CHAPTER SEVEN
Emma
Things went like a whirlwind after that trip to Daytona. From the time I called my dad, telling him the miraculous news two weeks ago, everything had gone so fast.
When I found myself at the Volunteer Speedway for my last race as an independent, I had to stop myself from breaking down in tears.
The official announcement of the sponsorship hadn’t been released, so I’d been instructed to keep it a secret, even from my crew. But after my trip to Daytona, the rumors had been swirling, and when the press asked me, I deflected, trying to follow the contract I’d signed to the letter. I was convinced I’d do something stupid and have the whole thing come crashing down.
And Brody didn’t help. He kept offering sage advice that felt more like a threat, causing my nerves to tighten even more. Things like, “Enjoy it but don’t take it for granted because you’ll only get this one shot. Things like this don’t happen every day, and probably won’t happen again in our lifetime.” He was such the fortune cookie these days, moping around introspectively, but I got it. All the things he wanted for his life were happening to me.
Jonesy thought it was just nerves. And it was partly that, but not about the race. It was like I couldn’t even breathe. Every time I turned around, we were fielding another call from someone wanting to firm up a detail or ask me my preferences on something. It only went to show me that I had a lot riding on my racing.
Brody looked my way but didn’t meet my eyes. “Good luck.”
It was so hard to be happy when he was so terribly sad. “Thanks.”
But everything about this felt scary and somewhat sad, like an ending rather than a beginning. Our last ride in the rickety camper that broke down at least once a month. Our last cheap, no-frills meal at a truck stop Dairy Queen and overnight stay at a fleabag motel. Truthfully, though I complained about those things, I’d loved every minute of it. From now on, I knew everything would be Locke Cage-style — pretty and top-of-the-line.
“No comment,” I said to a reporter as I stepped out of the camper. God, they were on me like fleas on a dog, huddling outside, ready to jump on me given a moment’s notice. I’d never had press like this before, so I knew they’d definitely gotten wind of the UnCaged agreement.
Jay and Dan Sanderson were getting my car, a white Camaro, ready for the race. Helmet stuffed under my arm, I walked toward it, feeling sentimental. It’d be retired from this type of racing after this, so I was mostly checking it out, but they leaned against it, watching me approach as if I was checking them out. “What do those reporters want with you?”
“They wanted to talk to you, actually,” I told them, petting my Camaro’s hood. “I said you didn’t do that. Told them you just grunt and make animal noises.”
Jay raked his eyes over me. “Going to come in dead last again?”
“Depends on how fast you are with the tires,” I said, ignoring them, wondering if it would look too desperate if I kissed my car.
“I think it depends more on the driver,” Jay said, elbowing his brother. “And women like you are only good for one thing. Why don’t you bring that tight ass over here and sit on my face where you belong?”
I smiled sweetly and gave him the finger. It was going to be so sweet to fire them after tonight and detail all the reasons they wouldn’t be going with me to Daytona. “Why don’t you sit on this?”
The other brother crossed his arms. “I don’t know why we’re working here so hard with no reward. You gotta give us something.”
I wiped imaginary dust off the car’s windshield. “How about if I just win this here race, and then I’ll give you the chance to eat your words?”
Jay scoffed. “You? Win? Please. Don’t make me laugh.”
I shrugged. If I did, I’d be the first woman ever to even place on this oval. Didn’t matter if I did or didn’t. I had the means now to hire anyone I wanted for my pit crew. Jonesy, Tom, and Albert were in, but the Sanderson brothers? Don’t let the door hit you in the ass. Still, I wanted to win this race, mostly because I wanted to prove to Locke that he’d made a solid investment.
And I wanted to win it for me.
I kissed my father and waved to Brody, who’d started coming to some of my races again, even though I saw the pain being there caused him. I wanted to win for him too. I wanted him to be proud, to know his own sacrifice wasn’t being wasted.
Please let me win.
But even as I asked the prayer, there wasn’t the desperation behind it that there was before. I had a sense of security, a knowing that I was wanted for me… for me… that seemed to release some of the worry.
When I slid through the window, buckled in, and wrapped my gloved hands around the steering wheel, I actually felt relaxed, mostly. I took a deep breath, letting all the frustrations go.
Someone wanted me. Locke Cage. UnCaged. They wanted me, I reminded myself.
I rarely felt in control anywhere else, but right then, behind the wheel, I felt powerful. I was at home, right here, more than any other place in the world. In the quiet of the cabin, I closed my eyes and let the calm seep in. When I maneuvered to the starting line, I felt good.
And I knew it like I knew my own name.
I was going to kick ass.
Hell yeah… I was going to drive like a girl.
I did just that. I stayed in the front from the beginning — my signature move — and I never let anyone get ahead of me. It was just a dirt track, but I’d grown up racing on dirt tracks, and I relished the way the tires hugged the ground. Loved the slide. Loved the way the dirt rose around me, casting everything in a dusty brown glow. Loved the way it got in my every pore, and hell, I even liked choking on it. With my body in the seat, tires screaming below me, I had the absolute time of my life.
When the checkered flag went up, I cried. Screaming and crying and altogether out of my mind with happiness. What a way not only to go out, but to go on to bigger and better things. I did my victory lap to the screams of the crowd, and when I pulled into pit road, I saw the crowds waiting for me. Tons of press. Lots of fans. My crew, Daddy, Brody, and… Locke Cage.
My jaw dropped. I hadn’t expected him here, and maybe that was why the press was swarming so hard today. They wanted some big news, and maybe Locke was going to give it to them tonight.
I knew I was dirty. My face was covered in a film of red clay, the tears caking mud to my cheeks, but I didn’t care. I loved being dirty. I slid out of the window and into the arms of fans, friends, people who were all screaming my name. Brody actually kissed me on the forehead, and for once I was so happy I didn’t punch him in return. Daddy hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe. The Sandersons were absent, but I wasn’t looking for them. I made eye contact with Locke, and it was like nothing could break it.
Like one magnet pulled to another, I drew closer to him in the crowd. He was wearing dark hipster jeans, an untucked white shirt, and was probably the only guy in the place in a blazer. But as squeaky clean as he was, he looked… damn sexy.
I grinned. “Hey, boss.”
“Nice race,” he said, looking rather astonished at the chaos surrounding us, and at that moment, it was so obvious. This was his first race.
He was in over his head.
“That was just the first part,” I explained over the roar of the crowd. It was so loud, he leaned in to hear me, and I had to yell. But damned if he didn’t smell like some woodsy aftershave that made me want to lick him from collarbone to jaw. “The next part is the Death Match, with hand-to-hand-combat.”
He raised an eyebrow. He was too smart to buy it, and I laughed as someone thrust a microphone under my nose. “How does it feel to know that you shattered a glass ceiling for women everywhere, Emily?”
I opened my mouth, stunned, wishing I had something more eloquent to say than, Fucking awesome. And the name is Emma, bitch.
Locke guided the microphone toward him. “Her name is Emma. Emma James. And you better get it right now because you’re going to see a lot more of her.”
The woman, like probably all women in the world, was magnetically attracted to him. She practically simpered, looking up at him through her lashes. “So, Mr. Cage, is UnCaged Fitness in some sort of sponsorship arrangement with this woman?”
He nodded. “We’ll be sponsoring all of Emma James’s races for the foreseeable future, and you can expect to see her in the NASCAR Monster Energy Cup Series very soon.”
The press went wild with this. One man asked, “And how does your older brother, Brody, feel about this?”
“I—” I wish I could say that he was as happy as I was, but I knew that was a lie. Sure, we fought, but I’d never been closer to anyone than I’d been to Brody. He went through the motions, but this had to have been killing him. “He’s fine. He supports me through thick and thin. He’s—”
I searched through the crowd, but he was already gone.
“Can you give us any details of the sponsorship yet?” someone asked.
Locke nodded, “We’re proud to sponsor this talented person for the NASCAR Monster Energy Cup Series because what can we say? She drives like a girl.”
An hour later, after the award ceremony, I was still in a daze. I went back to the camper, cradling my big-ass gold trophy with plans to have it share my pillow that night. After a lukewarm shower, I slid into my jean shorts and favorite halter top, ready to get some dogs at the nearest concession stand.
When I stepped out, Locke was standing out there, talking to Daddy. They both looked at me like I was a young girl, coming downstairs in a dress for my first prom.
I barely refrained from looking down to make sure my shorts were zipped. “What?”
“Well, you better get yourself packed,” my dad said. “Mr. Cage is whisking you away.”
Whisking? That sounded kind of dirty. Or like I was an egg. “What?”
“Sorry it’s short notice, but we tried to call,” Locke explained. “We’ve only got the racetrack booked for tomorrow afternoon. We wanted to work on your ad, and if we don’t get it done now, we’ll have to wait another three weeks. So I flew up here to take you over.”
“Oh. Okay.” I started to walk back to the camper.
“And you might want to get dressed a little, um, less casual.” he said. “Thought we could stop for dinner.”
I frowned. I realized “less casual” was code for nicer but it wasn’t like I packed my evening dresses when I went to these things. Then I remembered that my halter top was long on fabric and could double as a dress, albeit a very short one. I unsnapped the jean shorts, slid them over my hips until they fell to the ground, and stepped out of them. “Happy?”
My father just rolled his eyes, as I hadn’t done anything he hadn’t expected, but Locke was clearly astonished as if I’d just flashed him my naked boobs.
I flattened the shirt down over my upper thighs and inspected it. “Please, Mr. Cage, don’t look like I violated you. I’m still fully clothed.”
He blinked. “Yes. Yes, I guess that’ll do.” He ran a hand through that thick mop of untamed, russet-colored hair. “I’ll wait here while you pack.”
“Won’t take long,” I told him, and it didn’t. I threw all my stuff into my overnight duffel and returned not five minutes later. “Ready?”
Again, surprised. I didn’t know what kind of women he was used to dealing with, but I bet it normally took him at least three hours to pack for himself. Golden boy probably had to make a list to do it and check it twice. “Yeah.”
Out of all the cars in the lot, Locke’s was the only limo. Somehow, though dust was on everything and everyone, and was already climbing up my bare legs despite the fact that I’d taken a shower twenty minutes before, his car was spotless. “You don’t have to impress me, boss,” I said as I slid in.
“Please, don’t call me boss,” he said gently. We sat side by side, but I could feel his gaze heavy on my bare legs.
“Fine. But what I’m telling you is… the contract’s signed. I’m already yours. And I’m good with McDonald’s.”
He laughed. “I don’t spend millions on someone and then take them out for fast-food. It clogs arteries.”
“Well, it’s your wallet,” I told him. “Besides, clogged arteries build character.”
He snickered, then reached into his briefcase and pulled out a pink box wrapped with a white ribbon. “For you.”
I was a tomboy, for sure, but the little tiny girly part of me loved presents. I smiled as he slid it over to me. “Do I open it now?”
“By all means.”
I pulled the ribbon, watching the silk loops unwind completely before taking my time lifting the lid. I peered down into the open space and wrinkled my nose. “Oh. Looky,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“You love it. You know you do. And it will grow on you, I’m sure.”
I lifted it out of the box. As promised, my very own CageFree. This one was black with checkered flags around the band. I frowned at it. It didn’t seem very free to me, being tethered to a thing that told you when to poop.
“It’s our deluxe model,” he explained, taking it from me and pressing the buttons on it. He motioned to my wrist, and when I extended it, clipped it on. It didn’t look terrible, but I hated jewelry. It felt heavy on my arm. “I programmed it for you already. You can even play music on it and get your daily news.”
I looked skeptically at the display with the time. Just what I’ve always wanted.
“The instruction booklet is in the box,” he said.
I peered inside. Sure enough, there was a booklet as thick as a dictionary. “Great. So happy,” I mumbled.
“I know, right? It’s a beauty. You’ll love it.” He lifted the sleeve of his dress shirt to bare a sleek, black one. “I don’t go anywhere without mine.”
“Well, guess I won’t either.” I shot him another eyeroll. “Since you told me the contract is null and void if I do.”
He looked genuinely disappointed. “You don’t seem as happy as I’d hoped.”
Crap. I was being a bitch.
Instantly sorry, I jingled the thing on my wrist. “Oh, I am. It’s just that I don’t usually wear jewelry. I don’t like it.”
He looked at me like I was an alien from another planet. I knew, a woman who didn’t like jewelry probably didn’t exist in his pretty-boy world, but he didn’t remark on it. He simply lifted another present out of his bag. What was this, Christmas? “Present number two.”
I stared at it, not wanting to take it off his hands. It was another box, this one with a green ribbon, but it was almost the exact same size of the other one, which worried me. One of them wasn’t enough? I needed to wear two?
“Don’t you want it?”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “I’m afraid, after the last one.”
He pushed it onto my lap. “Go ahead.”
I opened it reluctantly. The picture on the box told me what it was. “A cell phone,” I whispered.
He grinned. “Welcome to the technological age.”
“Oh.” I stared at the blank screen that was as big as my foot. “I don’t know how to—”
“It’s all powered up and ready to go. You just turn it on, and it’s pretty self-explanatory.”
I raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Is this so that you can keep tabs on me at all times?”
His grin grew wider. “Partly. It’s more because I was thinking that you’d probably want a way to get in touch with your family while you’re away from them.”
I smiled at that. It was actually a good thing because I already missed them.
We drove through to the entrance of a small airport, and I glanced out the window at the small building. I looked for a runway, but my eyes widened when I saw the helicopter. “Okay. You can just turn around and take me back. I am not flying in that thing.”
His jaw sagged. “You drive at speeds of nearly two hundred miles per hour, and you’re afraid of a helicopter?”
“Hell, yes. At least we stay on the ground.” I hugged myself as the limo came to a stop, and the contraption on my arm started to buzz, indicating my suddenly skyrocketing heartrate. I thrust my arm in front of his face so he could see it. “See? That’s the warning bell. Warning me not to get on that flying mousetrap.”
The driver opened the door, and I stepped outside as my wrist warden kept buzzing. I was this close to ripping it off and stomping on it. Locke came up casually beside me, took my wrist, pressed a button, and the thing stopped vibrating. With a smirk on his face, he tugged on my elbow and led me toward the whirling deathtrap. The rotors spun overhead, and I ducked down instinctively as he led me to the door.
He sat me down and fastened my seatbelt, stuck a headset on my head. He picked up another headset and put it over his ears. I jumped when his voice filled my ears. “Emma, this is Joe, and he’s been my pilot for six years. Before that, he flew in the navy. Joe, this is Emma, our newest Like a Girl spokesperson. She’s a virgin, so go easy on her.”
I scowled at him as the wind from the propellers continued to whip my hair around. Oh god, I was truly going to have a heart attack.
“Aye-aye, captain,” the pilot said, smiling at me. He looked a little like my father, so I immediately relaxed. A little.
I was even fairly calm when we rose straight into the sky.
When a stiff wind hit the side of the helicopter, we jerked violently to one side. I stiffened, my fingers latching onto the armrest until my knuckles were white.
Locke, sitting beside me, put a warm hand on my gooseflesh-covered knee. I felt a jolt of electricity spike all the way up to my core. He leaned in and said in a low, sexy voice, “That’s normal. Just relax. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I knew he only meant it from a business standpoint because I was one of his very expensive properties, but I liked it nonetheless.
Scratch that, I loved it. And I wanted his hand to stay there. In fact, I wanted both of his hands on me, and on more places than just my knee.
But he removed it a second later.
As we sailed over the lights of the airport, I decided it wasn’t so bad. We usually took the camper to every race we went to, which limited my vision of my surroundings. Seeing the whole world spread before me, frightening though it was, was kind of cool.
“Are we already in Daytona?” I asked when we landed an hour later. Damn, that was quick.
“It’s Charleston,” he said, pulling the headset off and reaching over to unbuckle me.
I frowned. “Okay, but why—”
“My favorite restaurant is here.”
So, in Locke Cage’s perfect little la-la-world, going out for dinner meant jet-setting across state lines to get his best girly, flavorless meal. I rolled my eyes. “Not McDonald’s, then?”
We got into another fancy looking car that took us down to the harbor, where there were narrow cobblestone streets. The owner of this place, Magnolia’s, knew him too. When we were seated at a candlelit table for two overlooking the harbor, I couldn’t help thinking how romantic it looked. Maybe he did this with all his new associates, but I shivered as the waiter put a napkin in my lap. “This is cozy,” I said, feeling awkward.
He grinned at me across the table. “They don’t have burgers here.”
I looked down at the menu, then licked my lips as a bread basket appeared. “But they have bread,” I said triumphantly, grabbing a roll and slathering it with butter as he watched, that frown back in place. “Why do you hate carbs so much?”
“I like complex ones,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “Simple, not so much.”
What? I stared at him, wondering if he was serious. “You’re about as annoying as this thing.” I waved the CageFree in his face. “You got to live a little, boy.”
“That a challenge?”
I looked up from my roll to find him watching me closely, and my stomach twisted deep and low. “Maybe. Tell me that wasn’t your first stock car race.”
He nodded. “I confess. You just popped my stock car racing cherry back there.”
“Did you like it?”
“I liked you,” he admitted. “I liked watching you. You were impressive, Miss James.”
He had me on the verge of blushing, something I promised myself I wouldn’t do. But god, he was attractive in his blazer, in the candlelight, dashing and debonair, like something out of one of those men’s magazines. I’d always thought those men were not my style, but I’d definitely begun to change my tune.
“Before we got to Daytona, I wanted to fill you in on a few of the demands of your contract,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “There was one thing I wanted to clarify.”
I nodded, wondering if this was where the dream fell apart, and they told me that I’d have to pose nude or sell my soul or wear tons of jewelry or any one of the many things I simply refused to do.
“We’re working on the arm for Brody,” he said, tenting his hands on the table in front of him. “But it’s only an arm in the sense that it’ll help him to perform the duties as pit chief. I’m told custom builds for racing cars are entirely different, and more expensive, possibly in the range of mid-six figures. And that’s not a part of the deal, as it’s your racing career we’re interested in, not his.”
I frowned. “Fine. Then I’ll just have to win the money to pay for his custom build with my first race.”
He grinned. “You seem so sure of yourself.”
“Well, Mr. Cage. Popular opinion is, I’m not worthy competition, but I’ve always gone with the unpopular opinion. It’s more fun that way.” I tapped the table with my fingers. “You said it yourself. If I was a natural at this, I’d have been born a man.”
He smiled. “As I recall, your brother responded to that one. How would you have responded?”
I laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? I don’t mean to be crass, but I’ll give you a hint. It starts with fuck and ends with you.”
I expected him to get upset, but he didn’t. He just lifted his glass of wine and held it up, and we toasted. “I think this is going to be a very interesting racing season,” he said.
After dinner, we got back into the helicopter, and this time, we went straight to Daytona. An hour later, I was bushed. The day had been never-ending, what with an early rise to get ready, the race, the celebration… hell, I felt like I’d left my dad and Brody eons ago. I couldn’t stop yawning. Another limo, this time a gorgeous Audi A8 extended, drove us downtown as he explained the schedule for tomorrow. Turned out, I’d have to be up at the crack of ass to get ready for the shoot.
The shoot. Like I was some damn model. I’d seen the other Like a Girl ads, and they were good, all black-and-white, the women fierce, sweaty, determined… hot. Right then, I could probably pull off sweaty, but that was it.
“Fine,” I grouched. “Just show me to a bed.”
We stopped at a high-rise. It didn’t look like a hotel, and according to a sign, we’d arrived at Luxury Condominium Living. When we got to the top floor, the door opened up to a huge, wide space adorned with modern furnishings. About twenty of my house-over-the-shop could’ve fit in this one room. He dropped my bag in the foyer and turned on an overhead light, making the place look even bigger. I walked about, meandering to a couple of sliding doors that led to a cavernous bedroom. The whole place was walled in windows, and it was so pristine and huge and… perfect for a my-shit-don’t-stink man like him.
I whirled to him. He was leaning against the doorjamb, staring at me, watching for my expression, eyes intent.
A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Wait. Um. I’m sorry. When I said I wanted to go to bed, I didn’t mean your bed. I’m… this isn’t… I meant my own hotel room.”
“This is your bed,” he said, turning on a light that illuminated it more fully. “All of it is yours.”
“You mean…?”
The truth hit me. This was my place. My own apartment.
I knew he’d get me top-of-the-line everything, and while most of the stuff I thought was overkill… this?
This. Was. Awesome.
For a girl who’d owned nothing more than a hand-me-down mattress in a closet-sized bedroom in a crappy house in Wintersburg, this was beyond what I’d dreamed of. Everything in here was mine. I walked over and sat on the edge of the mattress. It was a king-sized bed, delightfully fluffy, and easily the size of my bedroom back home. All mine. There were about a thousand pillows atop the bed, when at home, I’d only used one. Every one of them, even the girly round one that didn’t look comfy at all, was mine. The pictures of seashells on the wall? Mine! Everything about this place was so extra. And all mine!
I spun around the place like that chick on the mountain in “The Sound of Music,” wanting to break into song while replaying Brody’s words to me again and again. This is your one shot. Be grateful for all of it. “Wow.”
He smiled. “Your driver will be outside at six. Enjoy.”
When he pushed away from the doorjamb and turned, panic seized me. “You’re going?”
He stopped at once. “You don’t want me to?”
The windows overlooked the dark city. A city I’d spent so little time in, a city full of strangers. I’d never truly slept alone before. Even when we traveled, I’d always had someone snoring nearby in the camper, or in a room just next-door at the hotel. I hugged myself. “I just… not yet.”
What the hell was wrong with me? I was a grown woman. Like he said, I raced at speeds near two hundred miles per hour and never had a fear when most people would’ve run screaming from that. And yet something about me needed him.
So he couldn’t see my pathetic neediness, I whirled and looked out the window. “So this is Daytona? What am I looking at out here?”
He opened another set of sliding doors to the outside and led me out to a balcony. I shivered, but the breeze was warm and pleasant. He went right up to the railing, but I stood back, fidgeting, gooseflesh on my bare shoulders. “You’re afraid of heights?”
“No, of course not. I’m just…”
Terrified of them.
He nodded back as if he understood. Then he took my hand and gently helped me toward the railing, where the lights were laid out beneath us. He held me in front of him, cradling me between the railing and his hard body, and though we were at a dizzying height, I felt safe. I felt his breath on my ear. “That,” he said, pointing at the line of midnight blue against the horizon, “Is the ocean.”
“Oh, really?” I turned my head to give him a duh look, but we were too close, so I kept my sarcasm to myself.
He pointed to the left, to a dark area that broke the thousands of little lights below. “Out there is headquarters. I’ll show you the training center too. It’s not far from there.” His hand came back and brushed against my breast. The nipple stiffened. My breath hitched. Oh, god.
I leaned my back into his chest, savoring the feeling. He was like one solid wall of muscle. “Where is the speedway?”
“Behind us. The amusements and the boardwalk are over there — see those lights?”
I nodded.
“And that, over there,” he pointed to the right, his breath tickling me, his voice husky and low, “is the Streamline Hotel. That is said to be where NASCAR was born. I should take you there. They make a good burger.”
“Really?” I breathed, leaning into him. I wasn’t listening at that moment. It could have been pure gibberish because the only thing I was aware of now was his presence. I was drowning in it, and content to continue that descent.
He didn’t finish, because at that moment his mouth was on my neck, and he was kissing me there. I tilted my head to the side to give him more room to roam, and he used it. He licked his way over to the bones of my vertebra, coming in contact with the tie for my halter.
He pulled once on the tie, letting it free. Then he kissed me again and lowered my top, his hands delving under the fabric, finding my breasts. “Emma,” he growled, running the pad of his thumb over each nipple.
Then he whirled me around. His eyes locked on mine and a thrill of exhilaration surged through me. My heart pounded, and my fingers trembled as I slowly traced the outline of his perfect, full lips. Desire pooled like hot lava in his eyes, and the touch of his skin was pure electricity.
Without hesitation, our mouths came together. The second my lips connected with his, that scared feeling of being a stranger in a strange city went away. Now, I knew I was in the right place.
I kissed him softly at first, savoring the feel of him, the warm smoothness of his lips and feel of stubble on his skin. He was even more beautiful up close. I lifted my hands to his face, discovering the planes of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, drinking him in with every one of my senses. Our tongues danced together, slowly, seductively, his thick, muscular arms tightening around me, crushing me to his rock-hard chest.
I arched up against him, claiming his mouth with my own power while Locke groaned into my mouth. The sound sent me spiraling, shivering, and I felt heat surging straight between my thighs. His hands gripped me tighter around my waist, and I felt his control with every ragged breath.
Dizzy and reeling, lost in a rush of fire, I didn’t come up for air until I absolutely had to, until I couldn’t tell whether the fire in my chest was from lack of breath or from him. When I did, he nudged my halter down, pushed me up against the wall of the balcony as his hands molded around my breasts.
“I didn’t bring you here to fuck you,” he growled into my skin as his tongue trailed down my jawline.
I wasn’t sure. It was clear Locke Cage had many, many admirers, and probably got a lot of sex. But did it matter what his reasoning was? I wanted this. Wanted more of him. As much as I could get.
“Do it anyway,” I murmured back.
That was all the permission he needed. He pushed the makeshift dress down over my hips, and it puddled at my feet. His hands were everywhere, roaming over my back, fondling my breasts. I slid my hands under his shirt and… holy chest. Holy abs. Holy everything. My stomach twisted as my fingers explored the strength of him, the ridges and valleys. There wasn’t an ounce of flab anywhere.
He pulled his shirt over his head, and as much as I wanted to feel his skin against mine, my eyes just wanted to feast on the glory that was his naked upper half. He was incredibly cut, tanned, with just a little reddish hair smattered over his pectorals. I ran my fingers through the warm field of hair, then pulled him to me, bringing our bare skin deliciously together. The heat was almost too much, sending the rest of my body screaming for more.
He kissed me desperately, hungrily, leaving my knees weak but every pore in my body operating on full overload as he kneaded my breasts. Dipping his head down, his lips closed over one taut nipple, and he sucked.
I lost it. Control. My will. Everything but my need as I arched into him, wanting more.
“Oh, god,” I murmured, sliding my hands through his hair. “Oh god.”
Where only moments before I was tired and sleepy, I was now wide awake, hungry for more. Maybe I should’ve been nervous, but when Locke sank to his knees, kneading my ass, dragging his lips down my belly, hips, and thigh, I wasn’t. “You’re so beautiful,” he said against the cotton of my pink thong.
And that was all the courage I needed. I threw my head back as his open mouth trailed down my body, delivering kisses between my legs, and…
He stopped.
Just like that, his hands loosened their grip on my ass, and he looked up at me. “Dammit,” he said, looking miserable and beautiful at once.
“What’s wrong?”
Pushing to his feet, he shoved all ten fingers through his hair as he paced away from me. Grabbing up his shirt, he thrust an arm into a sleeve before meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry. This was wrong. I shouldn’t… I… dammit. I’m sorry.”
His apology was like a punch in the gut. Slowly, I covered my breasts with my arms. “But I wanted it too.”
The other arm was in, and he stopped the process of buttoning to run a hand down his face. “The wanting isn’t wrong, Emma. The acting on it is. You’re my property… business property. Not property for me to… dammit.”
I felt his struggle, and I still wanted him. My clit was pulsating, my nipples stiff and aroused. I was so wet, so ready for him, and he was clearly… not.
What just happened?
Very slowly, I pulled the halter back up and tied it at the base of my neck. “I wanted it too,” I said again, needing him to hear me. “I want you.”
He stopped moving and faced me, his expression a combination of sadness and something else I couldn’t name.
“I want you too, and if the situation were different, we’d be in your bed right now. But…” He shook his head. “The driver will pick you up at six. Good night.”
And damn him to hell… he left.