Withstanding the Enemy

Nine

Emma…

A fog of emotions twist my gut as I practically run to my room and yank off the ring—not wanting it there in the first place. I throw it in the nightstand and slam it shut. I hate it! I hug myself as my stomach flips. I don’t want to marry that monster. And that damn ring is proof of this prison that I have no hope of escaping. I sigh heavily thinking of the ungodly-sized rock in the drawer.

How am I going to withstand a lifetime of Rick?

I grab my bag and slide it onto my shoulder. Breathe, Emma! I tell myself attempting to control my thundering heart. It’s not Rick you have to face, it’s Chance… Chance…

Walking back into the living-room, my eyes land on Chance on the sofa—magazine in hand—he seems absorbed in whatever article he is reading. I slow my pace and look at him. The combination of awkwardness and excitement twist into a fireball that sits in my gut. He is leaning back in a reclined position, his faded grey t-shirt stretches perfectly across the hard lines of his chest causing my mouth to water. I run my eyes down his body. His shirt is tucked slightly into the front of his jeans which hug his hips and stretch down his long thick thighs.

“Ready to go?” he says causing me to jump.

“Yes.” I answer, not trusting my voice with more than a one-word response.

Our eyes meet and I see a flash of fire before he breaks the connection and places the magazine down on the side table.

Did he just catch me checking him out?

He repositions himself and combs his chestnut hair off his forehead. A few strands fall back, and my fingers ache to comb them back into place.

Slowly, he stands from his seated position. He towers over me and I realize we are standing very close together. My eyes land on his chest and I take a sharp breath as he grabs my forearm gently and moves me, creating space between us. My arm burns from his touch and I force myself to focus on my breathing.

He makes a throaty sound. “Okay, to the coffee shop,” he says hesitantly—almost sounding guarded.

On autopilot, I turn and follow him.

Bold aromas assault my senses the minute we round the corner to the coffee shop. I inhale and a sense of pure joy sparks within me. The buzz of the little shop causes all five of my senses to go into overdrive.

I peer around watching everyone hustle to get their morning fix before they are off to work. Excitement bubbles within me.

We get into line to order and I look up to the menu that hangs behind the register causing my stomach to growl at the thought of food.

“What can I get you?” a woman’s voice rings with distain.

“Do you recommend a macchiato over a cappuccino?” I ask without looking away from the menu.

“Cappuccino,” she adds curtly.

Chance pushes his body against mine and wraps his arms around my waist pulling me tighter. I feel his body heat penetrate me to my core, warming me from the inside out. He whispers, “Play along. I will owe you big.”

Confused, I look to the barista, instantly recognizing her as the woman who was sitting in the booth with Chance at the club. Her steely eyes drill me with enough force that I can feel it. Her eyes narrow as she eyes me, then Chance, then back to me. A sense of overwhelming self-importance swells in my chest.

Without even thinking, I turn my head to the side and kiss his cheek—staking my claim. His arms tighten around me, pushing our bodies closer and magnifying the electrifying sensation of a humming wave of heat. It vibrates intensely where our bodies mold together perfectly.

“French vanilla latte with a blueberry muffin for her, and I will take a tall black with a ham and cheese omelette,” Chance says as he kisses me right below the ear, in the tender spot between my neck and my cheek. As goosebumps ricochet all the way to my toes, he releases me and grabs his wallet to pay. The minute his body separates from mine a wave of longing permeates my body.

Chance picks up my hand and guides me to a table by the window. Once I am seated, I watch him as he walks back to the counter to retrieve our order.

It’s not hard to understand what she sees in him—he possesses a sexy strength that is hard to ignore. I watch his powerful muscles flex with every movement as he makes his way back to our table.

And I could imagine just how it would feel to be wrapped around that powerful strength. If only he really wanted me in that way…

Chance sets the tray down on the table, I watch in silence as he takes a seat. He reaches out for my left hand and brings it to his lips. Kissing it, I lock my eyes with his, watching them dance as they deepen with emotion—is that desire? He lands a kiss on my bare ring finger and I inhale sharply as a sizzle flows up my arm and everything blurs around me.

A loud crashing sound knocks me back. I abruptly pull my hand back and spot the barista kneeling down to the floor picking up scattered dish as she wipes, what I assume are tears, from her face.

Anger evaporates the intense sensation I am feeling. I look back to Chance and watch as he picks up his fork acting indifferent.

“Do you mind explaining to me what the hell just happened,” I ask feeling irritated by his coolness.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Not really, but I owe you one,” he says still eating his omelette.

“Yes, you do. Did you see what you … what WE did to that poor girl?”

His expression softens—taking me back. “I wanted to get it across this time that I am not into her. I didn't want to hurt her,” he says with concern in his voice.

“Sorry, I just thought you were trying—”

“I am NOT like Rick…”