Fucking Christ, that was the last thing I needed. There had been a time when I'd been a different person, rough around the edges, the one that was likely to end up in jail. Angry all of the time, and I was angry for reasons I couldn't control. I’d smoothed those rough edges and made something of my life, but now, it seemed like the old me needed to come to the forefront or something very bad was going to happen.
Under my bedside table, I reached for the one thing vested in my former life that I kept handy. The switch blade was just as I remembered it. Cold. Delicate. Deadly.
Just like Mina.
I shoved the thoughts of my ex out of my head. I didn't want to think about her and all her lies.
I sprung up out of bed. As usual, I slept commando, so I padded over to the closet and eased the bottom drawer open on the far left. I took a pair of boxers from it and tugged them on. If I was about to have a fight, there was no need to have the lads flying about uncovered.
Luckily, I slept with my door slightly ajar, so easing into the living room didn’t cause any unwanted sound. Then I saw it. The shadow in the study, going through my things.
What the fuck? How had anyone gotten in here?
My feet moved of their own volition. My rational brain was chirping up with things like, ’Call security. You are closer to the door than to the study, so just leave.’ Or the oh so helpful, ‘At least put a fucking shirt on.’
No, I wasn't going to do any of those things. I was going to find out who the fuck was in my suite.
The study door was open, and I saw someone dressed in all black. One of my fucking employees? I could play this scenario one of two ways. I could approach, turn on the lights, and ask them what the fuck they thought they were doing, or I could jump them. I was irritated enough that option two seemed excellent to me.
With a step-over-step motion, I slid against the window to the living room. And then, it was easy.
One arm in a choke hold, the other pressing the knife against the jugular, leaning close. The person was small, delicate. A light floral scent hit my nostrils and I inhaled deep. A woman? The slight stature, the curves, definitely a woman. Not Mina though. She was shorter and not as strong. The woman in my arms delivered a half decent elbow to my ribs. Enough to make me grind my teeth.
And why did she smell so fucking familiar?
My fucking dick didn't seem to know any better. This wasn't some game with a girl who liked it rough. This was deadly serious. But God, why did she smell... and then I knew why. I whipped my intruder around so fast that she squeaked, and with my hand on her throat, I backed her up against the wall and placed the knife to her jugular again.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Emma?"
Chapter Two
Emma
Maybe this was not exactly how I wanted things to turn out. After all, it looked bad. Me caught, first of all. Second, Bridge with his hand around my throat was not ideal. Unless you were into that sort of thing. And third, a knife at my jugular. Again, none of this was a good look. I licked my lips. "Bridge, I didn't know you were home."
"Clearly. What the fuck do you want, Miss Varma?"
Just the way he said Miss Varma sent a shiver into my spine. But then again, Bridge Edgerton was always doing that. Making me want things. Making me need things that he had zero intention of ever delivering on.
We'd kissed once when we were kids. Okay fine. I was a kid. My brother had sent him to look after me because I was fifteen and unruly. God, I really was a terror. My poor brother, Toby, hadn't been able to come home for break, and he'd promised me a concert so he’d sent Bridge in his stead. But God, Bridge acted more like a father than a cool mate of my brother’s. He wasn't as much fun as he was now. If this could be classified as fun. He'd been barely eighteen, but he acted like he knew more than I did. Like he was better, smarter. He wasn't.
And as much as my little crush on him had developed, it hadn’t changed over the years. He was still that person. From a distance of thirty paces, he could still make me tingle with just a look or an arched brow. But he also made me want to hit things. Which, let's face it, was a volatile combination. "This looks bad, but I can explain."
"Start talking, Emma."
"Well, first of all, let's do away with the knife, shall we? We both know that your leanings are toward protecting me, not actually killing me. So, put it down."
His furious gaze bored into mine, and we stood there locked in our little dance as if we had all the time in the world to make our decisions. And I could see it, the constant war inside him. The war between what he should do and what he wanted to do.
Somehow, what he wanted to do always seemed like he was on the verge of kissing me. But he never gave in, not voluntarily anyway. The last time he kissed me had been under duress. Well, fine. He could pretend he didn't want me all he wanted if he thought he could keep it up. I knew he did, but he would never take that step. All because of the promise he'd made to my brother. Which was such bullshit.
Toby was gone. Long gone. And aside from vengeance, I didn’t owe him anything. He would have wanted me to be happy. And he had loved the lads. If I had ended up with any one of them, he might have been a bit miffed in the beginning. Mugged off, actually. But if one of his mates had shown he had the stones to date his sister, he would have been happy. Because what’s better than to have your mates actually be in your family.
Toby had been closest to Bridge if I had to guess. Because Mr. Edgerton took the whole look out for my sister thing a little too literally. Because of that, he wouldn't touch me. "Now, now, Bridge, let's not be hasty." I shifted my hips ever so slightly and watched as his eyes flared. "Is that whiskey on your breath?"
"I had one fucking drink."
"’Course you did.” I rolled my eyes. He was so predictable. “Never out of control, are you? I'm just shocked you even had one drink. Imagine what that would do for your personality. It might loosen you up."
"I'm still waiting for you to tell me what you’re doing here. You know me. I'm patient."
Yes, he was, wasn't he? He would wait until I gave him a goddamn nod. The problem was, I was stubborn too. And so God only knew how long we could stay locked in this little dance of ours just to see who would crack first. But neither one would. There was no give and take with me and Bridge.
It was either find our corners or go all out rumble status. Though that was rare. Because hell, in a rumble, there stood the chance of him putting his hands on me. Anywhere would do. Just something to alleviate the ever-present pull low in my belly when he was around.
Three years or so ago, I'd resolved to stop overthinking this whole pull to him, and I had almost shagged Logan Mann instead. It was an exercise in futility when it came down to it. I hadn’t wanted Logan as much as I’d wanted Bridge.
Bridge had been my first kiss. That kind of crush I couldn’t forget, despite his complete ambivalence toward me.
As I stared at him and licked my bottom lip, his gaze narrowed and focused on it. And my inner diva stood up and cheered. He tucked the knife away and backed off, then he tossed it on to the table nearby. He didn't remove his hand on my throat though. "Emma, I'd hate to leave a mark. Talk."