18. Jenn

Chapter 18

Jenn

Emmett’s lips found my collarbone, and I sighed. His tongue danced along the length of my neck, and I shivered, reveling in the press of his body against mine. He moved with a fluid, predatory grace that threw my pulse into a frenzy. His fingers traced fiery paths down my sides, each touch sending electric shocks through me.

“Jenn,” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. His voice was gravel and velvet, rough and smooth in all the right ways. “You taste so good.”

Heat erupted in my belly, spreading like wildfire. It felt real. It felt right. His words echoed in the dark, and his body moved next to mine the way I’d always imagined—the way it was meant to be.

His lips trailed down my chest, and I arched into him. His hands cupped my breasts as he kissed his way down my body, each touch leaving a burning imprint on my skin.

“Emmett…” I moaned his name and squeezed my eyes shut.

His tongue circled my navel and continued further south. The sensation was mind-numbingly intense. As he pushed one of my legs to the side, my fingers clutched at his hair as if he were an anchor in a storm.

I had to watch him. I couldn’t keep my eyes closed.

But when I opened them, we weren’t in my room anymore. We were in the Casino. I was naked in the middle of the Monte Carlo Casino, propped up on a bed of pillows on a platform. The clatter of roulette balls and slot machines filled the cavernous space as the gamblers went about their business with an eerie indifference.

“Emmett,” I hissed. No response. “Emmett!”

He looked up at me, confusion on his features. “I told you to be careful.”

“I—” My eyes snapped open, and I shot up from the bed.

Faint light spilled in through the crack between my curtains.

I was in my bed. Pulse pounding. In my hotel room.

Shit .

It was a dream. Just a dream and nothing more.

I flopped back onto the pillow, pressing my hand to my chest, urging my heart and lungs to slow down. How else was I going to get back to sleep and enjoy the rest of that dream?

Other than the part about being at the Casino.

Minutes passed, and my brain remained on high alert. The dream began to fade.

That was the closest I’d ever get to him. I blew out a slow breath. Dante had been so wrong.

After I’d showered last night, I had been wired. Every drop of water had me thinking about the possibility Emmett wanted me. That he’d insisted I stay with him, he’d followed me to the gallery and restaurant, and he’d been waiting for me to arrive after dinner—not because I was Scarlett’s best friend, but because I was me.

So I’d put on some perfume, made a ridiculous display with my hips, and nothing! I put my foot on the table so the robe would expose my leg—and almost a lot more—but he didn’t react.

No, he did react. He kept checking his laptop.

I scrubbed my hands over my face.

Emmett couldn’t get back to work fast enough.

I was officially the worst femme fatale in the history of the world.

A soft noise from Emmett’s room broke my thoughts. I sat up again and cocked my head, listening. Was it my imagination or was he still awake? The clock by my bed proclaimed it was three in the morning. Did he have that much work to finish?

The sound came again, louder.

An icy burst crawled up my spine. It was him, right? Someone hadn’t broken in?

I slid out from the bed and crept toward my door. Pressed an ear to it. The sound came again, but it was definitely from the wall between our rooms, not the hallway.

Curiosity and adrenaline urged me forward.

Quietly, I eased my door open and stepped into the hallway, my feet barely whispering against the hardwood floor. His door was open—exactly like he’d promised.

The noise came again, obviously from his room—a low groan, guttural and filled with pain, followed by heavy breaths. My stomach clenched as I drew closer.

“No,” he murmured.

It was a nightmare. I paused before I reached his room, wanting to check on him, but not wanting to. This was crossing a line—stepping into his personal space uninvited. Not just uninvited, but while he was sleeping.

He rustled the sheets, followed by another soft cry. Before I could second or third-guess myself, my feet carried me the final distance to his room. His curtains were wide open, with the moonlight dancing across his sweat-slicked skin. The covers were a mess, half off the bed, and three pillows were on the floor. His face twisted in discomfort as he fought some unseen enemy in his dreams.

“Emmett,” I called softly, stepping further into the room. His head jerked to the side, a grimace overwhelming his features. It was getting worse.

He tossed the sheets again, revealing how little he wore—boxer briefs only.

You shouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.

Then he shouldn’t have convinced me to stay with him.

“Em, wake up.”

His body jerked, and another groan tumbled from his lips.

I reached out, pausing before I touched his shoulder. Waking someone from a nightmare was dangerous. Why was I doing this?

Or was that an old wives’ tale?

“Emmett,” I said more firmly this time, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. His skin was hot to the touch, feverish even.

His eyes flew open with a start, wild and unfocused. He shot upright, his hand darting beneath his pillow.

Re-emerging with a handgun.

Pointed directly at my chest.

“Get out!” he bellowed.

I stumbled backward, fear twisting my insides. Heart leaping into my throat. Hands raised. “It’s me!”

“What—”

“Jenn!” I tripped over something, falling hard onto the floor. No escape. Nowhere to go. He had to hear me. “It’s Jenn!”

“Jenn—” He leaped out of the bed, eyes still wild but recognition dawning. The gun clattered to the floor as he lunged forward, dropping to his knees beside me.

Why did he have a gun under his pillow?

“Jenn, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse. He reached out, hesitating before his hands found my arms. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head, hiccupping in breaths. “I’m fine. Just startled.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, softer this time. His eyes roamed over my face, searching. He brushed back a strand of hair, fingertips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. My vision blurred as tears collected on my lids. I should have stayed in my room.

It was a gun.

Emmett took my face in his hands and brushed away the tears rolling down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you, I swear.”

I nodded rapidly, almost as rapidly as the shudders wracked my body. What else could I say? What could I do? My sweet, kind, amazing Emmett slept with a gun. And he had horrible nightmares.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against my forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“You were having a nightmare.” I sniffled, wishing I didn’t sound as pathetic as I must have. “I heard you from my room. You sounded… like you were in pain.”

“I’m fine.” Emmett’s voice held the barest tremble, a vulnerability so unlike him that my heart would have ached if it weren’t so busy trying to escape my body. He glanced at the discarded gun on the floor. “It was only a dream.”

I put my hands over his, trying to steady my breathing.

He picked me up and settled me on his lap. Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. “Don’t cry. You’re safe.”

Too late.

I buried my face against his neck and fell apart.

A gun.

Pointed straight at me.

All I could see was Emmett yelling at me, with the gun pointed at my chest.

Despite the tremor in Emmett’s voice, his embrace was solid and confident. He traced soothing circles on my back, the warmth of his body a comfort. The thin layer of sweat he had from the nightmare cooled my skin, and I was suddenly aware I was sitting on his lap, both of us practically naked. My tank top and boy shorts only hid a smidge more than his boxer briefs.

Heat—stupid, poorly timed heat—crawled its way up my chest.

“I’m sorry.” I tried pulling away, but he held fast.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispered near my ear. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I could feel every contour of his muscles pressed against me, and it sent a confusing blend of comfort and embarrassment rushing through me. My thoughts jumbled into an incoherent mess, a swarm of butterflies filling my stomach. Such awful timing.

“Emmett,” I started, my voice catching.

His grip loosened, and he separated from me, but only enough we could see each other. His eyes were bloodshot, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. But the way his gaze caressed me, I could almost believe he didn’t want to let me go. As though maybe, just maybe, holding me was the one thing keeping him together.

The silence stretched between us as we sat in the dark, slowly transforming from a shared fear and regret into something darker. Something dangerous.

Something I’d wanted almost as long as I’d known him.

I pulled my hand from around his back and traced his jawline, raking my fingers through his short beard.

His lids flickered shut for a moment. Was he enjoying it or trying to come up with a way to tell me no? When his eyes reopened, they burned with an intensity the dim light couldn’t hide. A rumble formed in his chest, reverberating through me.

My core tightened in response, a desperate ache building. Flashes from my dream hit me. His lips on my breasts. His hands digging into my hips. His whispers as I threaded my fingers through his hair. I ground down on his cock, searching for friction, making my need clear.

“Fuck,” he groaned, eyes sliding shut again.

There was so little fabric between us. Did he feel how wet I was?

“Jenn,” he ground out. One of his hands moved into my hair, wrapping his fist around the strands, holding me in place. When he reopened his eyes, a war raged inside them. Desire battled with restraint, and for a moment, I was terrified he’d push me away.

I grazed my fingers up his jaw, through his hair, and settled them at the nape of his neck. I urged him closer, our breaths mingling in the scant distance that remained. His eyes locked onto mine. I could almost taste the desire radiating off him.

What had he been dreaming about? What scared the unflappable Emmett Reynolds?

“You are so fucking beautiful.” He dipped his head slightly, lips hovering just above mine, his breath dancing against my skin. And he paused. No more than an inch between us. “But we can’t do this.”

Underneath me, he hardened, and I rubbed myself against him, the heat growing unbearable. “Why not?”

“You have a boyfriend.” His forehead dropped to mine, a tinge of regret in his words.

“I broke up with him before I left for Nice. He was cheating on me.” It should have been a lot sooner than that. Focus on the moment, Jenn. “For once, I want someone who cares about me.”

“I care about you.” He let out an ironic laugh. “I care so much, I can’t… can’t touch you. I promised Scarlett I’d keep you safe.”

“Safe from you?”

He nodded, but didn’t separate from me. “You deserve someone…”

We sat in silence for seconds that felt like minutes, until I realized he wouldn’t say more. I applied pressure to the back of his neck, hoping to encourage him forward, but he resisted. So I drifted my fingers down his jaw again, tracing my thumb against his lips. “Someone what?”

His lips parted, and he pulled in a ragged breath. His tongue followed, dragging across the pad of my thumb. Slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. He leaned back, shaking his head. “Someone who takes you back to your room when you need sleep. That’s what someone who actually cares about you would do.”

Cutting off any protest I could offer, Emmett slid his hands under my knees and around my back, lifting me effortlessly. Too confused and overwhelmed to argue, I let my head rest against his neck. I imagined he was lifting me to his own bed, to do everything Dream-Emmett was doing in my fantasy.

Did Awake-Emmett want me the same way? Was he making excuses to avoid me again, or did he believe what he was saying? Was running my hand over his hard pecs going to turn him on or embarrass me come morning?

“I’m sorry I scared you, Jenn.” He swallowed hard. “It’s the last thing I ever wanted.

Why did he have a gun in Monaco, let alone sleep with it under his pillow?

The gentle rocking from his steps as he carried me down the dim hallway calmed me. His warmth seeped into my skin, his pulse a steady rhythm against my ear, relaxing me.

We reached my room, and he nudged the door open with his foot, stepping inside without breaking stride. He moved through the bedroom with the ease of someone who’d carried a hundred women to bed this way.

I pushed that thought aside.

“You’re safe.” He laid me on the messy bed, pulled the cover over me, and pressed another kiss to my forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, I…” I curled up on my side. So tired. Break-ins and forgeries and staring down the barrel of a gun. This trip was supposed to free me, not bring everything crashing down.

“You need rest.” He rounded the bed, slid in behind me, pushed a thick arm under my head for a pillow, and draped his other arm over my waist. “I’ll stay until you’re asleep.”

I nestled against him, breathing in the scent of his cologne. Cardamom, bergamot, and a hint of vanilla. Dark. Mysterious. So sexy.

So not the right time to think about that. I snuggled against his muscled body, hoping to rub my ass against his erection, but it was gone. No matter how hard he’d been, he didn’t genuinely want me. Not that way.

“Don’t think about anything. Just sleep.”

He was one to talk. He’d been the one having the nightmare.

But the gun? Holy shit. Scarlett never said their jobs were so dangerous they slept with weapons next to them. Rav, I could understand.

Not Emmett.

Not voice-like-silk Emmett.

I yawned and placed my hand over his.

Not always-knew-what-to-say Emmett.

Not the Emmett who Dante swore was in love with me.

“Nothing bad’s going to happen.” He stroked my abdomen with his thumb. “I’ve got you.”

I know .