Emmett didn’t have to ask who “he” was. Blake, with a small-boned, big-eyed woman on his arm, glided into the place like he owned it. Smarmy bastard. He turned and spotted Stefanie, then Emmett and stopped cold.
Emmett pulled his wife closer.
Mine.
Blake, incapable of taking a hint, excused himself from his date and completed the journey over to where they stood.
“Stefanie.” Blake ignored Emmett.
“Blake.” She rested her hand on Emmett’s torso. Anyone looking on might think she was smoothing his tie, but Emmett knew she was attempting to tamp down his ire. Didn’t work. The need to punch Blake’s face in still simmered.
“I noticed—” Blake started.
“Get the hell away from her.” Emmett was off script, but he didn’t care.
Blake’s face oozed into a smile. “Relax, Keaton. You’ve clearly won this round. Though I never dreamed she’d sell herself off to you.”
Emmett’s arm flinched and Stefanie moved both hands to his forearm. Blake jerked away before sending Stefanie a bemused smile.
“Better keep your dog on a leash, Stef. Is he the best you could do on short notice?” Blake asked. “Some wild animal that can’t be taken into public?”
“Better a wild animal than a slithering, slimy reptile.” Stef loosened her hold—which she was about to regret. Emmett had enough of this conversation. The condition of Blake’s nose relied on his own response.
Blake sneered. “That’s not what you said when I took you to bed, unless you mean—”
Emmett shook off Stef’s hold and slammed a fist into Blake’s face.
“You were warned,” Emmett growled.
The other guests gasped and backed away as the blonde with the camera ran forward to catch a pic of the action. She’d snap a good one, too, given that Blake was doubled over, streams of blood running between his fingers. His date cooed over him, but Emmett was done.
He took Stefanie’s hand and led her from the event, splitting the crowd like well-dressed bowling pins.
“No matter how hard I try, I can’t be upset with you.” Stefanie moved the plastic bag filled with ice from Emmett’s knuckles to inspect his red fingers. “No scrapes, though. Impressive.”
“He has a soft face.” Emmett smirked at his own joke. “I’m done with the ice.”
She went to the kitchen and dumped it into the sink, returning with a beer for him and a glass of wine for herself.
He accepted the bottle, taking a few long swallows. She watched the column of his neck work as he drank, wanting nothing more than to drag her tongue over his Adam’s apple. Never before had she thought of Emmett as “sexy” but now that she saw it, it couldn’t be unseen. She’d been wondering lately how she’d missed it.
His legs were spread, knees wide as he sat on his couch. She had no idea how he could like that rigid piece of furniture. She took the equally uncomfortable chair nearest him.
“Mowr.”Oscar padded into the room and she stroked the cat’s back. He responded by arching, his tail flicking into the shape of a question mark.
“I like this cat despite him belonging to your ex-girlfriend.”
Emmett sighed, evidently not wanting to return to this discussion.
“I suppose we’ll see her sooner or later.”
“Later,” he said. “She extended her trip.”
“And stuck you with her cat?” Stef stroked Oscar again and winked her apology.
He wasn’t any trouble, really. Even though the day she’d bathed him he’d looked at her like she was performing torture as she shampooed the mud from his coat. Oscar had claimed the guest bedroom for himself but trotted into Emmett’s bedroom to greet his temporary human caretakers each morning. More often than not, the cat approached her side of the bed and she’d murmur her good morning before walking downstairs to feed him. It wasn’t lost on her that this entire setup—the cat, the marriage, her living with Emmett—had an expiration date. Soon she’d be in her own bed, cat-less and Emmett-less. The thought bothered her more than it should.
She didn’t even know she liked cats.