The Gilded Cuff (7 page)

Good God, she’d forgotten to breathe.

“This little one is too much fun.” Royce captured her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. There was nothing innocent in his gesture, especially when his tongue flicked out over her skin.

“Hands off, Royce. She’s mine.” The rumbling noise coming from Emery made Sophie’s pulse skitter wildly and her body hum.

“We could share…she could handle two at once. She’s a strong little thing, just made for a double fu—”

In an instant her lungs were searing and she had to remind herself to breathe. “Share?” Sophie cringed at the squeak in her voice.

“Hmm, yes. I’d take you from behind, Emery from the front, in and out, again and again, harder and harder…
Two
is so much better than one.” Royce still held her hand, and he punctuated his words with slow, pressured rubs against her palm.

Sophie’s ears started ringing; her chest tightened. She couldn’t think…two men…two…Was that even possible? She knew logically a big bed could hold three people, but was a woman capable of withstanding that much…passion? A secret dark part of her entertained the idea, briefly, hungrily, but she shut it back down.

Emery’s voice cut through the tide of arousal before it could overwhelm her. “Normally I’d be tempted, Royce. But I find myself more possessive over my little journalist than other women.”

Royce jerked back from her as though she were a poisonous viper. “Journalist? Emery, you knowingly brought a reporter to your home?”

His words sounded like an accusation, as though she’d committed a crime just by being here. Irritation at his assumption that she’d hurt Emery prickled uncomfortably beneath her skin like tiny little sparks of electricity.

“She’s fine. For now. I’m having Cody run an extensive background check on her. Hans is getting her luggage and searching it for bugs. She’ll be moving in here until I’m through with her.”

Through with her?
Sophie didn’t like the sound of that. Like he could just toss her aside when he was tired of her. She had to leave, but her mouth started to water as the aroma of bacon drifted beneath her nose. She’d leave just as soon as she had some of that bacon.

Royce turned his attention back to her and Emery resumed cooking. Royce wrapped his fingers around her arm, squeezing.

“Hurt him, betray him, do anything that upsets him…”

“You’ll kill me?” she prompted sarcastically.

“I don’t hurt women unless they ask for it, and even then it’s about pleasure. But if you hurt Emery,
I’ll destroy you.
You’ll never write another article again; you’ll be a pariah even in your hometown.”

She wasn’t the sort of person to betray anyone and she didn’t like being accused of something she hadn’t done yet, or ever planned to do. When she wrote her articles she told the truth; she even warned her interviewees of that before proceeding. But she never ever betrayed anyone.

Emery finished preparing breakfast, or dinner, and Royce kept up a conversation, but Sophie didn’t feel like talking. Her stomach knotted and twisted. She had to force herself to eat the eggs, bacon, and toast. The man could cook. No question, the taste of it was beyond words. But even the fantastic, melt-in-your-mouth food couldn’t erase the unease creeping along her skin.

She’d always been logical in her decisions, but this plan to get Emery’s story was rash. Too rash. Now she’d gotten all tangled up in a mess. He’d hired someone to research her? The thought made her shiver and not in a good way. She should have expected him to dig into her background but she’d been so focused on him and finding out who’d kidnapped him, that she’d lost perspective. Now she might lose her chance to warn him, to protect him from what she was convinced would happen again, all because he’d dig into her past and find out about Rachel. He wouldn’t understand. Hell, he might even blame her for what had happened to her friend. With a deep breath, she tried to feign a sense of calm.

“Who’s Cody?” she finally asked.

“She speaks at last,” Royce taunted, but his tone was playful, no hint of malice.

Ignoring Royce, she continued to look at Emery. “So who is this guy digging into my life?” She pushed her plate away and settled her chin in her hands, resting her elbows on the counter.

Emery eased back on his stool across from her, his eyes flitting to the kitchen door and back again. The movement of his gaze was constant; nearly every thirty seconds he scanned the room as if he might come under attack at any moment, but he seemed unaware of the habit, as though he did it so often it had become second nature.

What have you been through, Emery?

“Cody is my technological assistant at the house. He has rooms here and helps me run Lockwood Industries. He also supervises my personal security system, among other things. He’s a kid, only twenty-four, but he’s brilliant.” Genuine warmth filled his tone, and Sophie’s tension eased slightly.

“Twenty-four? He’s my age. I’m not a kid.”

Emery raked her body with his gaze and so did Royce.

“No, you certainly aren’t. I will promise to prove that to you over and over again.” The confidence in his voice made Sophie shiver. She knew if she stayed, he would do exactly as he promised.

Royce cleared his throat. “Again, I’d like to throw my hat into the ring for a ménage.”

Emery picked up a dishtowel and without taking his eyes off Sophie, chucked it at Royce’s face.

“So possessive,” Royce
tsk
ed and lobbed the towel back at Emery.

“Yep.” He didn’t even bother to argue. “This is one woman I refuse to share, even with you.”

Royce set his dishes in the sink. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” he chuckled wryly. “Could have been fun.” He checked his watch and grimaced. “I ought to head out. My students’ term papers won’t grade themselves, and my new TA is giving me hell.”

“TA?”

“Teacher’s Assistant,” he clarified with a little smirk. “It’s a…”

“I know what a TA is. You’re a teacher?” Sophie blurted out, then covered her mouth with a hand, embarrassed.

“College Professor at Hampstead University. It’s a small college, but I like it. I teach Paleontology.”

Sophie snorted. “Like Indiana Jones?” She giggled. The idea had merit. Royce was sexy, dominating, and funny. He’d give Harrison Ford a run for his money.

“Something like that. Only Indy is an archeologist. He handles artifacts from human cultures. I deal with dinosaurs.”

Sophie sat up straighter in her seat, completely fascinated. “Do you actually go on digs and stuff?”

“As much as possible.” Royce studied her with a new gleam in his eyes. “You want to come on a dig sometime?”

A low growl broke through their conversation. “She’s busy, Royce. Why don’t you go find Hans and have him get the case of bourbon?” Emery cut in as he came around the bar. He slid his arms around her hips and placed his chin on her shoulder to gaze at his friend warningly.

Royce’s lips twitched. “Well, I see how it is. Sophie, sweetheart, when you and he aren’t…shacking up anymore, you give me a call. We’ll go
digging
.” The way he said the word “digging” had her biting her lip and containing a breathless sigh. And with that, Royce smiled and left the kitchen.

Emery released her only after Royce was gone. Sophie attempted to get off the stool, but her ankle clanked sharply against the bar stool leg.

“Oh crap! He’s got the key. Go get him!” Sophie demanded. Emery only shook his head, grinning.

“I’ve got a spare key.” He retrieved it from a kitchen drawer. A fact that for some reason disturbed Sophie. Was handcuffing women to bar stools normal for him? She didn’t like the idea of Emery with other women—not that she had any right to be possessive about his past, and it wasn’t like they would be exclusive for long in this strange bargain they’d made. Once he found out her secrets, he’d kick her out immediately.

“Is there any special reason you have handcuff keys in your kitchen?”

“Sometimes I like a midnight snack, and I have to chain her to a counter.”

A wicked image of her restrained on the counter, spread wide like a feast, burst into bloom. Emery’s golden head between her thighs, his tongue thrusting in and out, his lips sucking on her clit…

“Now that looks like an interesting thought you just had. Care to share?”

“Nope, not sharing.” She was on fire, and he was just standing there putting dishes in the dishwasher. Ridiculous. This was all absolutely ridiculous. And yet, if he asked her to strip and get on the counter and spread her legs, she’d do it without a second thought.

He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest as he studied her. “Pity. It looked like it might have been fun to try whatever you were thinking.”

“Can you just uncuff me now?” The handcuff jangled and
thunk
ed against the wood leg of the stool when she jerked her ankle.

His eyes softened with amusement and the hard lines bracketing his mouth smoothed for a moment. “And let you break our bargain by running off? Not a chance.” Something buzzed and Emery dug into his pants pocket. He pulled out a sleek black smartphone and put it to his ear.

“Lockwood.” His tone was clipped.

Silence.

Sophie cocked her head, straining to listen.

“Brant, I told you that we are ready to issue the press release on the latest GPS locator…The kinks have been eliminated…You want me to go where? You know I don’t like Manhattan…No, if the board wants to meet, I’ll fly them out here…Being stubborn?” Emery laughed, but Sophie flinched at the edge of bitterness layered beneath the rich sound. “Of course I’m stubborn. Quit arguing with me. Tell the board I’ll have a jet waiting for them tomorrow morning. Eleven a.m. No sooner. I’ve got—” Emery paused, his eyes roving over Sophie’s body— “things that require my attention. Very important things and I cannot be bothered before then. See you tomorrow.” He returned the cellphone to his pocket and closed the dishwasher.

“Who’s Brant?” Sophie leaned forward, admiring the view of his backside as he bent to pick up a towel from the floor. The muscles of his thighs were large and beautiful outlined through the dark suit pants. He looked strong, and the thought of all of that power directed at the sensitive spot between her legs, straining, pounding…

“Brant is my cousin.” Emery straightened and was now viewing her with an amused expression. She realized she’d been daydreaming as she stared at his butt and legs. Sophie clamped her eyes shut, feeling like a total idiot.

“Older or younger than you?” She opened her eyes again, blushing when she caught a knowing smirk flitting across his sensual mouth.

“You really are a reporter. Got to have all the facts, huh?”

She didn’t miss the slight edge to his words.

Sophie’s face flamed even more. How could he make her feel like an obnoxious fly even when she was just doing her job?

“Brant is my Uncle Rand’s only son, my father’s older brother. Uncle Rand died when I was eight years old, and Brant was just eighteen. He had pancreatic cancer. My father bought back my uncle’s share of the family business just before Rand died. Brant took that a little personally, and bought his way into the company a few years later. He’s been on me about the company ever since I took over for my father…Brant’s a nosy bastard. Pushy too.”

“Why’s that?” Curiosity buzzed inside her like a veritable hive of bees.

Emery shrugged, the action smooth and natural. He was so at home in his own body. Sophie envied him that comfort. She felt like a stranger in her own skin half the time and didn’t like her body enough to get to know it better. It was easy for Emery, though, she suspected. How could it not, when he was so perfect, so beautiful?

“Brant’s ten years older than me. He wishes he had control of Lockwood Industries, but he has no sense of vision. He’s completely motivated by dollar signs. Don’t get me wrong; he’s family, and he’s a decent guy, but I have a short attention span for people who seem to be born with habits that I loathe or desires I spurn. Brant loves New York. I can’t stand the thought of leaving Long Island. In fact, I don’t leave the island unless it’s an absolute emergency.”

His declaration raised a thousand questions, but Sophie bit her lip, keeping silent. As a journalist, you had to learn how to interview. The best journalists knew when to wait and let their interviewees pace themselves and reveal everything at the right time. Her instincts told her there were many things Emery wasn’t prepared to discuss.

“You’re not asking me why?” Emery raised a brow, almost challenging.

“Nope.”

“Huh. Unpredictable,” Emery murmured.

He retrieved a set of tiny keys from a drawer and walked over to her. He knelt, unlocked the cuff at her ankle, stroking her calf upward as he stood, and then he slipped the cuffs into his pocket. That one little caress promised so much that she bit her lip to stifle a sigh of longing.

“We’ll use them later,” he promised with a wolfish grin. He took her hand in his and led her from kitchen.

There was a beautiful grandfather clock at the base of the grand stairs and Sophie touched its gleaming wooden surface.

“Emery, this is beautiful. Does it still work?”

Emery froze, his languorous movements ceasing as he turned to face her. Behind him, at the top of the beautiful stairway hung a massive portrait. Two young boys, twins, with fair hair and ready smiles, stood frozen, gazing out through the layers of dried oil. Sophie stared up at Emery, his face just beneath the two children from where she stood. The same eyes…eyes that followed her in dreams of empty halls and lonely graveyards. The boy on the right, half an inch shorter than the boy on the left, the one with a crooked smile, had to be Emery. Such mischief, such wonder, all captured in that innocent gaze. Sophie’s heart clenched and her eyes burned. That child would come to lose all he held dear.

“The clock hasn’t worked in years.” He flicked his fingers in an impatient gesture and she quickly dashed up the steps, taking his open hand. He grasped hers tightly, but not in a way that hurt. The long walk down the hall, with the silence stretching between them, made her nervous and edgy. When they reached his bedroom, he pushed the door open.