Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
When I walk out to Rachel’s living room, I find Emmanuel and Paz deep in conversation, both speaking Spanish. Clearly they don’t want me to know what they’re talking about. It’s a good thing I have no interest in knowing what they’re discussing. Otherwise, I’d tell them just how rude they were.
The minute Emmanuel sees me, the conversation stops. He steps forward with a paper cup in hand, holding it out to me. “Coffee, and there’s food on the counter.”
“Thank you.” I take the cup. “You do know this isn’t my house, right? You two can’t just waltz in and make yourselves at home.” I gesture from Emmanuel to Paz, who just gives me a blank look in return.
If Rachel knew they were in here, just hanging around, she’d have a heart attack. Rachel doesn’t like people she doesn’t know in her house.
I walk into the kitchen and pick up a blueberry muffin. I’m starving. “I have to go to the store. I don’t know what you two are up to today, but you can’t stay here,” I say around a mouthful of food.
“I’ll be outside if you need anything,” Paz tells Emmanuel and walks out the front door. I continue to eat the muffin. Because one, it’s delicious. And two, I’m hungry.
“How long do you need to be at the store?” Emmanuel asks.
“Why?” I counter.
“Because I have a pilot on standby to take us to Vegas. And if it’s going to be hours, I’ll let the guy sleep.”
Well, now I feel like a bitch. He has people waiting on us?
“I had a shipment that was supposed to arrive yesterday. I need to check the stock and make sure Amy is okay on her own for the week.”
“How long?” Emmanuel repeats.
“I should be done by four.” That’s five hours away. It will give me time to stop at home, get dressed properly, put on some makeup, and fix my hair before I go to the shop. Right now, I look like I’ve been freshly fucked, which I have been, but it’s not the look I’m going for.
“Okay.” Emmanuel’s eyes bore into mine. He’s looking for something. I’m not sure what. “I want to show you something before you go to the store.”
My brows furrow. This is my town. What could he possibly have to show me here?
“I need to go home first. I need to change and fix my face and hair,” I explain.
“Fix what now?” Emmanuel closes the distance between us, his hand curls around the base of my throat, and he tilts my chin upwards.
“This face is fucking perfection, mi alma. There is no need to fix it.” His hand then moves to my hair, his fingers twirling around a loose strand.
“This hair, fucking perfect. What the fuck could you possibly have to fix?”
I blink up at him. I’m used to being told I’m beautiful.
I’ve heard it more times than I care to admit.
The words lost their meaning for me a long time ago.
But when Emmanuel tells me I’m perfect, with that conviction in his voice…
Like he really believes what he’s saying, there’s a part of me that wants to be perfect for him.
At least for the week I agreed to. After that, he should lose interest and move on.
And if he hasn’t, I’ll figure out a way to make sure he does.
Because us together, as good as it feels, is never really going to work long-term.
“Thank you, but I can’t go to work looking like this. How about you tell me where you want to show me whatever it is, and I can meet you there?” I suggest.
“You ready to go?” Emmanuel asks.
“Yep.”
I look around the kitchen and living room, making sure I haven’t left a mess behind in my friend’s house.
Then I pick up my bag and keys, and take the hand Emmanuel is holding out to me.
There’s something very intimate about holding this man’s hand.
There’s also a part of me that doesn’t want him to let go.
That part I shove deep down into the pits of hell.
Nothing good will come of those kinds of thoughts.
Once we’re outside, Emmanuel walks towards where Paz’s vehicle is idling by the curb. “Ah, I have my car here.” I stop, pulling my hand away from his.
“I’ll get Paz to drive it back,” he says.
“No, you won’t. I’m driving my own car home, E. You can do whatever you want, but I’m driving my car.” I turn around and stomp towards the driveway. Before I can reach the driver’s side door, Emmanuel catches up to me.
“Keys,” he says, holding out his palm towards me.
I raise my brows at him. Is he seriously demanding that I give him my car keys?
“Yeah, that’s not how this is going to work. I’m not a dog or one of your lackeys. You can’t bark orders at me, Emmanuel.” My hands land on my hips.
“Can I have your keys? I’ll drive your car, with you in it, back to your place,” he asks in a less-harsh tone.
“If you want to come with me, you are more than welcome to, but you’re riding in the passenger seat.” I move past him, open the driver’s side door, and jump in. Starting the car, I wait as Emmanuel continues to stare at me through the window.
He rakes an aggravated hand through his hair, mumbles something in Spanish, and then he walks around to the passenger’s side door and jumps in. Without a word, I reverse out of Rachel’s driveway.
“You know, you don’t have to come with me if my driving bothers you that much,” I tell Emmanuel, who is sitting still next to me. Silently stewing.
“That’s not what bothers me,” he grunts.
“What is bothering you then?” I ask him.
“The fact that I can’t seem to say no to you, or force you to obey me how I can with anyone else,” he says. “See how easy that is? You ask me what’s bothering me and I tell you the truth.”
“You can say no. That’s easy too.” I smile and look over at him, ignoring his accusation.
“Keep your eyes on the road. You’re driving precious cargo here, mi alma.” Emmanuel points towards the windshield.
“You’re not that precious,” I tell him.
“Not me, you,” he says.
“I’m not precious either.”
“You are the most-precious thing I have, Evie. Don’t do anything risky.” He seems so genuine when he says things like that. Maybe he actually believes I’m special.
Once I’m back at my house, I park the car. Paz pulls in directly behind me. “He did that on purpose, didn’t he?” I ask Emmanuel. “Blocked me in? Are you scared I’m going to drive off without you or something?”
“Or something,” Emmanuel replies, getting out of the car. “You need a new car,” he adds when he reaches me on the other side.
“There’s nothing wrong with my car.” I’m quick to defend my little BMW convertible.
“It’s a death trap,” Emmanuel counters.
“Everyone dies, E. If I die in a car accident, then at least it’s in the car I love.” I shrug.
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re not dying on me, Evie. I can’t do that again. I’m buying you a new car,” he grunts and walks over to where Paz is standing on my front lawn.
“No, you’re not!” I yell after him before turning and walking inside my house, letting the door slam behind me.
My mind is whirling. What does he mean he can’t do that again? Did he lose someone he loved? Is he still in love with her? Whoever she is—was? Why the hell am I jealous of a person I’m not certain even exists?
I head into my bathroom, open the drawers, and start applying my makeup.
I need to look my best. I’m feeling off-kilter.
Being around Emmanuel does that to me. But, damn, does he know how to make me feel good too.
I can’t believe I fucked him again. After swearing it was only going to be a onetime thing.
But the moment I saw him waiting for me to wake up…
The fact he was outside the bedroom and not in it…
I melted, and all of my common sense went out the damn window.
Because I wanted him. I wanted to feel his arms wrapped around me.
I was so relieved to see him in person. I didn’t realize how attached I’d grown to the man over the last couple of weeks.
We’ve talked daily, but that shouldn’t be enough to build an attachment.
After I’m satisfied that my face is perfect, I walk into my bedroom and find an outfit that will make me feel just as good as my face looks.
Deciding on a light-pink bodycon dress with black lace cutouts that curve around my sides, I smile.
I love this dress. I pair it with cute little black ankle boots.
Then add some bracelets, a necklace and earrings, before I find a hair tie and pull my hair back into a high ponytail.
I don’t really have time to do much else to it.
I open my bedroom door and stomp out into the living room, where I find both Emmanuel and Paz standing together.
“Just so you know, it’s rude to speak in a language I don’t understand,” I chastise them.
“Ah, I’ll be outside.” Paz shakes his head. “Good luck,” he whispers to me as he passes.
Good luck? What the hell do I need luck for?
I watch him walk out of the house. And when I turn my eyes back to Emmanuel, his face is hard, his jaw clenching. “You look stressed,” I tell him.
“You always go to work dressed like that?” he asks, waving a finger up and down my body.
Self-consciousness washes over me. “What’s wrong with my dress?”
“My cock went from half-mast to fully erect the second you walked into the room—that’s what’s wrong with it. You look too fucking fuckable,” he grunts.
“So it’s my fault you can’t control your dick?” My hands land on my hips. Now I’m mad. “That’s the same as saying if I walk out of the house and get raped today, it’s my fault, right? I was asking for it, because I looked so good, right?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. Don’t put words into my mouth, Evie.
If anyone ever tried to… I’d fucking kill them before they could even touch you.
I’m saying it’s going to be real fucking hard for me to keep my hands to myself.
It’s no fun walking around all day with a boner.
” He steps towards me, and I take a step backwards.
“That’s not my problem,” I tell him.
“No, it’s mine. But, you know, being my girlfriend and all, I thought you might care about my problems a little.”
“Still not your girlfriend, Emmanuel. And I don’t not care, but I’m not changing just because your dick gets hard a little too easily.” I shake my head. “Now do you want to show me this thing or not?”
“Come with me.” He holds out a hand. “You really do look fucking gorgeous, Evie. But that was true before you went and put all that on your face.”
“I know,” I tell him. Because I do. I’m not fishing for compliments.