Chapter Eight
Brant had just finished eating his hamburger and Emma was now curled into his side. The mannerisms of being a couple seemed to be coming more naturally to him than he would have imagined. She had given him a couple of elbow nudges that kept him somewhat grounded in reality. Dinner with her family had been lively and fun. He didn’t have to fake his connection to her parents; it was genuine. He had carried on a long conversation with her father on everything from politics and the economy to college football. Her brother had invited him for a stroll on the beach to “burn one,” which he politely declined. Her mother and her friends were a constant source of off-color jokes and stories about their husbands, boyfriends and neighbors. As a group they were rather scary, but you had to laugh with them.
Once the food was cleared from the table, he watched in curiosity as one of the women, Doris, pulled a bag from her purse and shook out some jewelry. She passed what appeared to be a necklace to the other women. Emma held hers up and he could see what looked like a tiny tie, something that looked like a mask and . . . what the . . . handcuffs?
Emma smiled sweetly at his puzzled expression. “Could you fasten this for me, honey?”
“Um, sure, sweetheart.”
Her father stood up, saying, “Well, I think that’s my cue to head inside.”
Kat glanced at her husband, giving him a look that made Brant turn quickly away. The love and passion between them was obvious in every interaction they had with each other. “Honey, you’re welcome to stay. We have another man in the group tonight, so you might be more comfortable.”
Ken leaned down and gave his wife a lingering kiss before straightening. “I’ve got some calls to return. I’ll see you when your friends leave. Do you want me to open your bottles of wine before I go?”
As Kat nodded, Ken grabbed a couple of wine bottles from the kitchen, returning with one of them open. Brant saw the Sancerre label on the bottle and thought it was a strange pick for a book club meeting, but who was he to say since this was his first time. As Ken walked by him on the way into the house, he clapped a hand on Brant’s shoulder, saying under his breath, “Good luck, son.”
Twenty minutes into the meeting was all it took for Brant to go from alarmed to traumatized. When Doris was asked her favorite part of the book, she said, “I loved it when Christian took Anna into the red room of pain because nobody wants a vanilla relationship, do they?” He jerked back in alarm so hard that Emma almost tumbled off the seat beside him.
While the others at the table went off into a very long and detailed discussion of floggers and paddles, he pulled Emma closer, whispering in her ear. “What the fuck kind of book is this?”
She gave him an innocent look but couldn’t quite keep the mischievous expression off her face. It was there dancing in her eyes, impossible for him to miss. “Why, honey, I thought you knew that Fifty Shades was erotica.”
He gave her an incredulous look, hardly believing the shitstorm he had walked blindly into. “You set me up. Have you read it?”
Smirking, she admitted, “It’s one of my favorites; I’ve read it twice.”
Part of him was still pissed, but another part, mainly the one between his legs, was dying to know what her favorite part of the book was. As intrigued as he was, he knew one thing: He had to get the hell out of here before her mother detailed her favorite part and scarred him forever. He couldn’t bear the idea of accidentally picturing her and Emma’s father re-creating some scene complete with a spanking for the bad girl.
He jumped up from the table, causing all eyes to land on him. “I, er . . . just remembered that I need to call my brother about some business. You ladies go on without me . . . please.”
Emma didn’t look as amused when she realized she was being left to have what Brant considered a porn discussion with her mother while he hauled ass. He trailed a finger over her chin, returning the smirk she had given him earlier. “Take your time, precious, I’ll be upstairs.” Yeah, he might never get the images out of his head, but he had gotten the last laugh and that had to count for something.
When he walked through the family room on the way to the stairs, Emma’s father looked like he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Brant shook his head, saying, “I guess you knew what that book was about.”
“Yeah . . . sorry, son. This is far from my first rodeo. Kat makes sure I get a summary of every book she’s reading. I don’t think there’s any such thing as a good old Western anymore. Nowadays, the cowboy would be whipping the girl instead of the damn horse.”
Brant burst out laughing. Ken sure had a way with words. “No kidding. If anyone ever mentions a book club to me again, I’ll probably start running and never stop.”
Ken waved the beer he was holding. “You look like you need a drink. You probably need something stronger than beer, but Boston is never around when you need him.”
Apparently, Boston’s activities were well known in the family. Ken reminded Brant a lot of the grandfather who had raised them after their parents died. He could be a hard-ass, but the man was the king of one-liners. “Thank you, but I think I’ll just go on upstairs and stare at the walls for about ten hours.” After a few more pleasantries, he sighed with relief when he closed the bedroom door behind him. He was glad to have a few moments out of the spotlight. Those women needed some kind of professional help. He shuddered, remembering the graphic details of their conversation.
Pretending to be Emma’s boyfriend had been the one easy part of the evening. Having her curled against him had felt far too natural. Even though he had been desperate to escape the book sex-talk, he had still been hard-pressed to leave her. Having to keep up appearances in front of her family had ensured her behavior toward him was nothing like it usually was. Gone were the barbs and insults and in their place was nothing but soft, sweet and amazing-smelling Emma. If not for the other women killing his hard-on, it would have been impossible for Emma to miss. Calling a halt to his usual war with her was causing a problem that he had never expected. He actually liked her now, maybe too much. If he had these types of feelings for any other woman he had slept with, he would be pursuing a relationship with her. With Emma, it was all kinds of complicated. They worked together—which, granted, seemed to be how everyone at Danvers found a mate, but he tried damn hard never to complicate his life to that degree.
He was almost desperate enough to call his brother for advice. He knew that calling his sister was out. Although they were close, Ava didn’t do relationships and she would flatly tell him to move on. But Declan would understand where he was coming from since his wife also worked for Danvers. Did he want someone to encourage or discourage him? Damned if he knew.