Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Liam finished his Maker’s Mark and ordered another round. The familiar and intoxicating scent of a sexy perfume drifting from his right side caught his attention. He pivoted on the bar stool to find Emily sliding onto the seat next to him.
“I thought you might be here.” She’d changed out of her skirt and blouse and into a pair of jeans and a black tee. She forced a smile, which wasn’t quite broad enough to showcase her dimples. “I convinced my bodyguard to let me break curfew, so I hope you don’t mind me showing up.”
He wished she hadn’t witnessed the confrontation with his brother, and he’d give anything to take it back.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever forgive his brother for marrying his ex, even if his family may have been right about why Melissa left him—it didn’t matter. His brothers on the teams would never betray him like his own flesh and blood had.
The bartender slid a fresh whiskey to Liam and directed his attention on Emily. “Would you like something?”
“You know we don’t make the best decisions when we get drunk together,” Liam reminded her.
“Good point,” Emily said. “A glass of your most watered-down wine, please.”
The bartender laughed. “Coming right up, ma’am.”
She remained quiet until he delivered the drink, and Liam guessed that was for his benefit. He wasn’t sure what the hell to say, or how to explain what had happened. He was waiting for her to ask, though, and so, he’d need to come up with some sort of answer.
He shifted on the stool and her eyes lifted from the drink, and he’d swear his heart stopped. There was such a sweetness about her.
Her white teeth flashed his way. Her lipstick had faded after having eaten dinner earlier.
And either her cheeks always had a natural pink glow, or she had the tendency to blush whenever he was around because he didn’t think she had any other makeup on.
Mascara maybe, but she already had long, dark lashes, which showcased the depth of her espresso brown eyes.
“So, how’d you find me?”
“The beer on tap at your hotel is shit so you wouldn’t drink there,” she answered; those lashes of hers rising and falling a few times, drawing his attention.
“And since you were here last night, I took a chance.” She combed her fingers through her brown hair, which had streaks of blonde framing her face.
Her palm went to her collarbone, drawing his eye straight to the neckline of her shirt like a target in his crosshairs, and he forced his gaze to the bar top to refrain from looking like some creep ogling her breasts.
Shit. How could it feel like both an eternity and yet only five minutes since they’d gotten married?
“Thank you for the flowers, by the way. Lilies are a favorite of mine. I don’t know how you knew that or how you got them into my place while I was at work today . . . but thank you.”
He’d been walking by a flower shop earlier when looking for a wedding gift, and the impulse to buy her the flowers had struck him.
Roses hadn’t felt right, so he’d gone with the lilies.
“You really need to upgrade your security. I got in way too easy.” He held up one palm.
“I was in and out quick. I didn’t snoop around. No worries.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.” She shot him his own signature wink right back at him, and damn, did he love it.
“But seriously,” he said with a nod, “I’ll be calling a few guys I know in D.C. to beef up your security system.”
“I move in a month.”
“I don’t give a damn if it’s three days or thirty, you need to be better protected.” He scratched the side of his neck. “Please,” he added, hoping to soften what he realized had come out more like an order than a friendly request.
“I’ll consider it.” She shifted on her seat and looked at the color-coordinated bottles lining the shelves.
“Listen, I know we’re supposed to sign the papers tonight,” he began, thinking about his brother screwing the night up, “but—”
“We have time,” she said, saving him from having to muster up some sort of explanation.
They could leave now and get it over with, but for some reason, the idea of signing the papers created a dull ache in his chest.
“You shoot darts?” he asked when his eyes fell upon the board at the back corner of the room.
She tracked his gaze before returning her focus to his face. “What, go up against someone who graduated top of his class from sniper school?”
“What makes you think I didn’t almost wash out?” He squinted at her.
“Based on what I already know about you, you don’t seem to be the kind of man who’d do anything half-assed.
You’d whole-ass it for sure.” Liam laughed, and she gave an innocent lift of her shoulders.
“And as for me and darts—well, do you know the expression, ‘you can’t hit the broad side of a barn’? ”
“Is that a Southern thing?” He grinned, and the smile actually made him feel a little better.
Her dimples popped.
God help him.
“The point is,” she started, talking with her hands, which he couldn’t help but find sexy, “I’ll probably hit the wall instead of the dartboard, even though my career military father and grandfather taught me how to shoot a gun like it’s my job.”
He smiled. “What branch were they in?”
“Army.” She sipped her wine then winced. Guess it really was the cheap stuff.
“Betting they wished your brother hadn’t gone the Marine route.”
“Only every Sunday and Friday. And you know, all those other days in between.” She chuckled. “But, um, you never told me, how’d you end up living in the U.S.? You said Wyatt moved here for marriage, what about you?”
“I, uh.” He smoothed a hand over his jawline. “My mum’s American. My father had been traveling in the U.S. on business, and she was working as a waitress while an undergrad—they met and fell in love. They got married and moved to Sydney six weeks later.”
“Wow. Sounds like a fairy tale.”
“Guess so.” He didn’t want to think about Australia right now, though. Not after the run-in with his brother.
“So, you decided to move to the U.S. when you were nineteen, right?”
“Yeah. I’d been coming to the States every summer since I was a kid. My grandfather was one of the first frogmen, and it’d been my dream to become like him someday.”
“He must be so proud of you.” She beamed, her lips stretching into a gorgeous smile.
He looked to the beat-up wood floors beneath his boots, not sure what to say.
He wasn’t an A-plus student, not even a C-minus one, when it came to conversations revolving around his personal life.
Give him a question on adjusting a shot to account for wind, and he could talk for days. But his past—nah, he was good.
When Emily remained quiet, he figured she’d sensed the wall he’d erected between them at lightning speed. She didn’t deserve a guy with walls, though. She was a good person. He could feel it in his bones.
“Okay.” She said the word on a sigh, dragging his attention to her lips. “I’ll challenge you to a game of darts, I suppose.”
“Why do I feel like a bet is about to follow, and that you’re actually hustling me?”
She laughed, and damn, did he love the smooth sound. “Yeah, I’m no shark, I promise.” She held a finger between them. “And I’m also a horrible liar, so you can believe me when I say that.”
“Okay, then.” He grabbed his drink and stood, then watched the sway of her hips as she moved away. He didn’t think she was intentionally trying to direct his focus to her heart-shaped ass, but hell, he’d take that distraction over thinking about his brother.
You’re my wife. For maybe only hours. Or another day. But still—wife.
He nearly stopped walking at the thought as he maneuvered around the pool tables to get to her.
She beat him to the dartboard and began gathering the red- and black-tipped darts. “You okay?” she asked, facing him as if she could sense the bone-crushing pain that had found a way to wreak havoc on his insides—pain he’d thought he’d squashed years ago was now suckering him into a rematch.
He forced the lump down his throat, but it wasn’t hard to do with her beautiful eyes beholding his.
He didn’t think she was even going to press about what happened with his brother. “You’re . . .” he whispered without thinking.
“What about me?” Her lower lip caught between her teeth, and it brought him back to Vegas, to the sweet sound of his name coming from her mouth when she’d surrendered to her first orgasm that night.
He wanted to hear his name from her again. He wanted to listen to it a thousand more times. Even if he wasn’t good for her, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from flirting, from wanting more of her.
“Here,” she said when his lips remained glued shut.
He blinked and looked down to see three darts in her palm.
He set down his drink, took the darts, then positioned himself at the line and threw the first one.
“What? No bull’s-eye?” Her hands went to her hips, and she flashed him a smile.
He sucked in a sharp breath, glanced back at the dartboard, then closed his eyes and tossed the second dart. Then the third.
“Wow.” She clapped her hands when he reopened his eyes. She edged closer to the dartboard to view the two darts that had landed dead center next to each other. “That’s kind of hot, not gonna lie.” She pulled them free and strode back toward him. “Twenty bucks you can’t do it again.”
He laughed. “I thought we weren’t betting.”
“On my skills, no.” She pursed her lips, her eyes moving to the ink on his arm.
She wanted him. And in his drunk-ass state last night, he’d felt it then, too.
He didn’t want to hurt her, though. Maybe it was better she didn’t remember much of Vegas. Maybe she’d be able to move on easier than he could.
At the feel of someone’s eyes on him, he turned to catch Emily’s bodyguard observing them from across the room. “Why do you really have the bodyguard?”
She set aside the darts and whipped her hair into a ponytail. “It’s classified.”
“I don’t feel good about it.” He stepped closer to her.
“You probably shouldn’t feel anything about it.” Her brows drew inward. “I’m not someone you need to worry about. I get the feeling you have enough on your plate without adding me to it.”
“You’re not just . . .” He didn’t even know what to say, or how to finish his line of thought.
Emily was the newbie to his group—an off-limits friend. A woman he’d hung out with only five times before Vegas.
“I’m sorry.” The apology left his lips quickly, and it had him bracing a hand on the empty bar top table off to his left.
“For what? For caring?”
“For what happened between us.”
“Oh.”
One syllable. One quick word. And yet, he could feel the impact of it like the perfect shot fired center mass. He almost gripped his chest as if a slug had hit him.
He needed to explain, but at the moment, he didn’t really know how to. “I feel like an asshole.”
She looked back at him, the glow to her skin gone, and it burned him to know he was the cause. “It’s been a long day.”
He’d give anything to bring the smile back to her face, to make her happy again.
“I think I could use some Oreos.”
“Are you, uh, offering?” He waggled his brows a few times, and her smile nearly reappeared.
“You have a thing for milk and cookies, too?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Who doesn’t?”
She raised a finger between them. “On one condition. Do you dunk then twist?”
A warmth flowed up and into his chest. “Is there any other way?”