“I didn’t come here to see you. Veronica and—”
I lean in close, so close my breath stirs a wisp of hair dangling over her eyes. I need a reaction from her so I know I’m not imagining there’s something between us. “You really don’t want to do this with an audience. If that’s how you want it, we can talk about Saturday night with everyone listening. I’m not shy.”
“Ugh,” she moans. “You are so bossy.”
I nod in agreement. “Yes. I’ve been told that. Come on.”
She wrestles her hand from mine as if I’ve branded her with a burning stamp with the letters of my name. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
“Yeah, right. I have plenty to say and I’m not going to hurry.” I motion that she should lead the way upstairs.
There’s a second when she looks like she might argue. Then she exhales her resistance in a long displeased huff and starts up the steps. I’m right on her heels, close enough to want to reach out a hand and make contact. The more I’m around her, the more I have the need to establish a connection between us. It’s like I can’t look at her without wanting to touch her.
We enter my bedroom, a long rectangular room with enough space for a reading nook in the corner. I motion for her to sit in the navy club chair. With only one available seat, I’m left to either loom over her by standing or resort to my bed. I take a seat on the end of my bed.
She rubs both hands over the velvet arms of the chair like it’s a genie lamp and she can wish herself to another place.
I drag one hand over my short hair. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Be honest. We had a good time the other night yet you want to cut my heart out right now—with a plastic spoon. I called you after the date—”
“It wasn’t a date.”
“Oh come on. Who do you think you’re kidding? You went out with me because you wanted to go on a date. You were kissing me before the break-in.”
“You kissed me.” A peach flush tinges her cheeks immediately in a guilty stamp of color.
“You didn’t object. In fact, I’m positive you liked it a lot.” I hold up a hand at her gasp of indignation. “But it’s more than the kiss that got to you.”
She groans. “I can’t talk about this right now. I need to go help Veronica and Malerie.”
“What are you afraid of?” A flash of something in her eyes tells me I’ve hit a bulls-eye.
“Nothing. And I don’t know how you have time to run a business in between chasing your next lay. If you were feeling chatty, you should’ve taken your time with that girl who just left.”
“Wait a minute.” I take three long steps and bend down to take her chin in my hand. “You’re avoiding my question and assuming an awful lot about Yvette.”
She wrenches her chin from my hold. “Don’t go all alpha on me. I really don’t get into that shit. I don’t know why you’re even bothering since you have the Wall Street Fashionista.”
I return to my standing position and place my hands on my hips while I stare hard at her. “There wasn’t anything going on with Yvette. For someone who doesn’t like to be judged, you sure know how to condemn others.”
We stare at each other in silence.
Her nostrils flare at an intake of air, a delicate sign of self-control. She exhales slowly. “Point taken,” she says. “So, what exactly were you doing in here? Playing chess?” She mimics looking around for a chessboard.
“Actually, we were talking about a legal matter. She happens to be an attorney.” I wait a beat before continuing. “Damn, you’re sexy.”
Emerson’s gaze shoots back to meet mine. One eyebrow rises. “Come again?”
“When you’re mad. But you don’t have to be jealous.” I lean down and put my hands on each arm of her chair.
“I’m not.”
In a low voice, I taunt, “Be honest with both of us.”
Her breath hitches. “You’re an idiot.”
I can’t stop the smile that breaks free. It’s not a prideful thing like it might be with some guys—trying to get the one conquest who resists, the hot girl you crave. Not like that at all. It’s because I really, truly give a damn about her.
I grab her hands and pull her from the chair, walking backward to the bed. “Admit it. You’re crazy about me.” When she doesn’t answer, I sit on the bed and pull her down beside me. “I’ll confess first. I don’t even look at other women anymore. All I do is think about you. I swear it’s the truth. Why don’t you get that?”
“You’re not getting it through that thick head of yours.” She closes her eyes for a couple of seconds. “You don’t understand the amount of baggage you get with me.”
“Oh yeah. I have a pretty good idea. But I think you’re worth it.” I squeeze her shoulder.
Emerson falls onto her side on the bed, propping up on an elbow. “Let me make the baggage clear. We’re not talking an overnight case. We are talking the mother lode. A steamer trunk. It’s not just what I told you about my dad.”
“I’m listening.”
“I have a crazy mother.” She challenges me with a wide-eyed stare.
I don’t even blink. “Don’t we all.”
“No. I mean the real-deal kind of crazy.”
“Understood.”
She’s frozen, her gaze not meeting mine as she searches for her next words, her mouth open but nothing coming out. Finally, she sucks in a gulp of air. Her words tumble out. “Institutionalized crazy.”
“Oh. Well, that really does trump my crazy kind of mom who texts me every day. You win this round.”
“See?”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Oh. My. God.” She rubs a knuckle across her brow. “The problem is I’m like a lightning rod. Don’t you get that? I constantly try to dig my way out from underneath the destruction and I will someday. I can do it. But I don’t have the time or energy to do anything right now but make sure I make it out and no one gets hurt. This thing with the person breaking into my apartment? It’s just one more thing that is my normal.” Her voice breaks a little on her last two words, but then her vulnerability disappears with a lifting of her chin.
I smooth a tendril of hair away from her cheek. “Still not scaring me away.”
“You don’t have to protect me from some feeling of obligation. Somebody thinks I’ve got money. They think my dad brokered a deal for millions, but it didn’t happen. I mean...would I really be working for you if I had money? The guy watches me long enough and he’ll figure that out.”
I lie flat and look up at her. “Why is it so hard for you to understand that this thing between us would’ve happened without the break-in?”
“Ok. Prove it. Tell me when you wanted to know me better. What do you even know about me?”
I pause before speaking, legitimately attempting to remember the very first time. A vision of one moment—maybe not the first time, but definitely a memorable one—surfaces. “It was the first time I heard you dropping F-bombs while you cleaned my bathroom. Multiple fucks with a goddamn thrown in. I was standing around the corner and listening since you seemed to want me out of your way. The entire time, I hoped you wouldn’t catch me acting like a stalker in my own house.”