by Franca Storm
What is happening here? It’s not normally this easy to get any information out of me. Hell, it’s actually an impossible task. I have no idea how he’s doing this…making me feel comfortable enough to just start chatting away. It must be those eyes of his. They have some sort of hypnotic power over me.
He gazes at me. I feel like he’s trying to see my eyes through my sunglasses, like he’s trying to connect with me.
When he realizes that he can’t, he looks me over. I watch his gaze sweep from my black silk blouse, lingering on my cleavage, before moving down to my gray mini-skirt and black thigh-high boots. Something flickers in his eyes that I can’t interpret.
“You’re from the city,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s a statement.
“What?”
“You dress the part,” is all he says. But the suggestive wink he gives me says a hell of a lot more. It’s loaded with undisguised interest. Urgh. That’s the last thing I need. Attachments.
I can’t summon a response, so I just end up looking away uncomfortably. I need to get out of here, or he needs to get out of here. I just want to be left alone. What is his deal? Why is he still here talking to me?
“Daniel Alder,” he says, reaching into the car and holding out his hand expectantly.
His name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t think to place it right now with his hand hanging there so ominously right in front of me.
“Emma,” I say, hoping that this will be it and after the introductions are done, he’ll finally go. “Emma Spencer.”
I hesitantly reach for his hand. Apparently he finds me too slow to act. Before I can stop him, he takes my hand and brings it to his lips. His gaze is intense, as he softly kisses my knuckles. I tremble involuntarily at the feel of his warm, moist lips on my skin. It’s been ages since a man has touched me in any way, let alone in such an affectionate manner like he’s doing. He draws it out for several seconds, smirking at me when he finally releases me.
“Now that I know your name, I can ask you out properly.”
“What? I…I can’t.”
“You can’t do dinner?”
I shake my head, my throat suddenly incredibly dry.
He’s not the least bit put off and he presses, “Coffee then?” He sees my hesitation and then he reaches into the car and pulls down my shades, exposing my eyes. “Hmm…I’ve never seen a natural blonde with hazel eyes like yours.”
The intense eye contact is too much for me and the things I’m feeling being in such close proximity to this man who just seems to ooze sexuality, are completely unnerving. I can barely breathe.
It has me freaking out.
I snatch my glasses out of his grip and adjust them back over my eyes. I fumble for my keys and gun the engine. Go! Go! Go!
“I…I have to go. Uh…bye.”
He steps back quickly.
I don’t even glance his way again as I pull a tight three-point-turn and head back the way I came. Home.
There’s no way I can face going into the town center now. I’m completely frazzled and out of sorts already, thanks to that impromptu and oddly intense conversation with Daniel.
I hope he was just passing through town. That way I won’t have to see him again and face the shame of the incredibly awkward and rude getaway that I just pulled.
Chapter 2
~Daniel~
I’m leaning back in my leather office chair, twirling a pen around in my hand and staring blankly at a pile of paperwork on my glass-top desk. I’m supposed to be analyzing the development proposals in front of me. It’s unlikely I’ll approve any of them, but I still have to review each one. Company policy and all that. Since I took over as CEO from my dad three years ago, I’ve seen firsthand just how many scumbag developers want to worm their way into Harlson.
It’s the last thing I’m gonna allow to happen.
For one thing, it would kill my dad. It would also ruin the small town atmosphere. God knows, there aren’t a lot of those remaining. The big time retailers have moved into too many former quaint little towns and completely wrecked any sense of character that they’d once possessed.
My father, Alfred Alder, started Harlson. Our family owns most of the local businesses here. We’re all for welcoming newcomers, but not the city fat cats. No one’s going to usurp us. Alder Assets is the only big corporation in this town and that’s how it’ll always be. Damn city fuckers.
Just like that woman I met earlier today. Emma. I still can’t believe she drove away from me like that. She has no idea how much effort I was exerting to hold back with her. I’m not usually that restrained when I hit on a woman. If I want pussy, I get it. I barely need to make any effort to have a woman spreading her legs for me. I’m not even being cocky. It’s simple fact.
But I’d noticed Emma’s anxiety right away, so I’d held back. If I’d known things were going to end the way they had, I wouldn’t have bothered.
I don’t make a habit of hitting on women pulled over on the side of the road.
At first the whole thing had been completely innocent. I was just being a good citizen. I’d thought her car had broken down on the side of the road and I’d intended to help her out.
But then I’d seen her.
Holy shit. She was a definite ten. Absolutely gorgeous.
Mmm…and I’ve always had a thing for blondes. Not fake blonds. Natural blondes. Those big, expressive eyes of hers sent a jolt of desire through me. And her thighs should be outlawed. I’m a definite thigh man. Sure, she had a nice set of tits. They were so deliciously perky. But those thighs of hers in that skirt were what did it for me.
The thing that’d really drawn me in, above all else, was the strong submissive vibe I’d sensed from her. It was a major turn on. I’d love to dominate her. It looked like she needed it too. When I’d kissed her hand I’d seen just how responsive she was to that slightest touch. It was her noticeable tremble, the way her breath had caught in her throat.
I can’t believe she drove away from me. It was beyond rude. Maybe that kind of shit passes in the city, but in Harlson we try to maintain a certain level of cordiality.
I’m not sure that’s really what I’m mad about. She turned me down. That never happens to me. Never. She’s stuck in my fucking head now. I’ve been sitting here for the last hour, thinking about what went down and how it went down. I need to find out what her deal is.
I’m startled out of my thoughts by the sudden entrance of my assistant, Alison.
She’s my saving grace. The way the woman manages my schedule is a miracle in itself. In her late fifties, she’s been with the company for years. She was my dad’s assistant too. She knows Alder Assets inside and out. She always dresses the part and exudes a high level of professionalism at all times. She’s old school, through and through.
“Mr. Alder,” she greets me. I’ve told her so many times to just call me Dan, but she won’t.
“Alison,” I return, smiling and giving her a polite head nod.
“I’m giving you your fifteen-minute reminder for your meeting with Harlson Construction at 10:00am today, regarding the permit for the proposed bed and breakfast on the edge of town.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
She turns to leave, but that’s when something occurs to me.
“What do you know about an Emma Spencer?” I ask her. Today is the first I’ve heard of Emma. Usually, I get to know all newcomers, but she must have kept herself off the radar. The only reason I know she lives here and wasn’t just passing through is because of her reference to going into town for groceries. No one shops for groceries far from their home. She has to be local. Alison knows all the locals. To call her a busybody would be an understatement.
She smiles and I see a glint in her eye. I know what that means. She thinks I’m asking out of personal interest. All right, I am. But that’s for me to know, not other people. Word spreads like wildfire around this small town. It’s the last thing I need getting out. I like to keep my personal
life as private as possible, especially since I’m such a recognizable public figure around here.
“She moved here about three months ago, I believe. She bought that old house on the edge of town. That fixer upper on Brook Road that struggled to sell for years. I’m surprised it’s even livable as she hasn’t called in any help to fix it up. Rumors are that she’s a recluse. Never leaves her house. No one’s ever seen her in town. I Googled her and it turns out she’s an author.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Oh, and she’s not married,” Alison adds, grinning, before making a quick exit.
I roll my eyes at her.
As she closes the door to my office behind her, I slump back against my chair.
Mmm…there’s much more to Miss Spencer than I’d realized. Very intriguing. There’s nothing I love more than a challenge. And it seems she’s going to be just that.
Chapter 3
~Emma~
I’m deep into work on my manuscript—the second book in my newest action-thriller series—when the doorbell chimes.
That’s odd.
Maybe I imagined it. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened while I’ve been deeply entrenched in the writing zone.
But it sounds again. Not my imagination then. Dammit. Who the hell is there?
I save my work and leave my desk. I haul open the office door and walk out into the living room, making my way to the front door.
I can feel my pulse quickening with every step that I take closer to the door. Just like always.
I look down at myself and that just makes me more anxious. I’m wearing a pair of black workout shorts and a white tank. I look like trash. At least I’m wearing a bra. The only problem is that the damn thing is black and can be seen through the thin fabric of my tank. Oh shit. I’m sans makeup and my hair is pulled back into a messy high ponytail.
That’s it. There’s no way I can answer the door.
I freeze just a couple of feet away and pray that whoever it is will assume I’m not home and go away. I can’t believe there’s actually someone here in the first place. I live in the middle of nowhere. For a reason. This reason.
Go away. Please. Go away.
My heart is thundering in my chest. Several moments pass and I’m listening with bated breath, hoping this means whoever it is has gone away.
But then the bell chimes again. I almost jump out of my skin. Fuck!
“I can see your shadow under the door,” a deep, male rumble of a voice calls out.
Oh my God. Who the hell is it? “Shit,” I whisper.
“And your car is in the driveway.”
“I’m sick!” I yell back. “Please come back another time!”
“I have perishables here.”
Oh, come on! The bastard has an answer for everything. He’s shooting all my excuses down in seconds. Whoever he is, he’s good. And unbelievably annoying. Argh!
My irritation overrides my anxiety and, before I know it, I’m stalking to the front door and hauling it open with an angry growl.
I’m shocked to see the guy from the other day. He’s standing on my doorstep, smirking at me in that arrogant way that’s now burned into my memory.
Daniel Alder.
He’s balancing several grocery bags in his arms.
“What are you doing here?”
“Bringing you groceries,” he answers as though it’s the most normal thing in the world.
What is happening here?
I hesitate on my response and he steps into me, invading my personal space. I stand my ground, narrowing my eyes at him in warning. “You’re not coming in.”
“And why not?” he challenges, as he takes a step back.
I can tell from the glint in his eyes that he finds all of this amusing. Well, I certainly don’t.
I can’t quite believe that he’s here on my doorstep. We spoke to each other once and very briefly at that. Our conversation—if you can really call it that—ended with me driving away from him. And now he’s here? From that brief interaction, he’s somehow got it in his head that it’s okay for him to show up here like this? I don’t fucking think so.
“I don’t let strange men into my house. How stupid do you think I am?”
“This isn’t the city. This is what people do in Harlson. We welcome newcomers. In fact, if you had neighbors, they’d be bringing care packages and baked goods over to welcome you into the neighborhood.”
I have no way of knowing if that’s true. I don’t go out. I haven’t had any interaction with anyone. How am I supposed to know what the people are like around here?
I fold my arms across my chest and tell him, “If this was the city, you’d be thrashing around on my doorstep, struggling to expel pepper spray from your eyes right about now. You should count yourself lucky.”
His eyes flash at my words. With what? Excitement? It seems like it. My God, is he actually enjoying this?
“I do,” he says, flirtatiously. “Extremely lucky, Miss Spencer.” He makes no attempt to hide the fact that he’s looking me up and down, his eyes roaming over every inch of my body. “How about you go and get that pepper spray?”
“Really?” I huff.
“Absolutely. If it’ll put you at ease. If you’re that threatened by the idea of having me in your home.” He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “Of course, I suspect that you already know exactly who I am after I gave you my name the other day. I also suspect that this resistance of yours is merely an attempt for you to maintain control over the situation.” His eyes lock with mine. “That situation being this undeniable heat between us. You felt it the first time we met and you feel it now.”
I move back, further inside the house, to put some much-needed distance between us. “Do you realize how cocky and presumptuous you sound?”
“I know people, Miss Spencer.”
“You don’t know me. I’m not…normal.”
Dammit, why did that stupid waver return to my voice then? He’s going to misread it as him affecting me or making me flustered or something. And why did I have to use that phrase? Not normal. It makes me sound like a head case. Urgh. Who cares? I want to get rid of him, not give a good impression or anything.
“Then simply deny it,” he challenges.
Argh! Could he be more infuriating? He has an answer for absolutely everything. We’ve been doing this for a while now and it’s clear he’s not going to back down.
“Fine,” I mutter, sighing with exasperation. I step back from the door. “You can drop the housewarming gifts in there,” I say, pointing to the kitchen, just beyond the living room.
He grins and brushes past me.
I stand frozen like an idiot for a while with my mouth agape as he saunters in and walks through the archway to the left, into the kitchen. Yeah, just make yourself at home, why don’t you? You pushy bastard.
“You might want to shut the door. You know, given how much you hate visitors, Miss Spencer?” he calls out.
I slam the door shut and stride into the kitchen.
I stop short at what I see.
He’s unpacking five bags’ worth of groceries. “Stop calling me that! Just call me Emma.”
“Noted, Emma. While we’re on the subject, you may call me Dan.”
May I now? Argh! “You’re a piece of work. Do you know that?”
He merely grins and turns his attention back to unpacking the groceries and placing them on my kitchen table.
I move cautiously towards him. “Why did you buy all of this? This is a full monthly shop right here,” I say, as I peer into the bags, curiosity getting the better of me.
“I realized I’d upset you the other day. You said you were on your way to the store and, because of me, you didn’t end up going. I figured, although you apparently don’t do dinner, you might still eat other meals.” He smirks at me, clearly amused at his little dig about me turning down his dinner invitation.
“Funny,” I mutter.
“I’m a fun
ny guy.”
“Look, Dan…uh…this is really nice, but I can’t accept it.”
“If you had neighbors, they’d be bringing you welcoming gifts. That’s how people are in Harlson. Just think of it like that.” His eyes lock with mine. “And Emma?”
“Yes?”
“Relax, babe.”
Babe? Before I have a chance to respond to that one, his arm brushes against mine as he leans over to reach the furthest bag to continue his unpacking. The feel of the smooth leather of his jacket against my bare skin sends a thrill right through me. A gasp escapes me. Oh God.
I pull away quickly, taken aback by my reaction to such a slight touch from him. It’s been so long since I’ve been around people and even longer since I’ve been intimate with a guy. I guess I’m more sensitive than I’d realized.
At least that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself, despite the small voice in the back of my mind that’s telling me it’s him. He’s bringing out these reactions in me…this need I’d thought I’d buried long ago. God, my whole body is on edge. As soon as I’d seen him, I’d felt exactly what I had when he’d had his lips on me the other day.
It’s ridiculous.
Pathetic.
Stop it. Stop it right now.
He stops what he’s doing suddenly and turns to me. In all the confusion and craziness since I found him standing on my doorstep, this is the first time I’m actually taking in the sight of him. He’s not dressed to the nines like he was the other day. I’ve never been into guys in suits, so right now he looks even more attractive to me.
Shit. This isn’t good.
I swallow hard as I drink in his appearance. His black leather jacket stretches tightly across his broad shoulders. He’s wearing a white ribbed t-shirt that is thin enough to show off the outline of his abs beneath. And his jeans look like they’re melded to his skin.
I’m so busy staring like a teenage girl obsessed with her first crush that it takes me a moment to notice the card that he’s holding out in front of me. I shake my head and meet his gaze. The smug bastard is grinning from ear to ear, clearly elated that he’s caught me checking him out. I snatch the card from him and study it. It’s a business card for Alder Assets. The Alder family basically owns Harlson. They’re unbelievably wealthy. Daniel Alder, CEO.
