Chapter Five
Emma
No matter how hard I try, I can”t get the thought of the intensity in Kade’s eyes as he glanced up from my backside to meet my gaze.
Heat creeps into my face, and I try to ignore the tingling warmth spreading through my whole body as the memory surges again like rolling waves on a beach.
My confusion tangles with something else, a flicker of unwanted pleasure. I shouldn’t want him looking, I shouldn”t feel this way because he was. No, I should be absolutely furious. He knew how to get us out of the walk-in, but he let me believe we were really stuck. And all for what? Because I didn”t specifically ask him to get us out of there?
I turn around again, ready to give him a piece of my mind.
And once again, I catch him looking at my backside. “Really?” My voice comes out sharper than intended, but I don’t feel bad.
And apparently, neither does he, because he doesn”t apologize. He doesn”t even flinch. Instead, his lips curve into that familiar smirk, the kind that says he knows exactly what effect he has on me.
And damn him, he does.
I storm off, my fists clenched. But no, I had something to say, that’s why I stopped in the first place. But as I turn, I catch him dragging his gaze up from where he was very clearly admiring my backside again. My anger fizzles out like a sparkler in the rain. What the heck? This man has no shame. Heat floods my cheeks, an infuriating mix of embarrassment and something dangerously close to desire.
“Like what you see?” I ask in a sharp tone, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
He nods enthusiastically and I want to throw something at him. “I can”t help it,” he says, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “You really grew into yourself, Emma Riley.”
I’m not going to stand around and let him act this way. No way.
I stomp away, the click of my heels sounding like gunshots in the quiet space. Usually, the music drowns out all else, but I prefer the club like this, quiet, empty, safe. Well, kind of safe, anyway.
Reaching the safety of the bar, I peel off the leather jacket that smells like him—cedar and trouble—and whip it across the room. It sails through the air, a dark blur until he catches it with one hand, effortless, infuriatingly graceful.
“Nice throw.” I can”t help but think the words are a dig as he slips into the jacket, the muscles of his arms flexing with the movement.
“Shut up.” I don”t know what else to say.
His chuckle is low, meant only for my ears, thankfully. “Emma Riley, always so fiery.”
Great; now he”s made a rhyme out of it. Just when I thought I couldn”t hate those words out of his mouth more.
“Stop calling me by my first and middle name.” I”m more than annoyed, I’m some confusing mixture of angry, frustrated, and irritated by him. I’d be lying if I tried to say the sound of my name on his lips doesn’t send a shiver down my spine.
“I wouldn”t dream of it,” he says, that devilish smile playing on his stupid handsome face as if he knows he has all the power in this conversation. And dang it, he might.
Without responding, I turn away to hide the blush I can”t control, the blush he brings out in me with every confusing statement. I never want to work with him again. I should have told Alex I couldn”t do this. I’m so stupid.
My hands fumble with the glasses on the bar, lining them up with unnecessary precision. All the while, I try to shake off the lingering heat from his gaze. My hands fumble with a bottle, nearly dropping it before I steady my grip. It”s like my fingers have forgotten how to do the things.
“You seem flustered.”
I stiffen up at his words. “Flustered? No, I”m annoyed.” It feels good to correct him and let him know he can be wrong as I put extra emphasis on the last word.
I turn around, my glare intended to leave him choosing his next words carefully, but he just stands there, leaning against the wall—annoyingly unaffected by me.
“Annoyed, huh?” He pushes off from the wall and saunters closer, that infuriating smirk still in place.
I hate how my body reacts, heart skipping a beat, blood rushing to my cheeks. I hate him for having this power over me.
“Infuriated is more like it.”I say in a bored tone that’s not fooling anyone. “I”ll never forgive you for not telling me that we could get out of the walk-in sooner.”
He shrugs, that maddening laid-back gesture that screams arrogance. “I don’t need you to forgive me.” Something about the words makes me tremble. “And you didn”t ask.”
My hand tightens around the neck of a bottle of brandy. “I shouldn”t have to!” The words burst out of me, loud even to my ears. He knew I wanted out. Always playing games, always making stupid jokes.
He is just too much; too much smirk, too much confidence, too much of a jerk.
“This is why I don”t like you,” I say, the words lashing out before I can rein them in.
Kade”s response is immediate and dramatic. He clutches at his chest, staggering backward a single step as though I’d physically hit him. “You... don”t like me?” His dark eyes widen as his pained voice fills with mock hurt. I know he”s just trying to rile me up, but it’s working.
I exhale sharply, my frustration mingling with the desire to just tell him to knock it off and leave me alone. But I know he won’t listen no matter what I tell him.
“I”ll never recover,” he whispers, a devilish glint sparkling in his eyes.
“Shut up.” I sound angry, but he’s forever unflappable.
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Make me.” The challenge in his voice tells me he’s sure there’s nothing I can do.
“Maybe I will.” Even as I say the words, we both know I”m bluffing.
Maybe it’s time to really do something to prove I’m serious. I glance down at the bowl of sliced limes on the bar in front of me. I can throw one at that smug smile of his, can”t I?
“Emma Riley.” His voice is stern, almost fatherly as he glares at me. There’s something to the way he says my name, something so intimate I want to throw the whole bowl at him.
“Don”t you dare,” he says, straightening up and adjusting his jacket with a casual flick of his wrists. “Citrus can damage leather.”
I pickup a lime, feeling its weight in my hand. I see him tense up and toss the lime up before catching it in my hand with ease.
“I owe you one,” I say, thinking back to the icy prison of the walk-in where he left us both stranded for far too long.
I glance from the lime to him, gauging the distance and how hard I want to throw it to do some damage if it hits him in the face.
Kade”s eyes narrow, the silent challenge in them shifting to a warning.
“Emma,” he growls, that warning in his voice echoing in his eyes.
My muscles tense, ready to launch the fruit at his smug face. But before I can throw the citrus, Kade is on me. His movement, a blur of dark leather and anger, brings his body right up to mine.
His hand clamps around my wrists, and my breath catches. The warmth of his fingers wrapping around my wrists as he lifts them over my head, pinning me to the wall sends ripples of shock and excitement through me. The wall, cold and unyielding at my back, and the heat radiating from his body leaves me in confusion. He plucks the lime out of my fingers, his body still pinning me in a way that has my whole body overheating.
“Nice try,” he whispers, his breath fanning my face as his gaze meets mine.
I blink, the reality of our proximity crashing over me like a tsunami. My heart thuds like the endlessness of raindrops on a spring day, echoing through the cavern of my chest and into my ears.
“Kade...” He has no idea what he’s doing, does he? I’m stuck, trapped, arms over my head, body pressed between him and the wall, and every bit of me begging for him to do even more. My body is a traitor.
“Emma Riley,” he whispers, his gaze trailing down to my parted lips.
The world shrinks to this moment.
I shouldn”t want him.
But he’s holding me captive by more than just physical strength. His closeness is overwhelming, intoxicating, as if he controls me from the inside out somehow.
“Let me go,” I whisper, feeling my hips tilt toward him. Oh, gosh, I can’t be attracted to him. I can’t let him know I’m so very hot and ready right now.
“Say please.” His tone leaves no room for argument as his thumb brushes against the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.
“Never.” My whisper lodges in my throat as his gaze locks on mine, dark and intense. Years of tension built up like layers of paint in a slumlord’s apartment begins to heat up between us.
“Kade, don”t you dare,” I whisper, despite the flush creeping over my cheeks and the tingling excitement flickering across every inch of my skin.
“Don’t I dare what?” he asks, the words not quite making sense to my overwhelmed brain. His voice is a husky whisper, a caress I want to feel against my neck.
I swallow hard. Every instinct screams that I’m in danger, yet that warning is also an undeniable thrill. I don’t want to escape him; I want him to do more.
Our bodies are pressed together, his chest to mine, his thighs against my hips. Heat radiates from him, and I”m suddenly very aware of every point of contact. I”m trapped, but not just by his strength—there”s an invisible force that”s held me captive since the day we met.
My pulse thunders, loud enough for both of us to hear. He”s so close, too close. If I move even an inch, our lips will touch. I don”t want that, can”t want that.
“Remember, you started this,” I whisper, feeling heat bubbling inside me—a heat from the anger I feel toward him and his behavior. Or so I tell myself.
“Are you scared, Emma?” His whisper tickles my skin, coaxing out the goosebumps as his lips move mere millimeters from mine
“Never.” My defiance colors the single word and his gaze narrows.
He studies me, searching my face as if trying to figure out if I’m lying or not. His thumb brushes over the skin of my wrist, gentle in contrast to the steel of his grip, and I wonder if he’s purposefully trying to drive me crazy.
“I’ll let you go if you say please.” His gaze searches mine and I hear the other half of his statement in my mind. Or I’m going to assume you want me to hold you down like this.
Talk about a difficult choice wrapped up in layers I don’t even know how to begin unwrapping.
“Please.” The word slips out, softer than intended, and showing that when forced to choose between him and freedom, I’ll choose freedom, even at the cost of my pride. I don’t want him thinking I want him. Because I don’t. At least, I’m going to tell myself I don’t until I believe it.
“Good girl.” There”s a hint of victory in his voice, and disappointment that I don’t know how to take.
“Kade, I—” The words die on my lips as I catch the shift in his eyes, a deep desire that leaves me breathless.
“Yes?” he asks, his voice a rumble in his chest, vibrating against mine.
But I’m lost, unsure what to do next. Do I pull away, or do I give in to whatever this is between us?
“Stop,” I whisper, not sure if I”m pushing him away or pulling him closer. “Or don”t.” I have no idea what I want, or what to say.
“Make up your mind.” His tone is teasing, but there”s an edge to his voice that tells me he”s just as lost in this moment - and what to do next - as I am.
“Maybe I don”t want to,” I whisper, feeling like I’m playing with fire. No, this feels more like jumping off a cliff—thrilling, terrifying, and utterly out of control... and certain to be the end of me.