The Price Of Scandal(82)

He had the good grace to look embarrassed. “This weekend was… eventful.”

“You don’t forget things.”

“There you were Friday night running around your house half-naked and needing me. And I forgot. It fell out of my head in a fog of lust and excitement and the egotistical boost of you letting me in. I’m only human, Emily. And the ‘you’ behind those monumental fucking walls is a goddamn miracle. You destroyed me.”

I swallowed hard. He was so fucking good at the spin that even I couldn’t tell if it was a lie, a line.

He released me and ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tic I hadn’t seen before. “Tell me things didn’t change this weekend. Tell me you didn’t feel it,” he challenged.

I crossed my arms over my chest. Things had changed. I had felt it. “Maybe.” I shrugged. He’d taken that tenuous trust I’d given him and damaged it.

“I’m not letting you walk away, Emily,” he said. He reached for me again, trying to pull me closer. I pushed back harder.

“You don’t get a say in the matter,” I said. My arms were shaking with the effort.

“Check your email,” he said. “Please.”

The please was an afterthought tacked on to a command he knew I wouldn’t follow.

“I don’t think you have the right to tell me what to do anymore.”

“Goddamn it, Emily. Check your email.” The command stood alone this time.

With an extravagant eye roll, I fished my phone out of my bag and opened my email account.

To: Emily Stanton

From: Derek Price

Subject: I’m an unconscionable moron

Emily,

I just tried to call but couldn’t get through. I’ve forgotten to tell you something important that you’ll hate. I’m truly sorry, and you can categorically destroy me later. But first let me tell you that a journalist will be in your office any second now. I have a conference call, but I’ll be there immediately after…





It had been sent twenty minutes before I stormed into his office. I took my time looking up from the screen.

“Do not use this honest mistake as an excuse to stop trusting me,” he said softly. His blue eyes earnest. “I couldn’t take it. And I’m guaranteed to do something ridiculous.”

Damn it.

The anger drained out of me as if someone had pulled a plug. No one had ever fought for me like this before. They cracked and splintered like ice chips at my disapproval. Or, in the case of my family, they just didn’t care.

“More ridiculous than breaking into my house and taking a bath?” I asked quietly.

Relief and hope warred fiercely on his face, and I felt that shift again. This time I didn’t fight him when he pulled me into his arms.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he breathed against my hair.

“You pissed me off.”

“Darling, it’s not going to be the last time. So we’re going to need to work on some ground rules for fighting.”

“Ground rules? For what?”

“For the future,” he said, stroking his quick, talented hands down my back to cup my ass.

“Derek Price is not discussing the future,” I argued.

“Ah, sweet, stubborn Emily. You haven’t come to terms with it yet.” His voice was a caress, and I had trouble remembering why I’d been so furious only moments ago.

“Come to terms with what?” I asked. My heart rate sped up again, but this time it had nothing to do with temper.

“You’re my match, love. Things will never be dull or normal. But I promise you that adventure you deserve.”

“You can’t be serious, Derek. We had sex. We didn’t pledge our undying love to each other!” I felt the licks of panic in my intestinal region. “You know I don’t have time.”

“That’s not an ‘I don’t like you because you’re a hideous beast who makes me want to vomit,’” he pointed out. He brushed my hair back from my forehead.

“We already discussed the ‘we aren’t willing to make time for a relationship’ agenda item,” I reminded him, feeling breathless.

His gaze penetrated me, shooting daggers into my heart. “I will accept whatever you’re willing to give. That’s what you mean to me.”

“Are you drunk?” I demanded.

“Are you scared?” he retorted.

Yes! My intestines were tying themselves in knots, and I wasn’t keen on the idea of not having access to a private restroom.

“I’m not scared,” I lied. “I’m appalled. We had one weekend together, and you’re changing everything.”

“This weekend changed everything,” he corrected. “I’m just trying to keep up. Tell me you don’t want more. Tell me you don’t want more nights like last. Tell me you don’t want more dinners with a man who not just tolerates your drive but worships it.”

“You’re spinning me,” I accused.

He didn’t even look guilty. “I’m painting a picture. I want more of you, Emily. Let me earn you.”

My digestive system let out a mournful gurgle.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, amused.

“Not exactly,” I said evasively.