Page 45 of The Bloodfeather Promise
“Is that what you think?” I chuckle softly. “Because, let me assure you, in our case, Jett, Brant, and Dylan are just as bad, and possibly worse. I’ve just been more upfront about my wickedness. The guys and I, we’ve made an odd peace since I came back to the States. In fact, sometime this month, they will all come here to finish up our new album. You know, it’s not always me, dragging the others down. Dylan and I did not part on good terms. He and I still have some issues to work out, some personal things, details I need regarding my brother’s death—I’m trying to remember there are different sides to everything. I want to hear his side.”
“I’m sorry about your brother.”
The pain I see in her eyes and hear in her voice eases some of the sting I feel when Alex is brought up. “Let’s not talk about sad things.” I take the album from her hands, setting it aside.
“All right,” she whispers before saying, “Are you still wicked? Even after rehab?”
Cupping her face, my hand curves along the line of her jawline. Her skin is so velvety. And warm. That scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose is very distracting. I yearn to kiss each one of them, lap at them as if they’re candy sprinkles one might toss on top of a bowl of ice cream. “I’m wicked in all the ways that matter. But I’m not addicted anymore. Neither to pills or the coke. And because of what you’ve probably seen in the tabloids, I feel the need to tell you I’m not screwing every woman who crosses my path.”
“What about your designer? Holly something. Where does your relationship with her stand since we…?” Her question trails off into embarrassed silence.
Damn. Emerson is far more persistent than I thought she would be. And she doesn’t like me knowing just how interested she is in my personal life. Still, her questions fill me with soaring hope. Is she interviewing me before allowing me any further into her orbit?
“I won’t lie to you, Emerson. We used each other, although I wouldn’t call it a relationship. More like a business arrangement, actually. The day after I caught you in my arms in your bookstore, I broke things off with Holly. It’s been two months now, and I’ve thought of little else but you.”
I curve my arm around her waist, pulling her to me, slowly but with enough strength that she won’t mistake my intentions. She is startled but does not pull away. If anything, she almost melts into me, her cheeks flushing pink.
Encouraged by the reaction I did not expect from her, my mouth lowers, barely brushing hers. It’s the quick intake of breath revealing her desire that spurs me on. Using my teeth, I gently nibble the voluptuous plumpness of her lower lip, biting back my own rumble of approval when a whimper escapes her. It’s a needy, desperate sound that instantly sets all of my instincts on high alert. She wants me, maybe as much as I want her.
Before I can forge any further, before I fully take that luscious mouth and mold it to the shape of my own, she jerks out of my grasp. Those blue eyes of hers, encircled with a ring of black, make the colored irises dizzyingly deep and dark. I’m drowning in that sea of blue as she stares at me, breathing rapidly.
“You said you would give me a tour of the house, remember? We should do that, don’t you think?” Her attempt at distracting me is painfully transparent.
My silent growl of frustration is swallowed as I rein myself in. Kissing Emerson is my new drug of choice. My new poison. As soon as I come down, I want another hit. I need her coursing through my veins. I don’t intend on stopping until I’m coursing through hers. I want her as addicted to what is blooming between us as I am. Yes, it will take some work. Yes, I’m willing, ready to do whatever is necessary to claim her, to have her trust me.
I’m resigned to honoring the distance she places between us.
This only delays the inevitable. She and I are on a collision course, and when we finally succumb to this heart-racing attraction, it will be something we both want.
