"Having a good time, bro?"
I look over my shoulder and see Linc standing there, holding his typical glass of Scotch. I give him a nod and hold my beer up in acknowledgment.
"Well, it's going to get better tonight. See those two women over there..."
I look to where he's pointing. Sitting on the couch are two ladies that are ferociously gorgeous. They're both wearing tight, short dresses and sky-high heels. I can tell at a glance that both have put copious amounts of money into breast enhancement.
Who says my observational skills in the Corps were wasted?
"Nice," I reply. And I mean it.
"They're for us...tonight ...after everyone leaves."
Of course, they are. Linc always looks out for me in that department. He thinks I have no clue how to talk to a woman or get one in bed. He takes my silence and unwillingness to engage people as an inability to get laid. I hate to break it to him, but it's not that hard. There are plenty of women out there who appreciate straight, simple talk without the need to spout poetry at them.
But I don't want to hurt his feelings so I just smile at him and say, "You rock, man."
Linc ambles off and heads straight over to the two women. He plops himself on the couch in between them and I watch as they fawn all over my little brother.
What a player!
I glance around and notice the front door open. More partygoers coming in. I recognize one of Linc's good friends, Ryan Burnham walking in, along with his wife, Danny. Now that is one cool chick. Linc told me she was a graduate of Julliard but she rocks some awesome dyed hair and face metal. So not what I picture a hockey wife and classical musician to look like.
And walking in just behind Danny...
My breath freezes and my bottle of beer stops halfway to my mouth. It's Emily. The girl that ran me over last week.
What the hell is she doing here?
As mad as I was at her last week, I've spent the last several days remembering how beautiful she is. And I see my memory serves me still. Her long hair shimmers like melted dark chocolate and her eyes are the lightest, warmest brown I've ever seen. They look like amber swirled with copper.
The whole incident with Emily was baffling to me. I was fucking pissed that she ran my motorcycle over and part of me wanted to strangle her. And yet, by the end of our meeting, she had convinced me to let her make payments for the damages. I still can't fathom why I agreed to it. Nix Caldwell doesn't cut anyone slack.
I watch in disbelief as Harley barrels through the crowd and jumps up on her. I start to move forward to pull him off but she just grabs him in a big hug and buries her face in his neck.
I'm amazed. Stupefied. Bumfuzzled.
I've never seen a woman react to Harley that way. Usually, his hundred pounds of brute force tends to scare most people.
Emily gently lowers his front paws to the ground and continues to rub his ears as people come up to her to say hello. She clearly knows a lot of the hockey players here and I'm wondering if she's one of those women that are looking to get laid tonight or walk off with a potential husband.
The thought does not set well with me.
And then I see Ryan Burnham turn to her and whisper in her ear. She punches him in the shoulder over whatever he said, and it hits me like a ton of bricks. That's Ryan's sister. Duh...Emily Burnham. Watching them stand next to each other, there is no mistaking the family resemblance.
She must have been here at Linc's place when she hit me that day. He never said a word to me and he usually tells me about all of his sexual exploitations. Maybe Emily is special to him and he's keeping her under wraps.
As I watch her though, she looks over at Linc, who is still wrapped up in the double-trouble beauties. She just shakes her head with a fond smirk. She's clearly not upset that he is with other women. No...she had to have been here for something else that day. Not that I care nor is it any of my business.
So I just sit back...and I watch her.
***
I never leave my spot, leaning up against the wall. I finish my beer but I don't make a move to get another one. I'm fascinated watching Emily work the crowd. Ryan brings her a glass of red wine and a bottled water for Danny. Emily then proceeds to mingle around. She clearly knows most of the guys, and even makes small talk with some of the girls. I notice she laughs a lot and it's hard not to notice the way her eyes light up when she finds something amusing.
Probably twenty minutes of her laughing and joking with other people goes by, and then the inevitable happens. She glances my way and locks eyes with me. Instantly, the gregarious smile on her face melts and she actually looks disappointed to see me there.
Can't say as I blame her. I was a real prick to her the last time we met.
Oh, well. It's no skin off my back. That's who I am.
I turn away and walk into the kitchen to get another beer. After opening it up, I take a long swallow and lean back against the counter top. No one is in here and I'm enjoying the blessed quiet. It's my solace. I look down to study the Frye boots I'm wearing. They're getting pretty scuffed, and there's a nice gouge on the heel of the left one, compliments of Miss Emily Burnham running me over.
"Hey, Nix."
My head snaps up and Emily is standing there.
Up close, she's even more beautiful that I remembered. She's wearing a dress but it's not the hooker wear that most of the women in the living room have painted on their bodies. It's butter yellow, fitting nicely across her breasts--which are not surgically enhanced, by the way--and flows softly around her legs. The thin straps showcase creamy, sun kissed skin. The dress comes demurely to her knees and she has on a pair of gold sandals I notice after dragging my gaze down her shapely calves.
Emily is tall for a girl. She must be close to five-foot-six, as the top of her head comes about to my shoulder. It's the perfect height to pull a woman in close and press up against her body.
I shake my head. What the hell am I thinking?
I fuck women and leave them. I don't take stock of the beauty of their clothing, or how soft their skin looks.
I look her in the eyes and I make myself be me. "Well if it isn't the lady that likes to run people over."
She blushes and averts her eyes from my gaze. I watch as she clasps her hands in front of her then grabs her lower lip between her teeth. The move is innocent and wrings of nervousness, but damn if it doesn't make me want to take her lip in between my own teeth and bite down softly.
I wait for her to say something. Finally, she looks back at me and says, "I have to talk to you about the money I owe you."
I raise my eyebrows at her. "What's to talk about? You owe me the money and you have about three more weeks to make the first payment."
"Yeah, about my ability to get the money...my source has sort of dried up."
"What do you mean?" I ask. I really shouldn't care about it but I find I want to talk to her more. So this is the perfect excuse.
"I...well...um..." She's stammering with pink cheeks and I find it adorable. Normally, that would be a major turn off for me.
"Spit it out, Emily."
She takes a deep breath and plunges forward. "Okay, here's the deal. I'm a trust fund baby. No surprise there, right? Well, I'm allowed to take out two thousand dollars a month until I turn twenty-one, which is in ten months. When I turn twenty-one, I get full control of the trust. I had planned to just turn over that two thousand every month to you. Unfortunately, I've managed to piss my parents off completely and they cut me off."
Emily blows out a long, slow breath and I see that it is painful for her to admit this to me. But I'm not moved. "You know this isn't my problem. Why don't you just give me your insurance information?"
"No," she exclaims. "I can't."
"Oh, that's right. Mommy and daddy will take away your Beemer, right?" I can't help the sneer in my voice.
She shakes her head. "It's worse than that. If you file an insurance claim, the police will have to do a report. And if
I have another accident, I'll lose my license."
I watch her for a minute and she's chewing on that lip again. It makes me want to suck it into my mouth and see how she tastes. I start to feel movement below and holy hell, I'm getting a fucking hard on just by looking at her lower lip. I realize, all of a sudden, that I want this girl.
And I want her bad.
But there is no way. She is clearly not a fuck 'em and leave 'em kind of girl. She's the kind you bring home to meet your parents. And I've never...ever...had a woman I've wanted to do that with. I need to clear my head of Emily Burnham.
She is completely off limits.
I need to tell her to get the fucking money or else.
Instead, I say, "How would you like to work off the debt?"
I have no clue where that came from but the words are out and I can't take them back. And I'm not sure I want to.
She looks at me, tilting her head to the side in curiosity. "What do you mean?"
"It turns out that I'm a decent welder and metal artist, but I suck at bookkeeping. I have a ton of administrative work that I need help with. How about you give me twenty hours a week and I'll let you work off the amount you owe me."
I watch as she contemplates my offer. I have to clench my fists not to reach out and pull her lower lip out from between her teeth.
Finally, her lip pops free and she says, "That will take me months to work that kind of debt off."
"A few things you'll learn about me, Emily. I'm not a nice man but I can be a patient one in the right situation."
Her eyebrows close in together as she considers my offer and she licks her lower lips to wet them. I have to bite my own tongue so I don't groan in response.
"Okay," she says. "But it has to work around my class schedule. I can commit Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons to you, and Saturdays, too if you want. Oh, and I figured out already that you're not a nice man."
Why those words cut me, I have no idea because they are utterly true. I'm a world-class prick, particularly to the female persuasion. And I've never thought I should be anything different.
"Deal," I say.
I hold my hand out to shake on it and she steps forward to accept. Her hand is warm and delicate but her grip is firm. She's close enough I can smell her and it's a light scent...jasmine, I think. It suits her well.
Releasing her hand, I walk past her. "See you on, Monday."
I reach into the fridge to grab one more beer and I head down the hall to my bedroom. I have no more interest in the party, and I certainly have no interest in hooking up with Linc's women.
The comfort of solitude is what I crave right now.
CHAPTER 6
Emily
I'm driving to Hoboken for my first day of work for Nix. He texted me his address this morning. That's it...just his address. There was no "Hey. Here's my address. See you later." The man is definitely short on words along with manners and civility.
I'm nervous, no doubt. There is something about Nix that sets me on edge. When I first laid eyes on him at Linc's party this past weekend, I didn't actually connect who he was. I mean, I recognized him as a gorgeous man, and a jolt of pure energy coursed through my body when I made contact with his gaze. I felt instant, sizzling chemistry with this person. And that lasted for two seconds before my brain caught up to my body, and I realized it was Nix.
Our conversation was frustrating. I hated telling him that I couldn't come up with the money. But it was nowhere near as bad as how I lost access to the money.
I shudder even thinking about the conversation I had with my mother. She called me last Friday, furious. Apparently, Columbia's School of Journalism sent me a letter confirming my major declaration and promptly mailed it to my home address on file. Mother minced no words when I answered the phone.
"Emily...how could you declare journalism as your major? We talked about this and you are supposed to go pre-med or pre-law."
I took a calming breath and counted to five before I answered. "Mother...I don't want to be a lawyer or a doctor. I want to be a sports journalist."
I heard my mother's sharp intake of breath and you would have thought I just told her I murdered someone. She responded to me in the only way that Celia Burnham knows how...with brute force. "That is unacceptable, young lady. You are to go first thing Monday morning and change your major."
There was no amount of oxygen on the planet that would give me a calming breath right then. I gritted my teeth but tried to remain respectful. "I'm sorry, Mother, but I won't do that. I want to pursue a career of my choosing, not yours."
I heard my mother sigh, and I knew she was changing tactics on me. She practically whined to me when she said, "Emily...you know how crucial it is at this time that our family appear as powerful as possible. A daughter in medical school or law school will be a major boost to your father's campaign."
I felt a screeching headache coming on and rubbed gingerly at my temple. "Mother...please don't make me feel guilty about this. There is nothing wrong with a journalism major. It's completely respectable."
And then my mother changed tactics again. This time she got my attention. "I've had enough, Emily. If you do not change your major back, your trust fund is going to be suspended."
I was so tired of her holding that trust fund over me. I wish sometimes it never existed. If she thought that would get me to back down, she had another thing coming. In fact, she had made me so mad that I almost told her I was going to drop out of school and become a topless dancer. Instead, I said in a firm voice, "So be it, Mother. Good bye."
I hung up the phone, had a brief moment of glory over standing up to my mother then I had a major panic attack. Two problems came immediately to mind. First, how was I going to pay Nix the money for his motorcycle, and second, how was I going to pay tuition next semester? This semester is no problem. My parents had paid that in full already, along with the lease on my apartment. I can get a part time job for incidental expenses. I mean, I've never had to work a job in my life, but how hard could it be really? But there was no way I could stay at Columbia next semester without my parents' help and no way to access my trust fund until the following summer.
I hated to do it, but I got in the car and drove over to Ryan's. He wasn't there but Danny sat down and listened to me. After I poured out the story of my mother's phone call, she didn't hesitate. "Emily...you have nothing to worry about. Ryan and I will pay for your tuition next semester if your parents don't come around."
I was so relieved, I jumped up and hugged her hard. She returned it with vigor.
I didn't tell her, though, about owing the money to Nix because she and Ryan didn't need to be burdened with my own stupidity. I was still stewing about that when we went to the party at Linc's condo, and so on top of the shock of seeing him standing there I now realized I had to confront the dilemma that faced me. And since they say that honesty is the best policy, I figured I should spill my guts to him.
I have to say, based upon my limited experience with him when I flattened his motorcycle, Nix actually took my inability to pay him much better than I thought he would. I could tell he wasn't happy about it but his offer to let me work the debt off was the best I could hope for.
And so, here I am, driving to Nix's house in Hoboken. I've been wondering all weekend why Nix was at that party. I never got a chance to ask him because after we struck our deal, he didn't say another word and just walked away. I didn't see him again for the rest of the night. I would have to remember to ask him why he was there.
I pull into the driveway of the address Nix had sent me. It's a two-story home in a middle class, slightly rundown neighborhood. Large oak trees line the streets and a few kids are riding bicycles on the sidewalk. I pull in behind a dilapidated Ford Bronco that has chunks of the body rusted completely through. Guilt courses through me as I realize this is what Nix is probably driving since I killed his motorcycle.
I knock on the front door but no one answers. I walk around the ba
ck and see a large garage and workshop at the rear of the yard. I head that way.
When I get to the workshop, I open the door and walk in. It's spacious and well organized. There's a large worktable with various pieces of equipment all around. I wonder what he does with all this stuff. I notice a desk sits against one wall and it's covered with mounds of paper. My new job, I assume.
Nix isn't in here but there is a door at the back of the shop so I decide to check in there. I open the door and get a brief glimpse of a white, hot light and sparks shooting everywhere.
"Get the fuck out, Emily!"
I jump about a foot in the air when Nix yells at me and stumble backward through the door. He's stalking through it toward me, even as I'm still stumbling backward. He's furious and I have no clue what I've done.
"Don't ever go in that room when the door is closed. That means I'm welding and you could burn your eyes if you look at that light," he bellows.
My blood is zinging through my body. He scared the crap out of me when he yelled and now he is just pissing me off. "Don't yell at me like that. I had no clue that was dangerous. Maybe if you posted a sign on the door, I wouldn't have gone in there."
He stares at me for several long seconds then seems to deflate. "I'm sorry," he grumbles at me. "I was just worried you'd get hurt."
This appeases me somewhat and I can feel my heart rate slowing. Nix turns his back to me and walks over to a counter mounted on the wall. He removes a pair of gloves and I take the opportunity to check him out. He's wearing a pair of well-faded jeans that look soft as sin. They hang right at his hipbones, held up by a thick, black belt lined with metal studs. He's wearing an olive green t-shirt that is tightly molded to his chest. He reaches up to put his gloves on a shelf and his shirt creeps up just a bit.
Nice!
Black biker boots complete his outfit and while it's not the attire I normally see on guys I associate with, I have to say it looks damn fine on him. It speaks to who he is...casual and rough. And sexy.