Jade's Spirit (Blue Collar Boyfriends Book 2) (11 page)

Uh-oh. Christian chicks. She smiled and nodded.

Chelsea added, “We’ve all been friends for years.”

I get it, I’ll never know him as well as you three.

They looked between each other awkwardly. Chelsea blurted, “We’re going to go dance now. We’ll see you out there.” What she’d meant to say was, “I hope you trip on those fancy shoes and fall flat on your ass.”

“Okay. See you.” She turned back to the bar and sipped her dirty martini. When Emmett got back she folded her arms across her chest and gave him a “really?” look.

“What?”

“Thanks for introducing me to your friends.”

“No problem. Maybe we’ll catch up with them for a game of pool later.”

“Men.” She drained her glass and led Emmett back to the dance floor.

Their up-tempo dancing was pure thigh-straddling, ass-grabbing perfection. Her awareness narrowed down to the thump of bass, the clomp of boots on parquet, the scent of body-heated cologne rolling off Emmett, and the proof behind his zipper that he was having exactly as much fun as she was. Knowing she was the envy of every girl in the room, especially Emmett’s friends, exhilarated her.

When the music changed to a slow number, a change came over Emmett. He drew her possessively close. Gone was the smile she’d grown used to, replaced by a solemn expression of desire. Her tummy did that little clench it always did when she knew she was going to get lucky later.

When
Cowboy Casanova
started and the pace picked up again, she burrowed her nose against his sweaty neck. Emmett gyrated with her. When his pelvis tilted against hers in a slow, sensual invitation, she pressed back.

He was a church guy, but he was still a guy. He had needs to match hers. Before this night was through, they would satisfy those needs together.

Strung tight, his body was all hard angles digging into her softer curves. He was breathing heavy, but from more than the exertion of dancing. It was from want. He was aroused. A sense of feminine power rushed through her.

“Not bad for a church-boy,” she praised, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He jolted in her arms. Then his stiff posture took on an edge of discomfort.

The music slowed again, and the lights dimmed. A disco ball sent pin-pricks of rainbow light swirling all around them.

She expected him to pull her close, like he had for the other slow songs, but instead, he put distance between them.

Had she struck a nerve with the church-boy comment? Maybe he was sensitive about his religion or worried she wouldn’t want to keep seeing him because of it.

“So, does the invitation still stand for Sunday?” She wanted him to know she was open-minded. Church wasn’t her thing, but if it would fix whatever had just gone wrong between them, she’d go, just to let him know she was interested in all of him, not just the flirty, sexy guy who took her dancing. Jokingly, she added, “Maybe we can sit with Chelsea, Erin, and Mara?”

“You really want to come?” He scrutinized her face. His throat bobbed with a swallow.

“If the invitation still stands.”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. But his usual way of making her feel like the center of his world was absent. He was pulling away.

Shit.

Here she was having a blast with the nicest guy she’d dated in a long time, maybe ever. And she’d done something to turn him off in a big way. But what?

Realization dawned. She must have pinged his decency radar.

A pulse of heat that had nothing to do with arousal hit her in the chest. It was the pain of rejection.

Her dancing must have clued him in to what she’d done for a living right up until she’d moved up here.

He bent to her ear. “It’s getting late. You ready to head out?”

Damn it all to hell. She almost pulled her hand out of his as he led her off the floor, but disappointment sapped her feistiness.

Emmett’s sudden attitude change cut deep. One minute, he’d had a freaking hard-on for her and had been breathing hot over her cheek while she ground against it. The next, he was trying to get her home as fast as possible, and not for sex.

              He was ashamed of her. Didn’t want anyone to see him dancing with a stripper. Judgmental prick.

She dropped his hand. “I need to use the restroom,” she blurted as she dashed for the privacy of the ladies room. She was pissed at Emmett, but she was even more pissed at herself for the tears filling her eyes.

* * * *

Emmett rubbed sweating palms on his jeans as he waited for Jade. He was glad for a few minutes to collect himself, since he’d almost climaxed in his Levi’s on the dance floor. He’d been so hard he’d been aching and she’d pressed right up against him and practically dry-humped him into oblivion. And he’d let her. Hell, he’d encouraged her.

Then she’d mentioned church, and he’d remembered himself with a stomach-dropping rush of embarrassment.

He’d been right about Jade. She was Kryptonite in a skintight dress.

The woman was funny, gorgeous, smart, and sexy as all get out. She’d be his ruin if he let her get any closer. He had to put some distance between them or run the risk of undoing years of restraint.

Nick would kill him for this close call.

His buddy had made him promise to check in with the “virginity patrol” as soon as he dropped Jade off after their date. “If I don’t hear from you by one,” Nick had said when they’d talked earlier in the day, “I’m going to drive up there with a shotgun and do what that girl’s daddy ought to be doing.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Threaten your horny ass with a pantload of buckshot, that’s what.”

He was glad to have a friend like Nick. He was a hundred miles away at seminary, but Emmett knew he could count on him to help him keep his vow. And Nick’s words had reminded him his own virtue wasn’t the only thing at stake. He doubted the sensual creature who had almost made him bust a nut in the middle of Billy Bob’s was a virgin, but he’d be damned if he’d let that affect how he treated her. As long as she was on a date with him, he was determined to treat her virtue with as much respect as his own. From this point on.

Which meant he would have to avoid her until he could think about her without his blood rushing straight to his dick.

Unfortunately, that might be never. At the moment, he couldn’t imagine a second date with Jade ending any different than the first. Not even a church-date. He could see it now, Jade beside him in a pew, her thigh brushing his, a hard-on tenting his khakis. If his deprived dick hadn’t already embarrassed him to death tonight, throbbing for attention during Pastor Tim’s sermon would do it for sure.

When Jade returned from the restroom, he kept a respectable distance and escorted her home like the gentleman he should have been all night. He dropped her off just a little after midnight and high-tailed it home to call Nick.

“I’m going to die a virgin,” he said when his buddy picked up.

Nick chuckled. “Same as Jesus, man. Same as Jesus.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re getting married in November. What am I going to do without you, man?”

“I’m not going anywhere. Marriage isn’t a death sentence.”

No, not a death sentence, but definitely a life sentence.

Maybe it made him a prick, but it felt like Nick was abandoning him. For so long, they’d been the only two members in an elite club, a proud club. In a few months, he would be all alone.

In more ways than one.

“Marriage isn’t going to change who I am. I’ll still be here for you.”

He fell into his leather recliner and flicked on Sports Center. “You better not try to convince me how great marriage is once you’re blissfully wed.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, man. I know you’ve got issues.”

Nick was the only guy he could talk to about his number one fear. Divorce. Nick got it. He didn’t ever want to get divorced, either. But that didn’t scare him away from marriage. He was about to take the plunge with Ali, his girl of three and a half years. Emmett was happy for him. And terrified for him.

One girl for the rest of his life. What if it didn’t work out? What if they fell out of love? What if one of them cheated? What if they had a disagreement they just couldn’t get past? He could think of a hundred what-ifs, each just as likely as what had happened to his parents. In their case, their respective careers had been more important than their marriage. His dad had taken on the position of Chief of Police for Dover at the same time the principal of his mom’s law firm had offered her a satellite office in Philly. Neither of them had been willing to give up their opportunities even though those opportunities were four state lines and a six-hour drive apart. End of story. End of marriage.

If a marriage could end so easily, he couldn’t see why anyone would want one.

He signed off with Nick and got himself a beer. As he sipped from the longneck bottle, he wondered how his buddy could be one hundred percent sure he and Ali would be forever. Emmett was pretty sure he’d never feel one hundred percent about any girl, and even if
he
did, what if the girl didn’t?

So, he was going to die a virgin. And Jade definitely deserved better than a horn-dog like him who was afraid of commitment. Maybe Theo would be a better fit for her, after all.

A creaking sound made him look at his hand. He was squeezing the remote so hard his knuckles were white.

Who was he kidding? He had it bad for the Boston beauty.

Chapter 9

Jade slammed the front door and stormed up the stairs, but Emmett wouldn’t know because the dickhead hadn’t even walked her to her door.

What the hell? He’d been sweet, fun, and grabbier than a hoarder at a flea market for three-quarters of the night, then wham—the guy turned into an ice cube. It had been an extreme shift, even if it was the self-righteous reaction of a church-guy realizing he was dancing with a stripper. What was he, schizo?

She shucked her dress and shoved her arms into her oversized BC football T-shirt. The number was 15, the name Kresgie. When she’d been a sophomore at BC, she’d dated Richie Kresgie for a semester. Thinking they had a real connection, she’d told him about her biological father, who was serving a life-term for kidnapping and raping a minor, her mom. Suddenly, Richie was sleeping with Sierra, a perky little cheerleader from Minnesota. She called the T-shirt her breakup jersey and always slept in it when her heart was sore, as a kind of masochistic security blanket.

Funny, she hadn’t thought of it the night she’d broken up with Brad over the phone. Ending a six-month relationship had stung less than Emmett’s rejection.

The worst part of it was she had really liked Emmett, liked with a capital
L
. They didn’t have a ton in common, but with him it didn’t seem to matter. Conversation between them flowed easy as water. They ran from one topic to the next, joking, disagreeing, and laughing like old friends. Their connection went beyond physical attraction. Emmett made her feel more comfortable and valuable than any guy ever had before, and he’d done it from practically the second she’d met him.

And now he was gone.

She didn’t fool herself into thinking Emmett-one-date-wonder-Herald would call her for church on Sunday. She could take a hint, or in Emmett’s case, a kick in the teeth.

He hadn’t exactly been subtle as he’d high-tailed it out of Billy Bob’s, driven her straight home, and taken off before she’d even made it into her house. Sure, he’d made polite conversation during the ride home—and she’d shown remarkable restraint by holding her tongue and not telling him off—but she didn’t need a freaking memo printed in all caps to know she was getting the brush-off.

It was over before it had started. She’d given him a chance even though she’d had reservations about the whole church thing, but he hadn’t been willing to do the same for her.

Jerk.

Scrubbing her makeup off in front of the bathroom mirror, she remembered her “spider” problem. But all she saw in the mirror was her face, lightly freckled with her foundation washed off, dripping with water, and a little puffy from the effort of holding back tears.

Stupid Vermont church-boy.

Hardly sparing a thought for Mr. Shadow, she curled up in bed and bit her lip to keep from crying her insecure, wounded little heart out all over her pillow.

* * * *

Weakened from more than a century of starvation, Draonius’s highest ambition had been to glut himself on human emotion and sensation for a single night. He’d dared not hope for more than that.

Then he’d found Jade.

Now, thanks to her dreams, he was so full of power, sparks lit up his prison each time he moved. He saw with new eyes the demon he was meant to be. Looking back at the demon he had been, he sneered.

A seduction gone backwards on him. A botched attempt at possession. One hundred plus years of imprisonment with nary an attempt to escape. No wonder his prince had chained him here. He’d been pathetic.