Freedom (13 page)

“Says who?”

“Right.” I look back at the road. “I think you just want to out run Cooper on your big, bad bike. You guys like things between your legs, and you’ll look cooler with a girl hanging on to you, especially if it’s me.” I smirk.

“Damn straight.” He laughs.

“Are we moving into new territory? Out of the friends who kiss zone?” I ask as I park in front of the house.

“I don’t think we were ever in the friend zone; do you?” Dylan retorts as if I’ve said the worst thing possible to him. I know that, if he said that to me, it would be a slam against my ego and ever-growing feelings for him.

“No, we weren’t friends. Remember, I thought you were kind of a wise-ass jerk.”

Dylan chuckles. “I kind of was, although I did reign in my attitude with a little heroic action on your clown car.”

“And my unscrupulous visitor,” I add.

“We still have to talk about him, Emma,” Dylan responds, getting out of the car.

“Dylan, you’re repeating yourself. Go make me dinner. I’m going to change.”

My demand evokes a deep, sexy chuckle from him. I don’t think he has any idea what he does to me. His voice, his body, his steely blue eyes. He is more charming and sexy than any man I have ever known. I want to curl up naked with him and do things that make me blush. How can he not see that? Watching him cook even turns me on, and I never get that from watching any of the celebrity chefs on the cooking channel.

Before I turn myself into a horny mess, I bolt for the house. I quickly clomp up the wooden porch steps before Dylan whirls me around for a damaging kiss. He heats me up in every crevice, and my nipples harden and strain against my bra while I unabashedly grind myself against the bulge in his jeans. I am so aroused, completely ready to skip over any foreplay and let him screw me here on the porch. His hand slides under my skirt and down my panties where he grabs my bare butt cheek.

Holding onto him, I wrench away from his kiss. “Is this dinner?”

“No.” His voice is raspy and there’s an extra beat where he considers this.

Say yes, hot stuff.

“No,” he reaffirms, and I’m wondering if a good, hard slap across the face will shake him out of this frigging Prince Valor mode.

“Fine,” I say, slouching against his chest. “Then your dinner better be out of this fucking world because I’m tired of you getting me all worked up and then dousing the flames.”

“Then we’re even. I have to look at your naked legs all day long, crossing and uncrossing them at work. You have no idea what’s going through my mind when I see that, or when you talk to clients on the phone and you play with the top button of your shirt. Unbutton, button, unbutton, button. Jesus, I can’t believe Carson put us in the same office. I feel like he’s testing me.”

“Really?” I ask, laughing. “I didn’t realize I was exposing myself at work. You think Carson is testing you?”

“No, he wouldn’t do that.” Dylan’s mouth curves and he leans down for a warm peck on my cheek. “But sometimes I do catch glimpses of your bra and what’s underneath.”

“I’ll be more careful.”

“Don’t,” he says in a sexy, deep voice. “I’m enjoying it.”

“God. Stop it. I’m going to go change.” I charge through the front door. “And you better make something spectacular for all this sex talk you keep using. My head is spinning.”

I hear Dylan’s baritone laugh all the way up the stairs as I race off to my room for a reprieve.

Thirteen

Dylan

That was a close call. I was ready to drag her into the hallway caveman style and have at her in a quick and thankless fashion. Something she would find completely forgettable.

She comes back downstairs in a clingy, short, black t-shirt dress thing, something that shows me more leg and scoops down to expose some cleavage. Clever woman. She is barefoot with her long, dark hair flowing all over the place like an exotic gypsy.

I try to continue with cooking the meal, however she keeps dancing around, taunting me with the sexual tension we’ve built up to epic proportions.

“Would you set the table, please?” I ask with a tight voice, acutely aware that I’m thinking about my constrained dick that is begging for something else.

She starts humming as she twirls around the kitchen collecting utensils.

“Have a seat, Tinkerbell.” I place a salad and grilled mushroom sandwiches on the table.

“Yum,” she says, sitting down.

“I kind of miss steak,” I say out of the blue, not because I am thinking about steak but because she is so damn distracting.

“Like you miss sex?” She takes a bite of her sandwich and chews slowly, staring at me.

“Excuse me?” Of course I am thinking about sex.

“Lauren told me. You’ve chilled on women, or rather sex, drinking, and socializing all together. I bet you miss sex.”

“You think?”

“Dylan, she told me everything.”

“Huh. Right. Lauren.”

Lauren told her everything and she still wants to be here with me?

“Is that why you’re interested in me? It’s been awhile, and geographically speaking, I’m the nearest available female.”

I drop my sandwich and stare in disbelief.

“Does that seem plausible to you?” I am a little ticked off she would believe that. “You think that, with all this time we’ve spent together, I can’t tell the difference between someone I like being with and someone who I just want to screw?”

“Sorry. No, I don’t think that. I’m trying to get some confirmation of what this is for myself,” she replies.

Her tone is sincere, and I guess I have to be impressed that she doesn’t back down from my harsh question. Not many people would go there, most people are afraid of the truth.

“I thought I was doing it right for a change, taking it slow and not starting something with you based on sex as the opening act.”

“Dylan,” she takes my hand, “it is right. Do you think, if Cooper or someone else offered me a place to stay, that I would be so quick to move in with them? You don’t have to try so hard to win me over. You’ve won. I’m here because of you. I haven’t been shy about that.”

“Then let’s have dessert now,” I respond.

She looks confused. “Oh, sure. What did you make?”

“Nothing. I’m tired of holding out.”

I quickly stand up and grab her waist then easily hoist her over my shoulder. She lets out a sharp gasp and then a laugh as I carry her in a fireman hold through the living room. As I make it to the staircase, someone begins pounding on the front door.

“Oh, no,” Emma says, hanging from my shoulder. She gives my ass a slap.

“This is unreal,” I bark. “Why do I think this has something to do with you?”

I set Emma down and she brushes her hair back with her fingers. “I’ll get the door,” she says in disappointment.

“No. I’ll handle this. It could be your stalker,” I say angrily.

I swing the door open to find a huge guy about to bash his meaty fist on the door again. We quickly scrutinize each other. He is my height but built like a tank. Judging from how he fills out his suit and the earpiece he is wearing, I would say he’s someone who knows Emma. He looks like a secret service agent and ex-military bodyguard all rolled into one. He is at least thirty with a buzzed scalp—practically bald—and underneath his shirt collar and sleeves, he has a myriad of tats; symbols, foreign words and images I can’t make out.

“Sean!” Emma squeals and pushes past me to hug the guy.

“Hey, girl,” he says, grinning as he sweeps her off her feet into a big bear hug.

Fuck.
This is
so
not going well for me. I am falling for this woman, and I was about to take her upstairs to bed before this tattooed refrigerator showed up at the door.

“Sean, this is Dylan,” Emma states, pulling him inside and closing the door.

“Hello, Dylan,” Sean replies with a slight Irish accent. He gives me a bone-crunching handshake. “Good name. I have a younger brother named Dylan.”

I nod apprehensively. His timing sucks—I am not in the mood to entertain a strange guy, especially one that Emma adores.

“How did you find me?” Emma asks. “My parents haven’t even been out here.”

Sean tilts his head and chuckles. “Em, come on.”

“Yeah, right,” she mutters. “No one can ever really disappear.”

I feel like they are part of a secret club, and I am completely in the dark. “What’s going on?” I ask Sean.

“Come and sit down, Sean,” Emma demands, leading him into the living room.

He and Emma sit on the couch while I stand against the wall, anxious and too frustrated to sit.

“Your dad sent me to check on you. He’s worried about you with all this crap Robert is getting into. I heard about him showing up here.” Sean sighs and leans back, crossing his legs and spreading his arms across the back of the couch.

“I can handle Robert. There’s nothing new there,” Emma responds.

I ignore her remark and direct my attention to Sean. Fathers don’t send guys like this to check on their daughters unless something is very wrong, and I suspect this guy is carrying at least one weapon under his expensive suit.

“What’s going on with Robert? What have you heard and why does he keep contacting Emma? He even called her on one of the prepaid phones she carries. How did he get that number?” I ask Sean sternly.

He sighs. “Robert can get pretty much any number or address he wants. There’s always someone who will tip him off. And Emma knows enough people that could easily inform Robert, even if it’s unintentional. Robert has his ways.”

“What does he want with Emma?” I push. I’m sick of these roundabout excuses that have no definitive answers.

“Old ties are hard to break,” Sean says while looking sympathetically at Emma.

“I’ve put him in my past,” Emma tells Sean.

“I know that, but Robert doesn’t think so, and when a man is down or running scared, he tends to turn to those who make him feel safe,” Sean responds. “Vinnie is having problems with the organization and the Feds. Some think he may turn on his own son. Unthinkable that a parent would do that, but Vinnie’s desperate, and it’s ugly.”

“I can’t believe this,” Emma says sadly.

A moment ago she was happy and ready to go to bed with me. Now—with this turn of events where she pouts over a former flame—it’s infuriating; this conversation is beginning to turn my stomach. I want to take Emma in my arms and make her feel safe, yet I have no clue what they are talking about, and this Sean guy has the upper hand on me—a history with Emma and her trust.

“Who is Vinnie? And why do we give a shit about Robert?” I am getting angrier.

“Are we good to talk here?” Sean asks Emma.

“Yes, Dylan is my… my roommate and we work together. His brother hired me and knows a little about my situation. He spoke to Dad before hiring me because every girl loves having a prospective employer call her daddy for a reference.” She snorts.

Sean chuckles and then turns to me. His gaze lets me know that he’s aware I’m the roommate that wants to screw his beloved Emma. He looks at Emma’s skimpy dress, and realizing she is revealing a little too much, she throws one of her knitted blankets across her lap.

“I suppose you should know who I am,” Sean says to me. “I was hired by Emma’s father when Emma had just became a teen. His auto business was growing and he was getting shaken down for more money, and he began to worry about Emma’s welfare. And, well, because she was taking an interest in Robert and his friends and spending a lot of time around those kids. I’m a hired gun—protection for Emma’s family. I’m one of the good guys.” He smiles.

“Oh, great. So you
are
carrying a gun.”

This is so far out of my realm in the furniture business. I am pretty sure Carson already knows about this guy, too, which means Sean knows about me. Wonder what he thinks about a former resident of Willow Haven Treatment Center hanging out with his precious, little Emma.

“Everyone carries.” Sean regards me carefully, trying to sum up where I fit in with Emma and if I am trustworthy.

“I don’t.” Emma adds quietly, “Not anymore.”

I scoff and take a moment to study the woman who moments ago reminded me of a gypsy Tinkerbell.

“Jesus. What about Robert?” I ask Sean. “When he came around here… I can assume he’s packing, too?”

“Always,” Sean confirms.

“Robert is old fashioned, but he likes to carry a Glock,” Emma says, as if this is helpful.

“What the fuck does that mean ‘he’s old fashioned’?”

“He would never shoot someone,” she adds quickly.

“Em,” Sean says wearily.

“Then why does he carry it?” I glare at Emma.

“He likes to carry something longer than his penis?” she jokes, looking at Sean with a gleam in her eye.

“Jaysus,” Sean chuckles.

“You’re scaring me.” I point my finger at Emma.

Sean laughs more loudly and then I crack a tentative smile. It’s all too weird—I have to smile. Besides, I am majorly hung up on her, and I want to be with her all the time, especially if she needs protection.

She shrugs apologetically with a look of embarrassment in her beautiful eyes that practically knocks the wind out of me.

“I’m not sure I find this humorous for the right reason,” I state. “Seriously, Emma, you’re all kinds of crazy.”

“Doesn’t that make you feel normal?” She smiles and Sean catches the look between Emma and me. I don’t want to have a personal conversation in front of him.

“So, who is Vinnie?” I get us back on topic.

“Vincent Marchetto is Robert’s father,” Sean explains. “He’s running the show. Without going into all their business dealings, he’s been snagged on a few big Fed sweeps. Some of his guys got caught in a major drug bust, and some of it can be traced back to Robert.”

“What? Robert doesn’t work for his father. He joined that big deal law firm. He was never in the family business,” Emma pleads Robert’s case with too much love as far as I’m concerned.

“Em.” Sean shakes his head.

“What did you think Robert was involved in—cupcakes?” I say too harshly to her.

“Robert was let go from the firm, Em. He’s on the run because even he thinks his dad is going to make him the scapegoat.”