Best of Three (Counting on Love) (5 page)

She gave him a grin that his body took as naughty, whether it was truly meant that way or not.

“But Dena told me the truth.”

“The truth?” Nate hated that his voice sounded gravelly. Hated even more that he wanted to talk about sex with Emma Dixon.
All
about sex. Like what positions she liked and which ones she didn’t—so he could work on changing her mind.

“That sex was awesome. About orgasms. About oral sex. About all of it.”

Nate gaped at her. Holy hell.

Hearing Emma say orgasms, made him feel…
hungry
.

Which was stupid. Emma was the most openly sexual woman he’d ever met. Emma said the word orgasm like a weatherman said precipitation.

Still, Nate felt like he hadn’t eaten in days and she was a double decker bacon cheeseburger.

Maybe when comparing a woman to food it was best to compare her to something rich and decadent and classy. Maybe she should remind him of filet mignon or crème brulee. But dammit, Emma Dixon was definitely a cheeseburger—his weakness, the thing he most tried to avoid, the thing that combined all the things that were so bad for him but were too fucking hard to say no to when put on a platter right in front of him.

And he wanted to dive right in with both hands.

He shook his head.

Letting her come along tonight was a
really
bad idea.

“She told you all about that stuff when you were
thirteen
?” he demanded, trying to work up some ire to override the sudden lust.

Emma laughed.

Which didn’t help the lust thing at all.

“No. Not that young. But as I got older. She was like this cool older sister. I could ask her anything, say anything to her.”

“You had an older sister,” Nate pointed out.

“But Amanda’s only a year older than me,” Emma said. “She didn’t know all the things Dena did.”

“And your mom was okay with you hanging out with Dena?” He might find Emma’s wild side sexy as hell, but he could never totally shake the parent in him.

“Mom thought of Dena as Shannon’s mom. My mother took Shannon into her life like she was her grandma. She loved—loves—that kid. Mom overlooked a lot of Dena’s…flaws. Or maybe she didn’t know about the parties and the boys and the inappropriate things Dena introduced me to.” Emma shrugged. “Anyway, it wasn’t all wild and crazy. I made Dena stop smoking, she chewed my ass hard and long when she found me at a party with drugs. I didn’t speak to her for a week when she missed one of Shannon’s parent-teacher conferences, she literally pulled me out of bed with a guy who was no good. We’ve had each other’s backs.”

Nate sat, stoically not looking at the woman beside him.

She made him nuts. Plain and simple.

Usually it was because she was mouthy and cocky. And because, around her, he felt constantly turned on and frustrated.

Now she was showing him another side…and it wasn’t helping the turned-on thing at all.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” he asked irritably.

“Because I wanted you to know that I care about Shannon,” Emma said, her voice harder now. “And that I care how this night goes down.”

He knew she meant it. And he knew that she was going to make this all very difficult for him.

He sighed. “How’s it going to go down, exactly?”

“I’m going to be right there with you, whatever happens. And you can deal with your son, but you won’t say anything or do anything to Shannon.”

He looked over. She sounded riled and, as always, part of him—the part that wasn’t a mature, responsible, professional man—wanted to get her
really
worked up.

“What is it that you think I might do to Shannon?”

“Embarrass her. Make her feel bad. Make her feel like she’s not good enough for Michael.”

Nate scowled at that. “It has nothing to do with her being good enough or not good enough.”

Emma scowled right back at him. “Good. Remember that. And don’t say or do anything stupid.”

They turned onto Tenth Street and Nate let the comment go as he turned his attention to their surroundings. He’d simply prove to Emma that he didn’t say and do stupid things. Ever.

The Washburn Theater was on the left. Nate moved the truck over to the curb in front of the building and shifted into park.

“Whoa,” Emma said. “You can’t pull up in front. Keep driving.”

Nate frowned. There was no parking lot at the Washburn. All that was available was street parking up and down the part-residential/part-business streets of the neighborhood. Nate looked around. There were no spots close. Surely they had a valet. “Why not?”

“You’re going to pull up in front of this little old theater, where some no-one’s-ever-heard-of-them band is playing to a crowd of teenagers, in your big old fancy pick up, get out in your suit and tie and walk in and blend?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to reply that no one had said anything about blending when she went on right over top of him.

“You are going to
try
to blend. You’re going to go in there, not make a big deal out of anything, check the place out, reassure yourself that everything is fine and you’re going to…” She trailed off, studying him. Her gaze went from his hair to his shoes. “Be cool.”

Unfortunately, there was nothing sexual about the look she was giving him. It was more like she was sizing him up—and finding him lacking.

Which was
fortunate
, Nate insisted. It was fine. Neither one of them needed to be looking at the other with anything sexual in mind.

His gaze still went to her breasts, displayed perfectly by the scoop-neck, spaghetti-strapped tank top she wore under the too-big T-shirt that kept sliding around.

“Yes, I do look fine,” she said to him, pulling his attention back to her face. She gave him a knowing look. “I’ll blend in perfectly, thank you.”

Nate wanted to laugh at that. One thing Emma Dixon did not do was blend in.

“What do you suggest?” he asked, hating that she had a point. He had no doubt that he would, indeed, be conspicuous at the Washburn.

“Pull down the street a couple of blocks,” she said. “We’ll walk.”

He found a spot nearly six blocks from the front of the theater. He put the truck into park and shut it off. “Ready?” he asked, turning toward her.

“Almost. We need a few adjustments here first.” She reached for him and Nate froze, anticipating her touch.

As she leaned in, her scent wafted up to him again and the neckline of her shirt gapped. The swell of her breasts teased him and all he could think about was that she clearly didn’t have a bra on. All he’d have to do was pull one side of the top down slightly and he could run his thumb over her nipple.

He was so focused that he didn’t realize what she was doing until she’d run her hand through his hair and tousled it.

Satisfied that she’d messed it up enough, she started to pull back, but her gaze caught on his and she stopped.

His attention went to her lips and her tongue darted out to wet them.

He watched her swallow. Then she lifted her hands to his throat to loosen his tie. It struck him as stupidly seductive. When she slid the tie from around his neck, he noticed she went nice and slow. Was she imagining this in a much more conducive environment where they could leisurely undress one another, absorbing every inch they bared, anticipating the next one?

There was something about Emma, though, that made him think if he was in a more conducive environment, there would be nothing slow or leisurely…or even nice…about it. He’d want to tear her clothes off, throw them to the side and plunge into her body without letting her catch her breath and not worrying about breathing himself until he had every inch of her against and around and under every inch of him.

She seemed like the clothes-tearing-not-breathing type too. But as her fingers freed the top two buttons on his shirt, they were trembling.

Emma met his eyes. Her hands went to his waist and she tugged on his shirt, pulling it from his pants. Lastly, she undid the buttons at his wrists and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

“That’s the best we can do, I guess,” she said, not moving back, but taking her hands off of him.

He was immediately relieved and then instantly wanted them back.

“I’m presentable now?” he asked with a wry smile.

She pulled in a breath and then gave him a smile. “Presentable enough,” she said. “But it’s not your clothes that are the biggest problem, you know.”

“Oh?” He wanted to grab her. She was right
there
. He wanted to run his hand over her bare arm, and put his tongue against the pulse point in her neck, and kiss her. And kiss her. And kiss her.

Dammit.

“Your attitude is what’s going to make it hard to blend in.”

“My attitude?”

“That holier-than-thou thing you have going on. All the time.”

And the urge to grab her should have diminished right then and there. This was the scrapping they did all the time. But there was a part of him that wanted to show her he didn’t just
think
he was better than all the other guys—he could back it up.

“I need to be cool,” he said, feeling heavy as he said the words.

Michael had always thought Nate was cool. They skied and traveled and went white water rafting and zip lining and snorkeling. Michael had all the best computer equipment, they had a regular pizza night and Nate had taught Michael everything from how to tie his shoes to how to play—and win—at poker. Michael had always told Nate he was cool.

Until the last year or so.

Sure, Nate hadn’t been thrilled when Michael wanted to start his own tiny company. He’d known it meant that Michael was thinking he didn’t need college and they’d argued. And no, Nate hadn’t been happy when Michael met Shannon. Not that she wasn’t a nice girl. But Michael was just finishing high school. It was a time for focus and goal setting. He’d had his eye on Harvard at one time, but if he had a girlfriend in Omaha, the chances of him moving to Boston were significantly decreased. So they’d argued about that.

It seemed over the past several months, they’d argued a lot.

Which was very common between teens and their parents. But it wasn’t common for him and Michael.

“Yes, you need to be cool,” Emma said, breaking into his thoughts.

“Anything specific?”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “No looking at people like you’re a thousand times smarter than them and no talking like you’re a dad and…maybe no talking, period.”

“I’m not going to talk. At all?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

This was interesting. And insulting. Of course, this was also Emma critiquing him and giving him advice, so of course it was insulting.

“When you talk you
sound
like you’re a thousand times smarter than everyone else.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“And you sound like you know it,” she added. “In this crowd, that’s not a good thing. Follow my lead and stand there and look…bored. Can you pull bored off?”

“Absolutely. If I can throw in irritated, I’m all set.”

She rolled her eyes. “How about this—be the opposite of how you usually are.”

“Great. No problem.”

“Here.” She dug in her purse and pulled out two small plastic bottles like the ones you would find in a minibar. She read each label, then handed him one.

“What’s this?”

“Flavored vodkas. Olivia and I were going to try some new recipes.”

“Tonight?”

She shrugged. “Sometime.”

“And in the meantime, you’re carrying the vodka around in your purse?”

She grinned. “You never know when you might need it.”

“Pain pills and alcohol don’t mix.”

“I haven’t had pain pills in three days.”

There went that excuse. He read his bottle. Whipped cream flavored vodka. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“You want the cake flavored instead?” she asked holding hers out.

“What happened to vodka flavored vodka?”

“What do you make with it?” she asked, one eyebrow up.

“Vodka.”

She twisted the cap off of her bottle and tapped it against his. “Cheers.” Then she shot it back.

He sighed. A shot wasn’t a bad idea, everything considered. He twisted his cap off and took the shot. And nearly choked. It was sweet and…
sweet
. And damned if it didn’t taste like whipped cream.

The vodka warmed his throat, chest and stomach and he sighed.
That
wasn’t all bad.

Emma grinned. “Ready?”

Probably not. Not even with three more of those little bottles.

Nate kept his back turned to Emma as she got out, not wanting to see how she managed it in that tiny skirt.

“Let’s go.”

When she stepped onto the sidewalk beside him, Nate realized she had her cane with her.

“Seriously?”

“What?”