Page 92 of Blitzing Emily

“Let’s have some dinner and see what develops.”

“Where are you now?”

“One lane over, and a car back from you.” Emily glanced into her mirror, recognizing Brandon’s black Land Rover. “Maybe I should follow you home.”

“Maybe you should,” Emily said. “Don’t tell my fiancé, though.”

“Really?” He was the only man on earth that could make one word sound unbelievably sexy. “Will he be jealous?”

Emily took the exit to her house. “I think so,” she said.

“We’ll have to make sure we don’t get caught.”

“Maybe you’d better tell me what we’re doing when we get there.”

“I’ll think of something. Right now, though, I think I should turn you over my knee and spank you.”

“What? Me?”

“That’s right. Flirting with other men. I’m shocked, Emily Anne.”

Emily was never into that before, but right about now, it sounded tempting. She hit the remote control buttons, and pulled into her garage. She grabbed her handbag as Brandon came around to the driver’s side of her car. He reached in for the flowers, put them on the hood of the Escape, and pulled her into his arms.

“Somebody sent me flowers today,” she breathed against his mouth.

“Some other guy’s trying to pick up my girl. I’ll have to deal with him.”

“His name’s Brandon.” She shivered. “He’s amazing.”

“Not as amazing as you are. I missed you today.”

“You must have made it to your appointments.” She reached up to run her fingers through his still-damp curls.

“I was late. I got a lot of sh— crap from the guys.” She saw a faint wash of color over the top of his cheekbones. “Let’s just say that I don’t typically use the lavender and vanilla fabric softener, and that’s what I smelled like when I got there.”

“I’ll need to use something more—manly—on your sheets.”

Emily heard a low chuckle in her ear, and he traced the shell of her ear with his tongue.

“Sugar, the only thing I care about is that you’re lying on them, and that you’re naked while you’re doing it. Let’s go.”

TWO DAYS AFTEREmily and Brandon finally pried themselves out of her bed, she left for performances in Washington, DC. The diva scheduled to sing Gilda inRigolettohad just come off a series of successful performances at Mexico’s national opera house. She’d also evidently eaten tomatoProvencalewith her breakfast one morning, and had contracted the worst case of Montezuma’s Revenge known to mankind. Emily sang the role after the cover came down with a bad cold as well. She was very happy with her performances and the reviews. Of course, the press was more interested in her fiancé and their engagement.

The daily grind of voice lessons, rehearsals for upcoming productions, occasional interviews, and photo shoots flew by as she counted the hours till she raced home to be with Brandon.

Emily arrived back in Seattle on a sunny, late afternoon in July. Brandon was due at the Sharks’ training camp the next morning. He’d be there for three weeks. He also had an appearance he couldn’t get out of that evening. Her job required travel, too, but Emily was sad about not seeing him before he left. Showing up at the team’s facilities was out of the question. At least they could text and talk on the phone.

A little after ten o’ clock that night, she heard a knock at the front door of her house.

“Sugar, it’s me,” Brandon said as she peered through the peephole. Her heart leapt. She pulled the door open.

He wore dark dress slacks, a heathery-brown, long-sleeved, cashmere V-neck sweater with a t-shirt beneath, and a huge grin.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this? What time do you have to be there tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t care. I have to see you.”

He strode inside, shut the door, and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her off her feet and swung her around the front hallway of the house.

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