Fever dream

CHAPTER 36

Julia

“OKAY, SO YOU’RE going to sneak around the back, and I’m going to distract Emmett and the cameras at the front.”

I nod at Catherine, trying not to giggle at how excited the woman looks. She literally claps as she bounces on her feet. Me? I’m feeling a little sick about it. But Emmett and I both agreed that it would look strange if he left his house and didn’t come back every single night.

Which is what we have been doing all week. So we’re flying over the radar in order to fly under the radar—or something like that.

“I feel like I’m pulling off a heist! This is so romantic.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” I mutter, walking beside the taller woman as we head toward my car.

“No way.” She bumps her shoulder against mine with an unexpected level of camaraderie. “This is fun. Someone here might as well fall in love, and it sure isn’t going to be me.”

“No?”

She lifts a brow in my direction. “Well, for starters, no one here is going to get Emmett’s attention when it’s been on you since day one. And I don’t think I like him like that. I could see us being friends under different circumstances. He’s a good guy, even though Richard is doing his best to make him seem otherwise.”

My shoulders relax at her explanation. She sounds genuine. And I have to admit when Emmett told me about her plan, I was suspicious. Women like Evelyn have me second-guessing all the contestants.

But to her credit, Catherine strikes me as a real girls’ girl.

“We owe you one,” I say, tugging my car door open and propping one foot inside.

She waves me off. “Get outta here.”

We exchange a quick smile and then I pull off the farm, looking to everyone else on the show like I’m driving off into the setting sun, heading home for a perfectly normal night.

Except I turn the opposite direction at the end of the driveway and head straight to the Prickle Point parking lot. From there, I lock my car, grab my duffel bag, and jog across the road where I duck straight back onto Stal Brandt property.

I tiptoe along the road, heart beating so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear anything else. It’s only as I creep closer toward the house that I can make out the indistinct murmurs of Catherine and Emmett talking.

Is Catherine crying?

I shake my head and decide not to overthink it. I let her put on whatever kind of show is fun, because I imagine being stuck here filming for several weeks has gotten stale as hell. I almost feel bad that she’s spent so much time here all for nothing. But at least the end is in sight.

When I make it through the back door—almost silently—I click the lock shut and let loose a heavy, relieved sigh.

Then a small laugh. Because what the fuck am I doing? Sneaking around like this is… hilarious. Ridiculous.

They say that love can make you crazy, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s why we’re here. Doing this.

With Emmett still out front, I pad through the house, analyzing it with fresh eyes. It’s barren, basically unlived-in. There’s not much character in the place, no real sentimental pieces dotted throughout. Even though this is where he spends his summers, it feels like a stopping point.

I make my way toward the living room, avoiding the front entryway and any of the windows that might face out toward Emmett, Catherine, and the army of cameras I’m sure is eagerly recording their every move.

“I promise it’s going to be okay,” Emmett says, and his voice sounds reassuring as Catherine sniffles something back quietly.

“Have a good night and don’t overthink it,” he responds. “We’re going to make it through this, all right?”

I know they’re faking it for the cameras, but my hackles still rise at the use of we.

Unable to sit still and wait, I prop a hip against the back of the large leather couch and stare at the antique-looking piece of cowboy art hanging on the wall behind it. It reminds me of hotel art. Most likely one print of millions.

Nothing special in many ways.

And yet it ended up here. I wonder how.

The sound of the door clicking shut doesn’t make me turn. I can hear Emmett’s footsteps as he pads into the living room, and just knowing he’s approaching sends a spray of goose bumps across my bare arms.

I can feel the burn of his stare when it lands on me, and my stomach erupts with butterflies. I feel like a teenager with a crush. I want to turn and gawk at him, but the thought of making eye contact also makes me nervous.

As though we haven’t been alone before.

It’s been two days since I was last naked underneath Emmett Brandt.

The last of the summer sun drops behind the mountains, but the heat of Emmett’s gaze licks up my spine all the same.

I finally cave and glance over my shoulder. I almost groan when I see him. He has no business being this fucking hot.

Leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his denim shirt cuffed up to show forearms thick and roped with tension. His jaw ticks once, and when I shift my weight from one foot to the other, his eyes drag down my body like he’s stripping me.

Hell, maybe he is.

I turn to face him, ignoring the tightening low in my pelvis and trying to appear more casual than I feel. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to think you’ve got something to say.”

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even blink, just pushes off the corner. Every movement slow and sinful. The man drips sex. The look in his eye? Filthy.

This version of him is what Richard has wanted for the cameras, and a thrill travels through my body that he’s only giving it to me. He’s always stoic during filming—nothing like the man prowling my way right now, who looks like he wants to make a meal out of me.

“I do have some things to say,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “And I’ve been really polite about not saying them all damn day.”

He stops in front of me, one hand reaching over me as he backs me against the wall. The other curls around my hip, searing my skin through my clothes. His blue eyes are molten. His muscles taut. His powerful body barely held in check.

Everything about him feels wild and dangerous, and it makes my breath catch as I drink him in.

“Then stop being so polite,” I whisper, baiting him. Wanting him to snap. To take all this pent-up tension out on me.

His nostrils flare. “You sure about that, doll? ’Cause once I start tonight, I’m not stopping until I’ve had you in every way I damn well please.”

My pulse trips over itself. I try to act unaffected, but my body betrays me—thighs clenching, skin flushed. I stare at his mouth.

That rough, beautiful mouth.

“I’m not scared of you, Emmett.”

He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “You should be. Haven’t you been warned about me?”

I shiver. This version of him is electrifying.

My breathing turns ragged, and I meet his gaze before uttering what I know he needs to hear. “Yes, but I don’t care.”

And then he snaps.

He crashes into me.

I gasp, and he swallows the sound, tongue sliding in like he wants to devour me.

One hand fists my hair, the other grabs my ass, hauling me against him as if he can’t stand another second of space between us.

Clothes come off in a frenzy. His denim shirt yanked open by the snaps and tossed away before he stares down at the line of silver buttons ru

“You wore this for me?” he growls, swiping his thumb over the top button like he’s pla

“No,” I lie, breathless. “I wore it because I like knowing that when you’re filming on set with someone else, you’re dreaming about fucking me instead.”

His eyes go dark, pupils dilating. He looks ferocious.

And then he drops to his knees, tugging my panties down roughly before shoving the hemline of my dress up around my waist.

“Em—”

“You told me to stop being so polite.” His voice is gravel, his hands locking around my thighs. “So quit playing games with me and spread your fucking legs, Julia.”

Before I can even respond, he’s on me. Driving me up the flat expanse of wall at my back, hiking one leg over each shoulder. He manhandles me like he has every right to—like he knows I’ve been dreaming about getting fucked by him all day.

And when his tongue slides over me—slow, deliberate, devastating—I arch back and break. “Fuck, Emmett—”

“I want every sound you make,” he growls against my pussy. “Louder for me, doll.”

I don’t hold back. I give him every whimper, every moan. “Yes, fuck. Just like that. Please.”

I plead with him for more, and he doesn’t let up. Mouth working me over like he’s starved, like I’m the only thing that can satisfy him. His tongue circles, presses, flicks, and when he slips two thick fingers inside me, curling them just right, my entire body bows off the wall.

I come undone. My thighs tremble, and his name flies from my throat on a ragged cry.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Emmett… God… please. Please don’t stop.”

He drags me through my orgasm with excruciating attention to detail, wringing every wave of pleasure out of me until I’m gasping, boneless.

And then he stands, chest rising and falling as he licks my wetness from his lips with a toe-curling smirk. His jeans are shoved down low on his hips, cock hard and thick and ready.

“That’s a lot of pleases, Jules,” he says, low and proud. “You begging for more?”

I smirk, still breathless. “I meant it more like Is that all?”

My taunt is all he needs to lose it entirely. He spins me around to face the wall, palms splayed over my back as he bends me over.

“Keep talkin’,” he growls, hips bumping, lining himself up. “Let’s see how mouthy you are with my cock buried in that tight little cunt of yours.”

Then he slams into me in one hard thrust, and I forget how to speak at all.

He grips my hips as he claims me, holding on tight like he needs to make sure I’m real.

He sinks into me with deep, unrelenting strokes, the sound of his hips furiously slapping against my ass blending with our rough pants.

I gasp, working to keep up with the ruthless pace he sets. Eyes wide, lips parted, my entire body flares with overwhelming heat. Overwhelming need.

“Fuck, Jules. Look at you, taking it like you were made for me.”

“Yes,” I hiss. My ability to form coherent thoughts has fled the room. I am just sensation now. Mindless pleasure overtakes me.

Emmett drapes his chiseled torso over me, slowing for a beat. Kissing the back of my damp neck, he curses low and guttural against my shoulder, like he’s shaken. Like he’s been searching forever for this exact feeling.