“Don’t care,” he managed before dropping his lips to hers, capturing her in a deep kiss. His mouth began a subtle assault, pressing and probing, the intimate act ticking all the buttons he’d located the night before.
A lush heaviness gathered force at her groin.
Ember didn’t want to stop, but Travis stood a mere few feet away and even though she didn’t know anything about their history, the two men definitely had one.
And it wasn’t pleasant.
Attempting to keep an ounce of professionalism, she twisted her head breaking their connection, her eyes awkwardly darting to the side. Tension faded from his strained limbs, but disapproval still lingered in the notch between his brows.
“Still up for dinner?”
“Definitely.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he whispered in her ear.
Let’s? Yes, let’s.
Lips pressed together in a firm line, she nodded.
Nash scarcely acknowledged Travis’s presence, offering a curt, “White” as he ushered Ember to the passenger side of his truck.
“Harris,” the loathing tone reciprocated equally.
Ember tipped her head toward Travis. “Thanks for the lift.”
“My pleasure.”
Those two little words hit their intended mark like a bomb dropping from the belly of an aircraft.
Nash appeared to ignore the dig, but anger cut through his unyielding stance with a razor-sharp edge. Recovering quickly, he patted her on the bottom while assisting her into the truck, the possessive act far more than a flirtatious gesture.
“Was that really necessary?” she asked after he slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
“What?” he questioned innocently.
“Don’t give me that. I’m not sure if that kiss was meant for me or him. The two of you obviously share some sort of animosity. Seriously, what’s the riff between you and Travis?”
Though he tried to play it cool, Nash had a long fuse and it was still burning. He kept his attention on the road, hands strangling the steering wheel, unsuccessfully hiding his annoyance.
“The kiss was for you. And let’s just say—” After a long hesitation, he disclosed, “—me and Travis have shared more than a little animosity.”
“Oh. Ohhh,” she said, eyes blinking.
“Our grudge goes way back.”
“How far back?”
“It’s not important. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
His words of assurance fell on deaf ears. Ember scowled, staring out the windshield processing the situation, internally debating if their issues were truly any of her concern.
“I feel like I’ve been picked up and dropped into the middle of a bitter feud between the Hatfields and McCoys.”
“I’m not putting you in the middle of anything.”
“True but seeing that he’s my employee and you’re my—whatever it is you and I are right now—I think I deserve to know and I’d prefer to ask you rather than him.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. Nash drove in silence for a full minute before clearing the agitation from his throat. “Growing up, we competed for the top spot in every sport. Plus, he dated my little sister our senior year. Right before sleeping with my girlfriend.”
Understanding began to sink in. Her head bobbed up and down in a slow, mechanical affirmation. However, bewilderment still littered her brain. “But, that had to be more than ten years ago. You’re grown men. I mean, at what point do you just let it go?”
Pulling up to the ranch, he removed his sunglasses and placed them in a small compartment built into the dash of his truck. His shimmering blues skated all over her face, tension caged behind layers of heat.
“I’m thirty-two so it was almost fifteen years, and we may be grown men, but we’re still Texans, sweetheart.”
“My mom always says that holding a grudge is like letting someone live rent-free inside your head.”
“I don’t hold grudges. I just remember the facts.” Nash rested an arm along the top of the bench seat, gently hooking a finger around her ponytail and letting the hair fall over her shoulder. Cutting any further inquiry, he asked, “You hungry?”
Any judgements revolving around the men’s history was lost to her present state of mind and the sexy grin lurking at his lips. “I’m twenty-six in case you’re wondering and yes, I’m starving.”
“Good. Let’s get you in the shower so we can get out of here.”
There’s that word again. Let’s.
Ember swung her eyes to meet his. “You plan on getting in with me?”
“I’m fairly certain we’ll both starve if I join you in the shower.”
The burn of his sensual warning extended all the way across the truck hitting her like a bolt of lightning.
She toyed, “You’re right. What was I thinking?”
His grin broadened to a full-blown haughty smile. “You were thinking of how good I’d be in the shower.”
When Nash asked Ember if she’d like to stay with him in Fort Worth, she gladly tossed a few necessities into her tote. Both insisted the decision was based purely on convenience, so he wouldn’t have to make the long drive back to the ranch.
It has absolutely nothing to do with waking up next to his gorgeous face.
The restaurant Grace was touted as Fort Worth’s chic spot for sophisticated dishes, a breathtaking wine list, and outstanding service. It was also less than a block from Nash’s high-rise apartment. After leaving his truck at Harris Tower parking garage, they strolled the tree-lined streets bursting with restaurants, bars, and silly good shopping.
Ember tucked her hands into the pockets of her mod halter jumpsuit as Nash escorted her inside and past the crowded bar. His palm rested on the small of her bare back, fingertips dipping just beyond the silky material, curling around the small of her waist.
The weight of his hand felt maddeningly delicious.
Crisp white linens and two empty glasses topped the last vacant table at the back of the restaurant beside a large picture window. As he pulled a chair from the table, she glanced around the room. “Are you sure we can sit here? Maybe it’s for—”
“I’m sure,” he insisted as an attractive dark-haired man approached them.
“Ah, good evening Mr. Harris. It’s good to see you again.” The two men exchanged a cordial handshake before Nash lowered into his seat. Bottle of wine in hand, the man turned his attention to Ember. “My name is Jax. I’m the director of Grace and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Would you care for a glass of Mr. Harris’s favorite, Keenan Cabernet, or would you prefer to look at the drink menu?”
Though Ember enjoyed a nice glass of wine occasionally, she certainly wouldn’t consider herself a connoisseur. Feeling a bit out of her element, she glanced at Nash for recommendation.
“Their Dirty Margarita is supposed to be a must try, but the wine is exceptional.”
“I’ll have the Cabernet.”
Jax poured the wine and set the bottle on the table before disappearing into the crowd. The hip atmosphere of the restaurant embodied the city’s lively energy, yet the soft glow of the ambient candle centered on the table set a sultry mood.