“Hmm.”
Emma paused at the sound, and amusement lit her eyes. “Do you enjoy construction?”
I shrugged. “It’s something to do.”
I was being closed off all over again, and I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I knew she wanted to say something. That much was clear. And it was something she thought I wouldn’t like. She hadn’t yet asked me about Cassandra. I’d been expecting it but figured she was biding her time. Maybe that time was now. But I wasn’t about to beg her to keep quiet or imply that I couldn’t handle talking about my failure with Cassandra with her.
But she did none of those things. Instead, she leaned on the half-finished counter area and looked me over like I was prospective real estate. My body came to attention.
“I have a problem,” she said.
Oh, the dirty possibilities of how I could solve her problems that went through my head. I shoved them back down into the gutter of my mind, where they belonged.
“Your family members are about to arrive, bound and determined to drive you up a tree?” I offered, stalling.
The corners of her eyes crinkled. “No, that’s all you.”
“Well, I hope you’re not jealous. Spoiler alert—it’s not as fun as it looks.”
She shook her head wryly. “You’ll miss them when they’re gone, Brick.”
The nickname pinged at my heart. “Ask them to leave, and let’s see.”
“Would you be serious?” She didn’t sound too annoyed; there was a lilt in her voice. I wanted more of that.
“I was.”
“Lucian.”
“I like it better when you call me honey pie.”
Huffing, she rolled her eyes but still couldn’t hide that smile. “Dear sweet honey pie, would you shut it and listen?”
“Since you asked so nicely.” Truth was I’d damn well do anything for this woman.
I think she knew as much, because her expression turned victorious. “I’m invited to a wedding in Malibu this weekend . . .”
Hell. I knew what was coming. My skin started to feel too tight, the air around me too thick.
“If you’re looking for fashion advice, that’s more Sal and Amalie’s purview.”
“I’ll bear that in mind. Will you be my date?”
And there it was. Part of me wanted to do something mature like a fist pump because she’d asked me out. That part was drowned out by the ornery ass who did not, under any circumstances, want to be at any event that required conversing and interacting with others.
“Em . . .”
“Before you say no, the wedding will be very small and intimate. It’s for my costar Macon Saint.”
“And you thought it would be a good idea to bring me?”
I had no doubt she knew what I meant. I wasn’t charming. I was barely social.
Emma shrugged, the strap of her pale-blue sundress slipping a little over the golden-hued curve of her shoulder. “I could go it alone. But I don’t want to. A woman alone at a wedding is a target for ten million questions, none of them good. I’d rather have a wall of big snarly man mountain guarding over me.”
She needs you. Say yes, you idiot.
“Brommy could do it.”
Moron.
One of her brows arched delicately. “You want me to ask Brommy?”
My shoulders sagged in defeat. “No.”
“Hmm.”
“That’s my line, Snoopy.”
The gleam was back in her eyes. “It works so well I’m stealing it as my own.”
God, she was cute. Perfect. I wanted to span her waist with my hands and set her on the cabinets so I could attend to her mouth properly. I held back and kept baiting. Like a moron.
“I’m surprised you didn’t threaten to ask Anton.”
Emma pretended to think that one out. “I could. He is very nice to look at.” She smiled at my grunt. “But I have a suspicion he’d take it to mean I was interested.”
“And you’re not.” I couldn’t bring myself to frame it as a question. It was hard enough imagining. If she was, I’d . . . fuck if I knew. Go cry somewhere, probably.
But she wrinkled her nose. “Not even a little, honey pie.”
The woman knew how to work me—I’d give her that. She was also observant as hell, and when my shoulders slumped in relief, her gaze narrowed. “We ever going to talk about it?”
No. Make that hell no. “Talk about what?”
The second I asked the question, I knew I was in for trouble. Emma wasn’t the type to take my bullshit lying down.
Her lush lips slanted with dark amusement. “You licked my nipple, Lucian.” I nearly choked on my own spit, my body coming to swift, heated alertness. Not that it stopped her from adding, “Maybe you go around licking women’s nipples all the time, but I tend to give that privilege out to a select few.”
Damn, but I felt privileged. Grateful, even. It remained the highlight of my erotic dreams ever since that night.
My voice grew hoarse and strained. “I don’t do it all the time. It’s been a while.” Face flaming, I cleared my throat. “It was a momentary weakness due to . . .” Desperately wanting you. I’d give anything to lick that sweet little nipple one more time. “Pool shenanigans.”
The light in her eyes told me she was struggling to either not laugh or not strangle me. Maybe both. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“Yes?” No. I didn’t fucking know. The woman had me tied up in knots. I wanted her. She scared the hell out of me. I wanted to tell her what a bad bet I was. That we both knew she could do better. But I couldn’t make my mouth form the words. And the moment to do so passed me by.
“Hmm” was all she said.
I stood there stoic and composed. And feeling like a fool. I should have turned and walked away, told her that it was best if we ignored each other for the duration of her stay. But that was not what I did. “This wedding-date thing important to you?”
Her brows lifted in surprise. But she didn’t prevaricate, as I had done. “Yes.”
And that was that. I could try to keep my hands to myself. I could try to tamp down my lust for this woman. But I could not see her disappointed.
“All right, honey. I’ll be your wedding man mountain.” I wiped my hands off on the rag, if only to keep myself from reaching for her. “But be forewarned. I’m not going to be charming or chatty or whatever. If someone tries to corner me and talk hockey, I’m bolting.”
I felt like an ass as soon as I finished. But Emma just smiled, as if she’d expected me to say as much. “Ah, Brick, you say that because you haven’t met Macon Saint.”
Whatever that meant.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lucian
“Tell me about this wedding and what to expect.”
In deference to Emma’s exceptional driving skills and my propensity to get a migraine when driving for more than an hour, she was behind the wheel, and I was comfortably slumped in the passenger seat.
Did I prefer to be the one driving? Actually, no. This way I had the perfect excuse to watch Emma as long as I wanted. It was a better view than the Pacific coast outside my window. By far.