Blitzing Emily (13 page)

“Hey, I’m curious.” Brandon put the book on the nightstand. “Why did you become an opera singer? I’ve never met one before.”

“Changing the subject, huh?” She propped herself up against the headboard of her bed.

“C’mon, sugar.” He stretched out, propped himself up on one elbow, and watched her expectantly.

She thought for a few moments before responding. “I saw an opera when I was twelve and fell in love with it. From that moment on I always knew what I wanted to do when I was older.”

“It’s good to have goals. Tell me more.”

She pulled a pink cashmere throw over her and wound the fringe around her fingers as she spoke. “Besides Amy and my parents, there is nothing and nobody else in the world I love like I love to sing. Nothing else makes me happier.” She looked into his face. “I’m lost in the music, and it’s almost like I step outside myself. I can feel the breath in my body. I can hear the notes coming out of me, but I am somewhere else for that time. It’s somewhere I can’t wait to go back to again.”

“So, you’ve been singing since you were twelve.”

“My training didn’t really start till I was sixteen.”

He propped himself up on the pillows. “How long can you keep doing this? Do you ever wonder what you’ll do when you decide to end your career?”

“I will hopefully sing till I die, but professionally? Probably another twenty years or so. I have a plan.” He waited, and she took a breath. “I want to sing at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. It’s everything I’ve worked for, because it’s the greatest success I could have as a diva in the United States. It’s the pinnacle. I’m hoping I’ll get there in the next two years. After I get there, I can sing the top roles until retirement.”

He reached out to pat her hand. “I think you’ll get there.”

“Thanks. That’s very kind.” She sighed. Some days, those goals seemed far away. “I started late. When I got out of the conservatory, I wanted a Master’s, and then, to build a repertoire, I spent a lot of time singing roles with smaller opera companies. I’m not sorry, but I wonder if I’m going to pay for not managing my career as well as I should have. That’s why I have David. He’s really good at it.”

Brandon had grown silent.

“You’ve been playing football for a while, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Since I was six.” He let out a laugh. “It’s a lotta years.”

“Have you thought of what you’re going to do when you want to retire from football?”

He shrugged, propped himself up on the pillows, and folded his arms across his chest; he was uncomfortable with the subject. “I’ll probably end up doing color commentary for NFL broadcasts. I’ve done it before during the regular season when we had a bye week.”

“What’s a bye week?”

“We get a week off.” He continued. “Right now, broadcasting is my post-football focus. It’s fun, I enjoy it, and it pays well.” He crossed his feet at the ankles. Despite the fact they really didn’t know each other, it was obvious by his body language Brandon didn’t want to discuss this, and she wondered why. “Hey.” His eyes locked onto hers, and Emily noticed that the typically amused expression in them was gone. “What happens to your ten-year plan if you fall in love? Have you thought about that?”

She hugged herself, and crossed her ankles as well. “I’m not sure.”

If there were such a thing as being struck dead for lying, Emily surely would have been a goner at that point. The truth was something she carefully guarded, and she wasn’t giving it up to the blond Adonis less than a foot from her. She didn’t want to end up like her mom. She didn’t want to give up her dreams, no matter how lonely she was. Emily could fall in love and get married later, or not at all. She had known other divas who married and had kids, but she’d already spent enough time screwing around. If she wanted to achieve her goals, she couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

“You’ve thought about everything else. Why wouldn’t you think of that?” Brandon probed.

“I just didn’t. It didn’t seem important.”
Sure it wasn’t.
She could tell by the look in his eyes he didn’t buy her response, either, but she made her best effort. “What about you? Do you think you’ll fall in love and have little blond babies?”

His eyes softened, and a smile twitched the corners of his lips. “I sure hope so. I have to find a woman who wants to fall in love for the rest of her life.”

“Wouldn’t that be most women?” she said.

“I always thought so.” His eyes held hers again.

She swallowed hard and quickly changed the subject. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Nope. Not right now. I’d like to spend some more time talking, if you’re not too tired.”

She wanted to get out of this conversation, and he’d presented her with the best opportunity possible. “I’m pretty wiped out,” she said.

He shoved himself off the bed. “Time to get some sleep, then. I’ll make a wardrobe change.”

“You don’t need to stay here. You have your own place. I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to watch me. I can sleep on my—”

He laid his fingertips over her mouth. “You’re going to wear yourself out with all that arguing. Come on.” He reached out for her hand. “Don’t you want to put on one of those virginal white nighties?”

She wasn’t giving in to his charm again. Even if he’d deliberately dribbled hoisin sauce on his shirt, bought her a ring that must have cost a staggering amount of money, and generally been wonderful, she could resist him. Even if every time he smiled, her heart skipped a beat.

He probably smiled that way at every woman who crossed his path. She wasn’t special. The sooner she realized that, the better off she’d be.

“Don’t I get an opinion here? It’s my house.”

“Of course you do. You told me that you’re fine by yourself, and I disagree.” His eyes twinkled again. “Get changed, and we’ll discuss it further.”

She heaved a frustrated sigh. “You’re—you’re just—oooh.”

Emily hurried into the bathroom and shut the door only to hear his laughter. She put on another billowing white cotton nightgown, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and thought about what she should do. She could order him to leave. That was best. The scariest thing about Brandon was that he saw behind her defenses. He knew, somehow, she really didn’t want him to leave.

This had to stop.

She emerged from the bathroom to find Brandon snuggled into the blankets of her bed. He gave her a sleepy grin.

“If you’re staying here, you need to sleep in the living room or in the guest room. This is not working,” Emily informed him in her firmest tone. If she averted her eyes from his bare chest, she could do this—as long as she didn’t remember how uncomfortable he looked curled up in her bedroom chair, or how he had stayed to make sure she was okay.

“You don’t have a bed in your guest room. The living room’s cold.” On any other man, it would have been whining. In Brandon’s accent, it was a crime against humanity.

“What’s the matter? The big football player doesn’t know how to turn up a thermostat? Too bad.” She pointed toward the bedroom door. “Out.”

“You don’t really mean that, sugar,” he said.

“Yes, I do. We still hardly know each other.”

He let out a snort. “I know that you snore.”

“I do not,” Emily said.

“You also make the cutest little whimpering noises in your sleep,” he said softly.

She threw the smallest pillow from her bed at him. “Goodnight, Brandon.”

The door shut behind him. She breathed a sigh as she crawled into bed, ignoring the twinges of guilt. God’s gift to the NFL could take the couch, and she might get some rest.

B
RANDON STROLLED INTO
Emily’s room a few hours later. He’d made a few phone calls, watched all the game film he could stand, and fixed himself a midnight snack. He’d slept in the chair in her room before, but the only way he was going to get any meaningful sleep at all was to stretch out next to her.

She was right; he could have slept at home. But he kept thinking about the expression on her face when she had pushed herself out of his arms earlier. Obviously, that was a physical response to spending the last forty-eight hours or so with someone he found attractive. He wanted to kiss her. Even more, he knew she wanted to kiss him, but she wouldn’t. She was stubborn to the tenth power. While he delighted in doing and saying stuff that worked her last nerve, he realized he really enjoyed watching the relaxation that spread through her entire body when she laughed. It would be slow going, but oddly, he wanted to gain Emily’s trust.

His long-term plan had been to avoid anything that lasted longer than a New York minute. He didn’t want anything permanent, and when things got sticky he made a quick exit. He’d never had any intention of settling down until his football days were at an end, and then he’d take time to find the right woman. These days, though, flavor-of-the month females meant more annoyance and heartache than fun—women like Anastasia, for instance. She was the last straw.

For now, though, Emily the pint-sized ball of fire—with vulnerability she did her very best to hide—intrigued him.

The moonlight draped Emily’s bed like netting, and he watched her sleep for a few minutes. He knew she smelled like peaches and freshly cut grass. He wasn’t kidding about the little noises she made in her sleep. He heard a soft whimper, even now.

When she wasn’t busting his chops, something about her relaxed and soothed him.

He stripped down to his shorts and slid in next to her. Her long hair spread over the pillows like rose petals. He took a few deep breaths of her sweet scent, and then he was asleep.

A few hours later, Emily rolled over and bumped into him. “Mmph,” he muttered. The bedroom window indicated dawn was still hours away.

Her voice was sleepy. “Why are you here? We agreed that you’re sleeping on the couch.”

He popped up out of the blankets. “You’re awake,” he said. “Let’s talk some more.”

“What is this? Most guys want to run away from the talking stuff, don’t they?”

He stifled a laugh. It seemed he spent a lot of time doing that when she was around. He kept his voice light.

“That’s a gross generalization. I’m definitely insulted. I can’t believe you would think that.”

“You’re joking.”

“Absolutely not. This isn’t funny.”

He could see it was all she could do not to scream. He wondered what she’d do if he reached out to tickle her.

“Listen, you big brute, why don’t you move over so I can—”

The rest of her comment was muffled by the blankets she dragged over her head. She reconsidered a few moments later, tossed the blankets back, and propped herself up on the pillows. He wasn’t so sure about the evil look in her eyes. Unless he was terribly wrong, not only was she irritated, but she’d just figured out her revenge.

“Do you feel better today, sugar?”

“Yeah. My head doesn’t hurt as much. I seem to have a little more energy.” She took a deep breath. “Thanks for asking.”

“You’re welcome.” Her hand brushed his under the covers, and she jumped. He held on. Her hand was small inside of his. She tried to pull her hand away, and he meshed his fingers through hers. Nice.

“I’m curious, Brandon—”

“I need a nickname. How are you coming on the nickname?”

“Listen, Bruiser.”

He laughed. “Good one.” He pulled the blankets up to his chest. “And you were saying?”

She glanced away from him.
Here it comes,
he thought. “I’m not even sure how to ask you this.”

“Well, that sounds promising.” He let out a deep chuckle. “I can hardly wait to find out what you’re going to ask me now. Spit it out, okay? We’re not getting any younger.”

“This is a little embarrassing, but I knew nothing about you. I’d never heard of you before I wiped out in the parking lot.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He took a sip of water from the glass on the nightstand. “I didn’t know a lot about you, either.”

“That’s true.” Emily propped herself up on her elbow. Somehow, lying in bed, holding her hand and talking with her in the darkness seemed more intimate than the last time he’d had sex. He knew she would be a man’s friend as well as his lover. He’d never experienced that before. He slid further down into the blankets as well, and they faced each other.

“I’m confused,” she said. “Cheryl the nurse called you a horn dog. My sister said roughly the same thing. I’ve spent some time with you now, and you aren’t like that at all. How can you have this reputation if you’re nothing like that person?”

The room was silent. He thought he’d braced himself, but evidently not. There was
no
correct answer to that question. He’d done some stuff when he was younger to deserve the press he got, but it would be nice if he got some credit for realizing he needed to be a lot more selective in his choice of conquests. Some of his alleged hookups were blown out of proportion by the media, or were flat-out lies by women who thought sleeping with him would enhance their allure to others. Anastasia came to mind. She was the last straw in more ways than one. He really didn’t like having his nose rubbed in his mistakes. Those stupid enough to do so got the full force of his anger, every time.

“Sometimes, people say things about us that aren’t true,” she said. Emily, bless her heart, was trying to give him an out, but it pissed him off. “If you talked to my colleagues, I know that you’d hear embarrassing things about me.”

“Really,” he bit out. Unless he missed his guess, she was patronizing him. Yup, he was pissed. The more she talked, the angrier he was.

“Of course, I—”

“You know, sugar, we talked about this yesterday. I’ve done stuff I’m not especially proud of in the past, but I’m normal. In my line of work, there are women who want to brag to their friends that they nailed a pro athlete. At times, I’ve been happy to oblige them.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a real humanitarian, aren’t you? I’m amazed nobody’s contacted the Nobel committee on your behalf.”

That was a low blow, and unfair to him as well. He passed “pissed,” and went straight into “fury.” This was a sore subject to begin with, and he felt like she was poking him in the gut with a sharp stick. He’d just discovered one of Emily’s faults: She didn’t know when to back off. “That was pretty harsh.”