Page 25 of The Gilded Cuff
Rachel grinning, offering Sophie her pinkie. “Pinky swear, Sophie. It’s sacred, you know.” Her own pinkie curled around Rachel’s, locking them together. Both girls laughing, the secret lighting up Rachel’s eyes.
“Tell me something about your brother,” she asked. Something in her tone must have gotten through to him because the hungry look in his eyes turned sad. “Please tell me,” she encouraged.
“What do you wish to know?”
“Something happy. Something sweet.” She put a fist in her mouth to stifle a yawn. Exhaustion battled her desire to stay awake.
“Happy?” His brows drew together; his perplexed expression cracked something deep in her chest. It was as though he hadn’t thought of happiness in a long time.
She waited, holding her breath. He had to remember something happy, something good. During the darkest hours of her life, she survived on her happy memories, bathing in them as if they were sunlight.
“Every Sunday morning during the summer, we had tennis lessons. My father was convinced one of us would be a Wimbledon champion someday.” His voice was rough at first, as if speaking pained him. The details must have been buried deep within him because he paused, closed his eyes, and after a moment began again.
“Fenn didn’t like our instructor. He was a grouchy old man named Mr. Belkin, but he was quite the teacher. Still, as boys, Fenn and I didn’t see the value in his lessons. Fenn used to get fed up with running laps around the courts. It was Fenn’s idea for me to distract Belkin, and then Fenn would get out his penknife and puncture all of the new tennis balls. Every time Belkin hit a ball toward us, it dropped flat to the ground like a rock.” Emery laughed softly, remembered joy lighting his eyes like distant stars.
Sophie tilted her face up, entranced by the sudden change. He looked boyish, mischievous.
“God, Belkin used to get so mad. He couldn’t get a single ball to clear the net.” Emery sniggered like a devious child. But all too soon the pleasure of that moment vanished like mist over a field as dawn gave way to morning.
She could almost see the walls closing around him, like metal gates slamming down. He was shutting her out.
“Hey!” she slapped his t-shirt-clad chest.
“What?” he growled back.
She nearly smiled, feeling like a small terrier barking at a Bengal tiger. It was only a matter of time before he made a meal out of her.
“You’re shutting me out,” she said. “I thought that was the bargain…I surrender, you talk. So far you’ve been all Mr. Grabby Hands, and I’ve gotten nothing in return.”
His eyes turned that eerie shade of burnt umber, like tree bark in winter. Dead and cold. “We mustn’t forget your story. Are you planning on a speech when my life’s greatest tragedy wins you the Pulitzer?” His comment was a poison-tipped dart thrust deep between her ribs and not easily removed.
“You don’t have to be so cruel.” Sophie couldn’t believe how much his words hurt. She rolled away from him, knocking his arm away to separate them.
Emery got up from the bed and headed toward the door. Sophie couldn’t help looking him over. He was delectable in his black t-shirt and gray flannel pajama bottoms, which hung low on his hips. Even as angry as she was with him, she still wanted him to come back and put his hands on her. Despair lodged in her throat, nearly choking her. It wasn’t fair of him to get mad at her for doing her job. She’d agreed to the bargain; he owed her. It wasn’t as though she’d demanded details, or asked how Fenn died. No, she’d only asked that he not shut her out. Did that make her some sort of villain?
The soft snick of a light switch and the instant darkness in the room was almost as surprising as when Emery returned to the bed, drew back the covers and touched her shoulder.
“Get in.”
She threw him a disgruntled look and was all for ignoring him until he swatted her ass.
“Mr. Grabby Hands has issued you an order.”
Ahh, Emery, the dom, was back. Sophie bit off the caustic remark that singed the tip of her tongue and crawled under the sheets. Even the man’s bedding made her hungry.
He joined her in the bed, and before she could protest he’d curled an arm around her waist and dragged her back into his arms. Her body spooned perfectly against his. It was impossible not to shiver when he placed a kiss on the back of her neck and nuzzled her ear.
“I give you permission to sleep.” There was a ghost of a laugh in his whisper.
She bristled. “Thank you, your highness.”
Silent laughter shook her body from behind. He bit the lobe of her left ear and electric pulses shot straight to her clit.
“You’re most welcome, my dear.”
She had every intention of giving him a snarky reply but when it came right down to it, she was too tired. She’d get him in the morning, though. She’d get him good.
***
