Blitzing Emily (27 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
Emily awoke to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifting in from the kitchen, but that wasn’t the only thing tickling her nose. His chest hair rubbed against her face. She breathed in a lungful of his clean skin and the familiar wisp of his aftershave. She snuggled against his warmth. He still wore that faint smile as he slept, and he kicked off the blankets sometime during the night. The tan lines on his thighs and at his waist made her smile. Maybe she should just stay put and enjoy the view.

In the end, though, the coffee won out. Emily slid out from under the arm he flung around her during the night and slithered off the bed. After putting on one of his robes, she padded into the kitchen. She poured two mugs out of the programmable coffee pot, picked the newspaper off the front porch, and carted it all back to bed.

He’d claimed last night she’d worn him out. She wasn’t moving especially fast this morning, either.

Emily sat up against the headboard of Brandon’s bed, skimming the front page stories.

“Oh, no. Oh, my God.” She nudged him. “Wake up.”

Brandon rolled onto his back. “What’s the matter, sugar?” he said sleepily.

“The Scout leader gave an interview to
The Seattle Times
.”

It took him a few seconds to rub his eyes and stretch. “You’re shi— you’re kidding me.” Brandon pulled himself up against the pillows. He kissed Emily’s cheek and wrapped one arm around her.

“He’s talking about going to the police and having you arrested for indecent exposure and lewd behavior. Plus, he claims to have cell phone photos of us.”

Brandon grabbed the paper, read the short article, and then threw it on the floor. He rubbed his face with one hand, but Emily saw the sadness in his eyes before he turned his face away from her.

“At least they didn’t recognize you,” he said, referring to the article’s “unidentified redhead.” It also said that Emily Hamilton “could not be reached for comment.”

He took a deep breath. “Coffee must be ready.”

She handed him a mug from the nightstand.

“You’ll need to stay overnight more often,” he said.

“This is the closest you’re getting to breakfast in bed, bruiser.”

He chuckled. “More cooking lessons? You know I’m up for it.” His lips grazed the back of her neck. God. She wanted him again.

The telephone rang. He grabbed it. “McKenna.” He listened for a moment and then said, “Hey, talk to my agent.” He hung up.

“Who was that?”

“ESPN. They know what’s going on in my life before I do.” He rolled his eyes. The phone rang again. Brandon picked up the receiver, said, “McKenna,” listened for a while, and frowned. “Listen, Coach, I apologize. I didn’t mean to embarrass the team. I’m surprised the commissioner’s up that early on a Sunday.” He was quiet for a few more minutes. He was making light of this, but it sounded like he was in trouble, and her stomach twisted in sympathy. “Okay. I’ll pay the fine. I understand why you’re doing it.” Emily heard the coach’s voice, some laughter, and Brandon said, “Thanks for being so understanding. I’m available whenever you’d like to set it up. Thanks again.” He hung up.

“They gave you a fine.” If that guy really had photos, both she and Brandon were in a lot more trouble than they knew how to get out of.

“It’s not a big deal. The commissioner’s having a shi— He’s a little upset.”

Emily slumped down in the bed. She tried to pull the blankets up over her face, but Brandon wouldn’t let her.

“I’ll bet you twenty dollars that guy is on the morning news today,” she said.

“I’m not taking that bet, sugar. Let’s have a look.” He clicked the television on with the remote.

They didn’t have to wait long before a news program came on. When it was time for the sports report, yesterday’s little escapade was first up.

“The Seattle Sharks are a bit red-faced this morning over the off-the-field antics of their Pro Bowl defensive end, Brandon McKenna,” the male sportscaster began. “It seems that McKenna was spotted yesterday by a group of Cub Scouts just off a hiking trail outside of Leavenworth with an unidentified redhead. The couple was involved in what a team spokesperson calls ‘a compromising situation.’ McKenna is engaged to opera diva Emily Hamilton. We couldn’t reach Miss Hamilton for comment. ESPN is reporting that McKenna has been fined $25,000 by the NFL commissioner for ‘conduct unbecoming a professional athlete.’”

The female anchorperson gave the sportscaster a smirk. “Isn’t Emily Hamilton also a redhead?”

“No comment,” he said smoothly. “The Seattle Mariners are celebrating a nine-game winning streak with the latest victory by their red-hot closer . . .”

Brandon shut off the television. “Best twenty-five thousand dollars I’ve ever spent.”

Her stomach churned. So far, he was taking the brunt of this, and it wasn’t fair.

“Brandon, we’re in a bunch of trouble, and that’s a lot of money. I feel really badly about this.”

He put the coffee mug down on the nightstand with a thud, and gathered Emily into his arms. “Listen. Am I sorry that we did it? No. Am I sorry we got caught? Only because it might affect you.” He pulled her closer. “One thing’s for sure, it was pretty damn memorable.”

Emily laid her cheek against his. “I’m worried about the photos that guy says he has—”

“He doesn’t have any damn photos. He’s a liar.”

“I’m sorry about the money.”

“Don’t be sorry. I talked you into it.”

“Your fingers talked me into it,” Emily said. She felt heat rising in her face.

He tipped her chin up and waggled one hand in front of her face. “They’re still here.” The phone rang again. He ignored it. His fingers were already a bit busy. “I should shut that damn thing off.”

“Oh, yes,” was all she could say.

He reached over and pulled the cord right out of the wall. “Kiss me, sugar.”

Emily was only too happy to comply.

They didn’t get out of bed for the rest of the day. The next morning, though, Emily found several messages from Amy on her cell phone. “David’s looking for you. What happened yesterday, anyway? If he was with another woman—call me. Call me
now
.”

David also left a message. “Sweetie, you’ve gone from famous to red-hot. You’ve had three more booking requests already this morning.”

The sheer irony that getting caught naked in public with her fiancé would bring additional bookings wasn’t lost on Emily.

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
Brandon and Emily made a quick trip to her house on their way to Sharks headquarters. She insisted she needed a change of clothes. After a day and a night together he didn’t want to get out of bed, but they had to face the world at some point.

“I’m writing a check, sugar, not accepting the Nobel Peace Prize,” Brandon called out from the kitchen, and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. Emily had already discarded three different outfits on the living room sofa.

“I need an outfit that works for meeting your coach
and
my voice lesson this afternoon.”

“This isn’t that big of a deal. I believe business casual will suffice,” he teased.

Emily bolted from the room. He could only imagine the carnage she wreaked on her bedroom closet. Every time he went somewhere with his little diva, she required at least two costume changes before making up her mind about what she was going to wear. Maybe it was best to keep the truth about today’s appointment to himself, or they’d never make it out of the house.

He should feign annoyance. It wouldn’t do to let her believe that he would happily wait all day for her. A man had to draw the line somewhere.

“Let’s go, Miss Hamilton,” he shouted up the stairs.

A few minutes later, Emily reappeared in the first outfit she tried on, a long sleeved, V-necked, floral print knee-length dress that showed off her curves to perfection. “Here I am,” she said, pulling on a pair of bright red high heels. She spun around in front of him. “How do I look?”

He reached out for her hand, and twirled her into his arms. “Like my every fantasy. Where’d you find that dress?”

“It’s a Ralph Lauren.” She glanced up at him under her lashes. “You don’t really care about designers.”

“You got me. It’s a nice dress, but I’ll like it even more when you take it off again, sugar.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. He took a deep breath of the scent that always reminded him of warm peaches and freshly mowed grass. “I can’t go naked all the time.”

He let out a laugh. “Naked always works for me.”

Half an hour later he pulled into a parking space at the Sharks’ headquarters. The visitors’ parking lot was full, which wasn’t a good sign. Even worse, he saw news trucks lined up outside the building. Emily glanced around at hundreds of parked cars and turned to him.

“There are an awful lot of people here today,” she said. “Maybe you should tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m appearing at a press conference with the coach and the team’s general manager in a few minutes.”

She clasped her hands in her lap, crossed her ankles and leaned back in the passenger seat. He saw the two little worry lines that bracketed her nose whenever she frowned make an appearance. In other words, she was mad at him.

“I should have told you what was really going on, but I didn’t want you to worry. All you have to do is sit there and look gorgeous,” he reassured. “We’ll be out of there before you know it.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t be mad at me, sugar,” he cajoled. He reached out to lay one hand over hers.

She was silent for a minute or two. She turned to face him. “It hurts my feelings when you aren’t truthful with me about what’s really happening. I feel like you don’t trust me when you do it.”

He thought she might be a bit irritated with him. He couldn’t have been more shocked if she doubled up a fist and drove it into his gut.

She pulled in another lungful of air. “If we’re going to stay together, if we’re going to move forward, I need to feel like you trust me enough to tell me what’s going on.”

All he heard was “
if
.” Fear skittered up and down his spine, a cold, slimy presence. Her quiet anger shook him more than if she’d screamed at him. Even more, she didn’t wrap her fingers around his hand like she usually would. She turned to look out the window again.

He swallowed hard. “You’re right. I should have talked to you about this. I’m sorry. I will do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

She scooped her handbag off the floorboard. “We’re going to be late.”

He hurried around the front of his car to loop an arm around her shoulders. A few seconds later, he felt her arm slide around his waist. He let out the breath he’d been holding.

A
SHORT TIME
later, Brandon, the Sharks’ coach, and the team’s general manager sat before a packed room. Emily was sitting in a chair he found for her in the back of the room. He winked at her. He saw her lips twitch into a smile.

“Mr. McKenna has a prepared statement, and then we’ll take questions,” the general manager said.

Brandon cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and said, “I’d like to apologize to the young men who observed my conduct yesterday. It was regrettable, and I apologize to them and to their parents. The group will be my guests at an upcoming Sharks game as well. I have paid the fine I was assessed by the league. I hope that we can put this incident behind us and move on.”

The first reporter didn’t even wait until the echo from the microphone was over. “Were you with Emily Hamilton?”

“My mama always told me that gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.”

“Has Miss Hamilton apologized as well?”

“She has nothing to apologize for.” Brandon’s hands curled into fists. Wait till that guy was looking for “an exclusive” next season.

The general manager held up a hand. “Let’s leave Miss Hamilton out of this.”

“She was with you, wasn’t she?” The press smelled blood in the water. He wasn’t going to give them what they wanted.

“No comment,” Brandon said.

“If you weren’t with her, who were you with?”

“No comment,” Brandon said, but with a bit more emphasis.

“Are you and Miss Hamilton still engaged, and does she know you were with someone else yesterday?”

He really didn’t care what they said about him, but trashing Emily was out of the question.
Don’t flip out,
he told himself.
It’s what they want. Stay calm.
As much as he wanted to punch that asshole from the second-place sports radio station, it wasn’t going to help her. For the first time, the downside of being engaged to a man whose every public activity had the potential for media coverage was making itself known to Emily. More than his own embarrassment, he felt badly for her.

Brandon scanned the crowd till he found Emily again. Their eyes met, and held. He saw color rising in her face, but she touched her fingertips to her lips, and lightly blew. At that moment, he knew he would walk through a wall for her.

One of the female reporters spoke up. “What were you thinking, Brandon?”

“What’s any man thinking when he’s alone with the woman he loves?”

A wave of laughter cascaded through the room.

“How’d you feel about the fine?” another reporter asked.

“It’s the best twenty-five thousand dollars I’ve ever spent.” He grinned at the guy. “I think we’re done here. Thanks, everyone.”

People yelled out questions about Brandon’s contract and would he be signing for another year with the team. He saw Emily surrounded by reporters. He hoped she knew the two magic words: “No comment.”

He threw himself into the crowd. At last, he grabbed her hand. “Let’s go, sugar.” He swept her out of the room.

More reporters and at least one news crew ran after them. Brandon hustled Emily through a door marked “Staff and Players,” shutting it behind them, and pulled her through another doorway and out into the parking lot.

“If we run fast, we might make it,” he said.

D
ESPITE TRYING TO
blush herself into a coma, Emily was proud of how Brandon handled a roomful of reporters. They threw themselves into the Land Rover and drove away just as the reporters arrived in the parking lot.