Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(48)

“Yeah. No shame to those who like the golden shower thing…but not for me.”

I’m keeping the mood light because everything else about this moment is tense.

“Good to know,” he mumbles.

He’s still holding me close, and as my hands drift along his shoulders, I realize that Emerson and I have grown close since I started working with him. But this is first time we’ve really touched each other like this.

“Is there any use trying to avoid this?” His head tips back, and he stares up at me as he pulls me closer, and I realize he’s about to kiss me. The fingers of his hand drift higher and higher up my thigh. “Because I gotta tell you, Charlotte. I’m a little tired of trying.” I interlock my fingers behind his neck and squeeze him closer. At this angle, I’m so close, I could kiss him if I wanted to, and I want to.

“Then, stop trying.”

My face leans in, and Emerson’s eyes close, squeezing me tighter. Then just before my lips touch his, the doorbell rings.

We open our eyes and stare at each other.

“Expecting someone?” I ask.

His brows furrow as he pulls out his phone and opens the front door security camera. Then he looks as if he’s seen a ghost, jumping up from the bench, practically pushing me away.

“Who is it?” I ask.

He stares at me with wide eyes. “It’s Beau.”





RULE #21: WHEN POSSIBLE, REMOVE THE TEMPTATION.





Emerson





I’ve never put my shirt on so fast in my life. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? The internal reasoning as to why I should not ever touch Charlotte in that way has slowly deteriorated over time. And just as I was about to give in and do what I’ve wanted to do for the past two months, Beau literally comes knocking.

Charlotte is behind me as we reach the bottom floor. She fixes her skirt and heads over to her desk to try and act natural as I open the door.

And there he is. I haven’t laid eyes on my son in six months, and I might be imagining things, but he looks different, older. He has the same green eyes and tan skin, but that’s about all he inherited from me. The rest is his mother.

Sandy brown curls. High cheekbones and a wide smile, although I really haven’t seen that in a while.

“Hey,” I mumble like an idiot, opening the door wider to invite him in. He doesn’t move at first.

“I’m just here to get that check,” he replies. He’s keeping his eyes everywhere but on my face. There’s a slight shuffle of his feet and a nervousness in the way he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Of course. Come in,” I say, moving out of the way.

He’s only one step into the foyer when he spots Charlotte in the office through the glass door. He hesitates, pausing for a moment as he stares at her. Sharp pangs of jealousy assault me. Because, of course, he can’t look away. Charlotte is the epitome of beauty, and although I wouldn’t have said it when she started working for me, she’s the epitome of sophistication now. In fact, she’s the best of both worlds. Somehow equally regal and fun. Demure and ridiculous, in the best way.

He takes a step toward her.

“Charlotte is an exceptional secretary. Smart and organized. I hope I never have to replace her.”

Pride bubbles up as I brag about her to him, and I see the moment his jaw clicks. He doesn’t like me talking about his girl as if I know her better, and I can’t say I blame him. But this jealousy is a two-way street because I feel it too.

“Come in and say hello,” I say, pressing a hand to his back.

When we reach my office, Charlotte stands up and greets Beau with a hug.

“It’s good to see you!” she says.

“Good to see you too. You look…”

She waits awkwardly for him to finish his sentence and I wish I could finish it for him.

Gorgeous.

Amazing.

Breathtaking.

Any of these would work, but he ends up using, “Different.”

There’s a tense smile on her face. “Good different, I hope.”

“Yeah, good different.”

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, soda, water?”

“Yeah, a Coke, please,” he replies, without taking his eyes off of her. And I can’t stop watching her, either, looking for a reaction to his presence. How does she really feel about him? Excited to see him? Eager to please? But no… Instead, she’s wearing a tight-lipped grin and looks entirely unnatural in his company.

“I’ll get it,” Charlotte replies eagerly, moving toward the kitchen. She’s trying to leave me and my son together, but he follows her instead of staying with me.

“You two catch up,” I say. “I just finished my workout and I need to go change out of these clothes and get cleaned up. Son, I’ll get you that check when I get back.”

“Sure,” he says to me, and I wish I could say it’s like there is no awkwardness between us, but there is. My son seems to have this idea in his head that by owning a sex club, I’m some sort of monster. Both a pervert and a criminal. There’s nothing I can do to change his mind or make him see differently, and it’s taken half a year of our relationship, but I refuse to believe it’s irreparable.