Ema sat in the middle row of the minivan Uber with Mike. His equipment was balanced on his lap. He hated to be too far from his precious camera and refused to put them in the back of the van. They’d been partners for two years now, and she liked keeping the overhead and the fuss at a minimum with just Mike, his camera, and her doing all the frontline work. When VH1 had picked them up, they’d offered a larger camera crew, but Ema and Mike were used to their setup and liked it. They did turn over all the editing and production to the VH1 staff, which had relieved a lot of work and stress, but the two of them were able to review and make any adjustments to the show before it went live each week. It was a quick turnaround, something Ema hoped wouldn’t change if they secured a spot with ABC. The celebrities on her show liked the immediacy of the program, and the public seemed to eat it up also.

Her phone rang and she touched the screen to answer. “Hello.”

“Ema, this is Claire, Knox Sherman’s agent.”

The woman wouldn’t have had to identify herself. Ema doubted she’d forget anything about Knox Sherman. “How are you, Claire?”

“Fabulous. You?”

“Hmm, it’s kind of up for debate—I’m driving to meet with Knox right now.”

“Yes, I know. I wanted to make sure you were feeling good about everything.”

“As good as I can be. Truthfully, I’m intimidated as all get out.”

Claire laughed.

“Thank you for getting him to allow my camera guy to come along.” Ema thought a date on camera with Knox would be much easier than being alone with him. He was intimidating and fascinating.

“No problem. I only had to break one of his arms and give him two black eyes.”

Ema laughed. She couldn’t imagine anyone, least of all the petite Claire, would have a chance to best Knox Sherman.

“He’s a good guy,” Claire said.

“Says you. I think he’s a beast,” Ema shot back.

“You’re not wrong, but he does have a few redeeming qualities.”

“Such as?”

“He loves his daughter and he’s fun to tease.”

Ema had seen a little trace of teasing in him, before she’d made the mistake of saying she wanted to stay at his house. She put a hand to her throat and prayed, Please, Lord, help me not say anything out of line tonight.

The Uber driver pulled up to the front of the restaurant. She waited for Mike to grab his equipment and turn everything on; then she sauntered in front of him. “I’m here. I’ll check in with you later tonight,” she told Claire.

“Good luck, my friend.” Claire hung up, and Ema thought she needed both a friend and the good-luck wishes.

Luckily, no one recognized her as she pushed through the glass door of the restaurant. She wasn’t anywhere close to Knox Sherman’s level of fame, but she had her share of fans, and those fans were as rewarding a part of her career as making friends with celebrities throughout the nation. Her father had played football in the mainland for college and two years in the NFL with the Denver Storm, but he’d missed the island life too much and returned home with her blonde mama, his haole bride, and Ema on the way. Ema loved her large Hawaiian family and she loved the island, but she knew she was destined for bigger things, and her years at UCLA, her exposure with the Miss America pageant, and the fulfillment her career brought her had proven she was right. She also had the most fabulous vacation spot in the world to go home and visit her family. Best of both worlds.

A cute teenage boy with obvious Latin heritage greeted her warmly. “Welcome to Los Tios, pretty lady. Two?” He noticed Mike lingering behind her and gave a nervous glance to his camera.

Ema smiled. “We’ve received permission from Fabiana to film in here.” Another thing to be grateful to Claire for.

“Okay.”

“And I’m meeting someone …” She lowered her voice. “Knox Sherman.”

The boy’s grin widened. “My man! He beat you here. Right this way.”

Ema followed behind the kid, liking the understated decorations. The restaurant had bright yellow walls with sombreros and blankets hanging on them. The red booths and black tables provided an attractive contrast.

Her heart beat faster and faster as she approached a booth clear in the back. They’d have enough privacy that Mike and the camera wouldn’t be annoying to anyone, but people could still crane their necks and see them. The camera would make that issue even worse. Everyone noticed the camera and wondered who was in front of it.

She couldn’t see Knox yet, and she wondered how he might receive her. Claire had claimed to break his arm and blacken his eyes to get him to agree to Mike coming along. She cast a glance back, pausing to smile and give the camera a thumbs-up, looking to the world like she was confident and excited to spend time with Knox. As if.

Mike was an expert at being unobtrusive. Sometimes Ema had to remind herself that the camera was there. She smiled brightly at him, though her gut was churning and she could hardly walk straight. Knox didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of him. Would he be cold and angry for the camera and make this a miserable night for both of them?

“Here we are,” the teenage boy announced, stepping out of the way to reveal Knox.

“Thank you, Antonio,” Knox said, nodding to the young man.

Antonio beamed, bumped fists with Knox, and strode back to his station. Ema had yet to close her mouth. The only thing keeping her from drooling was remembering that the camera was rolling. Knox Sherman had looked fabulous in his navy-blue tux, but for some reason the sight of him in a white V-neck T-shirt walloped the air clean out of her. Every rounded muscle in his chest, shoulders, and arms was highlighted and contrasted beautifully with his dark coloring. A tattoo on his right bicep drew her attention, and she wanted to trace her fingers over the image of a tattered flag.

He stood quickly, as if his mom had just told him to remember his manners, and offered his hand. “Miss Kahue. It’s great to see you again.”

Great to see her again? Was this the same man who had threatened to bodily throw her off his property and put a restraining order on her if he ever saw her again?

Ema swallowed and blurted, “I got the impression you never wanted to see me again.”

Knox’s eyebrows went up and a disbelieving laugh surfaced. He glanced at Mike, who was recording everything, and then back at Ema. There was a bit of a challenge in his eyes as he said, “Oh, I had no problem with seeing you again.” His rich brown gaze swept over her and he grinned. “I just had a problem with you—” He tilted his head toward the camera. “—seeing me.”

Ema shook her head. That made sense because he liked his privacy, but he acted like he actually wanted her around, just not the camera. Hmm. Interesting. She suddenly wished she could tell Mike to leave, but the producers were planning on footage of Knox Sherman for next week’s show and this might be all they had to work with. Their fans would not be thrilled. She had to turn on the charm and somehow talk him into at least letting her video parts of his home and ranch.

Knox gestured toward her side of the booth. Ema sank into the vinyl seat; it was softer than it looked. Knox sat across from her and took a drink of his water. There was a basket of chips and a bowl of salsa on the table. Ema sucked a long swallow from her own glass of water. Knox didn’t say anything, just studied the menu. The air felt thick and stuffy. Ema resisted the urge to glance at Mike, but she was sure that even from ten feet away he could sense how awkward this date/interview was starting out. She wondered if she could get some footage from the auction last night. They hadn’t allowed Mike’s equipment inside, as only the Titans-approved cameras had been rolling, but maybe VH1 or Claire could pull some strings and get footage of her bidding on Knox. This date was feeling like a bust and it hadn’t even started.

A pretty, dark-haired twenty-something waitress hustled over. “Something to drink besides water?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” Ema said stiffly.

Knox shook his head.

“You need a minute?” the waitress asked.

Knox looked pointedly at Ema. “No,” she said. “I’ll have the beef chimichangas.”

“Good choice.” The girl smiled at her. “Black or refried beans?”

“Black, please, and a side of guacamole.”

“You got it. Knox?”

It shouldn’t have surprised her that everyone here knew Knox. This was a football hangout, but he didn’t seem friendly to anyone, whereas Ace Sanchez’s family was known for their friendliness.

“The tamales. Pork. Refried beans. Thanks.”

The young woman gathered their menus and hurried to the next table.

Ema drew in a slow breath, broke a chip in half, and dipped the smaller piece into the salsa. She savored the spice of the salsa and the warm saltiness of the chip.

Knox followed her example but ate the entire chip and a huge scoop of salsa in one swoop. “They make them fresh,” he muttered.

“Is that so?” Could this get any more awkward? She clenched the napkin in her lap and shifted her weight on the bench.

Knox’s gaze darted everywhere but at her. When he finally gave her a glance, Ema forced a smile. Her face felt tight and hot. She desperately tried to remember what questions she’d prepared to ask him. Usually the people she interviewed were delightful to get to know, except for the extremely cocky ones. Knox didn’t hit her as cocky, but he was closed off and not very friendly.

He glanced at the camera again, and Ema realized he didn’t like it at all. It was like a trigger to the Hulk that brought his anger to the surface.

“It’s okay, big guy,” Ema heard herself saying. “Sun’s getting real low.”

Knox whipped back to stare at her. He studied her for half a beat, and then he laughed. It was a great laugh, blasting over her with warmth and genuine humor. “The Hulk again?”

“You do kind of remind me of him.”

He smiled wryly and ate another chip dunked in salsa. “I guess it’s better than what Shelby’s mother says I am.”

“What’s that?” Ema blinked, realizing she was getting somewhere. Wow, he was opening up in the first minutes after one silly comment. Maybe she could salvage this night.

There had been a lot of rumors about his friend Tyler’s ex-wife, Paris, and the transfer of most of Tyler’s wealth to Knox. Paris had received a generous amount, had found a new boyfriend, and started jet-setting, plastering herself all over social media. There were rumors that Paris had made a play for Knox’s attention and failed, coming back a few times to try to worm her way into his and Shelby’s lives. Ema found herself hoping the failure was true.

“Like everyone else, she calls me the Beast,” Knox said. “Unfortunately, she wants to be Beauty, and that doesn’t fit at all. She’s more Wicked Witch of the West.”

Ema had eaten the other half of her chip and she sort of laughed at his witch comment, but the chip went down the wrong pipe and she started choking on it.

Knox moved so quickly, Ema hardly registered that he was across from her one second and next to her before she could even cough. He lifted one of her arms as she coughed the chip out. When her choking calmed, he released her arm and held the water glass to her lips. Ema took a sip of water because she had little choice, but she could barely swallow as she stared into his dark eyes—they were much too close for comfort. His crisp amber and bergamot scent washed over her. Dang, that Perry Ellis knew how to make a man irresistible. Knox’s scrumptious face didn’t hurt matters either.

“Better?” Knox whispered in a husky voice that sent tremors through her body. Her stomach tightened and she swayed closer to him.

“Yes.” Ema stared up at him.

Knox lowered the glass and reached up, wiping a drop of water off the corner of her lips. Ema sucked in a breath, warmth spreading through her at his simple touch. Knox’s fingers lingered on her lips, and he slowly, softly trailed his finger across her lower lip. Tingles erupted everywhere his fingertip touched. She leaned closer.

“It’s Knox Sherman!” someone said loudly from a few tables over.

Knox drew back quickly and stood, moving to his side of the booth. He looked at the person who’d said his name and gave them a forced smile and a chin bob before focusing on the chips and salsa and eating a dozen in rapid succession.

Ema stared at him. What had just happened? She’d wondered if this man could be gentle. Those sweet touches had proven he could be more than gentle; he could ignite a fire inside of her. She was suddenly very, very glad Mike was close by and videoing and they were in an open, unromantic restaurant. If they’d been alone and that person hadn’t interrupted, Ema would’ve shown him the passion bestowed upon her by her Polynesian and American-Italian ancestors.

She wrapped her fingers around her neck, willing herself to calm down. She was a professional. She could do this. “So, Knox, I’d love to hear more about your background.”

“Such as?”

“You mentioned Shelby’s mother, Paris Schwanaveldt, correct?”

His eyes narrowed and he stopped reaching for another chip. When he spoke, his voice was cold again. “I did make that mistake.”

“Does she have any involvement in your daughter’s life?”

“No,” he said shortly. “She deserted Shelby days after birth with fifty million dollars and my blessing. She’s tried to exploit Shelby three times now to up her social media exposure. If she dares show her face again, she knows what will happen to her.” He clamped his jaw as if frustrated he’d said as much as he had.

Fifty million dollars, deserting her own child, and trying to exploit the little girl? Ema didn’t blame Knox for his vehemence of the diva who made the Barrington sisters look like the sweet girls next door.

Ema leaned back into the cushioned booth. Paris was an awful subject, and Knox had obviously said more than he wanted to and was clamming up again. How was she going to get him to open up? Then she remembered what she’d sensed at the auction. He didn’t want anyone to know about Shelby. It was commendable that he was so protective of his daughter, and she thought he was smart. With his money, there could very well be kidnapping attempts or people trying to get closer to him or Shelby.

“When did you start playing football, Mr. Sherman?”

“It’s Knox,” he said.

Ema nodded, grateful he was at least relaxing a little bit.

“Fourth grade,” he said shortly.

“And were you always a defender?”

He actually smiled. Ema wrapped a hand around her throat, as affected by that smile as she had been the other night. She hoped Mike was able to capture it for their viewers.

“Yeah. My dad wanted me to be a running back because I was so big and quick. He thought I could plow through the defense with my size and speed. But I only wanted to be a defender. I just loved to hit people.”

Ema couldn’t help but laugh. “Spoken like a true boy. What did your sisters think of that? They’re both older, correct?” She already knew that, but wanted their audience to have a clear picture.

His grin grew, but then a wistful look washed over his face. She didn’t want to bring up the accident, and belatedly wondered if she should’ve brought up his sisters at all.

“Yeah, they’re older,” he finally said. She was relieved when he seemed to shake off the sadness and continued sharing. “They loved it when I found football. We lived in rural Montana, and I had nobody else to wrestle with and tackle but my sisters. You should’ve heard how they’d shriek when they saw me coming.” He shook his head, a smile playing at his lips. “My poor Mom. All three of them would count the minutes until Dad came home so I could wrestle with and practice tackles on him instead of them.”

“Men are strange creatures,” Ema said.

Knox chuckled. “Pot, let me introduce you to kettle.”

“What?” Ema couldn’t hold in a laugh at his strange analogy.

“A woman saying men are strange creatures? That’s like the pot calling the kettle black. Women are insanely strange creatures. All men want is good food, a clean house, and somebody to wrestle with. You’d be lots of fun to wrestle with.” Knox jolted back as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

Ema tried to play it off and winked and forced a giggle. “I’m sure I could wrestle you to the ground.”

He smiled too. “We’ll try that sometime.”

Ema liked that promise. Their food arrived, and she was grateful for the distraction. Knox Sherman was more than a puzzle. He was a Rubik’s Cube, and she’d always stunk at figuring those out.