Chapter Two
Kade
“Another round, Kade?” Em’s words cut through my conversation with the guys, and I glance at her. The challenge in her voice is echoed in her eyes, and damn if I’m not going to rise to the occasion.
“Talk to you guys later,” I say before walking away from the guys and making my way to her. She’s holding up a bottle, tilting it toward my glass.
“That depends. Did you put something in my cup?” I ask.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “That depends, would that get you to shut up?”
I spread my hands wide. “You’re the one that called me over, remember?” I say, gesturing to the guys I was talking to a moment ago.
She’s quiet for a moment, the bottle in her hand still hovering over my glass.
“Are you sure you can serve?” I ask and her eyes narrow. So I throw some gasoline on that fire and bring my index finger to my lips. “I won’t tell,” I say softly.
Her voice cut through the din of the party, a playful challenge in her eyes.
She watches me, her brows arched, that little crease between them telling me she’s annoyed with me. Emma has always had a tell when she’s flustered – a slight flush on those high cheekbones, and God, if it wasn”t the most adorable thing.
“Pour it,” I say with a nod at her.
“Ask nicely.” She’s challenging me again.
She has no idea she’s playing with fire.
I reach for the bottle, not looking away for a second. Taking the bottle from her, I pour the amber liquid with exaggerated care. I continue to watch her, letting the corners of my mouth twitch upwards just enough to acknowledge the game we were playing... or maybe that I’m winning.
It is a dangerous game, because truth be told, I’ve been on the losing end for a long time - she just doesn”t know that. No matter how things began, or how they end, I lost the day I realized pigtails and scraped knees had turned into curves and quick wit.
“For a man that has to do everything himself, you sure aren’t pulling your weight around here.” There’s something dangerous in her eyes, but she’s wrong.
“Someone”s got to keep you in line,” I say, putting the bottle down and picking up the glass. Bringing it to my nose, I swirl the liquid as if looking for something, just to upset her.
“There’s nothing in it,” she says as I lean back against the counter with a casualness I’m far from feeling. My heart thrums a wild rhythm against my ribs, but I smother it down, bury it under layers of bravado. Emma is forbidden territory – Alex’s sister, off-limits – and I”d sooner take a punch to the nose than cross that line.
But damn, if she didn”t make it hard.
In more ways than one.
“Sounds like a personal problem,” I say, taking a sip.
Her brows furrow. “How is saying there’s nothing in it a personal prob-” She stops mid-word, suddenly catching the naughty nature of my words. She plants her hands on her hips, tilting her head in a cute gesture I don’t think she knows she does when she’s annoyed. “Keep dreaming, bad boy.”
I lift my drink like I’m saying cheers, and speak as a grin tugs the corners of my lips. “Only about you.” The crude nature of my comment might be the reason the hollow at the base of her throat bottoms out, or the slight intake of her breath, or the surprise flashing in her eyes.
And I know in that moment that she feels this undeniable spark, too.
To my surprise, a sharp laugh breaks from her lips. To cover, I take a drink, watching her over the rim of my glass as her laughter bubbles up, genuine and light, and it spreads through me like wildfire, scorching any resolve I have left.
“Careful, or I might start thinking you like me,” she says.
She’s so close to figuring it out, but so far away.
“Wouldn”t that be something?” I murmur, taking another sip from my glass as the liquid fire does nothing to quell the heat she stirs within me.
The guys wander over, and Emma offers them their favorite drinks. As she pours them, I can’t help but tease her even more. “Your pouring technique is a disaster.”
Of course, I love watching her delicate hands on the bottles - yeah, that’s why - as she fills glass after glass with practiced ease. She is the picture of grace under pressure, even as she shoots an offended glance my direction.
“Disaster?” Her sky-blue eyes flash with challenge. “I”ve been doing this since before you could spell ”bourbon,” Kade.”
“Are you insulting my spelling?” I ask.
She shifts, suddenly uncomfortable as she glances at the bouncers, who are doing their best to pretend they can’t hear us.
“I- uh.” She’s flustered, and I’m not about to let this opportunity go. Leaning in, I move as close to her as I can without touching and speak into her ear. “And can you pour without splashing?” I ask in a deliberately infuriating tone.
“Watch and learn, caveman.” She pours another, not a drop out of place as the guys shift, their uncomfortable gestures telling me they just want to escape.
But I wasn”t done with her yet.
“Missed a spot,” I lie, pointing to a pristine area of the counter.
Emma”s gaze follows my gesture, then shoots back to me, her eyes narrowing. “You”re impossible.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” I say, acting like I’m going to bow. Instead, I shift my weight toward her as she moves away, giving the guys their drinks and saying her thanks. I lean in, inhaling her scent—a mix of vanilla and something indefinably Emma. It was intoxicating, a sensory memory that has haunted me for years.
“Need help?” I ask, our bodies inches apart.
Her gaze darts around the room, as if looking for an escape, then lands on mine with a spark of irritation. “Do I really need to hold your hand and walk you through all of the tasks that need to be completed before opening?”
“Absolutely,” I say, nodding earnestly. “I”d like that.”
The realization that I mean I’d like to hold her hand dawns on her. A frustrated grunt escapes her lips, and she turns away, her curly, light brown hair swishing with the motion.
“Fine. Since you”re so helpless, go into the walk-in and get me the Merlot from the top shelf. The one with the gold label.”
“Gold label Merlot, got it,” I say slowly, feigning confusion. “But, uh, what does Merlot look like again?”
I’m pretty sure I saw her eye twitch and I know she’s about to go nuclear. “Kade!” She throws her hands up, exasperation adding color to her cheeks. “It”s a glass bottle. With red wine in it. How do you even function?”
“Miracles,” I say with a wink. “And if I”m not back in thirty minutes, send a search and rescue team.”
“Try not to get lost in your own ego on the way.” I hear her say as I saunter off toward the walk-in cooler. Every step takes me further from the heat of her presence, but not her effect on me.
In the cooler, I find the bottle was right where she said it would be, the gold label catching the dim light of the walk-in as if it knew it was the whole reason I’m here.
My hand hovers over the bottle, the cool air of the room brushing against my skin. I pick up the wine, but then I pause, setting it back down in its place.
“Take your time, Kade,” I mutter to myself. “Make her think you”re just being a stubborn ass.” It’s also an excuse to regain my composure. I can’t be around her for too long before my whole body starts short-circuiting.
I know she sent me away to get rid of me for a few. I can’t help but wonder how our back and forth affects her. Does she like this twisted game of pushing her away and keeping her at arm’s length?
Deep in thought, I lean back against the cold metal shelves, my arms crossed. The minutes tick by, somehow so slow even though my time with her flies like hours are mere seconds.
Making Emma hate me has become an almost enjoyable pastime. She doesn”t know that every barb, every taunt, is a twisted confession of sorts. I want her laugh, her fiery glances, her everything—but she is forbidden territory.
And yet, most - if not all - of my jokes are nothing but raw truth sheathed in a facade, designed to push her away when all I ever want to do is pull her close.
I know it’s messed up, but I’m not sure how else to deal with how I feel about her. And her hatred is easier for me to manage than if she cared for me. Hate will ensure there’s never a slip up between us. And hatred will keep her from ever possibly falling for me.
After about twenty minutes have passed, the door creaks open and footsteps move toward me. I don”t need to look to know it is Emma; the familiar rush of adrenaline at her proximity is all the confirmation I need.
“Knowing you, you”ve probably built a fort out of wine cases by now.” Emma”s voice rings out clear, laced with that same exasperated humor.
“Considered it,” I say, internally wishing I had done that. I could have been having fun in here, but instead, I was thinking about her the whole time. Pushing away from the shelves and moving toward her voice, I try to hold back a laugh.
Our eyes meet and the air between us feels thick, emotionally charged. Her blue eyes search mine, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if she sees through my act.
“Did you find it?” she asks, her gaze moving down next to my boots where I’d set the bottle about ten minutes into waiting.
“Nope. Absolutely not,” I say with a smirk. “And I thought I might stay missing a little while longer.”
Her lips part slightly, and I could almost hear the unspoken question. Why? The word hangs there, suspended in the cool air, a mystery she couldn”t unravel. She’ll never guess the reason, and I’m not about to share the truth with her. Or anyone, for that matter.
“Kade...” she says, but the rest of her sentence seems to get lost, maybe because she doesn”t know what to say, or maybe because, for once, I don”t want to hear her tell me to go away. Her gaze is soft, her hands delicate as she pushes her locks away from her face.
“Emma,” I say, matching her tone and letting her name linger on my tongue.
She sighs as if there’s something heavy weighing her down. And for a second, I’m genuinely worried. Her gaze leaves mine to sweep the room and I wait, wondering what she’s about to reveal. Because there’s something so gentle in her features I can’t help but think something between us is about to change, forever.
Her gaze meets mine once more, her eyes sparkling with a desire I wish I could taste.
“Yes?” I ask, waiting.
A slight smile curves the corners of her lips, and her voice is little more than a whisper as she says, “You’re a dick.”
Touché. She had me going, I’m not going to lie. But this response was actually the best thing she could have done or said - for both of us. What might I have given away if she’d truly responded with warmth or a supercharged emotion?
Before I can respond to her statement, we both feel it - a sudden change in air pressure, a surge and pull.
And the walk-in door clicks closed behind us, sealing us into this private world alone with one another.