The way he was staring at my lips with his body so close to mine, his scent wrapping around me, all musky and intoxicating like spices, I took a chance that he was as distracted as I was. There was no way I was telling him what I was really doing there because I knew he'd send me away.
"Okay, fine. I have been following you."
That surprised him. "What? How?"
"You should know by now not to ask how I know things. You haven't been home in a while."
"Not really your business."
His grip loosened, but he didn't entirely remove his hand.
I shifted my hips, and he frowned at me. "Stop it, Emma."
"Stop what?" I asked innocently.
"I know what you're doing."
I lowered my lashes, bit my bottom lip, and rolled my hips again.
He released my throat then. "Stop."
"Touchy-touchy, Bridge. Don't you just want to give in? Do what you've always wanted to do?"
There were mere inches between us. If I wanted to, I could reach up and press my lips to his. Would he respond? Would he act like he didn't care? Would he give in?
Fuck if I knew. I was desperate to find out, but how many times did you have to be rejected by someone before you got the message? I tried to play nice. "I wanted to talk to you." More like make him read me into the plans the lads had for their payback on Francis Middleton.
"Bullshit. What are you fucking doing here?"
Okay fine, so he could read me well. "There's no need for that kind of language, sir. We had a deal. The five of us. I gave you the information necessary to stop the men who were responsible for Toby’s death. You got two of them. Congratulations. But the third and final one? What the fuck are you doing? You lot are sitting on your bloody hands."
The muscle in his jaw flexed. "We have a plan in play.”
“Well, then you just have to let it right out." I crossed my arms, putting a little space between us. Because when he was this close, I couldn't pay attention.
"I'm not telling you what the plan is. It's for your own safety."
He took a step back. Immediately, I missed his heat, his scent... even the smell of whiskey. Why was he drinking whiskey? Every now and again, Bridge would have a scotch, but he was so tightly controlled it was very rare. I didn't think I'd ever seen him drunk. Hell, I'd never seen him truly let loose and have some fun. Never. Not once. "We had an agreement, remember? And you boys tried to cut me out of it. You sent me away."
"I made it so that you could spend some time with your mother."
"Yeah, see, I love Mum, and she is enjoying New York immensely. But that wasn’t the deal. I'm back now, and I want in."
"You have a job."
"One I’m working remotely for. And I intend to find out what the fuck is going on."
"Like I said, there's a plan in motion. Don't get involved."
He turned from me, and I grabbed his arm, leaning into him and pressing my body into his. And just for the briefest moment, I could feel the shiver run through him. "Are you backing out? You know, I intended to be part of this. If you don't talk to me, if you don't share, if you leave me out of it, I'll go around you."
I watched him visibly swallow even as his gaze narrowed. "Time's up. It's late. You have two options. I'll put you in a car with my security and they’ll take you home, or you can stay here and I’ll take you home in the morning. Where are you staying?"
I pressed my lips together. "I'm not telling you that."
"Right, so your mum’s house it is."
Yes, I was staying at my mum's house, but that wasn't the point. The point was that I wanted to get the lay of the land before picking a new flat. I'd already asked Telly to see if there was a unit at her building. She lived right above Vauxhall Station. Good location. Central with quick access to the tube and a gorgeous view. "It doesn't matter where I'm going. About my second option?" I purred as I leaned in to him. "Should I help you keep your bed warm now that it's been cold for a while?"
He hissed. But I could see the way that his gaze flickered to my lips. I licked them for good measure, trying to see if I could tempt the devil to come out and play. He'd never taken me up on the offer. It didn't matter what I looked like or how I acted, I just wasn't one of those women that he would ever touch. But tonight, the way he was looking at me like I was finally on the menu, it was my turn to shiver. "You've been trying to tempt me for years. What happens when one day I take you up on it?"
The question hung between us.
Heat bloomed in my chest, spread out, and concentrated itself at the apex of my thighs. Bridge took a step, closing the gap between us. I held my stance and lifted my chin so I could meet his gaze. "I’m tired of the dance, Bridge."
His low chuckle as he leaned close sent another shiver of piercing need through me. "If I finally give you what you've been asking for, are you going to run?"
I held his gaze. "I don't run. I'm pretty sure it's going to be you who can't handle this."
If there were awards for bravado, I would win. Little did he know that he was capable of shattering my soul.
Best not to tell him that then.
Never.
I would never tell anyone. Because all my concentration was on getting revenge, making Francis Middleton pay for my brother's death. After that, I'd go off and live my full life.
One Bridge kept insisting I needed to have. The one my mother worried about constantly. But not before then.
"Emma," his voice was a rasp.
"Go on, Bridge. I dare you."
Bridge
Why was it always like this with us?
Emma Varma, the one woman I couldn't touch. I’d made a promise to her brother once, a promise to look out for her. At the time, it had been some silly little incidental watch out for my sister at some concert sort of thing. He hadn't known that Emma was exactly my kind of kryptonite. I loathed her. I really did.
Lies.
She had this energy about her. It was almost frenetic. She was always bouncing. Jumping here and there. And she had this way of laughing. It was so bright and sunny and hopeful. And every time I looked at her, I wanted to strip off that hope until she was bare and she could see the realities about the world.
Well, aren't you a dark fucker?
That laugh. It was like she was mocking me with her sunshine. She had this enthusiasm about her. She never did anything measured. And she always added a dose of radiance, which, dear God, it was a wonder she was still alive. I should know. I'd pulled her out of enough scrapes.
And why did she always have to smell so good? She was like that tempting flame that you knew you shouldn't touch. But still, there it was, dancing in front of you, laughing at you, mocking you. And sure enough, you just had to reach forward like a moth to the flame.
That was Emma Varma in living form. Her dark locks were pulled back into what appeared to be a low, tight ponytail, and she was dressed head to toe in black. The top and the black leather pants hugged her body closely enough to make her appear almost naked. The way she would look in a silhouette. Fucking hell.
What was it about me that wanted to steal some of her light for myself and hold on to it?