CHAPTER 64

When a man asks a woman to be his wife, he shouldn't have to be without her again. But life doesn't obey "should's," and for the past month, I've been working on promotions for my new album in LA while she wrapped up handing off her show in New York.

Being forced to live apart from the person you love means you devote a lot of energy to reunion fantasies.

In the hours between finishing my album, Emily and I have reunited on the marble kitchen counter. The walk-in-closet-sized shower. The hot tub. The pool.

Fuck, have we reunited in the pool...

None of my fantasies had her staring at me like this.

"What's going on?" She's frozen in the doorway like some beautiful woodland creature realizing it wandered to the wrong stream to drink. Color has her cheeks pink under the trace of freckles. Her black dress skims curves I know in exquisite detail, leaving her shoulders bare and ending midway down the toned thighs I could spin endless fantasies out of, especially when they're wrapped around me.

"You're early," I say.

Looking past me, she surveys the suits who're covering their notepads and computers.

"It's okay," I tell them.

Only then do they relax an inch. I turn back to my fiancée and close the distance between us in a few easy strides. She smells as good as she looks, and I want to bury my face in her neck.

And then other places.

I've seen every expression Emily Carlton owns, and with a few exceptions-like the way she looks when I've ripped her heart in two, which I swear I'll never witness again-I love them all. But in this moment, there are few things I wouldn't give to replace her look of stunned suspicion with one of wanton pleasure.

"These are my attorneys," I say, covering up my desires. "We're working up an agreement."

She cocks her head, amber eyes flashing. "It's a little late to talk about a prenup."

I'd laugh if she didn't look so alarmed.

My gaze strokes over the curve of her full lower lip, wishing I could feel it rather than stare at it. "It's not a prenup. I'm buying Wicked."

She stiffens, turning before I kiss her so my mouth grazes her cheek instead.

Emily heads to the kitchen.

I hold up a finger to let the lawyers know I'll be a second before following her. She sidesteps around boxes of merchandise I'm supposed to sign for my upcoming tour, and I avoid them too.

Near the giant stainless smart fridge, she turns. "You're what?"

This is not how I wanted this to happen.

"Your dad's been working on a deal since he heard they were at risk of going under. Quietly."

Something clicks behind her eyes. "He's been trying to get hold of me, but we've been playing phone tag. Since when are you involved?"

"He needed additional partners."

"You mean your money."

"Yes. We've been discussing it for a few weeks-"

"Not with me." Her voice is sharp, but there's an edge of hurt underneath. I hate that I put it there.

Emily Carlton experiences the world full throttle. It's one of the things I love about her. It fucking ruins me how raw she is, and it makes me want to protect her-from the world and from herself when she feels everything.

"I wanted to tell you in person."

Emily and I have talked about the need to make investments, even though we've discussed our finances before and agreed-technically, she insisted-most of our money would be kept separate. She's so damn independent and doesn't want to owe anyone, including me, anything.

(Of course, the day we're married, her name goes on everything whether she wants it or not. There's no way I'm not taking care of her if and when she needs it.)

"So, you're going to run a label?" Her voice rises.

"Fuck no," I say firmly, reaching for her arms.

This reunion is going nothing like it was supposed to. Her body should've been under mine by now. Judging by the words she uttered before she walked in, she wanted that too.

Now she's pissed, and I'm horny, and we're fighting in the kitchen with half a dozen lawyers who charge for an hour what I used to make in a month listening from the other room.

I wanted to keep her out of this deal because I didn't want her worrying about it, or me, or the fact that Eddie and I are doing it together. Emily and her dad have had enough issues in the past, and some of them have been my fault. He's not only my future father-in-law, but my mentor. The man who helped put me on the map.

But I swore I wouldn't come between them again, which is why I insisted to Eddie I wanted a transaction deal: my money and reputation as someone without any grudges in the industry in exchange for a share of one of the biggest record companies of all time.

And it was supposed to be finished by now.

Frustration has me biting back a groan.

"It's an investment," I say evenly. "That's all."

Still, Emily looks unconvinced. "I know the new album is doing well, but that's why you have an investment manager. Buy a horse ranch or a vineyard or something."

I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers. "Six... I'd have to buy more than one."

"Oh."

God, I love this woman. She grew up with nothing. Then she learned her father was Eddie Carlton, and she was transplanted into a world with everything. She never takes a piece of it for granted.

I swear I never will either.

"Wicked has a lot of up-and-coming talent," I say. "Talent that will suffer if the company goes under, and they don't deserve that."

There's another reason I want a piece of this deal, one that matters even more for our future. It's been emerging for months, brewing in the back of my mind as she slept beside me, finally maturing in the weeks I've been without her.

But I'm not ready to cop to it yet.

Emily sighs, her head falling back to stare at the ceiling. "We're getting married in seven days," she starts, and I sense she's thawing.

"Believe me, I remember." I inch closer, and her back bumps the fridge. "On an island. All our friends and family flying to-"

"Don't say it! You'll jinx it!" She presses a finger to my lips.

My mouth twitches beneath her touch. No money or shit in the world can hold a candle to Emily Carlton. She's my friend, my rival, my heart. The only woman I've ever loved, the only person I've wanted to own or be owned by.

"I promise I won't risk our time together for this deal," I vow, tracing my thumb along her palm until she shivers.

I nip her finger, and her lips part. My hand releases hers to skim up her side under the edge of her dress, and she shifts against the fridge, which beeps.

She jumps, but I don't let her shift away. My mouth brushes her ear, and I inhale her scent like an addict. "Give me twenty minutes to get rid of the lawyers."

Emily ducks out of my arms, smoothing down her dress and leveling me with a stare. "Take your time. I'm going swimming."

The cool challenge in her eyes only adds to my lust. I want to drag up her skirt and claim her right here.

"Twenty minutes," I promise, but she's already brushing past me and heading for the bedrooms.

I adjust myself in my jeans before returning to the conversation in the living room.

"Let's wrap this up," I tell the lawyers when I return and sit on the edge of the sofa. No point getting comfortable.

"We have one week before the exclusivity clause lapses, which means the company goes back on the market," the lead attorney says. "Problem is the executive team is carrying more debt than they disclosed."

"So get us an accurate version," I say, irritated. When I signed on, I figured the dozens of attorneys and advisors would handle the details, but things are turning out to be anything but easy.

"We're working on it. But even if we get a complete accounting..." One of the lawyers looks up and trails off.

I turn in my seat to follow his gaze out the doors to the patio.

Marrying your best friend is a blessing and a curse. She knows your dreams, your ambitions, your secrets.

She also knows your weaknesses.

My fiancée, still in her high-heeled sandals, appears from the direction of the master bedroom.

In a purple bathing suit and a wispy cover-up that covers zero fucking things up, she's a witch. A siren. A magnetic north pole.

She tugs off the cover-up and tosses it on a chair. Then she bends over, unfastens her shoes, and steps out of them.

Ignoring every male gaze on her, she takes one step at a time down into the pool, then dives, reappearing a moment later. Her copper hair is darkened and hanging in a wet curtain down her back.

A vein pounds in my forehead as I rise, dragging my gaze back to the lawyers. "We'll pick this up tomorrow."

The lead attorney shifts forward. "But, Timothy, we need to finish reviewing the-"

"Later. You can see yourselves out." My tone is final as I reach for my belt with one hand and turn my back on them. "I have a prior engagement."