Deciding to hell with Seth’s reply, I stick my phone in my pocket, and start walking toward Emily, a man on a mission to get us both naked as soon as possible. No more delays and I really have no clue how I went from furious in that restaurant to laughing on the walk over here, but I’m damn sure not laughing now. Neither is she. Her spine is stiff, her long brown hair hiding her face, but I can hear her muffled, terse whispers. I’m almost on top of her when she ends the call and faces me, all but jumping out of my jacket in the process.
“You scared me,” she says, stuffing her phone back in her purse. “Sorry about that.” She cuts her gaze. “It was my landlord and he’s—”
“You don’t need to make up stories for me.”
Her gaze jerks to mine. “What?”
“You don’t lie well and that’s a compliment.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t,” I order softly, shackling her hips under my jacket, her hand settling on my chest, where it balls rather than flattens.
She pales. “What?”
“Say nothing or tell me everything, but don’t lie to me.”
Her fingers grip a section of my shirt. “Nothing then.”
“Understood,” I agree, but the fact that I want to convince her to tell me everything is a problem I’ll either deal with later, or holy hell, maybe not. I cup her face. “Here’s how this is going to play out: Whatever, or whomever, is tormenting you can’t have you tonight. That’s what you need to know. Not tonight. Understood?”
“Yes,” she breathes out. “Please.”
“Yes and please. Remember those words and my name because I’m going to make you say them over and over again.”
She sucks in a breath, a mix of shock and interest in her expression that burns hot in my blood. She has never been properly fucked and I damn sure like the idea of being the one to remedy the situation. I take her hand and lead her to the elevator, punching our floor. The doors open instantly and I lead her inside, punching the ground level. I don’t turn to her or I’ll shove her against the elevator, fuck some of this anger out of my system, and Randy will have a show before he deletes the footage.
The doors open in less than sixty seconds, and I take her with me as I exit the elevator and enter the garage, where my car sits alone, a centerpiece of nothing. Interesting, considering my father is only two blocks away, but I’m sure it has to do with hiding his evening activities. Fishing my keys from my pocket, I click the locks, and the lights flicker at the same moment my cell phone beeps. I release Emily to grab my phone, and look down at the text that reads: Sending a man now. Simple and to the point, that’s how Seth operates, and I like it that way. I stick my phone back in the pocket of my pants, my attention riveted on Emily who is standing at the trunk of the car, her finger tracing the Bentley emblem, with what I assume is nervous energy.
She glances in my direction, her eyes meeting mine from a distance. This time I’m not sure what I read in her face, but holy hell, I feel this woman in ways that make no sense. I start toward her and she rounds the car, making her way to the passenger door. I’m there in time to open it for her but she doesn’t get in the car. She faces me.
“A Bentley was my dream car,” she announces, apparently throwing her vow to say nothing to the wind. “No,” she amends, gripping the rim at the top of the window. “Is my dream car. And Harvard’s my dream school. And you have them both and somehow I’m with you. I’m not sure if you’re a kiss good-bye to my dreams or a promise they aren’t over.”
“Don’t let the universe decide what it means. Don’t let it have that power. And don’t let what you want get away from you.” I step closer to her, my hand settling on the window next to hers but I do not touch her. “What I want is what I told you in the restaurant. To fuck you so right and well you never forget me.” Her lips part, her eyes widening in surprise, chest rising and falling. “Now. Your turn. Don’t censor your answer and don’t think about yesterday or tomorrow. Right here, right now. What do you want, Emily?”
“You know what I want.”
“Say it,” I command, pushing her limits, a precursor to the rest of the night intended as a test to find out if she can really handle where I plan to take her.
She knows it too. I see it in the lift of her chin, and the hint of rebellion in her eyes. “You. Nothing but you.”
And with that simple, perfect answer, she turns and slides into the Bentley. I immediately close the distance between us, kneeling beside her, and yanking the belt from the panel. She grabs my hand midway across her body.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me,” she says, and she isn’t talking about a seatbelt any more than I am, but for different reasons. I know what I see in her eyes because I’ve lived it. She’s alone, trying to convince herself that’s just fine by her.
Reaching over her, I connect the belt, my arm brushing her breast, her reaction a soft gasp that I feel in the tightening of my body. I inhale and settle back on my heels, my hand finding the bare expanse of her knee just beneath her skirt. “Tonight,” I say. “You’re mine and I take care of what’s mine.” I don’t give her a chance to object as I stand and shut the door.
Rounding the trunk of the Bentley, I stop dead in my tracks as my brother’s 911 pulls in and parks three spaces from my car. Without question, he is up to something, and I can’t help but think it has something to do with the woman who’s with my father. Damn glad Emily is in the car, and out of his line of sight, I step forward to greet my brother.