Chapter Four
Royce
By the time our food arrives, Emelia has relaxed a little. She's rambling about the Firestorm campaign like her life depends on it, but I haven't heard a word. I'm too busy watching the way her lips wrap around her straw.
I'd do shady things to have any part of me in that perfect mouth right now. I'm officially jealous of a fucking straw.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter.
"The campai…What? she asks, blinking wide eyes at me.
"We need to establish some ground rules, babe."
"Good idea. No looking at me like I'm dinner."
"No can do," I smirk, throwing my arm over the back of her chair to tug her closer. "You can't blame a man for having eyes."
"Don't make me fire you."
"You aren't going to fire me," I say, absolutely certain of it. If she were, she wouldn't have shown up tonight. Fact is, she likes me, even if she doesn't want to admit it. She wouldn't have written my name down every single time she played her little game if she didn't.
Emelia doesn't strike me as the kind of woman who does things without reason.
Actually, she strikes me as the kind of woman who probably has backup plans for her backup plans.
If my name was on her mind while she was wine-drunk and thinking about future partners, it wasn't in a professional capacity.
I can work with that, because there's absolutely nothing professional about the things I'd like to do to her on top of this table.
"I might," she grumbles without heat, trying to inch her chair away. I just hook my foot around the leg, making it impossible for her to go anywhere. "You're already on my nerves."
I choose to ignore her. "First rule, no mixing business and pleasure."
"That's an excellent idea," she says, her shoulders sagging as she practically beams at me. "That's precisely what I've been trying to say. I'm glad we're on the same page."
We're absolutely not on the same page.
"I'm glad we agree," I say anyway. "We're here for pleasure, not business. We can discuss that later."
Her mouth pops open, her expression shocked.
I crook a finger beneath her chin, gently closing her mouth. "You're going to want to keep that closed if you don't want me taking a taste." I dip my head, pressing it against her ear. "I've been thinking about it since you got here. Best not to tempt a desperate man."
She whimpers. Actually fucking whimpers.
Goddamn. If she isn't in my bed soon, I'm ripping this whole city apart.
"Second rule," I say, trying to stay on task before everyone in this restaurant gets a show they didn't pay to see.
I have a feeling exhibitionism is strictly off the table—no pun intended.
Actually, I know it is, because the thought of anyone seeing her naked has me feeling particularly homicidal. "I won't be sharing you."
"You…" she splutters, her cheeks turning pink.
"I mean it, baby. I don't share." I tip her head back, forcing her to meet my gaze. "I plan to be a jealous asshole when it comes to you."
"We aren't even dating!" she cries softly.
"Really?" I cock a brow. "And here I thought we were at dinner together. You're all dressed up, sitting next to me, looking completely fucking edible. That's the definition of a date."
She just groans, burying her face in her hands. "Why is it always me?"
"What's always you?"
"I always get the unhinged clients," she mumbles into her hands.
"It's like you guys compare notes at your Unhinged Athletes meetings, then tag in whoever is most likely to drive me mad.
It's a conspiracy, isn't it?" She drags her hands away, her gaze rife with suspicion.
"Did Teo put you up to this? Because I don't care if he's about to have a kid or not, I will end him. "
"Teo?" My brows furrow. "You mean Teo Kirby?"
"That's the one," she growls. "What'd he pay you to torture me?"
"Don't know him," I murmur, stroking her cheek. "I just know the man's name. And I haven't discussed you with anyone else."
"Great," she grumbles. "So you decided to torture me all on your own. How thoughtful."
"Babe," I say, laughter rumbling from my lips. "This isn't torture."
"Oh, really, Mr. I Don't Share?" She glowers at me, her expression hot enough to start forest fires. "Then why is it that I hear no mention of you being a loyal partner? I guess that doesn't fit your agenda, does it?"
"So…let me get this straight," I say, grinning like a madman. "You're upset because I didn't say you wouldn't be sharing?"
"What? No. That's beside the point."
"Nah, I think that's the whole point."
"Whatever," she mumbles, avoiding my gaze, but I've got her number now.
I see what's going on here. She likes me, but she doesn't trust me.
I'm guessing she represents one too many athletes who can't keep it in their fucking pants, and taking a leap with me makes her nervous as hell because she doesn't know if I'm just another asshole like half of them.
"Look at me, Emelia."
She ignores me.
"Look at me."
"Fine," she growls, turning to glare at me. "What?"
"You won't be sharing, baby," I say softly, my eyes locked with hers so she knows I mean it. "You know my name isn't ever in the press with anyone else's. You know there's no gossip about me fucking around. I'm not interested in being that guy."
"Why not?" she asks like she genuinely wants to know the answer. I think it matters to her.
"My mama raised me better than that," I say frankly. "I didn't spend my whole life on the ice just to become some fucking scandal once I made it to the league. I spent it on the ice to ensure she and my dad never had to worry about my little brother again."
Her gaze softens. "He has a heart defect, right?"
I'm not surprised she knows that. She probably did all sorts of research into me before agreeing to meet with me. But even a cursory search would have turned it up. I've been a spokesperson for a nonprofit focused on heart defects since my rookie season.
"Yeah, amongst other issues." My parents worked their asses off to keep me on the ice and to ensure that Rain had the best care possible. Now, they don't have to work as hard. They finally get to enjoy life without constantly worrying about bills.
"My mom has leukemia," Emelia whispers.
"I heard about that." I place my hand over hers on the table. "Chronic Myeloid Leukemia, right?"
"Yeah. She was diagnosed when she was eleven. She's fallen out of remission more than a few times over the years." Her lips tremble. "She didn't tell my dad until she accidentally got pregnant with me because she didn't want him messing up his career for her."
"I'm sorry, babe."
"Me too," she says softly. "It worked out for them in the end, but it hasn't been easy for her. He makes it easier."
"Your family is important to you, aren't they?"
"Yeah, they are." She smiles up at me, her expression soft. "They mean everything to me."
"Then you know how much you'd sacrifice for them.
I'm the same way, Emelia. I didn't go pro so I could fuck around.
I went pro because it was my turn to take care of them.
" I tip her head up. "I don't care what kind of athletes you're used to dealing with, I'm not them, babe.
I'm not going to break your heart if you give it to me. "
"I…" She stares at me for a long moment and then nods slowly. "Fine. I'll give you a chance."
"Yeah?" I grin at her, my heart thumping unevenly. "You mean it?"
"Yes, but—" she holds up a hand— "I was serious about not mixing business and pleasure, Royce. I can't date you and be your publicist at the same time."
"Fine. Then we won't discuss work when I'm kissing you."
"Royce!"
"Emelia."
Her growl turns into a soft laugh, her scowl slipping. "You're going to be the biggest pain in my butt, aren't you?"
"Absolutely," I growl, dipping my head until my lips hover an inch above hers. "And you're going to fucking love it." I linger there for a moment, just long enough for her eyes to go glossy, and then I swoop, claiming her lips in a scorching kiss.
I taste her surprise and the hint of wine on her lips, and feel the way she tries to keep her mouth stubbornly closed before surrendering on a soft moan.
My tongue slides against hers, and she melts.
She's all soft, reluctant surrender, and wild, biting sweetness as her hand fists in the front of my jacket.
Her nails dig into my chest like she's trying to claw her way in.
I want to let her.
One of my hands stays at her jaw, angling her face so I can go deeper, slower, rougher.
The other drifts down, over the delicate arch of her collarbone, along the slope of her breasts, before settling over the frantic thump of her heartbeat.
I linger there a second, feeling it race for me, before sliding my hand between her legs.
I cup her pussy through her dress, confident no one can see what's happening back here.
She sucks in a shuddering gasp, melting against me.
"This and your heart are going to be mine, pretty baby," I murmur, giving her one more desperate kiss before I pull away. "I'm not backing off until I have both."
She whimpers my name, her voice shaking. "You're a madman, Royce Elliot."
"I know." I grin, trailing my hand up to her hip. For her, I intend to be completely fucking wild.