Chapter 29

chapter 29

EMMALINE

The walls are adorned with hanging photos of celebrities who have dined at this famous Atlanta spot. It’s clear that Sloan’s is a must visit for locals and tourists alike. Bryce spots us and, instead of beckoning us over, he excuses himself from the man he was talking to and heads toward our table.

He grins when he reaches us. “You found it.”

I playfully roll my eyes. “Well, there’s this thing called MAPS. It has this handy thing called GPS.”

“I know, but I was getting worried. It’s been twenty minutes.”

Holding up a red glossy bag, I say, “Jolie tugged me into a store.”

Bryce scoops up Jolie and leads us to the corner booth.

“Do you like Southern food?” he asks.

“I like all food. Almost. I won’t eat lobster or crab in the shells… too much work to get a little bite. ”

A half laugh slips from his lips. “Sloan’s is famous for meatloaf, chicken and waffles, and fried potatoes.”

Glenda, who’s pushing sixty, brings menus, laying them on the rustic wood table. “Wynnie.” She pats his back. “Who are these lovely ladies?”

“Good to see ya. My daughter Jolie.” He wraps his arm around her. “And this is my… friend Emmaline.”

I can’t look at her because my gaze is permanently on “Wynnie” He didn’t call me his nanny. He also didn’t call me the woman he’s sleeping with, despite all our efforts to set boundaries, our attraction is too strong, and it seems he’s falling just as fast as me.

“Well, aren’t you the spitting image of your dad. Except a lot prettier,” Glenda says. “Chicken and waffles, fried potatoes and three waters, lemons?”

Bryce tilts his head and asks, “Is that okay?”

“Sure, I’m up for a little adventure.”

If Bryce Wynward is involved, count me in.

Glenda winks at Bryce as she walks off.

“What was the purpose of her bringing menus?”

“I think it gives her something to do until it gets busier. So, what’s in the bag?”

I look at Jolie, “Show him.” I hand her the bag.

She eagerly reaches her hand in the bag and pulls out an ornament. Jolie’s eyes brighten, and her smile widens as she hands it to Bryce. He hangs the ceramic ornament of two kids, a boy and a girl from his finger. Bryce asks, “Is this you and Cannon?”

She nods. Her smile grows as he hugs her.

“He’s going to love it. That’s a very thoughtful gift,” Bryce says, his voice filled with fatherly pride. “Do you want to give it to him at Thanksgiving so he can put it on his tree?”

“Tree.”

Bryce is stunned that she is speaking and after a few moments, a happy realization washes over him.

“Do we have a tree? I mean, do you have a tree?” I ask, feeling a bit embarrassed for assuming.

He shakes his head with a smile. “Nope, never had a reason to get one before.”

“You do now,” I say, referring to Jolie, but I’d love to be included in their Christmas activities. Fearing Bryce hasn’t had a proper Christmas since he was a teenager, I want to give him one. Allow him to get lost in the lights, the festivities, and the love so I blurt out, “Let’s go get a tree this weekend. Oh, we can’t. You have a game Saturday.”

Just then, the little ticker at the bottom of the sports channel reads, “Bryce Wynward left on the runway. More on Sports Central.”

A wave of fear crashes in my mind, and my stomach clenches in response to the sudden pain. Could his concussion be more severe than we thought? Did our actions last night only make it worse? A lump forms in my throat, but I push it down, forcing my hand to reach out and gently cover his. The very hand that holds the ornament. My heart races as I anxiously ask, “Are you all right?”

He grumbles out a response, his tone stretched like a frayed rope. “I’m fine.” Then he pulls his hand away and sets Jolie down beside him.

Our food comes, and Bryce’s demeanor changes instantly. “Dig in.”

“There’s no way I can eat all of this.” The waffle is three inches thick, and four extra-long chicken fingers are arranged in a teepee configuration.

Bryce cuts off a smallish piece for Jolie, dunking it in the syrup, and hands the fork to his daughter. Then he does the same for me, except he holds the fork feeding me. When I pull it off and chew, he feeds himself like in Lady and the Tramp . I’m no longer hungry, but I’ll eat every bite as long as he’s looking at me.

Jolie greedily grabs one of the chicken fingers and dips it into the syrup without waiting for her dad to cut it. When he laughs, I dissolve into a pile of goo. He’s the perfect man. Perfectly scarred, just like the rest of us.

He leaves two hundred dollars on the table for a meal that cost fifty. He hugs Glenda on the way out, and she says, “See ya next month.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you only come once a month?”

“Yeah, I like to give back.”

I mumble, “Yes, you do.” I watch the sly smile slide across his face as the valet pulls up with his SUV.

When we arrive back to his place, Jolie and I make dessert while he’s in his office. She’s humming the theme to one of her favorite shows. I love seeing her come out of her shell and happy. How her mom could leave her is beyond me. She spreads the raspberry jam over the first layer, then uses her strong little fingers to turn the next mixture into a crumbly topping. I let her push the buttons on the oven and as she does, she says, “Beep, beep, beep.”

“Okay, let’s go upstairs, get your pajamas on, and brush your teeth. ”

When we stop by his office, and he’s rifling through papers. He closes his laptop super quick.

“Hey, Jolie and I made raspberry oatmeal bars. Would you like one?” He looks up from his desk. “They’re delish. And what’s one more cheat?”

“Yeah, be there in a minute. My agent sent over some new sponsorship opportunities.”

I turn to walk out, and he calls my name, “Emmaline.” Words seem to get stuck in his throat and after a few seconds, he continues, “Thank you.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just nod.

When he comes into the living room, I scoot the plate of dessert in front of him as Jolie nibbles on her piece. We’re watching an Avatar, an anime cartoon where they shift water, land, and air into different objects to fight against the bad guys. Jolie straightens her back as the battle begins. She jumps off the couch, and we watch her as she karate kicks and tumbles around the floor.

“Have you been teaching my princess martial arts?”

I grin. “A girl must learn to defend herself.”

“Against?”

“Grumpy guys who want to get into her pants,” I whisper into his ear.

He grunts as his voice softly floats, “First, she’s never allowed to date… and how much time left in the movie?”

“About twenty minutes.” But only a few moments later, Jolie is fast asleep on the plush shag rug in front of the television.

I sit on the couch, pulling my knees into my chest. “I don’t want to go to the Vipers game.”

“Why? It’s a huge rivalry. ”

“I… I don’t want to run into Grant. I know he represents a few players on the Vipers, and I just can’t handle it. I don’t know if I can be a lady.” I lean my chin on my knees, half-ashamed of not being able to handle seeing Grant and even Penelope.

He rubs his hand over his stubbled jaw. “If you want, you can watch the game here with Jolie. You and Jolie are my priority. If you don’t want to do something, then you’ll get no argument from me.” He stands me up, reaches for a controller, and soon slow jazz is playing in the background. “Dance with me.”

Romantic. Warm. Loving. Those are the three words I would use to describe this moment.

“It makes my skin crawl when you admit to thinking of another man. I know this is the get-to-know-you phase, but I feel like I already know you better than the girl I dated for years.”

“Bryce.” My fingers tangle in his hair. “Why is being with you so easy?”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about? Grant and not coming to the game?” he asks as he slides his hands under my sweater.

“Uh, huh.” He kisses my neck.

“Let’s put my MMA princess to bed, and then I’ll take care of you.”

“Promise?”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to you or for you,” he promises. “But let’s get Jolie to her room.”

Bryce sweeps her into his arms. She had put on her gown and brushed her teeth while he was working in his office, so he eases her right into bed. He kisses her good night on the forehead, and I follow.

After tucking her in, he pulls me close, tickling my skin with his lips hovering. “I want to know your biggest fantasy, then I’m going to make it come true.”

Naughty thoughts run wild, but then there’s the little angel whispering in my ear thoughts I shouldn’t admit.

He removes my shorts and uses his finger and thumb to roll my nipples between his fingers. “Rusti, you’re safe with me, as long as it’s not another man and me crossing swords.”

I chuckle. “Don’t worry, not on my list.”

“Tell me, and I’ll tell you mine.”

Chest to chest, I can feel my heart racing, anxiety ramping up with nervousness. I find myself hesitating, fearing he’ll judge me or worse—laugh. Sparks ignite as he touches me, and I can’t hold back the desire consuming every part of my body.

“Bathtub, with candles and flower petals.”

His thumb sweeps across my bottom lip and presses lightly. There’s no smile on his face, just an impenetrable gaze on my lips.

“I know it’s stupid,” I murmur. “Were you hoping I would say whips and chains? Because…” A whirlwind of uncertainty taints my voice.

“It’s not stupid. Not what I expected, but I thought you would say something adventurous, but it only makes me love you more,” he confesses like he didn’t just use the biggest and most powerful four-letter word in the dictionary .

A battle wars between my ears wondering if my ears deceived me. Do I hear what I want to hear? “You love me?”

Without answering, he says, “I’ll be right back.”

While he’s gone, I second guess his words and what he meant by them as my back hits the comforter, looking at the dark-gray ceiling. I’m so lost in thought; I don’t hear him treading back into the room.

He scoops me up honeymoon style and turns our bodies, so my feet don’t slap against the doorframe. We walk to the furthest bedroom and into its private bath where a few candles are lit, and flower petals are sprinkled in the water and along the jacuzzi tub’s shelf.

He lowers my legs to the floor and quickly removes all his clothes. My hand is drawn to his erection. When I stroke him, he slips off my matching bra and panty set. It feels like I’m in a movie as he slides into the giant tub. He holds his hand out. “Come in.”

I dip my toe into the warm water, then slowly sit all my curves at the other end. Bryce lifts my ankle, massaging my foot, kissing it as he digs into the arch. The combination of hard and soft touches makes me moan, and Bryce rewards me with a genuine laugh before tugging me onto his lap.

My hands circle his neck. He picks up a lavender pansy petal, roaming it over my nipples. The response is immediate, drawing up into hard peaks. Then his hands move to my hips, sweeping me over his dick. The water swishes and sloshes, lapping over his chest as we move faster, and his hard shaft finds a home inside me.

Our mouths clash and bodies slash. Waves of pleasure crash through me as he bites my lip, and the metallic taste of blood saturates my senses. “What do you need to come?” he asks as he bears down on my nipple while lifting me up and down over his velvety head, teasing me.

“I love that. Don’t stop.” I know he wants to go deeper, but this sensation… I yelp when his fingers pinch my clit, and he mutes my noises with a tender kiss all while still moving in and out. Everything Bryce Wynward does to me is opposites:

Hard and soft.

Screams and whispers.

“You’re so fucking wet and perfect.”

I feel something silky and soft skimming over my folds. I purr out, “What are you doing?”

“Nurturing you. Taking care of what is mine… what will always be mine.” His blue-as-a-painted-ocean eyes drill into mine. “Tending your garden until I can’t stand another second, and I bury myself so deep inside you, you may choke.”

Immediately, I feel a gush inside me. I put my hand over his and rub a long lily petal through my folds and up my backside. “Ohh!” It’s so sensual. He thrusts upward, sinking his body lower into the water. Again and again.

“I’m so…”

“Sexy,” he grunts out. “Never felt like this.” His frame becomes rigid, and his muscles lock up.

My head drops as I ride his orgasm out and chase my own. One hand reaches between us anxiously, agitating his fingers through me.

“Fuck, I love you,” he moans as he fills me with more than his cum.

He fills me with everything I’ve ever wanted.