She catches my hand. “How, after all I’ve told you, can you think that having me in your life is a good idea? I don’t want to be an obligation. I’m fine at my apartment.”
“Sweetheart, there are a hundred ways I could help you and not invite you into my bed, or my life. I want you to live with me.”
“Shane—”
I lean in and press my lips to hers, lingering there before I inch back and look at her. “Save whatever you’re going to say for my bed that is now our bed, unless it’s a request to get naked one more time before we leave.” I lower my voice, confessing what I’ve felt, but haven’t even admitted to myself. “I need you with me.”
“You don’t have to be my protector.”
I think of my family, of the lines I’ve walked for them, of the lines, even now, I cross, and something about this woman reminds me why I can’t be the Brandon my father wants me to be. “Maybe it’s me who needs you to protect me.”
“You? Who do you need protection from?
My lips quirk. “Usually my mother.”
“I’d laugh, but I think we all need protection from your mother.”
My mother’s motives and actions burn in the back of my mind, but right now, it’s Emily’s mother that deserves attention. “Speaking of mothers,” I say, reaching into my pocket and removing the velvet box, which I open for her.
She sucks in air and reaches out to touch the chain before glancing up at me. “Thank you, Shane.”
“Why aren’t you wearing it?”
“I never took it off before all of this happened. It seemed like something the police might detail on my wanted poster.” She reaches up and tugs on her dark brown hair. “Right along with the blond hair I no longer have.”
“You’re really a blonde?”
“Yes. I am. Can you picture it?”
“I’ll picture it when you change it back.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to go back.”
“We can buy a wig.” I glance down at the velvet box. “Put the bracelet on.”
“No,” she says, resolutely shutting the box and taking it from me. “It’s too much a part of the old me. I need to be the new me. That’s how I survive.” She speaks the words with the strength and bravado I expect from her, but underneath there is a vulnerability that says she’s still scared. I want to tell her she doesn’t have a reason to be.
My cell phone rings and I dig it out of my pocket, see Seth’s number on the screen, and hit the answer button. “How are things there?” he asks, and I know him well enough to see this as the prelude to whatever he really called about.
“We’re headed to the garage in five minutes,” I say and, as if Emily takes my cue, she slides off the bed to start dressing. “Why?”
“There was a partial power outage at Brandon Pharmaceuticals,” Seth says, “and it included the security cameras.”
I don’t react. Not with Emily sitting here watching me. I’m also aware that the assembly lines are shut down for the night, and that my cell phone can never be assured secure; I keep my question cautious. “Any activity?”
“They were back up before security could even alert us,” he says. “And nothing appears out of line.”
Translation: We know my brother has invited a drug cartel into our operation and we still have no clue how they’re operating. “I’ll talk to you when I get downstairs.” I end the call and look up to find Emily standing by the door, her back to me, at the same moment as she pulls off my T-shirt, leaving me a view of her gorgeous naked skin, that has me thinking of her breasts. Inhaling, I remind myself I have problems to solve that won’t happen in this room with Emily naked. But I will have her naked again tonight.
Standing, I shove my phone into my pocket. Emily whirls around to face me and tosses me my shirt. I catch it and put it on, the naturally sweet scent of her clinging to the cotton the way it does to my bed, which is now her bed. She is sweet, and yet somehow still tough as nails. It’s a combination that works for me, but as I watch her shove that velvet box in her pocket, afraid to even embrace a tiny piece of her past, I am struck by a hard reality. She’s escaping from one corrupt family to hide inside another. Mine.
EMILY
This time when Shane and I walk to the elevator, it’s hand in hand, but he doesn’t speak and I know him well enough to know he’s troubled and I don’t think it’s about me. We enter the elevator and he punches the lobby level and then he’s leaning against the wall and pulling me to him, and he is a hard body in all of the places I am soft. Strong in ways that are not just sexy, but I admire that trait in him. And suddenly, I’m not thinking about my brother, or my name, or law school, but him. This man. His battles to save a company from a father who cannot be saved, and how I can help him survive and thrive.
“I have to take care of some business when we get to the apartment,” he says. “But I’m thinking pizza, then a hot shower and a warm bed, both with you in them.”
“You’ll get no objection from me, but is there any chance we could swing by my apartment so I can grab a few things?”
“You and that empty apartment are done,” he says. “Your stuff is in the car and a shopping trip is in your future. And”—he reaches into his pocket and hands me my cell phone—“I’m guessing you didn’t accidentally leave that in your coat.”