Emily
Holloway pulls around the side of the estate, and with the slosh of the gravel, my irrational irritation builds. I try the handle, wanting out of the slow-moving vehicle. It’s locked, because of course it is.
“Hang on until we’re under the porte cochere,” Holloway barks. The second the car rolls to a crunching stop on the dry gravel under the roof of the original carriage drop-off area, I try the door, but it’s still locked until he gets out of the front seat and opens it for me. “Ms. Rockwell.”
“Holloway, I’m not ill,” I grit out. But what I want to do is scream, I’m not even pregnant. And instantly my forehead furrows. I don’t like being out of control, and raising my voice might not be out of control, but it’s a short path to it.
The large man stops and ducks his head back into the front seat, producing a brown paper bag.
“The things you asked me for are here. Keep them private.” He taps me on the shoulder, and it stops me in my tracks.
“I would have been back earlier, but I went two towns over to get them.” Holloway nods at the bag in my hand.
“Oh, right? Thanks. I suppose it wouldn’t be good to let others see.”
His jaw’s slack as he shakes his head.
“Thank you.” My shoulders square; it’s going to take more than that to regain my composure. There’s the urge to apologize, but I swallow it down.
Anders has the side door open. Stepping into the dry manor house, I run my fingers over my wet hair, sending droplets onto the slate floor. I slip my shoes off, leaving them on a mat next to the door.
Holloway was right, though. I’ve got to be more careful if I don’t want to get caught. Because this isn’t only about me now. A man like James Zambrano doesn’t stop his vengeance at only one. I’ve dragged the guys into this with me. Sure, they’ve come willingly, but that doesn’t matter.
There was a time when Easton and I snuck out on a Saturday afternoon.
Our nanny was on vacation, and Susan was supposed to be watching us.
Easton had asked over and over again if we could go down the street to the farm and look at the cows.
She told us no. But he didn’t want to look at the cows; he wanted to swim in the river on the far side of the farm.
I had wanted to look at the cows. I didn’t want anything to do with the river.
But I loved my brother, so when he’d told me he was going swimming in the river even though our stepmother had told us no, I went with him willingly.
She’d been furious with us. Rightly so. We could have been hurt. Though I doubt that was the reason for her anger. Even though it had been Easton’s idea and he told her it was his fault, I was the one who was punished. Cows. She knew Easton didn’t like cows.
I glance up at Anders, my slightly damp bag in hand, and smile. I can’t have him hurt because of my family—my actions.
“What’s in the bag?” he asks.
Ryder’s behind us, the door to the porte cochere closed, and the dark SUV pulls away from the portico.
“I asked Holloway to get me supplies when I was feeling upset about the tracker around my ankle.” We’re through the side atrium and into the great hall. I hold the bag open for Ryder to see. There are three sizes of tampons, two different types of pads and half a dozen varieties of chocolates.
“Other than his choice of employers, the man’s not half bad,” Anders says.
“He’s thorough, but I’ve known some of my uncle’s friends whom I would trust with my life. But not most of them.” Ryder takes the bag and loops his other arm over my shoulders.
The side door opens behind us with a bang. Loud voices echo in the atrium we’ve just left.
Ryder drops his arm, and the void of space he leaves as he steps away from me chills my skin. Half a dozen security guards push through the doors. Eyes land on me, and their boisterous voices silence.
“Madame,” a tall dark-haired guard says for the group.
“Forgive us, and welcome.” He steps closer and points to Anders and Ryder.
“You’re Ms. Rockwell’s team?” He squints at Anders and Ryder and back to me, as if he’s questioning my ability to hire adequate security.
My dad had a team on me for the length of the trial, and they were the best, but honestly, I trust the two men standing next to me more than the guys my dad hired.
“Yeah.” Ryder raises his chin. I wish he didn’t have to act, but he slides into the role like a master. That’s Ryder; he fits in seamlessly wherever he goes.
“Heard. Do you mind if we go over something?” Thayer’s man says.
“Not a problem.” Ryder hands the bag to Anders and crosses the hallway.
“Both of you,” the dark-haired guard says.
“No.” Ryder glares at the male. “I’m Dempsey. That’s Thompson. One of us is with Ms. Rockwell at all times.”
“Dakota.” His dark eyebrow arches at Anders.
“We’re not standard security.”
“I’ve heard.” Dakota’s tone has dropped.
“I’ll catch you upstairs.” Ryder heads into the room I’ve been wondering about.
There’s so much I want to ask, but I wave. “I’ll save you some chocolate,” I say as the door closes.
“Let’s get you changed.” Anders follows me into Thayer’s suite. He puts the bag down on the nightstand.
I pull off my lightweight sweater over my T-shirt and hang the sweater over the top of the steam register on the far wall.
“Em?”
I pivot on my sock-covered toes and, for the second time this week, I’m staring at a devastatingly handsome man pulling off his wet shirt.
It splats onto the parquet floor. His rain-soaked hair shines almost blue, it’s so dark.
Memories of running my fingers through it back in Miami hit me hard enough to take my breath away.
“I like the way you’re looking at me, Em. But we should get cleaned up.” He pushes his hair away from his face and cocks a smile at me.
“Right.” I spin around the room, searching for my suitcase, but it’s gone. It’s seven drawers of Thayer’s precisely stacked T-shirts, underwear, and socks before I find a drawer with the clothing portion of my carry-on. “I’m going to have to get some more clothes.”
“Same,” Anders says.
I pull out one of Thayer’s T-shirts and toss it at him.
“Thanks, Em, but I would sooner wear Ryder’s bilge T-shirt than one of Thayer’s designer rich-boy shirts.” He gently tosses it back at me.
“Which part is worse: that it’s Thayer’s or that it’s a designer T-shirt?”
He purses his lips and pivots, taking long strides to the bathroom. The towel snaps from the bar, and he scrubs it over his hair, draping it around his neck like a well-tanned lifeguard.
“No, Anders, I want to know. Which part?”
“I can’t pick. Both.”
“And that’s why you didn’t want to define something with me?”
“Fuck, no. No, Emily, you’re the best woman who’s ever come into my life. I’m the fool who wants to protect you from me.”
I shake my head because I still don’t understand. Our eyes lock, and moving is no longer possible. I’m glued in place by him. My heart slams against my chest, waiting.
At last he takes the steps, breaking our trance, crossing to me. “I’m the fool.” He pushes my hair away from my face. “And I can’t stay away from you. I don’t care about your money, Em. Or at least, I don’t want to. But guys like Thayer? It’s hard to like them.”
“You like Oliver.”
“Not as much as you do.”
I laugh. “True.”
“I’m learning how to change. It’s been ingrained in me that rich people aren’t kind or honest and are what’s wrong with the world.”
“I suppose being in yachting might have reinforced some of those beliefs.”
He nods. “But you’ve taught me a lot since we’ve been—”
“—together,” I supply.
“Together. I’m a fool. A fool who loves you, Emily Rockwell. I should have gone with you to New York.”
“You should have.” I stare up into his blue eyes and push to my tippy toes.
Our lips touch softly at first. There’s no restraint for my fingers; they’re fighting a losing battle with the button on his wet jeans.
Anders growls into my mouth. His fingers hit mine.
I half expect him to push my hands away, but instead he pops the button with ease and has my shirt off before I can even realize his lips have left mine.
We’re both naked, our damp clothes discarded around the bathroom.
He lifts me up and pushes me back against the wall between the counter and soaking tub.
My legs wrap around his waist. His cock’s hard between our bodies, and I’m clenching and thrusting against it.
“Oh, that feels so good.” My fingers push into his muscular shoulders.
The heat of his body is quite a contrast from the cool stone of the bathroom wall.
He’s got one hand under my ass and the other in my hair.
His lips pull back from my neck. “Fuck, Em. I don’t like sharing you, but if it’s the only way I can have you?
” There’s a fire in his blue eyes. “Then I’m going to make you understand how much I love you.
” His eyes hold mine again. “Because I do. I love you. And there’s no me without you anymore. ” He thrusts up against me hard.
“More.” I snake my hand between our bodies—his hard, mine soft—until I grip his cock. More than anything, I want him inside me. “Condom?”
“Not unless the silver spoon boy keeps some in his room. It wasn’t on my packing list.”
I smack at Anders’s butt cheeks. “Put me down.” And I’m truly hoping we find some, though there’s a large part of me that hopes Thayer doesn’t have any. I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep in his bed picturing him with another woman. Not that I’m picturing him with me. But . . .
Anders lets me down, and I’m off searching through five thousand drawers in this remodeled bathroom suite. There’s banging and cursing coming from the bedroom. “You okay?” I throw over my shoulder, searching the last of the drawers.
“Peachy,” he says with sarcasm.
Peeking around the corner, I cover my mouth. His toned backside is in the air as he’s tossing clothes out of the drawer.
“Fuck. I thought for sure he’d have something hidden around here.” Anders turns, and his erection points at me.
“Wait!” I run to the other side of the bed to the hidden drawer where Thayer pulled the key from the side of the table. Inching my fingertips along the filigree, I find the spot where it turns. The drawer pops open. “Voilà.”
“Em.” Anders wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my neck.
Inside the drawer there’s a set of keys, a single key, Thayer’s wallet, a passport folio, and a card case, but no stash of condoms. Anders grabs the wallet and flips through it.
“Nothing.” He tosses it back into the drawer.
“To his credit, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who keeps a condom in his wallet. Even his spare wallet.”
I turn in his arms and give him side-eye. Anders kept a condom in his wallet when we were in Florida.
He squeezes me. “I didn’t keep one in my wallet until you. But I don’t have one now. Remember that first night?”
“True. I’ve never laughed so hard when placing a grocery order I didn’t need.”
“At least you didn’t have to face the wrath of Maya. I swear she knew it was me that ordered the five jars of salsa. How was I supposed to know there’s good and bad salsa? It all tastes the same to me.”
It has me laughing. I spin in his arms and lock my hands around his neck.
“I love your laugh, Em. I love you.”
I want to tell him I love him too. Because I do. But then I’ve loved a lot of the wrong guys before.
He picks me up and tosses me on the bed and jumps beside me, rolling on top of me.
He cages me in, surrounding me. “You don’t have to say it back.
This whole thing is upside down. I don’t have any expectations of you.
” His lips hover over mine as the door opens.
There’s a storm of blankets thrown over my head.
“What in the hell?” Thayer’s voice growls.