A Different Kind of Man (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Cox, Suzanne

  Emalea laughed. “Don’t think you’ve escaped to safety down here in small townsville. It’s generally quiet but occasionally things get rough and rowdy. And our criminals carry really big knives.”

  He smiled. “I’ll try to be prepared when I make an arrest. Do you consider the recent shootings ‘rough and rowdy’?”

  She shook her head slightly against the towel, causing a few wet strands of hair to fall across her face. She swept them back, while trying to recall if anything like that had happened in Cypress Landing before. Crimes had occurred, but dead bodies full of bullet holes had never turned up in the river. “No, shootings are unheard of here.”

  He sighed. “Well, I hope this is the end. I came here to get away from all that.”

  Emalea studied his profile. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man to be bothered by shootings, but then he had left the FBI for this little country town. “I’m glad. That you came here, that is.”

  She rested her hand on top of his. Turning his hand over, he brought hers to his lips. Fascinated, Emalea could only watch him kiss the palm of her hand. She couldn’t recall a man kissing her hand like that, ever.

  “If this is a little more than you bargained for when you said you’d take a chance on getting to know me, then say so. I won’t mind backing off a bit.” He brought her hand to his lips once more. “That’s not true. I will mind, but I’ll do it, if it’s what you want.”

  She wasn’t sure what she wanted. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She could want a lot of things, but they might not be very good for her. “I don’t think I had particular expectations, although it’s strange how we went from determined to avoid each other to this.”

  “I thought you were the psychologist here. Surely you can figure that out.”

  “I guess I’m not very good at analyzing myself.” She could have given him the long version of how her ability to help people see their mistakes did not extend to herself, but the story would be much too difficult.

  “Here, lie on my couch and I’ll do it for you.” Before she could argue, he pushed her onto her back and sat up, pretending to a hold a pen and notepad. “Now, Ms. LeBlanc, let me tell you what’s happening here. Two people meet and are immediately interested in each other.”

  “Immediately?” She smothered a laugh at what she deemed a great exaggeration on his part.

  “That’s what I said, and I’m doing the analyzing here.” Pausing, he pretended to write notes on his nonexistent notepad. “There’s a connection between them, but they both have a lot of…” He stopped again and appeared to be searching for just the right words.

  “Emotional baggage,” she suggested.

  He frowned. “More like personal junk, in their past. So they think life will be much easier if they stay away from each other, which is very frustrating because there’s a voice inside each of them that keeps saying they belong together.”

  Emalea sat up, her gaze locked on his. “But what made them change their minds and listen to that voice?”

  “Maybe they figured there’s more important things than an easy life.”

  “Like what?” she whispered.

  “Like a good one.” He cupped his hand around her cheek, and she leaned toward him.

  The screeching noise that split the air made them both leap to their knees. Emalea twisted her head in all directions trying to locate the source.

  Jackson, busy digging in his bag, finally held up the offender. “My pager, I guess I’ll have to go. I’m sorry, Emalea, this was really bad timing.”

  She shrugged, smiling. “I would say that’s part of your job, huh?”

  “One of my least favorite parts. Maybe I could call you tonight. We could go to dinner or take an afternoon ride on the bikes tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “Call me if you get through early, but I’ve got to drive to New Orleans in the morning to catch a plane to a conference I’m attending in Orlando. I’ll be gone until Wednesday.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope, I’ve had this booked for three months. But maybe you should go with me and demonstrate your analyzing.”

  “Nah, I think it will only work on us.”

  He watched her for a moment longer, his brown eyes unblinking. Then he bent toward her in a rush, brushing his lips across her forehead.

  “I’ll call you.” He gathered his gear and trotted up the hill to his truck.

  She waved and slowly leaned back on the towel, letting go a long breath. When she’d decided to take a chance on getting to know Jackson, she hadn’t exactly expected it to go this far. Friends, that was what she’d imagined they would become. But after this, it was evident that much more than friendship brewed between them.

  He made it so easy to like him, even though she wasn’t really sure she wanted to get involved with a man like him. What if the whole thing ended up in a thousand pieces like china on a brick floor? Of course, she didn’t have any china or even a brick floor. So maybe she could afford the risk.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE PAIR OF KHAKI SHORTS had green trim that matched her emerald-green henley T-shirt. Satisfied with her appearance, she flipped off the light and left her bedroom. She’d only been home from her trip for a few minutes when Jackson had called to say he was coming by to bring her a present. The skirt and white blouse she’d almost worn were lying on her bed. She’d opted for an outfit she thought was more of a friendly “hello” than one that screamed, “Honey, I’m home.” This thing between them could go from good friends to completely downhill or to an unknown point in between, so it was best to play safely for a while.

  A knock on the door sent her racing to the living room where she forced herself to slow down. She threw open the door, unable to keep the smile from nearly splitting her face, then she froze.

  “What is that?” Emalea didn’t even bother to try and stop her upper lip from grimacing, her smile long gone.

  “Why don’t you just say, ‘Eww, a cat.’” Jackson shifted the ragged creature in his hands and drew his brows together, appearing more than a little disappointed. “It’s a kitten. You know, cute, furry animals that purr and love for you to pet them.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I thought you might like to have her for company, since you’re out here by yourself.”

  She bit her lower lip, her distaste beginning to fade. So what if she hadn’t had a cat since…well, in a really long time. It was a nice gesture on his part, and he didn’t know about the other cat. She reached to pet the soft white coat splotched with a black-and-orange patchwork.

  In a flash, razor-sharp teeth were bared and a splotchy paw swiped the air.

  “What the—” Emalea jerked her hand back and Jackson bent, loosing the little hellion into her living room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “She’s just scared. She’ll come around in a minute. I have everything you might need for her in my truck.” He tilted his head to one side, squinting at her. “Haven’t you ever had a cat before?”

  Emalea didn’t know if she wanted to bring that particular memory into the open. She blinked once, twice, and squeezed her eyelids shut.

  A rough finger thumbed her chin. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I can take the kitten back.”

  Her hair fell into her face as she shook her head. Jackson brushed it behind her ear.

  “No, I think I might like the kitten.” Her breath caught in her throat as she opened her eyes.

  He grinned. “Good. You know I picked her because she kind of reminded me of you, with all the hissing and spitting.”

  “Ouch. I guess I deserve that. At least you didn’t say she looks like me because she’s a little on the ugly side.”

  He didn’t laugh or respond immediately. When he did, he’d steered the conversation back to the place she’d wanted to avoid. “You know, Emalea, if you’ll invite me in, I’d like to hear you tell me what just happened. You don’t have to, but I’m here.”

  She moved to let him in. “Sorry. I didn’t
mean to keep you standing on the doorstep. I was just a little shocked.”

  “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  Shutting the door behind him, she wrapped her arms around herself. “I’d really rather not get into it right now. I need you to help me in the kitchen.”

  He stood watching her. “Later, we’ll talk.”

  “Later.” She nodded, frowning.

  “Lead me to the kitchen then—I’m quite a chef. What are we cooking?”

  “Corn-and-crab bisque.”

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever eaten that.”

  “You’ll love it, come on.”

  JACKSON HAD TO ADMIT Emalea had been right when she’d said he’d love the corn-and-crab bisque. With the salad and really crusty French bread, it might have been the best meal he’d had in years. Either that or the company was the best he’d had in years. After that night on the creek bank when they’d agreed to quit disagreeing, he’d expected they might have a few friendly conversations. The thought of a full-blown affair had never entered his mind. Well maybe it had entered his mind but he hadn’t expected it to happen.

  It wasn’t a real affair, not yet, but a part of him warmed to the idea. If his beeper hadn’t gone off the other day, he didn’t know what would have happened. He might have kissed her, and not just a little peck on the forehead, either. He’d definitely wanted to.

  The last day or two had given him time to get a better perspective on things. He couldn’t rush into this. Though his desire might try to run rampant, he would keep it in check. He went into her living room, dropping onto the middle of an overstuffed sage-green sofa. The kitten, curled in a nearby chair, ignored them. Emalea took a spot next to him. Using the remote to flip on the television, he set the volume to a dull roar.

  She leaned forward slightly when he stretched his arm along the back of the sofa behind her neck. “Do you want to tell me why you had that look of horror at the idea of my giving you a kitten?”

  A worn spot on the sofa attracted her attention, and she avoided meeting his gaze. Worry raced through him at the thought he might hear something he’d really rather not know. He shook off the feeling. They were going to be friends, which meant talking to her about the parts of her past still haunting her.

  “I had—” she stopped to wet her lips before continuing “—a bad experience with a kitten, when I was younger.”

  His hand, drawn as if by a magnet to her hair, lifted a few strands, letting them trickle between his fingers.

  “What kind of experience?”

  “Jackson, I doubt you really want to know all this. I left that life behind years ago.”

  “I’d like to know why you reacted the way you did to the cat first, then maybe we can go from there.”

  She sighed. “In the end, it’s all one story. My dad was not a good guy. He had a cruel streak, and he didn’t mind taking out his frustration on anyone or anything. My aunt gave me a kitten once. It was standing at the back door meowing when my dad came home, drunk as usual. I tried to get there before him, to get the kitten before he heard her.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “Too late, I was too late. He threw the kitten against the wall of the house and killed it.” She swallowed hard before continuing. “I tried to help it, wrapped it in a towel, prayed over it, but nothing helped. I never wanted to have a pet again. I couldn’t protect them from him.”

  Jackson’s hand stilled, with strands of Emalea’s hair floating against his palm. He was an expert on not being able to protect the ones he loved. Maybe his intuition had been right. This story would likely be much more than he’d expected.

  In one smooth motion, she got to her feet only to kneel on the floor in front of the kitten. She stroked the sleeping animal, and he reminded himself to breath in and out. Watching her, hearing the words, had sucked the air from his lungs. As if they were caught in a vacuum, sealing them off from the world outside. To describe Emalea as tortured would have been like saying it was warm at noon in the middle of the desert. No words described her pain, but he knew what that kind of loss, that kind of helplessness could be like. His gut tightened and he would have gone to her, held her, but the horror he’d seen in her eyes kept him still. Unfortunately, he could tell more would be coming. Her nightmare hadn’t ended with the kitten.

  After a minute of silence, she continued, and Jackson had to lean forward to hear her. “My father hit us, me and my mom, all the time, but she always stayed with him. The last time she stayed so I could get away. He had fists like hammers, and he’d slam them into you over and over. If you fell, he’d start kicking you. One evening he was especially crazy, asking my mother where she’d been, always thinking she was seeing another man or hiding money from him, or planning to leave. She’d never been guilty of those things, even though I’d wished a million times she’d leave him. I tried to grab his arm, to make him stop hitting her, so he came after me and I ran into the yard. My mother came out behind us, yelling for me to run away. Just as he caught me, she grabbed him. I made it into the trees, and he started hitting her again. From the woods I could see her face, her eyes. She was on the ground, her mouth still moving, telling me to run, even though she made no sound.” She gripped the edge of the chair until her knuckles shone white. “So I did. I ran all the way to Cypress Landing. Eight miles through the woods.”

  “Why didn’t you go to a neighbor’s house?”

  She shook her head, still not looking at him. “We didn’t know our neighbors, mostly because they didn’t want to know us. I guess I was afraid. But I’ve always thought, if I’d stayed or stopped to call sooner, my mom might have lived. He’d come so close to killing both of us in the past, I just figured he’d stop before he hurt her too bad. I was wrong, very wrong. He killed her that day.” She wiped her hand over her eyes and, though he didn’t see the tears, he knew they were there. Maybe not on the outside—those tears went away after a time—but inside she had tears that never quite ended. He knew because he had them, too.

  “So you see, I couldn’t protect my mom, either. I saved myself, ran away through the woods just like she said. I left her there to die in that ramshackle house.” Her voice cracked, then went silent. He didn’t move, didn’t want to pull her away from her memories, even though they caused her pain.

  She sighed. “That’s why I went to live with Aunt Alice and Uncle John.” She turned to face him and the resolute expression she wore told him how hard she’d worked to be able to say these words. “My mom didn’t really die in an accident. At least not the kind of accident you might think. Twelve years of my life, all I knew was surviving one nightmare to get to the next. Why my mother stayed, I’ll never really know. I know the book reasons, all the psychological theories. But here—” she tapped her chest “—in my heart, I can’t understand why she wouldn’t leave, for me.”

  “What happened to your dad?”

  “He went to prison and died there a few years later. I saw him briefly at the trial. I never saw or spoke to him again. I didn’t even attend his funeral. My aunt and uncle made the arrangements, but I didn’t go. They tried to take me but I refused and they didn’t have the heart to force me after all I’d been through.”

  Emalea scratched at the colored braid on her shorts while Jackson played a thousand responses through his head. None of them were adequate.

  “I guess that’s more than you wanted to know,” she said softly, beginning to stroke the kitten again.

  He shook his head. “I wanted you to tell me what felt comfortable for you.”

  She got to her feet, returning to sit on the sofa beside him, her face pale. “I’m never comfortable with that story, but it’s a relief to tell you.”

  “I assume your dad was a big man, like me.”

  She nodded. “Exactly like you.”

  He caught her chin so she had to face him, meet his eyes, and really see him for who he was. “No, not exactly, because I don’t use my strength and size to hurt the people I’m supposed to love.”r />
  “A lot of men do.” The words were so soft he had to strain to hear them.

  “Plenty of not-so-big men out there do the same thing. A man’s size isn’t what matters. It’s what kind of person he is that makes a man strike out or not.”

  Emalea gave him a half smile, and he rubbed his thumb across her cheek. No wonder she could be so guarded. Some people were lucky enough never to know how cruel the world could be. Maybe these hellish memories from the past were why they were drawn to each other when everything in their experience kept telling them to stay away.

  His hand had slipped beneath her hair to cup her neck. Exactly when he decided to kiss her, he wasn’t sure. One minute her silky hair was brushing the back of his hand and the next he was leaning into her. Maybe it wasn’t a decision at all, but the sheer force of his heart searching for hers. She met him halfway, both hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He brushed her lips with his. That would be all, just a light kiss. He wasn’t prepared for the storm of desire that hit him when she pulled him closer, her arms slipping around his neck. The weight of it consumed him and all the ugliness he’d seen in the past few years faded to a blur, then disappeared. He could only see, only imagine, Emalea.

  His mouth filled with the taste of her. Warm, sweet, spicy. Their tongues touched, tentatively, then hungrily.

  Her body moved against him as he slid his hands under the edge of her shirt to test the softness her skin. Lying back on the sofa, she pulled him with her. When she tugged at his shirt so she could run her hands over his bare skin, a distant part of his mind whispered that this situation was on the verge of blazing out of control, and it felt like pure heaven. He shoved her shirt upward to reveal her smooth stomach and bent to touch his lips to the shiny silver ring at her navel. The next kiss fell an inch above the first and he began a slow sweet trail up her body. Just above him, her breasts, covered in a thin, lacy bra, moved as she arched her body upward. He groaned. Or was it a growl? He couldn’t be sure. When the lace slid aside to reveal the silky skin beneath, his breath constricted in his throat. He felt— Inside of him it registered that at last he did feel. Emalea’s hand stroked his shoulder, the side of his face.