Chapter 3 Emma
A loud knock yanks me from the depths of my couch-induced coma. One second, I’m blissfully dead to the world, and the next, I’m flailing, nearly rolling onto the floor in a mess of tangled blankets and misplaced dignity. I check the security camera, groggy, and then rush to the door, flinging it open.
Grace stands on my front porch, all bright smiles and high-energy chaos, smelling like floral perfume and rain-soaked pavement.
"Grace? Oh my God, what are you doing here? You weren’t in the salon when I came in earlier. I’ve missed you!" My words tumble out in a rush. "You won’t believe who’s in town."
She steps back, giving me a slow once-over. “Your mom told me you came back here to grab a few things.”
“I was supposed to go back to my parent’s, but I passed out on the couch.”
“Get dressed. We’ve got places to be."
Her fingers comb through my freshly cut hair with obvious approval. "Love the trim. Says ‘sophisticated woman by day, sex kitten by night.’"
"Frankie’s handiwork," I say, ruffling the layers. "Where, exactly, are we going? I thought you had kids to put to bed."
She tugs me toward the stairs. "We’re going to infinity, and beyond. Sorry, Genie’s stuck on Toy Story mode. But we are going to Infinity."
I freeze mid-step. "Your brother’s club?"
"Not for me, for you," she sings.
"Oh, hell no." My voice hitches as I realize she’s completely serious.
She pulls me up the stairs with strength that only a mom of two possesses, and holds up a bag. "Pair what’s in here with your white cowboy boots and a hat. You’re performing for Eric Waters tonight."
"Wait, WHAT?" I spin around, yanking free from her grip.
"Eric’s meeting my brother at the club in thirty minutes, and you’re taking the stage. Please tell me you’re waxed." She tugs at my waistband, and I swat her away.
"Jesus, Grace! Have you lost your damn mind?"
She plants her hands on her hips, giving me the look. "No, but you’ve lost your sense of adventure. What happened to the girl who used to take risks?"
"She grew up." I cross my arms, trying to ignore the ache in my chest.
"She got boring." Grace waves a hand toward the glimmering outfit she’s spread across my bed. "This is your chance. Your moment. Don’t wimp out."
"If my brothers find out?—"
"They won’t. Just get dressed and make your move. Seize the opportunity."
There’s that phrase again. I stare at the sequined scraps of fabric, nerves twisting my stomach. My entire life, I’ve wanted Eric to see me as something more than the tagalong kid sister. But this? This is not the way I imagined it happening. I always pictured something cinematic. An accidental eye contact across a crowded room, soft candlelight, and maybe a stolen kiss under the stars. Definitely not grinding in a strip club while a sultry bassline and breathy moans pulse through the air.
But the other part of me? The part that’s tired of being overlooked? That part says, screw it.
An hour later, we slip through the back entrance of Infinity. Grace, ever the master manipulator, bribes the next dancer to give up her turn. She returns with a grin, practically vibrating with excitement.
"You’re up next. Eric’s sitting with my brother over on the left."
"Your brother?" My stomach plummets.
"Relax. Cash won’t say a word."
As the music shifts, I catch sight of the dancer leaving the stage, her bare ass flashing the crowd. My stomach knots.
"I don’t know what I’m doing," I whisper, my voice shaking.
Grace gives me a shove toward the stage. "Think of it as an undercover job."
An undercover job. Right.
Taking a deep breath, I tug my hat low over my eyes and step onto the stage.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The lights are blinding, and the music pulses through my bones. The crowd is loud, roaring, and waiting. My legs tremble, but I force myself forward, hips swaying, faking a confidence I definitely do not feel. As Shania’s voice belts through the speakers, I remind myself—this is my moment. Eric will finally see me for the woman that I am.
I strut to center stage, my nerves giving way to a heady rush of adrenaline. My body moves, instinct taking over. One glove slips off, landing in the crowd. Another follows. I drop to all fours, roll my hips, and drag my hat off, lifting my chin.
And then, I see him.
Eric leans forward with his jaw tight. His eyes are locked on me, and his entire body is coiled .
I reach for the strip of my fringed bra, teasing the clasp, when?—
Eric moves.
In a blink, he’s on the stage, yanking his black shirt off and shoving it over my front. The crowd cheers at first. Then, when he picks me up and carries me off stage like a goddamn caveman, they boo.
Behind the curtain, he sets me down but keeps a firm grip on my wrist. His chest heaves and his eyes burn.
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"
I yank my hand free, rubbing where his grip left warmth. "Living a little. Something I don’t need your approval for, cowboy. "
His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring. "It becomes my business when you’re stripping in my friend’s club. What if your brothers found out?"
I lean in, just close enough to catch the intoxicating scent of him—sandalwood, hay, something purely Eric . "Then it’s a good thing you’re here to protect me, isn’t it?"
His fingers flex like he wants to grab me again, and my pulse skitters wildly.
"Where’s your car? You’re going home."
"Grace drove me. And you’re squeezing too hard," I lie, wincing slightly.
His grip loosens, but his frustration doesn’t fade. "Where is she now?"
"Let me call her?—"
He snatches my phone before I can dial. "Forget it. I’m taking you home. Stay put."
Then he storms off, leaving me alone in the dim hallway, still wearing his shirt. The fabric smells like him, and it’s almost enough to distract me from the unsettling feeling creeping in.
I shake off the nerves just as Eric returns, jangling a set of keys.
"Come on."
He leads me outside, ushering me into what I assume is Cash’s Porsche. The seatbelt clicks into place, his fingers brushing my thigh in the process. Heat flares under my skin. He rounds the car, slides into the driver’s seat, and grips the wheel so tightly his knuckles whiten.
"What were you thinking?"
That I wanted his attention. That I needed him to see me.
Instead, I sigh. "I was just having fun."
"Stripping is your idea of fun? I thought you’d grown up."
Damn it.
"I love riding horses too," I blurt out like a moron.
Eric exhales, exasperated, but when his gaze flicks to my thighs, his lips twitch.
"What did you do to your hair?"
I twirl a strand of my freshly cut hair around my finger, feeling oddly self-conscious. “It’s just a trim. What do you think?”
Eric shifts in his seat, eyes scanning me like he’s assessing something far deeper than my hair. “It’s spunky. And I like spunky.” He leans back slightly. “Suits the shape of your face.”
I want to feel like a woman, but the way he says it makes me feel giddy, like a lovestruck teenager. Damn it. Any other day, I exude confidence. But with Eric, nothing is normal. My heart races, my skin tingles, and I suddenly become aware of every inch of my body, including the burning irritation from Grace’s damn glittery gems on my pussy.
As we pull into my neighborhood, I grab my phone and dial Grace.
She answers on the second ring. “Hey, where are you?”
“Eric’s giving me a ride home. Thanks for ditching me, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” she chirps, way too pleased with herself.
I ignore her smugness, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “Listen, you know the gems you glued today?”
“Which ones?” she asks, feigning innocence.
I grit my teeth. “The ones on the… kitty.”
Silence. Then she bursts out laughing. “You mean the ones on your vagina?” she shouts into the phone.
I cringe. Oh God. Eric definitely heard that. A deep chuckle rumbles from the driver’s seat, confirming my humiliation.
Jaw clenched, I lower my voice. “Yeah. Those. What glue did you use?”
“It’ll come off with alcohol.”
“I don’t need a drink,” I grumble, misunderstanding.
“You don’t drink it, Emma. You rub it.”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What exactly do I rub?”
“Your pussy! ” Grace yells, and I swear I hear Eric choke on laughter.
I’m going to kill her.
“I’m getting you back for this, Grace Wagner.” I stab the end-call button and toss my phone into my purse like it personally betrayed me.
Eric pulls into my driveway and steps out, rounding the car just as I get out. His hand is outstretched, and I take it, trying to ignore the solid warmth of his palm.
Now what? Do I invite him in? Say thank you? Maybe a hug? At the very least, I should return his shirt before I handle my sparkly problem.
I shuffle awkwardly, trying to subtly alleviate the itching without looking like I have a weird medical condition. Pressing my palm to the scanner, the door unlocks, and Eric follows me inside, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest.
I whirl around, almost smacking into him. “What’s so funny?”
His lips twitch. “I’m just enjoying the show.”
I cross my arms. “The pleasure’s all mine,” I sass, rolling my eyes. But he just smirks.
If things go well, maybe I won’t have to murder Grace after all.
“I could never get used to this,” he gestures toward the high-tech lock system.
“To locking doors? This isn’t Lords Valley.”
He shrugs. “We lock doors. Usually. When we remember. It’s been a long time since there’s been a crime in Lords Valley.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And yet, you’re here needing my brothers for a case?”
His face darkens, but before I can push, I change course. “Tea?” I offer. “I’d love to hear more about this case. Tristan’s taking me on, so I’ll be at the morning meeting.”
“Great.” The door clicks shut behind him, the lock securing automatically.
I head for the kitchen. “I’ll make tea and give you back the shirt.”
“Keep it.”
“At this rate, if I keep all your shirts, you’ll be out by Christmas.”
He chuckles, settling onto a barstool. My insides melt at the sight of him leaning on his elbows, muscles flexing effortlessly. He’s still shirtless, and my traitorous brain starts imagining things I really shouldn’t be picturing.
I need to change before I combust.
“Do you mind if I change?” I ask, voice tighter than intended.
“Sure. What tea do you like?”
“Surprise me. Top drawer, left of the sink.” I flee before my vagina literally ignites from this absurd gem fiasco.
I grab a bottle of vodka on the way upstairs and strip in the bathroom. The artwork between my thighs is… something. The glue has turned my skin a very unhappy shade of red.
“Damn it, Grace,” I mutter.
I step into the shower, spread my legs, and pour the vodka over my skin.
BAD IDEA.
A scream rips from my throat as the alcohol burns like the fires of hell. My grip on the bottle falters, and it shatters on the tile, a sharp sting slicing across my calf.
Moments later, the bathroom door bursts open.
Eric stands there, wide-eyed, taking in the chaos of me, naked, wet, legs parted, silver horse pasties on my nipples, and my vagazzled disaster on full display.
“What the fuck happened?”
Tears stream down my face, mixing with mascara. “I was trying to get these off!”
His gaze dips. His entire face shifts —shock, amusement, maybe a flicker of something darker.
“…What the fuck is that?”
“Gems. Grace said alcohol would take them off.”
He grins. “Off your kitty ?”
“Eric! Not. Funny.”
He’s already moving, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around me before scooping me into his arms.
The burn subsides, replaced by something else . Something hotter as he carries me to the bed, setting me down gently. I prop up on my elbows, watching as he leans over my crotch, then blows a cool breath over my skin.
My stomach tightens .
My everything tightens.
He glances up, concern flickering behind his usual teasing expression. “Better?”
I nod, but my breath hitches when his fingers hover just over my skin. The air between us shifts, the tension thick and pulsing. My head screams stop , but my body? My body is seconds from begging.
And then—he moves .
Abruptly standing, he mutters, “I’ll be right back.” And just like that, he disappears downstairs.
Leaving me alone, heart hammering, and very, very aware of what almost just happened.
His absence feels like an eternity as I hear him fumbling around downstairs. When he finally returns, he carries an ice pack, pressing it gently against the burning skin. His touch is firm but careful, steadying the cold against me while sitting on the edge of the bed. My cheeks heat—not from irritation this time, but from the sheer embarrassment of the situation. When he looks up, I yank the duvet over my chest, shielding the ridiculous horse-shaped pasties still clinging to my nipples.
His mouth quirks into a smirk. "Horse pasties?"
I shrug. "It was country theme night."
"Feels like the night was made just for me, even though I don’t like country."
"But you’re from the country," I say, gripping the duvet tighter.
He stretches his arms back, sighing. "Sometimes too much of something makes you hate it."
"So you hate the ranch?"
His expression softens. "Didn’t say that. I love the ranch. That’s why I need your brothers’ help."
"And possibly mine?" My voice is quieter than I intend, but the weight of the moment hangs between us.
His gaze flickers over my face, reading something deeper. "And possibly yours." He side-eyes me, and I sink further into the sheets. The ice pack soothes the sting, but it does nothing to calm the tension crackling in the air.
"I never want to see you at a fucking strip club again, Ems. You hear me?"
His low, gravelly voice rumbles through me, making my stomach flip. "And if I don’t listen?" I test, tilting my chin.
He leans in, his lips hovering just above my ear. "My punishments are painful."
A wave of goosebumps rolls over my body.
"What do you mean, painful?" My voice is a whisper.
"Test me again and you’ll find out," he warns, his voice like liquid sin. "Shadow learned the hard way."
Wait. Is he comparing me to a horse?
"You tamed Shadow?" I ask, hoping to steer the conversation back to safer ground.
"No. You ruined that horse for me the moment you rode her. She nearly broke my best friend’s neck."
He leans back against the bed, making himself entirely too comfortable.
"I’m sorry."
"You were just a kid, but something must’ve spooked her. Shadow’s only comfortable for a wash or a brush—when I strap her down."
"And if you don’t?"
"She’ll kick me. When she’s bound, she listens. Like a good girl."
A shiver rolls down my spine at the way he says it as his words play on repeat in my head.
Like a good girl.
His fingers graze my stomach, slow and deliberate. "Confinement," he murmurs, tracing an invisible pattern over my skin, "forces stillness. It’s the rush of the unknown that heightens your senses."
His voice is intoxicating, slipping under my skin and sinking deep. My entire body trembles, suddenly desperate to be his good girl . Does he know the effect he has on me? Of course, he does. He’s forty-one. He’s experienced. Meanwhile, I have zero experience and three worn-out vibrators to my name.
"Your brothers are wrong about you, Emma Silver." His voice drags over my name, slow and deliberate. "You’re not so little anymore."
No, he definitely knows exactly what he’s doing.
"What do you say we have a look at your kitty?"
I exhale shakily. "Please, be gentle."
His smirk deepens. "No promises."
He sets the ice pack aside and picks at the first gem.
"Do you have tweezers? They’d help."
I nod. "Top drawer in the bathroom."
He gets up, padding toward the door, his broad back flexing as he moves. I should be horrified at what’s happening, but instead, all I can do is stare at his perfect, muscled ass and decide that, maybe, I should spill things more often . Except, you know… not on my pussy.
The sound of the drawer sliding open snaps me back to reality.
Shit.
I sent him into the same drawer as my vibrator .
"Did you find the tweezers?" I call, panic rising in my voice.
"Yup. I found them."
Oh God.
He returns without a word about my battery-powered companion, positioning himself over my hips, his face close— too close —to my skin. I watch as he works, picking off each gem with precision. Each one comes off easily, revealing sensitive, tingling skin beneath.
By the time he finishes, my thighs are clenching together, and not from the glue.
Eric tosses a towel over me, cleaning the small cut on my calf before standing.
"You should apply some cream. Your kitty looks inflamed."
I groan. "Eric, I swear to God?—"
He laughs, a deep, easy sound that melts some of my lingering mortification.
As he heads toward the door, I wrap a throw around myself and follow. "Will you stay for tea?"
He turns, and I collide straight into his rock-solid, bare chest. His hands catch my elbows, steadying me as I tip my head back to meet his gaze. He smells like sandalwood and trouble.
"I shouldn’t. Early meeting with your brothers."
"Right. Of course. I’m sorry I keep… Bumping into you."
His lips curl. "I’m not."
My breath catches. "You make me nervous."
"Why?"
"You’re a potential client. I want to make a good impression."
The smirk turns wicked. "Believe me, Ems. Nothing has ever impressed me more than you."
His lips brush against my cheek, featherlight, but the sensation sears into my skin like a brand.
He steps back, opening the door. Cold air rushes in, breaking the moment. There’s something unreadable in his expression, like he wants to say something more, but instead, he just nods.
"See you tomorrow, Emma Silver."
And then, just like that, he’s gone.
I press a hand to my cheek, his warmth still lingering. The scent of him clings to my skin, haunting and intoxicating.
"See you tomorrow," I whisper, though he’s already disappeared into the night.
The door clicks shut, leaving me standing there, breathless, utterly wrecked, and painfully aware that I may have just made the biggest mistake of my life—or the best decision ever.