The Buchanan's Redemption (The Buchanan Brothers 8)

And that was a problem.

If she wasn’t convinced that Vince was the enemy in all things…how was she supposed to keep her distance when her hormones were plainly interested in playing the part of wanton harlot, if even just for the night? She pressed her lips together. “He’s making me go to dinner with him,” Emma blurted out. When Janie didn’t respond, Emma added, “How do you know he didn’t put these bruises on me that you’re trying to cover up?”

Janie pulled back and regarded Emma with a look that she imagined her own mother would’ve graced her with if she’d said something similarly outrageous just to get a reaction. “Mr. Buchanan is not an abusive man. He’s strong and opinionated and certainly accustomed to getting what he wants, but he’s not a man who would put his hands on a woman. Ever. I don’t know anything about this dinner date but I do know, you’re probably the only woman who would dream of turning him down. Your reasons are your own but don’t try to drag a good man down simply because you don’t like him. Chances are you don’t truly known him.”

“What if he’s not a good man?” she said mulishly.

“Well, that’s a matter of opinion.” Janie handed Emma a mirror and she gasped at her own reflection. Her bruises were well hidden beneath Janie’s artistry and her face…she didn’t even recognize the woman staring back at her. “Beautiful,” Janie said with approval as she gently smoothed a stray curl trying to escape from the elaborate updo that made her look like a movie star getting ready to walk the red carpet.

“Wow” was all Emma could say and Janie laughed, saying, “Let’s get you into that dress and I guarantee Mr. Buchanan will be the one saying ‘wow’ next.”

Emma didn’t want to feel like a princess in a fairy tale but standing in that dress, primped and prettied beyond anything she’d ever known, she couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculously giddy feeling threatening to steal her good sense. “It’s very pretty,” she admitted to Janie with a shy smile.

“Oh honey, it’s more than pretty. It was made for you.”

“I agree.”

Emma nearly toppled over at the sound of Vince’s voice at the door. She wobbled in the heels and with Janie’s help righted herself. He wore a dark suit that accentuated his devilish good looks but it was what he held in his hands that caused her jaw to drop as he said, “But it still needs something…” He approached with a glittering diamond necklace that looked as if it could feed a nation and she almost passed out from holding her breath when she realized he meant for her to wear it. He stepped forward and gently clasped the necklace in place and she sent a tremulous smile to Janie who beamed.

“Perfect, Mr. Buchanan,” Janie said.

Vince held her stare and he murmured in agreement, “Yes, she is. Shall we?”

Emma took his arm and sent a look to Janie, unsure of what exactly was happening. Was she really, actually leaving on Vince’s arm as if they were dating? This was surreal, she told herself. Totally surreal.

And she was totally falling for whatever glamour Vince was throwing around because for a moment, she wondered if she’d been totally wrong about Vince Buchanan and if that were true…what did that mean for tonight?

She supposed she was about to find out.

-8-

Vince sucked in a tight breath, as Emma accepted his arm. He could feel her trembling as she put one foot in front of the other, her gaze trained directly ahead as if she were afraid to meet his gaze for fear of what she’d see. If she dared to look into his eyes, she’d see the hunger seizing control of his senses for he’d been strung taut the second he laid eyes on her. The red had been the perfect choice — too perfect in fact. The fine fabric clung to her sweet curves and made the most out of her plump breasts and flared hips that he itched to drive himself deep inside her willing heat to stake his claim. He wanted to brand her with his touch, make her his in ways that baffled him. Sweat dotted his hairline and he realized if he didn’t get a hold of himself he’d end up dissolving into a puddle of unattractive goo. He never lost his cool — ever. But he felt dangerously close to that edge right now. His insides shook and his mind refused to stop bouncing from one thought to the next, like an unruly dog jumping on springs to escape the fence.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he led her to the awaiting Towncar. “You know this isn’t necessary.”

“I will determine what is necessary and what isn’t.”

She lifted her shoulder in a small negligent shrug as if to say, it’s your dime, and climbed into the Towncar. He caught a flash of leg as she did so and his groin tightened almost painfully. What was wrong with him? There were no mysteries with Emma. He knew what the red dress concealed so the usual anticipation of revealing the treasures of a new conquest shouldn’t be distracting him. He knew the size and shape of her lovely nipples and the fact that she had a tiny birthmark on her hipbone like an angel’s kiss marking an erogenous zone. So why was he shaking like a leaf in the wind at the very idea of lifting the hem of that exquisite dress and feasting his eyes on what he’d already seen?

“Tell me about yourself,” he instructed, eliciting a quick look of surprise from her blue eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I want to hear from you what I already know.”

She scowled, hating to be reminded that he was in control. “And why should I do that?”

His temper began to build at her stubbornness but then he realized Emma would never yield through sheer pressure; she would rather break first. And he had no interest in breaking her tonight. Particularly when he felt out of sorts himself. “Let me try again,” he said, offering a small smile that he hoped was disarming. In truth, Nolan was the charming one but he’d picked up a tip or two over the years from watching the master at work. “I realize we’ve gotten off to a terrible start and I want to rectify that if I can. I’d like to work as a team for mutual benefit.”

“That’s impossible. You’re holding me hostage and it’s too soon for Stockholm Syndrome to kick in so I am not the least bit sympathetic to your cause. I’m here because you’re making me. Have you forgotten that you’re blackmailing me?”

“No and it’s unfortunate that I couldn’t find a better way to encourage your assistance but I thought if we could break down the barrier between us, you would be willing to help me without coercion and thus, together we’d find a mutually agreeable solution to the problem at hand.”

“You really want to work together?” she asked, her brows lifting in wary surprise. “Even if it means eventually shutting down Malvagio for good?”

“Let’s just say, I’ve been thinking long and hard about my involvement with the club and I’m open to new possibilities,” he said, lying through his teeth. Shut down the club? Not in a million years. No one told Vince how to run his life, not his brother, and certainly not this pretty piece of ass sitting close enough to touch. But he needed her cooperation and he was willing to tell her whatever she needed to hear to get it. “You have to understand, I never imagined that someone might use the club for such purposes as hurting other people. The whole idea behind Malvagio is a consensual freeing of the senses, using all manner of tools and toys. Surely, that’s not a bad thing?”

Emma slid her tongue along the seam of her bottom lip, unsure of how to handle a calmer, more genteel version of himself and Vince nearly crowed. “I don’t know…on the surface I would say, I suppose not but indiscriminate sex with strangers goes against everything I believe sex should be about.”

That intrigued him. “Oh? And what should sex be about? I mean that with all sincerity,” he added when she started to bristle. His quick clarification took some of the hot air from her sails but she looked reluctant to share her feelings about the subject until he pressed. “I wasn’t raised with a traditional value set and it’s beginning to become apparent to me that I might’ve missed out some important lessons. Maybe you could help me to understand how you feel.”

“Oh. Well, um, okay. But if you’re asking me this o

nly to mock me later, then I’m not going to share personal stuff,” she warned and he held up two fingers with a murmured ‘scout’s honor’ and she scoffed at the idea. “I doubt you were ever a Scout.”

“Not true. I was an Eagle Scout, believe it or not.”

“And if I don’t believe it?”

“Then I will have to drag my achievement medals out from their boxes in storage to prove it to you.”

A tiny smile lifted the corners of her sweet mouth and he realized he liked her smile very much. He would endeavor to make her smile more, he decided. Perhaps even laugh.

"So how did you go from Eagle Scout to morally-deficient lothario?"

He chuckled even though she had just lobbed an insult his way. "I suppose poor guidance? Or maybe I'm just drawn that way. Either way, we are who we are."

"Tell me why you are an ardent supporter of breast cancer research," she said, surprising him with her straightforward question. At his raised brow, she shrugged saying, "You're not the only one good at research."

He hadn't expected her to lob a very personal question his way but he supposed it was fair game. By the end of the night he wanted to know everything there was to know about Emma Winters and he planned to get very personal indeed. He could participate in a little quid pro quo if it pleased her. "My mother died of breast cancer when I was seven. I can't help but wonder if I might've turned out differently if she’d been around. Before I totally ruin your opinion of me as a self-serving, arrogant bastard, it's the one and only charity I support. But then again it's not hard to write a check so I try not to toot my own horn too loudly."

She nodded, digesting the information. He wished he could have a window into that quick moving little mind of hers. He’d give anything to know where her thoughts were going. The fact that he cared at all what she thought was another revelation to him. Not a comfortable one at that. "I'm sorry to hear about your mother. Your father is dead as well, yes?"