Freedom (23 page)

“I’m going to bed alone. I don’t care what you do. Now move your goddamn leg and let me in
my
room.”

“Ah, wait a minute. I thought we were grownups, and for the last couple of weeks, these two grownups have been sharing a bed and everything else. So you don’t get to go storming off like a little girl who didn’t get a pony for her birthday, princess.”

Fuck
. I called her princess. I should have known better.

Before I can retract the comment, her knee meets my ribs in some type of crazy maneuver. This woman is like a fucking ninja. I bowl over with the breath knocked out of me and try to catch her leg at the same time. She’s too fast, though. She’s already spun herself away and brings her elbow down on my shoulder, dropping me to the floor. I sense her jumping over my back to get into her room, and I instinctively reach a hand back and blindly grab her ankle. As she falls to the floor with me, I block her knee before it can ram into my rock hard dick.

Yeah, rough housing with her is giving me a major boner. This isn’t how couples fight; this is more like how kids wrestle to get toys away from each other, and her little angry grunts and flailing limbs are turning me on.

I have more than one hundred pounds on her and am able to quickly heave my crawling body on top of her again, pinning all of her moving parts. I bury my head in her neck and go for that sensitive spot that usually makes her go boneless. I kiss her neck then run my tongue up to her ear and suck on her earlobe. This is all out war.

I grind my erection into her, getting some friction going with my chest rubbing against her hard nipples. If I can get her back to the pleasure dome, I can get her to come to her senses about me. Yes, I am resorting to stupid-guy philosophy.

She acquiesces to the ear lobe tactic for about thirty seconds and then the ninja takes over again.

“Dylan, stop it!” she yells.

I crash my mouth into hers, forcing my tongue in. She kisses me back and presses into me, and just when I think I have won her over, she pulls her head away.

“No.” She’s very clear, and I am not going to be the schmuck that ignores that order.

As I sit back on my knees, she rolls out from underneath me, and when she wipes her mouth, I want back at those pouty lips. I want to wrap my body around her and tell her that not only does her name run through my head all day long like an old-fashioned, stock exchange ticker tape, my insides also ache for her in a way that I have never felt with anyone.

She is so beautiful, and she fights like a warrior. Who wouldn’t love that? I want to tell her that I am in love with her, that it is more than sex—it is an all-out soul-crushing love. I have doubted myself when it comes to relationships with women because I haven’t ever truly experienced falling in love. I didn’t know what I was looking for until Emma slammed into my heart. Thank God she doesn’t carry brass knuckles.

“You’re kicking me out of the bedroom? Seconds ago, you were kissing me.” I hear myself
—
too much arrogance. I hope she will at least let me sleep in the same bed with her. We don’t have to have sex. I just want to be with her.

“You have your own room.” She stands up and waits for me to leave.

I am still on my knees like I am about to beg for her to take me back this instant. My pride won’t let me stoop to that level, however. No one should have to beg for love. It is plain wrong to put yourself out there like a hopeless fool.

I stand up and tower over her, resisting the urge to push her back on the bed and start the wrestling match all over again. Instead, I back out of the room, watching her eyes ignite with a renewed indignation. I am desperate to come up with a new ploy. Plus, now I know not to turn my back on the fiery, little ninja.

“I’ll go to my room, Emma, if that’s what you really want. But don’t get any ideas that you are moving out of this house. We have two things going on here. Number one, us. Number two, getting rid of your ex.”

For a split second, I think I see her doe-like eyes soften. Nope. I am wrong. A cold, glassy reserve takes over her dark eyes when I back completely into the hallway.

“And don’t you get any ideas that
us
,” she says with air quotes, “is anything more than convenience.”

With that declaration, she slams the door in my face.

Unfortunately, there is nothing convenient about this. I still have a major boner for her, so I walk uncomfortably back to my bedroom where I lie in bed and think of how my actions that have happened before I met Emma are screwing up the good thing I’ve got going here.

***

It’s a warm, spring morning, but the deep freeze begins the minute Emma and I meet at the breakfast table. I am ready for our trip into the city, wearing one of my best suits
—
a designer number Carson made me invest in. I think I clean up pretty good, but she’s not taking the bait.

When I put toast, orange juice and cereal in front of her, she helps herself to everything without looking at me. At least she looks like she got as much sleep as I did. Zippo.

I sit down at the little table with her and my knees knock hers under the table. She still won’t look at me.

“I’m going for a run with Carson when we get to the office, but you’ll have people around, so I won’t worry about Rocky showing up.”

“His name is Robert,” she retorts.

Good, she’s talking to me. I’ll take whatever crumbs she will throw my way. I can work with this and figure out how to bring her back from the dark clutches of this twisted ideology where innocent men
—
being me
—
get lumped in with pond scum.

“And then we can go over the Mercer presentation with Carson.”

No response. She’s eating her buttery toast as if it is the most pleasurable experience she has ever had in this house.

I am competing with the fucking toast.

“So, it’ll be you, me and Carson at the office. Then you and me, working with the Mercer group. Staying in the city for a couple of days. Hotel. You. Me.” I am running out of enticing words.

She shoots me a look. “There are two rooms, Dylan. Daisy booked them weeks ago. We won’t have any boundary issues about beds. And I’m going to drive myself in to work today.”

“Fine. Then I’ll follow you on the bike,” I add confidently. “And you and I can go over our own notes on Mercer before we leave for New York. Carson offered us his car to take in to the city later.”

“I don’t need to go over anything. I already know what I’m presenting to Mercer. Carson has given me carte blanche on this. I can handle my own presentation, you stick to yours.”

“Christ, Emma. We’re supposed to be a team at work. Don’t carry over your irrational grudge about me and Jess to the office.”

She looks at me calmly. “I’m not. I’m not about to jeopardize my job or hurt the company. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Right, I forgot your talents in the wholesale world of automotive goods, and that you’re a
people person
!”

Never mimic a woman’s own words and throw them back in her face, and never use sarcasm to win an argument. I should just wear a sign that says
Punch Me!
My plan all morning has been to work up to a kiss to smooth things over. At the rate I’m going, I will be lucky to get a handshake from Miss Keller at our next business meeting.

Emma doesn’t let my comment ruffle her, though. Even with lack of sleep, she is very composed and poised. Her hair is twisted in some kind of immaculate bun, her black suit and white blouse look perfect on her, and she is wearing tall, black heels. And her perfume makes me want to sink my face in her neck again.

She puts her laptop in her satchel and rolls out her little suitcase from under the table.

“I’m sorry I said that. It was rude,” I say, hoping she will give me a forgiving look. Nope.

“It’s fine.” She rifles through her purse for her keys.

“No, it isn’t fine, Emma. We had an argument, and you’re still pissed at me. Tell me how to fix it. What do I have to do to make this better?”

“What’s done is done. Let’s make the best of this meeting. It’s important, so let’s focus on that, okay?”

“That’s it? We’re business colleagues, and we’re going to erase everything that’s happened between us?”

“I’ve done it before,” she says matter-of-factly. “I can do it again.”

“Huh.” I study her blank expression and consider she may be more fragile than I thought, or she’s cunning. “Okay, well, can I at least put my suitcase in your trunk and then we’ll switch everything over to Carson’s car at work?”

“Of course,” she replies.

I follow her outside as she wheels her suitcase with quick, little steps in her heels. At the porch, she is startled when I grab her suitcase and carry it down to her car. She navigates the stairs and rough terrain carefully, meeting me at the trunk.

My mind is scheming, looking around at what I can do to slow her down so I can have a moment with her. She pops the trunk and I put our bags inside. Then she slams the trunk closed without another look at me and turns to walk to the driver’s side.

I react without thinking any plan through; all I know is that I want to kiss her. She has her fingers on the door handle, so I grab her free hand and pull her towards me. Her heels cause her to lose her balance on the rocky dirt driveway and she stumbles into my chest. With one arm wrapped around her back, I cup her face and bring her in for a quick kiss before she can protest. It doesn’t take much effort to part her clenched mouth and force my tongue inside. I keep her body pressed to me as my mouth firmly locks onto her soft lips and I taste her.

Her initial reaction is a soft squeal and then she lets me take over. She is not exactly joining in, however she is definitely letting me devour her mouth. When I move down to her neck that smells like a place I could get lost in forever, I know I want more. This is the test. Can my lips and tongue run over her soft, smooth skin and make her feel good, or am I going to push the limits and see how far I can go?

While her fingers slide under my suit jacket and graze my chest down to my waist, her other hand runs lightly across my scalp, sending a jolt down my spine and signaling the crew below to go to full mast. I am seconds away from pushing her skirt up and nailing her against the car, not that she would let me take it that far. I don’t want to find out.

That is when I stop. That is when I know I have this under control, and that, if I am going to kiss her or do anything else I am fantasizing about, I want her to reciprocate.

“Good.” I remove her from my embrace. “That’s a good way to start the day, right? And you didn’t have to karate chop me or anything.”

“You have to stop doing that.” She adjusts the collar on her shirt. “You can’t kiss me whenever you feel like it.”

“Actually, I can. Might not make it right, but it wins every time.”

Emma glares at me.

“But you’re right. I shouldn’t kiss you unless you want me to. And from all your moaning and your groping hands, I guess you’re not interested.” With that parting shot, I put on my helmet and climb on my bike.

After Emma scowls at me and gets in her car, I follow her to work, grinning every time I catch her looking at me in the rear view mirror.

Twenty

Emma

Thinking about him has me in angry knots. Lusty, angry knots. That was one whopper of a kiss and he knows it. Last night, I had the upper hand by shutting him out and making him go to his own bed. He deserved it. I am not playing second fiddle to someone he claims never to have been in love with, especially with his absurd excuse of never being in love and not remembering women’s names.

First, I spend years in love with a guy who can’t forget me, and now I am getting swept up by a guy who has the opposite problem. Maybe I am being too hard on Dylan and his bipolar history has left him with a bit of a bullshit memory fog, or maybe he really was never in love before, so he doesn’t have any stories of past crushes to share.

Honestly, how is it possible for him to live twenty-four years and not fall in love hard at least once? Not have his heart broken and mangled into a hot mess of despair like the rest of us? Of course, there was his little love, Anya, his seventh grade infatuation. Perhaps that is all there is for guys like Dylan. They remember the quiet beauty that disappears before anything happens and then they hold a torch for them forever.

I don’t know if I can handle another guy with extreme issues. I have paid my dues, yet I seem to be good at finding the one guy in the tri-state area who can cause the most problems, and I jump in and fall for him until I am in so deep I don’t know how to get out. First Robert and now Dylan.

It is probably not fair that Dylan is being subjected to my fears about everything that went wrong with Robert, however it goes both ways. I am getting a boatload of unclaimed baggage by getting involved with Dylan. I can pretend all I want about being understanding with regards to his mental health issues, but frankly, I am clueless. Everything I know is based on observations of friends and acquaintances. Some may have shown signs of emotional distress, but I have no formal experience with what Dylan has gone through.

I know plenty of people I think could use professional help, however it’s not something that would ever be acknowledged or discussed out loud. I wasn’t raised that way; my friends and family would never bring this topic up. Lauren and Carson and others in this town have a different standard of helping those they love, while my father would hand out guns and tell you to watch your back. That sounds rather humorous and unloving because it is. It is also my reality.

I was raised in an uncommon household. I took classes in proper gun training, starting with a basic .22 rifle at age ten and then moved up to semiautomatic handguns. Instead of ballet, there were years of martial arts classes in various forms. We’re not a violent family; we’re fearful and we’ve spent too many years living cautiously to the point of being paranoid.

Self-preservation can be a strange thing and comes about in some of most unusual ways. Living like that—loving Robert and expecting change—has just about done me in emotionally. Moving to Hera and meeting Dylan has felt like a rebirth. That’s what this all comes down to. Dylan.