Page 49 of Off-Limits Bad Boy

I want to lie and tell her nothing. I want to tell her not to worry about it. I want to deny everything because this is the hard part. This honesty. But hell, she's right there, looking concerned and beautiful, and I'm in way over my head. The thought of telling her how much I want her, how I see her in every damn dream I have—it terrifies me. So I keep scrubbing instead, keep pretending that my hands don't ache to touch her.

“Is this because of what we said?” Her voice lowers, barely above a whisper. “That we mean a lot to each other?”

I still, a glass forgotten in my grasp. “Something like that,” I say. Honesty feels like stepping off a ledge, exhilarating and terrifying. “I'm not good at this part, Emma. The whole feelings thing.” Women have always been more of a means to an end kind of deal. Maybe Stella breaking my heart turned me into a cold sonuvabitch where women are concerned - I’ve never really thought about it until this very moment. But not Emma.

Her lips part and she looks like she wants to say more, but she hesitates. We stand there, suspended in a moment as an electric current buzzes between us.

“Maybe,” she says, then stops, chewing on her lower lip in a way that has heat pooling low in my belly. I remember when she’d bitten down on her lower lip while riding me, but these thoughts aren’t helping divert my blood flow from my lower half. “Maybe we should talk about it?” Her eyes scan the bar and beyond. “Not here, though. Somewhere private.”

“Being alone with you again sounds risky,” I say, my heart's hammering a yes against my ribs, loud enough that I’d bet she can hear it.

“Risks can be worth taking,” she says softly, holding my gaze and it’s all I can do not to melt right here, right now.

They really can. But as she stands before me, full of hope and desire and a shiny view of the world, I can't shake the feeling that I’m the risk she should avoid at all costs.

“Will you take me home?” she asks, her lips moving in a way that brings back heated memories as her gaze searches mine.

I want to tell her I will, but I need to know if she’s asking because she wants to talk, or for something more. But before I can respond, Alex walks into the private moment between us, his gaze flitting from me to Emma in a silent interrogation that makes the room shrink.

“You guys seem serious,” he says, and though his words hang casual in the air, they're laced with an edge that sends a warning. I can’t help but wonder if he’s saying we seem serious in a relationship sense, or that our moods are serious.

“There's a lot of cleaning to do,” I say, shrugging off his concern.

But Alex isn't buying it; he has that look, like he knows there’s some deeper undercurrent to the moment he just invaded. And he hovers, a presence that doesn't belong in this moment between me and his sister.

“Can we talk?” Alex's voice is steady as he speaks to me, but there's something in his tone that feels like walking on thin ice.

“Sure,” I say, reaching for a dry towel to wipe my wet hands on.

I glance over at Emma. She nods, her hands already reaching for the next glass. “Thanks,” she says in a nonchalant, almost dismissive tone that I know is for her brother’s benefit, but her gaze holds mine for a fraction longer than necessary.

“Of course.” With that, I follow Alex out, feeling Emma's gaze on my back. I hate leaving so much unresolved, but what choice do I have?

I walk beside Alex down the dimly lit corridor to my office, where the air is sharp with the scent of old whiskey and secrets. “Do you have any news?” He makes his way to my desk and sits in my chair, adjusting before glancing up at me.

“Nothing yet.” I return his gaze with a blank expression.

“Is that a bad thing?” He's fishing, looking for reassurance when I have nothing but doubt.

I shrug, nonchalant. “How would I know that?” The truth is, I'm caught in the crossfire of his plan, forced to swim or sink. But Emma's image floats to the surface of my mind, her smile a comfort I can cling to. “Have you ever considered just telling Emma?” I ask.

His brows furrow. “Why would I do that?”

I can’t believe I have to spell this one out for him. “Because it’s her club, too.”

He shakes his head. “She doesn't need to know everything I do just like I don’t need to know everything she does.”

But her influence over orders, decor, and DJ’s just isn’t apples to apples with what he’s up to.

“I need air,” I say more to myself than him.

With that, I leave my office, but I feel him following me. I push through the back exit into the night, and he stops to stand beside me, scanning the darkness and the way the concrete glitters like gold under the streetlights. The cold snaps at my skin, a sharp contrast from the club’s heat, thanks to the sheer number of bodies that were packed in and dancing not so long ago.

The parking lot is deserted, and Alex scans the shadows, then locks eyes with me. “You care about her, don't you?” His question hovers between us, a dare.

I hesitate, but it's like trying to stop a dam from breaking with my bare hands. I nod, a slight dip of my head that feels like surrender. “Of course, I care about her, Alex.” It’s a dumb question, one designed to be a trap. A trap I’m not about to fall for.

“Just… be careful,” he says, and the warning wraps around me, tight and suffocating like a python strangling its next meal.

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