A Christmas Proposition. Jessica Lemmon
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his anger. “Because you don’t have the sense to stay away from Blake Eastwood, my campaign is suffering from the fallout.”
Emmett’s hands balled into fists at his sides.
He was rarely in disagreement with his friend, but in this case, Chase’s comments were out of line. Stef had been briefly involved with Blake—whom Emmett would love to go a round or two with, bare-knuckle—but the accusation that she was to blame was harsh.
“Whatever you have to do in San Antonio with your girlfriends can be done from Dallas just as easily. You’re not leaving the city, and if you do go out, you’re going to be chaperoned. Do you understand me?”
Her stricken expression faded into a laugh of disbelief. “You can’t ground me, Chase. You’re not my father. And even if you were Dad, he can’t ground me, either. I’m thirty years old!”
“Then why are you acting like a spoiled teenager?” Chase roared.
“Hey!” Emmett’s outburst was so unexpected that both Fergusons faced him wearing shell-shocked expressions.
He took a step closer to Chase, instinct more than decision driving him. “Let’s keep the blame where it should be. On Blake. Stefanie’s been through enough. She doesn’t need you piling on.”
Chase’s lips pressed into a thin, frustrated frown. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath and leaned both hands flat on his desk.
Emmett flickered a glance over at Stefanie, who, for the first time in her life, regarded him with something akin to gratitude. He wasn’t sure what to do with that.
“I’m asking, Stefanie—” Chase addressed his blotter before sitting in his chair and meeting his sister’s eyes “—for your cooperation.”
“Penelope is amazing at her job. There’s no reason she can’t—”
“I’m asking,” Chase repeated, his voice firmer.
“I look forward to this retreat every year. I can’t cancel an event that happens in four days.”
“Why not?” Chase’s forehead dented. “Can’t you and your girlfriends drink champagne and talk about fashion another time? Mail them their gifts. Hell, invite them here. You can host at my mansion.”
“I...can’t do that.” She regarded her impractical boots, appearing tormented by the idea of canceling.
Disappointment, Emmett could understand. Torment didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense.
Stef loved her family above all else. Over the years, Emmett had witnessed the special bond she and Chase had—she respected her brother. And she would never lie to him. So why was Emmett getting the distinct impression that she was trying hard not to do just that? Why couldn’t she party here in town? Why did she have to travel to San Antonio?
She wasn’t lying—not yet—but she was definitely keeping from saying too much.
“Plans can be changed. I’ll foot the bill for it, if you like,” Chase told her. “I’ll grease some palms and find you a last-minute venue in Dallas. You can’t leave town with this mark on your back. I forbid it.”
“What mark? Do you think I’m going to be kidnapped by Blake’s henchmen or something?” Stef let out an exasperated laugh. Emmett didn’t find it funny. His back went ramrod straight, his senses on high alert at the idea that any harm would befall her.
He forbade it.
“You do things without thinking,” the mayor said. “Who knows what could happen?”
“Chase, that’s enough.” Emmett took a step closer—to Stefanie this time.
His friend was right to watch out for his youngest sibling, but he was handling this wrong. Not that Emmett had much experience with sensitivity—he had been raised by Van Keaton, after all. But Emmett knew Stef and he also knew the situation. He couldn’t keep from stepping at least one toe in her corner.
“You can stand down,” Stef snapped. “I don’t need your protection from my stupid brother.”
“You need protection from yourself,” Chase interjected.
This conversation was getting nowhere.
“I’m going to San Antonio tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few days. I’m sure your precious campaign will be intact when I return.” She grabbed her handbag and slung it over her shoulder as Chase rose from his chair, his face a beet-worthy shade of red.
“I’ll drive you,” Emmett blurted.
Again he was faced by both Fergusons. But only one of them looked upset by his offer. The cute blonde one.
“Yes. Great idea.” Chase nodded. “Emmett will be your escort.”
“I don’t want an escort!”
“I don’t care!”
“Knock it off.” Emmett bodily moved himself to stand between Stefanie and Chase. “I’ll drive you to San Antonio. Book me a room wherever you’re staying.”
“It’s a bed-and-breakfast and it’s full.” She raised her chin, her aquamarine eyes flashing in warning.
“I’ll sleep in my SUV.” Emmett tipped his head in challenge. “It’s either this or you don’t go. Your brother’s right about it being dangerous. Your image is plastered all over social media. I’ve seen you in the spotlight before. Paparazzi chase you, Stef.”
She was beautiful and young and easily the most famous female billionaire in Dallas, if not the state of Texas. The combination of her it-girl reputation and a rumor that she was going to marry the mayor’s sworn enemy made for tempting media fodder.
She opened her mouth, probably to argue.
Emmett lifted his eyebrows, silently communicating. Give me a break, okay?
Miraculously, rather than arguing, she gritted out, “Fine.”
“Great. Get out,” Chase said. “Both of you.”
So, his best friend was prickly. So what? Emmett wasn’t one for being handled with kid gloves. His rhino-tough hide had been hewed at a young age.
“Come on,” he told Stef, opening the mayor’s door for her to exit. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
Emmett held open the passenger door of his black SUV, a gas-guzzling, tinted-windowed, way-too-big-for-a-road-trip vehicle.
“You can’t be serious about taking this beast to San Antonio. We’ll have to pull over every fifteen miles to refill the tank.”
“Get. In.”
She glared up at his chiseled jaw and perfectly shaped head beneath very short, dark brown hair. He wore it cropped close and rarely was it more than a few inches long on top. He was bedecked in what she’d come to think of as his “standard uniform.” A crisp white shirt open at the collar and dark slacks. His brawn and bulk and attitude were better suited for a T-shirt and sweats, but his job title required a dab of formality.
She tossed her purse inside and grasped the SUV’s door handle and the front seat to climb in. Emmett’s warm, broad palm cupped her elbow to steady her, and she nearly jerked away in shock. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was the first time he’d ever touched her.
It was...alarming.
And not in the get-your-damn-hands-off-me kind of way. His touch had felt...intimate.
Once she was inside he dropped his voice and leaned close. She ignored the clean leather smell of him. Or tried to, anyway.
“Heads up. There’s a suspicious cyclist over there.” He shut her door and walked around to the driver’s side.
She