Emma appears beside me. I fill a glass and down the wickedly smooth whiskey. Papa North knew how to make it right. I refill the glass and offer it to Emma. “It’s thirty-thousand-dollar whiskey. A gift from my father. His own special batch, an aged limited edition.”
“Jax, if that wasn’t your mother—”
“It wasn’t my mother.” A tight knot forms in my chest. I down the whiskey I’d offered her, the burn washing right past it, but it’s still fucking there. I refill yet another glass, but this time, I press it into her hand. “Drink.”
“Then it was someone who knew about the red dress, someone who knew I’d think it was your mother.”
“This is a very special bottle. It’s a very special bottle that I swore I’d share with no one, but I am with you. Drink.”
Her eyes go wide, and she sips the whiskey. “Oh my,” she says. “That is—it’s good.”
“Yeah. It’s good.”
“Jax—”
“Brody. Jill. Half the staff. They all know about the red dress and the ghost.”
“There’s more to this, Jax. I was told two people had a motivation to kill your brother. I don’t even want to say the name but you aren’t asking either. Why?”
“Brody,” I say. “Which is ridiculous. I’d have to die for him to inherit.” I sip the whiskey and set the glass on the bar counter. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Jax, please listen.”
I step into her, tangling my fingers in her hair. She smells sweet, like vanilla and honeysuckle. I love the fuck out of how she smells. “They’re trying to scare you away. Are you going to let them win?”
“Maybe it’s you someone is trying to scare,” she warns, grabbing my shirt. “Or maybe they want to hurt you, Jax.”
There’s a dark pulse of emotion inside me that needs to go away. “Then I guess you’d better hold on tight,” I say, and my mouth closes over hers, my tongue licking against her tongue, heat, anger, an old bleeding wound, all colliding in this moment.
She shoves on my chest. “Jax.”
“Clearly, you need another drink.”
“You need to listen.”
“You need to drink.”
“I don’t drink well, remember?” she challenges. “The way you don’t listen well, apparently. What are you doing right now? Why are you putting this wall up?”
“You can drink,” I say. “I’ll take care of you. You have me now.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of.”
“Too bad, I’m going to do it anyway.” I down the whiskey and set the glass aside. “I’m going to take care of you.” My mouth lowers a breath from hers. “And I’m going to enjoy every fucking minute of it.”
“Then I’ll take care of you, too,” she whispers. “That means you listen to me now.”
“After,” I say, and I claim her mouth again, my tongue caressing deep, my hand sliding up her back and molding her to me. She resists, stiff in my arms for a moment, before she moans, sinking into the moment, into me. Submission. That’s what I want. It’s what I fucking need right now. Her. Not this bullshit family drama that just won’t go the hell away. I need to bury it, deep and far, where it’s already been buried, and I’m doing that now, with her, inside her.
I catch her dress and drag it up her hips, cupping her all but naked, perfectly round backside and giving it a squeeze. She moans again, and I nip her bottom lip. “That’s the kind of drunk I want.”
“Jax,” she whispers, and before she can push me to talk again, I turn her to the bar.
She catches her weight on her hands, and I unzip her dress, my hand sliding to her belly and lower, under the thin slice of lace there. My lips are at her ear as I stroke her clit. “This is what I want,” I say. “You, Emma.” I squeeze her breast, and when she pants and catches my hand, I turn her to face me, shackling her legs with mine.
I have her dress down, and my mouth is on her mouth, before she can object, and the minute her tongue touches mine, I know she’s all in. I know she’s given up the fight. She’s kissing me now, and when my fingers drag down her bra and pinch her nipple, she’s panting into my mouth. The minute she’s unleashed, I’m fucking unleashed, when I am never unleashed. That’s not who I am. That’s not how I operate, but Emma—Emma is every answer to every question I’ve ever needed answered. Why did my mother leave? Who fucking cares? I’m about to be inside Emma. Why did my brother jump? Did my brother jump? I don’t have to think about it right now. I’m about to be inside Emma. Who taunted her and tried to scare her tonight? I need to calm down before I find out and hurt someone. I’m going to do that inside Emma.
In about sixty seconds, my fly is down, her panties are shoved aside, her leg is at my hip, and my cock is inside her. The rest of the world is gone. I lift her all the way off the ground, intending to set her on the counter, but it never happens. I hold onto her, dragging her down against me, and her fingers are in my hair, twisting and tugging.
“God, Jax,” she whispers, curling into me, her face buried in my neck, her body trembling in my arms, against me.
It undoes me. She undoes me. I’m on the edge of sanity, barely holding onto control. Her sex clenches around my cock and drags me over the edge. I lean against the wall, drive into her, and all but fucking black out with the quaking of my goddamn body. I come back to the world with Emma whispering, “We didn’t even get undressed.”
“No,” I say. “No, we didn’t, but we needed that. At least I did.” And in that statement is the storm of shit that drove me to drinking and fucking to keep from punching someone. “Hold on. I’ll take you to the bathroom.”
She wraps her arms around my neck, and I push off the wall, walking us through the house to the spare bathroom. Once we’re there, I set her on the counter, grab her a towel and fix my pants. By the time I’m put back together, and I’ve turned on the light, she’s tossed the towel into a hamper.
She grabs my shirt. “I need you to listen to me. There was more than a note left for me.” She swallows hard. “I don’t even want to tell you. Now that it’s time to tell you, I wish I could just pretend I didn’t know.” She presses her hands to her face, and I catch her wrists and ease them between us.
“Someone is just trying to fuck with us, Emma.”
“No. I shouldn’t have thrown it away. It was a stupidly rash move, meant to protect you and Chance.”
“Chance?”
“Two people with motives to kill Hunter, who now I believe was murdered. Those two people are you and Chance.”
“Because I’d inherit.”
“Yes, but so might have Chance.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Emma?”
“There was a DNA test included with the note, Jax. Hunter was my father’s son. He was—he was my half-brother, too.”
Those words rip through me. “Too? No.” I release her and step back. “He wasn’t my half-brother, Emma. He wasn’t your brother at all. The test was a fake.” I turn and leave the room.