Brant breathed a sigh of relief when the bathroom door closed behind Emma. Man, what a long day! He was about ready to climb a wall. Spending time like this with her after what had happened that morning had been hell. The ache in his crotch was approaching near epic levels. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself that it didn’t mean anything and couldn’t happen again, his body didn’t seem to agree. Instead, he had walked around sweating bullets with a near constant hard-on. His usual control had deserted him and he was now more like a damn dog in heat. Hell, he was afraid he would be humping her leg soon enough.

He had followed her cue and acted like nothing had happened, but it was killing him. The only thing that kept him from approaching the subject was the fear that she would cut him off at the knees. The whole masculine pride thing was no myth. No man wanted to be rejected or made to feel he didn’t matter, and that was the vibe that he was getting from Emma. It was damn humbling to have what he considered a knock-your-head-off sexual experience and then find out that the other person didn’t seem anywhere near as awed. He wasn’t vain, but he had never had any complaints in that department. Could he have missed something with her? He wasn’t an inexperienced schoolboy; he knew she had come. He still had the marks on his shoulders to prove it. So why the indifference?

Except shouldn’t he be happy that things hadn’t gotten complicated? Out of nowhere, he remembered the sensitive, supportive advice that he had given his brother when he had been tied up in knots over a woman at work who was now his wife: Never shit where you sleep or work; it always turns out badly. Well, apparently that applied only to him because things had turned out fine for Declan, Jason, Gray and Nick. Hell, he was the only one having a problem with it.

He decided to skip the cold shower that he so desperately needed since Emma had claimed the bathroom and settled instead for a change of clothes. Emma was right; he did look a little overdressed. Going downstairs and making a run for the beach was better than sitting in the room imagining Emma naked in the next room, water lapping over her firm, high breasts. Fuck. Pulling open his suitcase, he grabbed a pair of cargo shorts and a University of South Carolina T-shirt. They were both a little wrinkled but it couldn’t be helped. He refused to give Emma the pleasure of asking her to use an iron. Regardless of what she said, he could do casual. He quickly changed, pulling on a pair of Nike flip-flops that he usually threw on after a shower. He heard the water stop in the bathroom and took off at top speed. He couldn’t handle any more naked images in his head right now.

He made it down the stairs to the front door. Freedom was but a few steps away when the door handle beneath his hands started turning without his help. Uh-oh. He stepped back in surprise just as a group of women literally burst through the door.

The leader of the group stopped mere inches away from him. He tried not to stare at the tank top pulled tightly across her rather large chest that said SMUT-LOVING WENCHES DO IT ALL NIGHT, and then in smaller print, READ BETWEEN THE LINES. As he was trying to sort that out in his mind, the proud owner of the shirt gave something that sounded suspiciously like a wolf whistle and said, “Ladies, we have just hit pay dirt. Look at this yummy piece of man-candy.” Brant watched in frozen shock as the group of women spread out and looked him up and down.

His mouth felt like it was working, but nothing seemed to be coming out. This was his first real episode of being objectified, and he had to admit it didn’t feel that great. Instead, he wanted to run back upstairs and hide behind Emma. Surely, she had clothes on by now. “Er . . . hello,” he stuttered.

Just as he was trying to figure out an escape path, Emma’s mother walked in from the other room. He was damned glad to see her. Her enthusiasm and ability to jump from one subject to the next in the blink of an eye was a little scary, but he liked her. Emma’s father was a lucky man because Kat Davis was a knockout. She reminded him a lot of the actress Andie MacDowell. He had noticed in the airport that Emma strongly resembled her mother and, in his book, that made her lucky. Mother Nature definitely had a soft spot for the Davis women.

She walked up to him and tucked her arm through his. “Down, girls. Don’t scare the poor man away or Emma will kill us. This is my daughter’s new boyfriend who I was telling you about. Isn’t he delish?”

Delish? Good grief, he had at least ten women staring at him now as if he were a prime piece of meat while Kat stood beside him looking proudly on. “Maybe I should run back upstairs and check on Emma.”

As he turned to make his escape, Emma walked down the last step, landing beside him. “Oh, no need, honey, I’m right here. I see you’ve met the girls.” Then turning toward the group, she offered them a bright smile. “Brant and I can’t wait to sit in on your book club meeting tonight. It’s all he’s been talking about since Mom invited us.”

He gave her a forced smile that he hoped adequately conveyed his feelings of murderous intent. “You know, since there are no other men in the group, maybe we should sit this one out, dear. I wouldn’t want to impose.” As everyone rushed to assure him that they couldn’t wait to have a male opinion in the group, he knew he was screwed. How bad could discussing some book about shades of gray be? He was relieved that the name indicated that it wasn’t any type of romance book. God, that was a relief.

Everyone fell in line behind Kat as she led them out the patio doors off the kitchen. Brant took a deep breath, smelling the ocean along with the mouth-watering scents of the grill. Beside him, Emma suddenly squealed and flew across the patio into a man’s arms. “Daddy!”

“My Emmie!” Emma’s father was a tall, muscular man with a head of thick dark hair just beginning to gray at the tips. It was obvious from his tanned skin that he spent a lot of time outdoors. Brant remembered her telling him once that her dad was a builder and his athletic frame supported that. Her father kept one arm around Emma while stepping forward to extend his other hand to him. “I’m Ken Davis, father to this handful.”

Brant tried to keep a blank expression as he thought that his interpretation of “handful” and Emma’s father’s where she was concerned were probably very different. “Nice to meet you, Ken, I’m Brant Stone, Emma’s . . . boyfriend.” God, that seemed weird to say at his age. Of course, what else was there? Lover? Yeah, that would go over well with her daddy. “This is a beautiful place you have here. Did you build this house?”