Chapter 9

nine

brYCE

Watching her with Jolie does something to my stomach. I’m mesmerized by how Emmaline interacts with Jolie, even though my little girl doesn’t speak. Who knew throwing broccoli into a bowl could be so fun? I watch from the security feed on my phone. My little girl is all smiles. And the gorgeous redhead is too.

I pad down the stairs as light footed as possible to sneak a peek at them. Spying on them could give me some pointers on how to get Jolie to open up to me.

Jolie holds crackers in her pudgy hands, squeezing them until they disintegrate into tiny pieces, and she uses chef fingers to spread the crumbs around. She’s adorable sitting on the counter in her frilly dress.

I clear my throat, and Emmaline’s eyes widen, capturing me in her gaze. She’s so fucking beautiful.

Babysitter +Teammate’s sister = Off limits.

Somehow, I manage to walk out after giving her no instructions .

My driver drops me off at the swanky Skyloft Hotel, and I take a breath before stepping onto the red carpet. The paparazzi get a few photos by myself before my agent, Paul Rossi, appears by my side.

“No arm candy tonight?” he asks.

“No but remind me to get something sweet to take home,” I say, thinking it would be nice to come home with a present for Jolie.

He laughs, throwing his head back as we smile for a few more pictures. “That shouldn’t be a problem for Bryce Wynward.”

“Not that kind of sweet. Candy for my daughter.”

“Did you say daughter?” His brows surge up his forehead in shock. “Because if you have a child, we need to redo your wealth management. You need a will, a trust fund for her, a 529 plan, and a bunch of other legal things. Are you sure she’s yours?”

“Yeah, we had a DNA test done, but I knew it from the time I saw her picture. I saw my brother in her. She’s almost six,” I say, understanding his concern.

A model-like brunette whisks Paul away. “I’ll be in touch,” he calls over his shoulder.

I’m the spokesman for an all-natural energy drink, but it’s high in caffeine. There are no preservatives or artificial flavors. I allow myself any food I want, but I do try to stay away from food dyes. Except Cheetos. I fucking love Cheetos.

Milani, the energy drink executive, moves me around the room, making sure to talk with all the big executives. Milani and I take pictures making a craft cocktail which includes the energy drink, vodka, and a sprig of mint. We pour it into a glass with a ball of red ice, colored by beet juice. The hint of beet as it fizzes awakens my tastebuds, and the photographers take pictures while I’m talking with the glass in my hand. I do my best to stay focused on the conversations I’m having with fans and sponsors, but my thoughts keep wandering back to the girls at my house.

Women saddle up next to me, and at least five times I’m propositioned by married women. It’s amazing how rich people have very little morals, present company excluded. I don’t cheat. Never have. Both people in a relationship deserve to be the only one. Not that I’m an expert, I haven’t had a girlfriend since college.

I decide to bounce and sneak out since I don’t see any of my best friends or teammates. My obligations have been fulfilled so I leave. It may be the first time I’ve left an event alone in my professional career. This is what Reed meant by saying Jolie will be a good change for you.

When I walk into the house, it smells of broccoli and cookies—not a combination any sane person would put together. I continue to the living room and find Emmaline with the television on a low whisper. As I look over the couch, Jolie’s head lies on Emmaline’s lap, and both are fast asleep. A grin creeps across my face, taking in the sight of my little girl in the arms of a caring woman. And peaceful. Why are kids so angelic when they’re sleeping?

Slowly, I scoot around the couch, lifting Jolie into my arms, and take her up to her room. As I peel the comforter back, Jolie’s lips vibrate against my neck as she lets out a dreamy sigh, and her body relaxes against me. Laying her down and covering her with the blanket, I stare for a moment. Love shoots through me. I may not know her well, but this blond-haired, blue-eyed little girl already has my heart.

It stings that she doesn’t feel the same way about me, but hopefully, that will change. I turn on the mermaid nightlight, close the door, and tiptoe downstairs. Emmaline stretches her arms up and as she stands, her shirt creeps up her body, revealing the small of her back and creamy skin. Seconds tick by until she sees me.

“Where’s Jolie?” she asks in panic mode. Her eyes skitter around the room.

“Shouldn’t you know?” My tone sounds accusatory.

Emmaline pops her hip out, folding her arms over her waist. “She was asleep on my lap.”

Damn this woman for changing my focus to her hips. Hips that beg for me to grab them and pull her flush with my body.

“I put her to bed.” It comes out matter-of-factly with no love in my voice, which isn’t what I intended.

“Why are you so grumpy when you’ve been partying with rich people under the guise of doing good?”

“Partying?”

Emmaline’s eyes narrow. “I’ve been with my brother through three years of college and eight years in the pros. I know you raise money for organizations that need money, but I also know what else the events are about. Women, free drinks, and food.” She sighs and says, “I should go.”

She snatches her purse from the table and heads toward the front of the penthouse. I stand there. What the hell just happened? It only takes me a few strides to grab her hand. “Wait.”

Her auburn hair flies over her shoulder as she whips around toward me. “Why? I do you a favor, and you come home snarky? Are you always an asshole after you’ve had a few drinks?”

I gloss over her attitude, thinking about the only time I’ve had drinks in her presence. Now, I need to reset our interaction. Put her on her heels.

“You know I’m not.” I stare into her eyes and gently tug her toward me. Her pulse quickens against my fingers.

She knows—I know.

The moment is full of tension. We’re searching for something in the other’s eyes. She chews on her bottom lip, drawing my attention to her mouth, and the peachy pink flesh glistens under her the bite of her teeth.

“Can you stay? I brought home dessert and honestly, I need to talk about Jolie.”

Her shoulders fall, and her arm relaxes, no longer trying to escape my hold.

“Okay. I can’t turn down dessert.” Then she mumbles, “As you can see.”

I ignore the comment because I see that she doesn’t diet, but that doesn’t mean she’s not my version of perfection. Why? I don’t know. I’ve never gone out with a curvy girl—yes, 36-24-36 but not anyone with muscles combined with a softness that I wanted to stroke all night long.

I keep my hand wrapped around her wrist as we move into the kitchen, and I gesture for her to sit. She spots the takeout bag from the Skyloft Hotel. “Is this the dessert?”

Shaking my head, I reach for a wine that pairs well with sugar. I remove the cork before pouring two glasses and hand her one. The flesh of her lips presses against the crystal, and I can’t help but stare.

I sit down beside her, pull the cheesecake from the bag, and take out two forks from the drawer.

“Ladies first,” I say as I place the fork in her hand.

She hovers her fork above the raspberries, I assume looking for the perfect bite. A few seconds later, she pushes the fork through the creamy cake and folds her lips over the utensil. Her eyes close, and a purr comes from that gorgeous throat that I want to suck on so badly.

“That good, huh?”

“God, yes. You can find me at the Skyloft getting dessert every day.” She snickers, and it’s the cutest little sound. I would gladly make a date to take her every night. Warm, gooey feelings travel through me that I’ve never had while sharing dessert with a woman.

Shoving a large piece into my mouth, I smile. “It’s possibly the best cheesecake I’ve ever had.” Then I sip the wine, and she follows my lead. “Do you like the wine?”

“I do.” She swirls it and smells it. “It’s so smooth and caramelly.”

“Caramelly, huh. I’ve learned a new word.”

She tips her head to the left then right as she eats. “Add an l-y to the end of anything, and it makes it sound scrumptious. Speaking of delicious food, Jolie and I turned the boring chicken and steamed broccoli into a casserole masterpiece. You should be proud of her; she ate two large spoonfuls.” Emmaline takes a quick inhale and continues, “I found some apples, a sparkling silver mixer that looks like it’s never been used, and we made homemade applesauce. My brother loves my homemade applesauce to put in pouches and take on runs. I found some plastic bags, so I filled them up for you or Jolie to eat in the next couple of days.”

When she glances at me, she must see the smile on my face and asks, “What?”

I swear I could listen to her ramble all day long, and internally, I keep asking myself why. Why does she have this effect on me?

“Nothing.” I’m not used to people doing things for me without expecting something in return—a photo, an autograph. It’s always something. Let’s go out to the patio and talk.”

After passing through the glass French doors, I press the button on the firepit and gesture for her to sit on the couch. She tucks one leg under her butt, sitting catty cornered at the end. I walk over to the clear railing, trying to work through what I want to ask.

The skyline dazzles the black night with buildings lit up in colors across the spectrum, but the beauty of it doesn’t hold a candle to Emmaline. As I turn to face her, she’s sipping her wine, and the glow from the hot coals flicker across her features.

I blow out a breath. “Can we talk about Jolie?” My voice wavers slightly. “I have no idea how to be a father.”

She sets the wine glass on the outdoor coffee table, stands, and strides toward me. Those jeans. Damn. They hug her hips and outline the curves in her legs.

Resting her elbows on the rail, she admires the view and says, “No one does in the beginning.” Then she rests her hand on top of mine, comforting me.

“Do you think she’s scared of me? I’ve tried to be gentle, a characteristic I haven’t been since senior year of college with my girlfriend. I like body checking and crashing into the boards.” It gargles out in a half-laugh.

Twisting her body, she peers into my eyes but removes her hand. “I think she’s happy here… I don’t want to be out of line but what kind of sick, delusional woman drops her child off with someone she doesn’t know? I mean, what the fuck? It makes me sick to my stomach. What if someone dropped you off at my house and said, ‘This is where you live now. This is your new wife.’”

A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth at the thought of sharing a home and bed with Rusti, I mean Emmaline.

When she realizes the words that came from her mouth, she stutters, “Th…that was just an example… just trying to explain what she’s going through. Because no one wants to get dropped off at a stranger’s house. I work with children in the foster care system, or I did before moving to Atlanta. In my experience, Jolie knows she’s safe, but she more than likely feels abandoned by her mom and the life she knew.”

Jesus, she’s intelligent, caring, and real. There’s no facade—what you see is what you get, unlike any woman I’ve dated since becoming a professional athlete. I’m not oblivious to a real relationship, but my forever girl ended up being more into other women. That’s what propelled me to prove my manhood by sleeping with more women than I can remember. Sick—I know.

All I can do is nod.

“So, did you decide about Jolie’s school? Will she be attending Admire Academy?”

“I don’t want to send her to school yet. If I send her now, I won’t be able to get to know her. I’ll only see her for a few minutes here and there.”

Her face softens and if eyes could smile, hers are grinning from ear to ear. “You know you don’t sound as grumpy as my brother portrays you. You’re sweet and hot.”

“Hot?”

She chews on her bottom lip, and a memory flashes of her teeth digging into her bottom lip while my tongue was licking every ounce of her arousal.

“For some reason, I keep sticking my foot in my mouth around you,” she says as she bends her knee, grabs her chucks, and lifts her foot to her mouth for emphasis.

I can’t stand another minute in her presence without touching her lips with mine.

Oh Jesus, what I could do with those flexible limbs. My hand instinctively reaches for her, and my fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck. I’m an asshole. I should be thinking of Jolie, and all I can think of is Emmaline’s thick tendrils sticking to my body.

My fingers bring her head to mine with my lips ghosting over hers. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but my body and my mind are on the same page. My mind and body remembers how her mouth tasted, and we want a rematch. No alcohol. No music feeding sexual desires. Just a man who wants to feel electrified again. And the woman responsible.

“There’s something special about you,” I confess. “I have an unreasonable desire to make you feel good.” My lips capture the corners of her mouth before centering myself. Her juicy flesh tastes like wine and dessert.

She purrs as my tongue skims her lips, opening them. “ How is someone with these lips not taken?” she asks rhetorically… I think. “Because you like being a ladies man.”

“You have me all wrong,” I say as I pull away.

After staring into her eyes that are sometimes blue and sometimes green, she says, “I should go.”

She should. I’m dangerously close to admitting in no uncertain terms that I remember our night. I kiss her cheek and walk her to the door.

For the next two days, not a peep from Emmaline. I wanted her to digest the kiss that happened between us. We had one glass of wine, proving to me, the hunger I feel in my bones isn’t through the fog of alcohol.

While I’m at practice, Belinda watches Jolie, but judging by that little five-year-old’s hip jutting out, they are both frustrated. I understand, it seems the only two people who connect with Jolie are Cannon and Emmaline.

Me: I hate to ask, but can you come over tonight?

Emmaline: Umm… not sure that’s a good idea.

Me: I had you pegged for the “helper” personality.

Emmaline: I can run by for a minute. I have a date .

The fuck she does. I’ll change her mind.

Me: I won’t keep you long. Just need some pointers.

When she arrives, Jolie lights up like a Christmas tree, and I realize that I’m smiling.

I meet her in the kitchen and explain that I had another sitter today, and both Jolie and the sitter got frustrated. “Can you show me what I can do with her and how I can make positive connections with her?”

Her eyes seem green tonight, and I lose myself in them before she says, “Follow me.”

She grabs a children’s book from the coffee table. As she reads each page, she stops and points out things. Or ask questions. “What do you think will happen next?”

My daughter doesn’t answer, but she gets up on her knees to get closer to the pages. She’s interested. Curious.

Then Emmaline turns on YouTube and finds a video where non-verbal kids interact. This allows teachers and parents to measure what they know.

The cartoon character says, “Point to blue.” Jolie goes through all the colors.

The next lesson is “Which animal is the tallest? Which animal is taller than the dog but shorter than the giraffe?” Jolie picks the gorilla.

Emmaline leans over and whispers to me, “Give her a reward.”

“Like a cookie?”

“No, something more personal. Like she gets to pick out a new toothbrush, or she gets to pick out flowers to go on the entry hall table where everyone can see it.” She pauses. “I need to go.”

My hand catches hers. The sizzling connection ripples through me. “Wait. It’s her bedtime, and I’ve had trouble getting her to sleep.”

Jolie has fallen over the couch, so I pick her up, holding up one finger to Emmaline. “Please wait,” I say in a hushed tone.

When I come back, it’s as if she can sniff out my lies. “That was quick, and I have a date.”

“You don’t. You know it, and I know it.” A rumble rolls through my core. “I’ve dreamed of sliding inside you again. You’re the first woman to leave me in bed.”

She gnaws on her lip, and a red wave crests over her skin, and it’s so fucking sexy.

“Rusti, my fingers, tongue, and cock have been inside you. Don’t get embarrassed now,” I tease, using the fake name she gave me and my friends the night we met.

Her big cartoon-like eyes and slightly parted lips only fuel my hunger. I feel her chest rapidly rising as I tug her closer.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you for eight years. The voluptuous woman who made me feel impossible things. The woman who gave me a fake name,” I whisper over her shimmering lips.

“You must have the wrong girl.” She smirks. “My name is Emmaline.”

“Rustavelli. Rusti. The right girl.”

Excitement surges through me as her hands tremble, sliding up my arms and down my chest. My head falls to capture her mouth in a tentative exploration. She opens for me, and I deepen the kiss. She tastes like fruit and caramel and damn if I don’t feel like I’ve picked the ripest apple.

I press my body into hers as I cup her face, and she moans as my erection knocks on her stomach. He’s been enduring a dry spell.

My fingers tunnel through her hair, and her hands wrap around my neck. I slip my hands under her shirt, and she flinches. “Don’t,” she murmurs into my mouth.

Forehead to forehead, I say, “Let me show you how perfect you are. Make you feel like the woman you are. I’ve fantasized about you for so long. Never thought I would find you, again.”

Her body relaxes, and my thumbs skate over her silky skin. We kiss with the wind nipping and whipping against our faces, yet my body is on fire. Lost in the feeling, I pull the hem of her shirt over her head. My lips drop into the pocket of her shoulder while her head falls back, letting out a hum of approval.

I explore her shoulders while my finger sneaks under her yellow bra strap, and it falls to her arms. Peppering her with white-hot kisses, I work my way down to her breast, and I’m not surprised to see sunflowers on her bra. Because she’s the sun. As hot as the sun. When I drop to my knees and unbutton her jeans, her breath hitches.

“Oh my God.”

Unzipping her jeans one metal tooth at a time, she shimmies just enough that I can push them down to her knees. I blow a hot breath over her lace-covered center, and her fingers pinch my shoulders. Her ragged breathing urges me on. I pull down the lace and circle her center with my tongue. Praise falls from my lips. “So responsive. So wet. So beautiful.” Her nails funnel through my hair.

“Nooooo.”

I’m so lost in this work of art in front of me, I think I’m hearing things. Surely, she wants this as much as I do.

Emmaline tugs me up. “Jolie. Jolie screamed.”

It won’t be the last time that Jolie cockblocks me.