Nineteen
When Emmett had gifted the Sparkle & Shine gala tickets to Stefanie for Christmas, he’d been a million percent sure she wouldn’t ask him to attend as her plus-one.
And he’d been a million percent sure that the man who came with her would be someone who knew how to smile for the camera. A clean-cut, refined guy in a suit who would appear affable to any onlookers.
So. Not. Him.
He knotted the strangling bow tie at his neck, his tension rising.
He was aware that he had a responsibility to her and to her family not to take advantage of Stefanie in any way, shape or form. But he was also staunchly aware that the attraction they had for each other wasn’t going to evaporate into the ether. They’d been ignoring it before, and even if they signed annulment papers today, there was no denying the hot snap of awareness every time she stepped into his personal space.
He hadn’t been able to escape the words Stefanie had said about their marriage before he took her to bed that night.
It’s working. That’s what I’m saying.
It was working. As long as no one started confusing great sex for something more. Something...deeper.
She wasn’t beholden to him. If she wanted to resume her normal life, he wouldn’t stand in her way. However, he was beholden to her. Both Stefanie and the Fergusons as a whole.
Emmett was duty bound to the Fergusons and had sworn years ago to protect them at all costs. That was what family was supposed to do—a lesson he’d learned from the Fergusons since his own father had done a piss-poor job of setting an example.
Van Keaton had taught him that when the going got tough you looked out for number one. Forget that your brokenhearted six-year-old son was as unmoored as a ship lost at sea. Forget that you had a responsibility to let family and friends know how to contact you rather than hide behind closed curtains in a shabby apartment in a bad part of town.
His parents’ extended families had been distant and scattered, so they fell by the wayside after Emmett’s mother died. Not helping was that his grandparents on his mother’s side never approved of his mother marrying Van. He was bad news, they’d said. Selfish, they’d argued. By the time Emmett had grown up enough to recognize that they were right, his grandfather had passed and his grandmother was in an Alzheimer’s disease facility and didn’t know her own name, let alone his.
“Whoa, baby.” Stefanie entered the living room via the stairs, a vision in a sparkling gold gown. The color made her fair skin shimmer, and her hair fell over her shoulders in matching golden curls. “You look hot.”
“Took the words out of my mouth.”
Emmett had seen Stefanie in a lot of dresses at a lot of fancy parties, but she’d never been more beautiful than she was in this moment.
Because he was her date? Because she was in his house?
Because she’s yours, his brain argued.
He stuffed that thought to the back of his head, where it belonged.
She swept over to him and he folded her into his arms. It was as natural as breathing. She fitted there.
“Sadly, my boots don’t match this dress.” She poked the toe of a strappy gold sandal from beneath the long skirt.
“Not complaining.” He eyed her gold-painted toenails. “Though I have a newfound appreciation for your boots.”
That’d been some sex for the books. Stefanie in knee-high black leather boots straddling him. Riding him. Her pert breasts had bounced to the rhythm she set while a sheen of sweat coated her skin as she worked them both into a frenzy.
“Dammit.” He adjusted the bulge behind his fly and blew out a tormented breath. His wife beamed. “Stop looking so satisfied with yourself.”
But he liked when she was satisfied with herself. She should be. And not for making him come—that was simple mechanics. The part that was all Stefanie was the way she’d caused his head to detach from his neck and float into the atmosphere. And when he’d finally come back down to earth, he’d been greeted by her draped over his chest, her fingers playing with his chest hair, her sultry sighs of pleasure in his ear.
She’d absolutely owned him in that bedroom. And that was a feat no other woman could claim.
An hour later they stepped into the ballroom where the gala was being held. The ritzy, high-end mansion made Chase’s mansion look like a cute starter home by comparison. The color palette was übermodern silver and blue, the theme an aquatic one. Glass room dividers with rivulets of water running down them separated the room into sections and ice sculptures accented every corner. One was shaped like a massive merman, another like a conch shell that doubled as service for a buffet of cocktail shrimp, and there were several other smaller frozen vignettes lit with blue or green lights. Music thumped the speakers and guests stood around high-top tables with bases shaped like seahorses.
“Oh! Champagne. We must.” Stefanie was a ball of energy, fitting in at the gala like she’d planned it rather than simply attending as a guest.
Emmett had landed the invitation from Sonia herself after having received a call from her assistant that Sonia was in need of a bodyguard for an event last year. He’d phoned one of the key players off his security team and Doug had picked up the gig, happy for the extra money. Sonia had given two tickets to the event to Doug, who had handed them over to Emmett without a second thought.
“I’m not sure I belong in this crowd,” Emmett told his wife.