He’s doing that whole James Dean pose thing.
But I know enough about him now to realize he uses his sexuality as a shield. And after everything he just shared, I won’t let him.
My ass is burning with the fire of a thousand suns, but I ignore it and stick my hand out like we’ve just signed a contract. “Well, now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way… it’s nice to meet you, Emmett Brandt.”
Cool, calm, cocky—Emmett is usually all those things. But as he stares down at my reddened and slightly puffy hand, he appears uncertain.
I step closer to him, bobbing my hand as I do. “Shake it.”
His brows knit together. “But we’ve already met.”
“Have we? I kind of think we knew of each other and got tossed together a few times, and now we’re functioning under a lot of different pretenses. You told me about your childhood, and I showed you my ass. We’re basically best friends now. Consider this symbolic.”
He tilts his head, his expression telling me that he thinks I’m being ridiculous.
“Come on. Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite.”
He stares at my hand before reaching out and sliding his large palm over mine. His grip is firm, his warm skin slightly calloused.
“Biting isn’t something that would scare me off, Baby Silva. But thank you for the reassurance.”
When I finally look up from the sight of my hand enveloped by his, he’s smirking at me. Far too amused by his own joke.
His tongue pops into the side of his mouth again, and he looks away while shifting and tugging at his belt.
Which draws my gaze down.
Down to where the front of his jeans has grown uncomfortably tight.
Again, the ticking clock is the only noise I hear as I stand and stare for several beats. He makes no effort to move or cover himself. He just continues to hold my hand.
“I told you not to get a boner,” I say, looking him square in the eye.
He shrugs, playing it cool. “Following the rules has never been my strong suit. Plus, this is the hottest handshake of my life.”
I purse my lips and nod, refusing to laugh at him because that response was so… him.
His gaze flits between my eyes as he continues to hold my hand. There isn’t a stitch of embarrassment to be found on this man. The touch goes on for far longer than necessary. A realization that has me yanking my hand back as though I’ve touched a hot burner on the stove.
But we stay standing close. Close enough that I can smell the familiar ginger-scented soap he showered with this morning. Warm and spicy, deeply masculine, and a million times better than the light scent of dust I was sporting as I walked in here.
“You’re a menace,” I murmur.
He shoots me a devilish grin and an aloof shrug. “Maybe.”
I step back. Needing space. Needing air.
I smooth my hands over the front of my shorts, summoning every ounce of professionalism I possess to redirect this conversation into safer waters. “This is the shit you need to pull on camera.”
“I should get a boner on camera?”
He sounds amused, but I don’t give in. “No. I mean the… the…” My hand flips around as I desperately search for the words I want to say. “The shameless flirt routine. It could serve you well.”
He’s still sporting a massive bulge in his jeans with zero shame. Something he catches me looking at.
He quirks a knowing brow.
Fucking hell. I need to dig myself out of this hole.
“I just mean you’re good at it. The flirting. Objectively speaking. And it sounds like you need the money. So just… be yourself.”
“Myself?” His voice is gravelly but perfectly even. He gives nothing away.
“Yes. The smirky, smoldering, hot bad-boy thing you do. Do that.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Did you just call me hot?”
For a beat, I can empathize with the women on the show looking so flustered while meeting him last night. His smell, his height. There’s something heady about standing so close to him. Especially right now, just the two of us, alone in his kitchen.
“Yeah. Like…” I roll a hand to the side as I search for a way to cover for calling my beloved brother’s most hated rival hot to his face. “Generically hot. Conventionally attractive.”
Liar, my inner voice mocks me, but I bat away the taunt, not giving myself any room to elaborate.
Emmett barks out an amused laugh, and it catches me off guard.
It’s because he knows you’re full of shit.
I walk away from him and force myself to move at a casual pace rather than sprinting for the door like my instincts are screaming at me to do. “Right, well, thanks for… all this?” I glance back and wave my hand over my ass, not missing the way his eyes devour me as he follows the motion. “I owe you one.”
I turn to face him at the door, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he tilts his head suggestively. He’s teasing, but the unspoken offer is still there. I don’t have to leave if I don’t want to, if I stepped back inside he’d… god, he’d probably be an incredible way to end my drought.
I run my tongue along the back of my teeth. Silently berating myself for thinking with my pussy for even a second. Then I step out into the scorching sun.
I refuse to be another girl who falls for his antics.
Instead, I bite back.
“See you on set. But you should wait until that little issue has subsided.” I tip my chin toward his crotch and hit him with a chiding look.
The door has almost shut behind me when he calls back, “For the record, I’d get a boner for any woman bent over in front of me. That’s just instinct.”
But I only throw my head back and laugh at that.
Because we both know he’s full of shit.
He doesn’t call me Theo’s Hot Little Sister for nothing.
CHAPTER 15
Emmett
I’D GET A boner for any woman bent over in front of me.
It’s been over twenty-four hours since I had Julia Silva bent over in my kitchen and I’m still repeating those words to myself as I drive my quad to the back quarter to check on the yearlings—my favorite herd.
Old Bailey, their guardian horse, whinnies when she sees me pull up and trots in my direction, leading the entire herd toward the gate.
Eager for the distraction of something wholesome, I give my old chestnut mare a hearty scratch behind the ears while pressing my forehead against her wide, white blaze.
“How’s my girl?” I murmur, watching the thick lashes over her eyes flutter down as she sighs. She’s got gray on her face now, but she still reminds me of happy times. Long days out on the trail, swimming in the lake, and my parents. They bought her for me on my seventh birthday.
I don’t want to do the math on how old that makes her. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to be sad about her being geriatric right now.
I pull some carrots from my back pocket and check her over, whispering sweet nothings as I go. She’s in great shape—sound and happy—and that’s good enough for me right now.