my voice casual as I glance in her direction. “You fixed the walk-in freezer all by yourself?”
She lifts both shoulders, looking at anything but me. “The repair guys couldn't come out for a week. So I looked up how to fix it for now, and they’ll repair it when they come out.”
“That’s pretty amazing,” I say.
She’s quick to blow me off again. “Yeah, well, I had to do something. Couldn't wait around for someone else to swoop in. Besides, I didn't want to risk getting stuck in there with you again.” Her eyes tick to mine, heat flickering there. “Who knows what could happen next time?”
My pulse races at the suggestion, my mind instantly churning with images best left in the dark. Kissing her until she's breathless. Running my hands over her curves. Whispering desires against her soft skin. The fantasies blaze through me, searing and sudden.
I shift uncomfortably, shoving those thoughts aside. My gaze finds hers, and damn if she isn't looking at me like she's seen every single one of them flicker across my face. I clear my throat, desperately clawing back to safer ground.
“I mean, next time I might pour a cold one over your head to cool you off.” As she says the words, she gives away that she does know my line of thinking.