Chapter 4
By the timeEmma dragged herself into the office on Friday, she was eighteen degrees beyond exhausted. Thankfully, David had survived surgery—a double bypass with two stents placed—but was still hospitalized. He was out of the Intensive Care Unit, though, so everyone was hopeful.
Mary had popped in and out of the office that week, but she never left her husband for long periods, which left Emma as de facto managing partner, with Brad as her right-hand man. With all that was going on, she hadn’t brought up the whole “don’t call Emma” thing, and he hadn’t mentioned it. She still planned to have it out with him, but as with examining a witness, timing was important. And right now, the timing was as far from perfect as it could be. She was too damn exhausted as it was. If she said the wrong thing and Brad walked, his departure would double her workload.
The suffocating fatigue may have been worth it, though. She was on to something hinky regarding the Lone-Star Tech lawsuits. If her hunch bore fruit, Mr. Bishop and his daughter would have a truly awful day in court.
Work, however, wasn’t the only thing keeping her up at night. Fending off intrusive thoughts of a certain gorgeous billionaire also kept her nights occupied. When she actually drifted off to sleep, thoughts of him wormed their way into her dreams, and there, they morphed and intensified until she woke breathless and needy.
Maybe she was about to have another nervous breakdown.
As she stepped to Gwen’s desk, in a vestibule down the hallway from Emma’s office, she curled her lips into something she hoped passed as a smile. “Is it time to go home yet?”
“Oh, sweet, na?ve, Lady Boss. I’m not gonna answer that.” Gwen offered a placating smile and held out a steaming purple mug. “Instead, I’m gonna tell you how pretty you look while shoving this latte into your hand.”
“Caffeine!” Emma hugged the cup to her bosom. “I mean, I’d prefer to be home in bed, but I’ll take this. Strike that. I’d prefer to be on the beach in Cancún with a margarita in both hands, but this will do.”
“I could probably scrounge up one of those cute little drink umbrellas to add a little ambiance to your latte?”
“I’ll allow it.”
“Or better yet…” Gwen pushed to her feet and leaned over her desk, lowering her voice. “I could add some coconut rum, too. That way, we’d have ourselves the makings of an interesting Friday.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“But I live to push my luck.” Gwen tossed her head back and laughed maniacally. “Love the outfit, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Emma did her best to channel about ten percent of Gwen’s energy and did a little twirl so that her blue, tan, and yellow skirt flared out. She’d paired the skirt with a deep blue button down that tied at the navel. Unlike Monday’s accidental work outfit, no midriff showed.
Gwen fanned herself overly dramatically. “Is it another beach buy?”
“Sorta. I had to tweak it to make it work appropriate, but yeah, I bought this for the beach.”
“Either way,” Gwen said with a wink, “you look great.”
After arranging lunch—they’d have tamales delivered for their weekly Friday working lunch—Emma headed to her office. Brad gave her a brief salute as she passed by the front glass-way of his office. She waved back and did her best to smile, all the while seething inside.
Soon, she thought as she pushed open her office door. They’d have it—
Emma froze. Her sudden stop sent her latte swooshing over the rim of her mug. Caramel-colored liquid rushed over her hand and dripped to the hardwood floor like liquid applause to her embarrassment. She did her best to ignore it.
“What’re you doing here?” The question tumbled from her mouth.
“And good morning to you, too, Emma.” The left side of Noah Whitlow’s mouth tipping up, he unfolded himself from the chair in the corner sitting area. He looked so dang gorgeous that she had to will her heart back into a normal rhythm.
“What’re you doing here?” she repeated.
“I wanted to check on you. You were upset the last time we were together.” He snagged some tissues from the container on the corner of her desk. “Here. I’ll trade you. You seem to be dripping.” He lifted the mug from her hand and pressed the tissues into her palm before grabbing some more and cleaning off her cup. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” she stammered.
“Is that why there are circles under your eyes—circles that were not there on Monday?”
“I’ve put in a lot of hours to get caught up.”
“Yes, you have, and your dedication hasn’t gone unnoticed, which is why I want to take you to dinner tonight.” He finished with her cup and then moved on to cleaning her hand.
“You want to-to-to what?”
“To take you to dinner,” he repeated.
Was black smoke billowing from her head? She was pretty sure he just broke her brain.
When he finished cleaning her hand, he didn’t release it. “May I take your stunned silence as a yes?”
No.
Unequivocally not.
She couldn’t date a client.
If she gave in to the weakness buzzing through her every time he was near, there would be consequences. She didn’t have time for consequences. She needed to keep her eyes on the prize—the prize being that nanochip. The potential it had could be life-changing, and not just for her.
And yet, as she stared into his chocolate eyes, with the tiny flecks of gold shimmering like fireflies in the dark, she nodded.
He grinned. “Excellent. I’ll pick you up at your place around, say, six-thirty.”
Again, she could only nod.
“And, Emma, when we’re on our date tonight, call me Noah.”
This day couldn’t end fast enough.
Noah pushed from his office chair and gazed out at the Houston skyline. Running an empire as vast and far-reaching as Whitlow Group took focus, tenacity, vision, and patience, but today, those traits eluded him. His mind was still at Reynolds, Clark Morgan with the most confounding woman he’d ever met. When he’d flirted with Emma on Monday, he’d noted attraction in her eyes. He’d been with enough women to know when one wanted him, and she had wanted him.
So why hadn’t she called?
He’d given her his personal cell number, which only a handful of people had, but she hadn’t called. They’d exchanged emails, but her messages had been competent, concise, and completely professional. So, yeah, confounding covered it. Women came to him. He’d never had to pursue one before, and of course, the one he was pursuing just wasn’t cooperating.
He hoped that wasn’t a sign of the End Times.
A knock at his office door had him returning to his desk. “Come,” he called.
His administrative assistant stepped inside, iPad in hand and at the ready. Caroline Waverly, with her shoulder-length brown hair and pretty, worn-in face, was an extremely fit fifty-five-year-old, but she didn’t look a day over twenty-nine—or so the office’s running joke went anyway. Caroline Waverly, “forever twenty-nine.”
“Yes, Caroline?” he said.
“Your three o’clock appointment called. Her flight arrived earlier than expected, and she wanted to know if you’d be amenable to shifting the appointment earlier in the day. Since you have plans this evening, I told her it was fine. I also took the liberty of contacting your four o’clock appointment. They’re also amenable to meeting earlier.”
“Excellent.” He wasn’t one to dash out early from work, but today, he would make an exception. After all, a man’s grandmother didn’t turn ninety every day.
“Also…” Caroline pushed slightly straighter. “Would you like me to send flowers to Amanda’s grave, or do you want to make the arrangements yourself?”
The old scab over his heart began itching, but he didn’t dare scratch at it. Nothing good ever came from opening old wounds.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said dismissively. “Thank you for the reminder.”
“Of course, sir.” She turned to leave, and Ethan nearly ran her over on her way out.
The sight of his cousin had Noah drawing in a calming breath. Dealing with Ethan so close to a reminder of Amanda’s death was a catastrophe in the making.
“Noah, good, you’re still here.” Ethan sat in one of the two chairs opposite Noah and made himself comfortable.
“And why wouldn’t I be here?” Noah asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Well, with it being Friday and all, and considering your latest breakup, I figured you’d knock off early and hit the town to start collecting lovely lady trophies.”
Noah counted to ten. Then, he did it again, crossing his arms as if he most certainly didn’t want to deck his cousin in his smug mouth. Punching Ethan would too easily play into Uncle Phillip’s vendetta
“I have two more meetings on my schedule,” Noah said. “Or do you just not look at the company calendar anymore?”
Ethan’s smile dimmed.
Hit a nerve there, didn’t I, cousin?
Ethan laughed. “Oh, come on, Noah. You always leave early on Friday. It’s not exactly a company secret.”
Do I now?
Noah pressed the intercom. “Ms. Waverley, would you mind returning to my office for a moment?”
“Of course, sir.” As predictable as a Swiss watch, she appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”
“Would you mind consulting my calendar and telling my cousin the last day I left early on a Friday afternoon?”
“Of course.” She tapped her tablet’s screen and began scrolling. And scrolling and scrolling. Knowing how she set up their calendar, Noah estimated she’d flipped through at least three months before Ethan let out a frustrated groan.
“Okay, Noah, you can call off this charade,” said Ethan. “You’ve made your point.”
“Christmas Eve,” Caroline said before Noah could respond. “You came in even though the offices were closed so that you could finish out the Brigham buyout before the end of the year, at Mr. Brigham’s request because—”
“Thank you, Caroline,” Noah interrupted. “That will be all.”
“Of course.” Without another word, she returned the way she’d entered.
“There was no need for that,” Ethan said when they were alone.
“Agree to disagree.” Noah tap, tap, tapped his index finger on his desk. “Now, if you can get to the point of your visit, that would be great. I have a meeting in less than an hour.”
“So…” Ethan leaned forward, resting an elbow on Noah’s desk. “I’ve been thinking about the charity event we’re supposed to be arranging.”
“We? I distinctly remember you telling me something along the lines of you’ll put together your proposal, I’ll put together mine, and then we’ll see who the board chooses. Ringing any bells?”
He waved off Noah’s reminder. “I was upset, and my temper got the better of me. What your father said was right. We’re family at Whitlow Group, and family needs to stick together.”
Noah wanted to believe Ethan was sincere. They’d been close once, and Noah had never figured out what had come between them. One day, they’d been fast friends, and then, they’d been enemies.
Do you even remember Sara?
Noah made a mental note to figure out who this mysterious Sara might be. In the meantime, he’d be civil and give his cousin the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn’t let his guard down, just extend a helping hand—and hope he didn’t get bitten for his trouble.
Noah interlocked his fingers. “You’re right. At Whitlow Group, family should always come first, so let’s talk about this fundraiser.”
Ethan’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected Noah’s cooperation and that hurt.
“Wow, okay. Well, I don’t have my notes on me. So what do you say we get together for dinner tonight and share ideas?”
“I’d be happy to, just not tonight. I have a prior engagement. What about Saturday afternoon? We could go horseback riding while we chat. I have a new Quarter Horse who’s not yet as biddable as I’d like.”
“She buck you off?” Ethan asked, but no meanness hid in the question. Even his smile didn’t seem like the usual calculated one he wore.
“He, and not yet,” Noah answered. “Two weeks back, though, he came damn close. I’m pretty sure if Julio hadn’t been there to calm him, he’d have succeeded. There’s a reason I named him Outlaw.”
It was the first time since he’d been a boy that a horse had nearly bested him. If his uncle hadn’t been there, Noah would probably have at least one broken bone right now. Julio had calmed Outlaw with a gentle voice and a bucket of oats.
“How does he get along with Rosa?” Ethan asked.
Rosa was Noah’s twenty-year-old Quarter Horse. She was as sweet as his mamá’s sugar cookies.
“Beautifully, actually.” Noah pulled up a video he’d taken of the pair Wednesday evening and held his phone so he and Ethan could watch it together. “Look at how he struts for her. I think he’s smitten.”
Ethan sat ramrod straight, as if he were a puppet and someone had yanked his strings. “Saturday doesn’t work for me. It needs to be tonight.”
Just like that, their easy rapport collapsed like a building whose support beams had been targeted by TNT.
Noah kept his tone cordial. “It can’t be tonight. As I said, I have a prior commitment.”
“Is this a personal commitment or a business one?”
Noah pushed back in his chair. “If you would have checked the family calendar, you’d know. You and I have attended this event many times in the past.” As friends.
Ethan shifted in his chair, gaze falling to the ground. They’d spent many happy days at Isadora’s during their childhood, basking in her attention and getting into more trouble than two boys should have. Those had been good days. Did Ethan ever think about those days, too?
“Come tonight,” Noah urged. “Isadora may not have many years left, and I know she’d love to see you again.”
Ethan closed his eyes, and for a long moment, neither spoke, the past hovering over them like a ghost.
“I can’t,” Ethan finally said, sounding defeated, tired, and nearly broken.
What didone wear on a date with a god among men?
Emma stood naked in her closet and contemplated her outfit choices. She probably should have bought something new to wear, but who’d had the time? Noah—dear God, she’d have to adjust to calling him Noah—hadn’t exactly given her much lead time.
She should have flat out told him no—she one hundred percent should have told him no—and she still wasn’t sure why she hadn’t. Romantic entanglements were an enigma. They required a trust and openness she’d never been able to conjure. The physical scars from a lifetime of abuse healed, but the emotional ones weren’t so easily mended.
She’d come a long way over the years. She wasn’t the battered and broken fourteen-year-old girl who’d escaped her abusive environment, but despite all she’d accomplished, she’d never been able to connect to anyone romantically. She was a twenty-eight-year-old virgin about to go on a date with the sexiest man she’d seen in real life. No way this ended anything other than disastrously.
She should call and cancel, make up some excuse—any excuse. That was the smart thing to do, and dang it, she was a smart woman. And her smart brain kept circling back to one thing she absolutely couldn’t explain, and she didn’t like things that didn’t make sense. Noah could have any woman he wanted. For crying out loud, he’d had a bona fide supermodel on his arm and, presumably, in his bed. So why had he suddenly fixated on Emma?
A squeak from the corner habitat drew her attention and made her smile. Sounded as if one of her tiny fur babies was on the move.
Emma stepped to the enclosure her brother had built nearly a decade ago and added on to over the years until it had become, what he’d called, a rodent high-rise. Shirley scurried up the stairs to Emma’s level, while lazy Laverne lounged in her zebra-print hammock. Neither sweet, snow-white rat seemed to harbor a single worry.
If someone had told her ten years ago how delightful and social rats were, she’d have run from them screaming. Okay, probably not run, but she’d have given them some serious side-eye. But that was before her brother’s many deployments, when he’d asked her to take care of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde while he was gone. While Dr. J and Mr. H had long since passed on, her love for the critters remained.
“Hey, Shir-Shir,” Emma crooned, easing her pinky between the slats. “I wish I had time to play, but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, okay?”
Shirley gave the tip of Emma’s pinky a tell-me-more nose tap.
“Well, for starters, I have some bananas on the counter that are too ripe for my tastes. So what do you say to an all-you-can-eat banana buffet?”
Both critters loved bananas, especially when paired with a bit of avocado, which Emma also had in the fridge. She also had some goat cheese and sliced red onions that needed to be eaten, so she’d make herself avocado toast for lunch tomorrow. Too bad she couldn’t figure out what to wear tonight as decisively.
When she’d worked with the woman who’d built this house, Emma had known exactly what she’d wanted. Three bedrooms, a master, a guest, and an office. She’d wanted a bay window with a reading nook in the living room and another bay window near the kitchen table so that she could take in the sunrise as she ate breakfast. She’d wanted cool tones on the walls and hardwood floors throughout. She’d wanted bright-colored mosaic tiles around her bathtub, sink, and for the kitchen backsplashes. She’d had every detail laid out in her head, and now, here she was, unable to figure out what clothes to put on.
She could always call Andi for advice. Her best friend would help her in a heartbeat, but talking about dates and dating with Andi always made Emma sad. Andi, too, even if she tried to hide it. Love lives were one of the few topics they avoided. Easier and less painful that way for both.
She could always call Gwen, but given Gwen’s fashion sense, Emma would likely end up looking like a Picasso painting someone had bred with a radioactive box of crayons.
Like it or not, Emma was on her own tonight—unless she called Noah and canceled this madness.
Noah stoodon the sidewalk in front of Emma’s house and took stock of his surroundings. The quiet, upscale suburb southwest of Houston exuded a rustic charm, especially Emma’s place. She’d forgone typical brick, and instead, she’d chosen gray and white stone. Robin’s egg blue siding added pops of color that created the perfect backdrop for the beds of wildflowers that wrapped the structure.
Wildflowers.She always smelled of flowers. Was this why?
He could too easily picture her working in the beds and gathering the fragrant aromas on her skin. He could also too easily picture himself burying his nose in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, and taking a little nip…
And another.
Oh, hell. Who was he kidding? He wouldn’t be able to stop at a nip. He’d feast on her until he’d had his fill. Nothing short of having her naked beneath him would do. Just the thought had need taking him by the throat.
Yeah, like the throat was where need had him.
Emma made him want in ways he couldn’t control. How many times today had he thought about manufacturing an excuse, any excuse, to head back to Reynolds, Clark Morgan just to get a glimpse of her?
He’d lost track around a gazillion.
As he stepped onto her porch, filaments from the setting sun reflected off a sun catcher. Dozens of multi-colored gems sent light dancing in a thousand directions. A twisting “ball” of silver wire encased a yellow gem shaped like a ribbon. The piece looked homemade, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Emma had created it, the yellow ribbon to remember the brother she’d lost in combat.
“Mr. Whitlow?”
The sound of his name jolted him back to reality, and he found Emma studying him from her doorway, her eyebrows drawn together.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You look, I don’t know, kinda lost.”
He hadn’t been lost, but he was now. A black leather skirt hugged her hips, a split rising mid-way up her right thigh. Her top fell from her shoulders, and the long sleeves tumbled downward in flowing layers, each wider than the last, and flared at the wrists. A simple pair of silver hoops decorated her ears, but she wore no necklace, which he liked. Her collarbone was all the decoration she needed.
“You look...” He shook his head to clear it. “Wow.” The word didn’t do her justice, but she’d short-circuited his brain again. Wow would just have to do until his higher brain functions began, well, functioning.
She hugged her arms around her middle and looked at the ground. “It’s nothing spectacular.”
“Emma, if you looked any more spectacular, my head would implode.”
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” She tightened her arms around her and closed her eyes. “It’s rude.”
“It would only be rude if I didn’t mean it.” He stepped so close that he couldn’t tell what was the flower’s scent and what was hers. “And I mean it, Emma.”
“No you don’t.”
She transformed before his eyes, from the confident woman who’d walked into his office to a frightened little bird cowering in front of a hawk. She was an enigma he wanted to solve. Why didn’t she believe he found her attractive? It was such a—
No.
No.
Thatcouldn’t be it.
Could it?
Was it somehow possible this gorgeous woman, who’d knocked him flat on his ass, didn’t know she was beautiful?
Cradling her face between his palms, he held her so that she couldn’t turn away, even as her eyes remained frustratingly shut. “You are the most stunning woman I’ve ever met, Emma Morgan. The first time I saw you, I felt like I’d been sucker-punched.”
Her eyelids flew open, and disbelief and unshed tears made her eyes huge. “Stop it,” she said with a watery voice. “Just—”
“You knocked the breath out of me. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to get my hands on you, and I still do.”
“That can’t possibly be true.”
“Oh, but it is true, Bomboncita. I wanted you then, and I want you even more now.”
She drew the lower of her cotton-candy lips between her teeth, so sweet, so sexy, so vulnerable. He wanted those lips—wanted her—and he was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.
Emma couldn’t breathe.
Noah had called her “bomboncita,” which translated to “little candy” or “sweetheart.” The endearment probably meant nothing to him, just something he said to women, but it hit her right in the heart.
As did his insistence that he wanted her.
She needed to put some distance between them so that she could think. She wasn’t capable of rational thought with him so deliciously close, with his body nearly pressed against hers, but she couldn’t make herself step back.
“This isn’t happening.” She hadn’t meant to speak the words. She hadn’t meant to wrap her arms around him, either, but she failed spectacularly at both.
Noah whispered, “Oh, Bomboncita, it’s very much happening,” and he pressed his lips to hers.
Oh my.
His kiss slammed through her, reverberating all the way to the tips of her toes, and a groan crawled up from some well inside her she’d didn’t know was there. Noah Whitlow was kissing her, and she was powerless to stop him. Like the current of a river overflowing its banks, her mind spun, sank, surfaced, and then spun, sank, and surfaced again. Faster and faster, she spun, caught in an endless torrent of unfamiliar sensations.
The whirlpool inside her set a stark contrast to the slow descent of his right hand along her spine as he dragged her closer and secured her against him, his arousal hard and substantial against her belly.
“Mmm, you are a dangerous woman, Emma Morgan.”
“I’m dangerous?” Her response barely squeezed past the lump in her throat. He was the dangerous one!
“Sí.” He nipped her lower lip. “Mmm, strawberry, not cotton candy.”
“What?”
“Your lips. I imagined they tasted like cotton candy, but they actually taste like strawberries.”
Imagined.
That one simple word acted like an accelerant on the need burning through her. Imagined implied he’d been thinking about her, fantasizing about her even. The dark, delicious Noah Whitlow had been thinking about her?
He nibbled her lower lip again. “I want to take you inside and explore every inch of your body, a thousand times over, but alas, we have somewhere to be.”
She might be out of her depth here, but she knew what he wanted. Sex. She’d dated in the past, but the idea of sex had always frightened her. She’d never been able to lower her shields enough to be emotionally intimate with anyone, let alone physically. But now, with Noah so close, fear was the last thing she felt.
Let go,she ordered herself.
But her arms didn’t obey the commands from her brain. Need hijacked control, and it didn’t want to relinquish it.
Let. Go.
Her arms fell to her sides, and after one more soft kiss, Noah looped her arm through his and led her to the sleek black sports car at the curb. She didn’t recognize the make or model, but she recognized luxury when it was parked directly in front of her.
She ran her palm over the glossy body as he opened the passenger’s door for her. “This looks like it belongs about fifteen years in the future.”
“In a way, it does. This is the Nav-7 prototype. It’s an electric, self-driving, voice-activated beauty RD has been working on. The self-driving is good, but the voice-control aspect is proving to be a bit more problematic than we’d like. On manual, she handles like a dream.”
“May I see for myself?” She held her hand out for the keys. “Or are you one of those guys who doesn’t let other people play with his toys?” The challenge had no right or wrong answer. She simply wanted to see what he did.
The left corner of his mouth tipped up. “Can you drive a stick?”
“No.” She instantly deflated. Her father hadn’t exactly been keen on teaching her anything, let alone how to drive a standard. Her brother had been the one to teach her to drive.
Grinning, Noah plucked a set of keys from his pocket and held them out to her. “Good thing it’s an automatic, huh?”
“Seriously?” She didn’t wait for his answer. She snatched the keys and raced to the driver’s side. The car’s interior smelled of leather and him, spicy and rich, a heady and intoxicating combination.
“I disabled the voice-activation,” he said, “as well as the self-driving.”
“That’s fine by me.” She hit the start button, and the car purred to life. Unable to stop her smile, she turned to him. “Just tell me where to go.”
He directed her toward the interstate, heading south. And man, he hadn’t lied. This baby handled like a dream.
“Okay, it’s official,” she said as she zoomed around a semi. “I want one.”
“When they’re ready for sale, you’ll be the first person I contact.”
“Sweet.”
They left the heart of Houston behind. While she wouldn’t call the area rundown, it wasn’t far up on the ladder. Buildings sported missing slats of siding. The sidewalks rose and cracked with the earth. Several of the buildings had bars on their windows, but despite its blemishes, the neighborhood didn’t give her scary vibes. It just felt old and lived in.
Noah directed her to a parking lot on the corner, in front of a restaurant called Isadora’s. The building’s sides were white-painted cinder blocks, and a green awning shadowed a brick facade decorated with white lights. Judging by the parking lot, Isadora’s was packed to the brim. She felt lucky to find a parking spot. The restaurant was a far cry from anywhere she pictured the suave man beside her ever setting foot, as far removed from the elite and powerful lifestyle he was no doubt accustomed to.
Ice chilled her blood. Was the restaurant’s far-removed proximity the reason he’d picked it? Did he not want any of his rich, powerful friends to see them together because he was embarrassed to be with someone like her?
The idea it might positively crushed her.