The Gilded Cuff (26 page)

As much as Emery wanted answers, he didn’t want to push Cody too far. Emery had been there in that hospital bed, hurting and scared, too full of devastating memories. He knew better than anyone what needing a break was like. He could give Cody a day to regroup before he asked his questions. He got up from his chair and patted Cody’s shoulder.

“See you later. Call me if you need anything. Royce will be outside.”

“Thanks, bossman.” The reply was a whisper as Cody’s dark blond lashes fluttered and he surrendered to sleep.

Emery paused as he reached the door, looking over his shoulder at his friend. Something felt wrong. Something deep in his bones was stirring, churning like the hands of the dead clawing their way out of cold graves. It was only a matter of time before the ghosts resurrected themselves and the awful truth of the night he’d escaped from Antonio came out.

God help me. God help us all
.

The costume lying on Emery’s bed was stunning. Sophie nibbled her bottom lip before succumbing to the urge to run her fingertips over the gown. It had a black underdress with a netting of golden lace sprinkled with tiny diamonds. A black satin sash tied loosely around the hips. She lifted it up and smiled. It was a retro style dress, like something a flapper would have worn in the 1920s. Sophie loved it. Any man with money could buy an expensive dress for a woman, but not just any man could find that one dress, so unique, so splendid that the woman was seduced merely by the touch of satin beneath her hands and excited to live the adventure wearing such a classic dress could bring. Emery knew just how to seduce her.

A pair of black closed-toed pumps sat next to the dress on the bed. The heels were high enough to make her legs look sexy, but not too high so as to be uncomfortable. She lifted one shoe, speculating on when he’d had time to shop for her yet again.

“You like it? Mother’s party theme this year is
The
Great Gatsby
. You know the novel was set on Long Island, don’t you?” Emery was suddenly behind her, his hands spanning her waist. Soft lips rained kisses down on her cheek and neck. His natural tendency toward gentleness always surprised her. It was so at odds with the brooding man who’d threatened to bend her over, spank her, and bring out her dark side with wicked pleasure. Yet he was both the dominant master and the gentle lover. They were the same man and she was in love with all of him.

“So I’m Daisy Buchanan. Are you Gatsby?” She turned in his arms, tilting her head back to peer up at him. She loved that he was so tall. It made her feel safe and secure when she leaned into him. Yet at the same time, he could give her that look, the one so hot it made her melt. His lashes were long and dark like burnished gold, dropped to half-mast, softening the primal heat in his gaze.

“Yes, assuming you’ll be my Daisy and belong to no other man. Will you?” His palms slid up her back under the thin navy blue cotton sweater she wore. She ducked her head under his chin, releasing a breathless giggle as he struggled with the clasp of her bra.

“Having trouble there, Casanova?” She gave in to the desire to kiss his chin along the length of the faint scar. What she wouldn’t give to remove the hurt, take away the memory of what caused it.

“And you wonder why I insist on no undergarments? These things are impossible,” he growled in her ear.

Laughing, she reached back, her hands meeting his as she guided him to undo the clasp. Even though the bra still hung on her shoulders after he’d unclasped it, he spun her to face the bed and dragged her back against his body. His hips ground into hers and his hands moved under her sweater and loosened her bra to cup her breasts. Her nipples pearled beneath his teasing fingertips.

“You like that?” he murmured low and soft.

“Uh huh.” She finished on a gasp as he pinched the sensitive tips.

His hands dropped to the zipper of her jeans, and the buzz of the metal teeth as he dragged it down was loud. He eased her jeans down off her hips and hooked his fingers in the edges of her panties, tugging them down until her ass was fully exposed.

“Bend over,” he commanded.

She complied without thinking. The rustle of cloth was her only warning before he pushed the head of his cock into her swollen sex. He kept one palm on her lower back, holding her down as he worked himself deeper through a series of slow thrusts. Sophie buried her face in the coverlet of his bed, her hands clenching and unclenching in the soft fabric. With each thrust he filled her, stretched her, and she basked in the spreading bliss. He leaned over her, his arms caging her shoulders, his panting breaths spreading over her neck. He pumped into her, changing his strokes, teasing her, keeping her pinned and only able to beg in breathless gasps for more or harder. He always gave her what she asked for, but always pulled back when she was ready to explode.

“Emery, please!” she begged.

He leaned back, gripped her hips and started pounding into her. The slap of flesh on flesh and the sounds of their lovemaking filled the room. Sophie could barely think beyond the moment. His possession, his passion. It was everything she wanted and needed. There was no separation between them, not an inch of distance. They were as close as two people could ever be.

Her climax was so close; she was ready to burst. If he slowed down one more time she’d die. Emery suddenly changed his position and penetrated her from a different angle. She buckled under the supernova of pleasure. He came seconds after, uttering a harsh cry of his own release. He collapsed on top of her, and both of them bent over the bed, but his weight wasn’t an unwelcome one. His ragged pants by her ear increased the tingling of her aftershocks, enriching the small ripples of the tiny climaxes that followed. He was still buried deep inside her and semi-hard.

“Ready for round two?” She couldn’t resist the urge to tease him and wiggled beneath him.

Emery let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “You’re going to be the death of me.” His chuckle vibrated against her back and she couldn’t resist a feline smile.

“Me? I’ll be lucky if I can walk after this,” she half-heartedly protested.

“If you can’t, I’ll carry you.” He brushed her hair back from her neck and placed a kiss where her pulse beat beneath her skin.

“I wish we didn’t have to go to the party. I’d rather stay here, just like this,” he murmured. Her heart gave a funny flip in her chest. The truth of his words filled her with warmth, yet it was tinged with disappointment that it wouldn’t come to pass.

Emery finally straightened and pulled out of her. Sophie, sweaty and loose-limbed, quickly darted into the restroom to clean up. A smirk curled her lips and she restrained the urge to laugh. He’d turned her inside out, made her a wild and wanton creature, and it suited her. She could never go back to being the quiet, reserved woman she once was. That old Sophie Ryder was gone and she was never coming back.

Thank God
. She was finally getting to live her life. Emery refused to let her keep herself hidden away. Funny…he was the recluse, but he’d opened his own heart, dropped his walls to let her in and she’d been forced to do the same in order to love him.

“Come on, Sophie.” His voice echoed across the bathroom marble.

He appeared in the doorway, already fully dressed again and looking devastatingly handsome. If a person really could look like a million dollars, he could, in the best way. The refined, tailored suits and the silk ties, made him a thing of masculine perfection enhanced by the natural virility and sensual appeal hidden just beneath the layer of clothes. She’d seen him naked, gloriously so, and he was all man, all primal energy suffused with the sexual appeal of natural warriors of old, like the sort of man who’d throw her over his shoulder and haul her to bed. After seducing her beyond her sanity. He was so damned good at that.

A smile flirted on her lips and he noticed.

“What’s that for?”

“Hmm?” she asked.

“That little grin.”

“I was just thinking, it’s so easy for you to get dressed.” She grumbled as she finished cleaning up and walked back out to the bedroom. She was completely naked and yet for the first time she didn’t feel vulnerable or exposed. She didn’t have to worry about disappointing him with her scars. He’d kissed each and every one with a tenderness that had nearly ripped her in two.

“It may be easy for me, but I guarantee you’ll look better.” He leered until she burst out laughing. She was still giggling when she reached for her panties and bra. He was suddenly behind her, surrounding her with his strength as he caught her wrist, stilling her.

“No underwear. I want you bare tonight,” he whispered into her ear. His husky tone was like drinking whisky when it burned in all the right places.

Her body burst into flames all over again. She released the lacy pair of panties and fingered the barely there bra. It wouldn’t have provided much cover anyway. The dress’s fabric was thick enough that she supposed she could get away with going braless.

“Thank you, Master Emery,” she teased.

He smacked her bare bottom, leaving a little sting that he rubbed away, which only made her want him back inside her.

“You know…if I was more of a dom, I’d demand that you call me that with respect and expect it. You’re lucky you’re not dating Royce or Wes. They’re both far stricter about those things. I know you’re not submissive enough for that.”

“Lucky me.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Yes, lucky you…” he murmured. “I do like the sound of that. I think I’ll start insisting you call me Master more often.” He moved away from her as he picked up her dress and held it out.

Sophie raised one brow at him. “Oh? I bet that won’t last long.”

She took the dress and slipped it on, then slid her feet into her black pumps. Emery whirled a finger in the air to indicate she turn around. She spun. His hands were at her lower back, tugging the zipper up. A shiver tickled her spine.

The intimacy of this moment was wonderful. She and the man she loved were getting dressed for a party, helping and teasing each other the way serious couples might. She and Emery had known each other for such a short time, yet she knew him on some level better than she’d ever known her own family. And soon it would be over. He’d told her his story, but soon they’d find his brother and then there would be no other reason for her to stay. But she wanted to, God how she wanted to.

Sophie turned to face Emery and flung her arms around his neck. He stumbled back a step in surprise, wrapping his arms around her waist with a surprised laugh. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in his unique scent of man and musk with a hint of his cologne. He was strong, warm and playfully tender as he held her close. She shuddered, unable to contain the emotions flooding through her. He made her alive in a way she’d never been before. Weak with desire, but strong somehow, too, like she could conquer anything, do anything. She’d never felt that way before, as though she were capable of anything. Sophie had always believed in herself and had confidence in most of her abilities, but this ran deeper.

“Hey…hey, Sophie.” He tightened his arms and murmured soothingly in her ear. “What’s wrong? I was only joking.” His large palm cupped her cheek and she leaned into that touch, nuzzling his palm, feeling so safe and so cared for that it made knowing she was leaving soon even harder.

“It’s not you…I’m fine.” She relished his hold a moment longer before forcing herself to pull back. With her fingertips she wiped away the remnants of moisture from her eyes.

Emery looked doubtful, and his eyes focused on hers with a patient intensity that made her look away.

“We’ll talk about this later. I want to know what’s upset you, but we’re running late.” He pressed a soulful kiss to her trembling lips, threaded his fingers through hers and led her by the hand. He picked up her shiny gold purse and held it out to her as they headed down the hall.

Hans was waiting for them by the front door, dressed all in black, a serious expression on his face. A gun hung on his hip and Sophie had a feeling there were other weapons concealed in other places on his body.

“The car’s waiting outside,” Hans said as he handed Emery a small handgun.

“Wait a second. You think we need guns?” Sophie swallowed hard. The kidnapper was still out there, ready to kill Emery. It was easy to forget this when he overwhelmed her with passion in his bed.

“I need a weapon. Not you. Hans will keep you safe.” Emery pulled her close and kissed her right temple before slipping the small pistol in his coat pocket. Hans went to the coat closet, retrieving a black fur coat.

“You like it?” Emery held it out. “It was my grandmother’s.”

Sophie blushed as she slid her arms into the soft silk-lined sleeves of the luxurious fur coat. It was warm and snug. She felt like a million dollars. And it was all wrong. As they descended the stone steps outside to the car a haunting chill overtook her. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. It was as though someone had stepped over her grave. Pain tore through her and she cried out. Emery’s arms were around her, catching her, and just as quickly the pain was gone. The vision she’d glimpsed, the black world covered in a spray of ruby red was gone. Her Granny Bells’s voice echoed in her mind, a memory from long ago.

The devil comes for you. He comes for us all someday. Be ready, sense him and raise your fists, Sophie girl.

She could almost feel her Granny’s wrinkled hands grasping her child-sized fists, clenching her fingers and raising them up in front of her face like a seasoned boxer. No one had listened to Granny back then; she’d been an old woman with Alzheimer’s, but Sophie had listened. She had remembered.

“Sophie, what’s wrong?” Emery’s gruff tone made her speak up and say what all of her instincts were screaming for. She turned in his arms.

“Please, Emery, let’s forget about the party. I want to stay here, all of us. I have a bad feeling.”

Emery cupped her chin and raised her face. His hazel eyes were dark in the purple evening light that crept through the windows.

“You really are worried,” he observed, his face softening.