Fever Dream (Emerald Lake, #1)(62)

Thrilling.

“Ah, if it isn’t our very own cowboy Romeo! Ready to spin some girls around the dance floor on Saturday?”

“I’d rather go back to talking about—”

“How you’re going to be thinking about the women I’ve carefully selected for you and not the help?” Richard’s eyes narrow over my shoulder, his persona slipping from carefree to venomous.

My stomach flips, and my throat burns. I feel like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t, and nothing has even happened.

Still, I need to cover for us, so I scoff and shoot a dirty look over my shoulder, the first attention I’ve given Emmett in almost forty-eight hours. “I can assure you that Emmett doesn’t think about me.”

“Well, obviously. You’re no Evelyn.” Richard spreads his hands in a gesture that implies he’s settled this conversation. “Now, both of you get out. I need to make some phone calls.”

I give him a firm nod and spin on my heel to depart the trailer. I turn my body to edge past Emmett, careful to avoid all contact with him. Which includes keeping my eyes trained on the metal steps that lead down to the grass.

“Jules,” he hisses, his heavy footsteps following me across the pasture where the crew has set up.

I don’t look back.

“Jules, wait.”

“Sorry! I’m busy!” I call back, sounding as unaffected as I can. Really, all I want is to go to the gym, put my headphones in, work out some aggression, and go home. Maybe have a pity party while I fertilize my plants because I hate dropping the ball at work. And I’m not in the mood to unpack whatever transpired between Emmett and me.

I round the back of an equipment trailer. Hoping Emmett will give up if I weave through the trucks where the crew likes to find a sliver of shade, flip open a lawn chair, and kick back with a drink.

But I’m shit out of luck, because as I turn, a hand clamps down on my arm, pulling me to a screeching halt. Forcing me to turn and face him. Stubbled jaw clenched tight, curls mussed after a morning spent pounding fence posts, eyes brimming with concern.

“Are you okay?”

I yank my arm out of his grip and step back, spitting the word back in his face. “Am I okay?”

He pops his tongue into his cheek, regarding me through narrowed eyes.

“You tell me, Emmett. How am I supposed to be after you went behind my back and told my boss that I scouted the wrong bar?”

He says nothing, which aggravates me even further.

“You are infuriating. You know that?”

“You weren’t on set yesterday.”

That’s his response?

“No shit. I was busy wasting hours prepping that location. And you told Richard that you’d never take the girls there?” I step closer, poking him in the center of his chest. “You made me look bad at my job. And I’m not. That might be the worst part.”

“You are very good at your job,” he confirms, voice stern and sincere.

His agreeing with me just angers me more. “That’s what you have to say for yourself? Not an apology? Am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t just pull a one-eighty on me and demand we film at the The Ranch? Should I stumble all over myself to cater to your ever-changing whims? Because I’ve got news for you—”

He strikes like a cobra, capturing my wrist as he steps in to tower over me, pinning me against the back of the trailer. His heat sears the front of me, and the sun-warmed metal wall presses at my back.

“What do I have to say for myself?” he says harshly. His breath fans across my damp lips and frustration buzzes in the air around us.

But it doesn’t worry me. I’m safe with Emmett, even now. Even when I’m fuming and he’s seething.

“What I have to say for myself, Julia, is that I told you this already.”

Oh, the nerve.

“Told me what? Because the way I remember it is…” I slip into a mocking tone. “?‘The Ranch? No, that bar is where all the yuppies go. It’s not where I’d take someone I was actually interested in.’ Then you took me to the Sugar Saloon and led me to believe that—”

“Exactly!” He spits the word like it frustrates him. I’m taken aback by the venom in his tone, but even more so by what he means. “How can I go there with anyone else after… you.”

I shut up and blink at him, piecing it all together.

His blue irises burn hot, boring into me with an intensity I’ve only seen on his face when there’s a bull underneath him and a championship on the line.

My chest heaves against his, our bodies pressed together. My hands stay slack at my sides, but not Emmett’s. His free hand slides up my hip, leaving a trail of fire as it travels up my rib cage, over my airy, pale pink blouse, skimming the edge of my bra. Making my head spin and my skin heat.

His touch turns reverent as his palm slides over my sternum, achingly slow. His brows furrow in concentration as he stares at his hand, fingers splayed over my collarbone, my chest rising and falling beneath him.

And then he sighs. “You’re ruining me, Jules.”

His gaze flashes to mine, threads of confusion in the depths of his baby blues morphing into something that looks like resolve.

“Emmett,” I breathe. His gentle touch makes me momentarily forget why I’m angry with him.