How awful. Utterly sad.
"So you raised yourself?"
Chuckling, he shook his head. "I was raised by a series of nannies until I was sixteen. At that age my parents considered me an adult and proceeded to treat me that way."
"Were you?" I asked, completely intrigued by his story, so different than my own boring as hell childhood. "An adult, I mean?"
His smile widened and his chuckle turned into a laugh. "Not by a longshot. I did so much stupid shit in high school. I really should be dead. My parents didn't know about most of it and I doubt they would have cared either way. They would have said that I was testing my boundaries or something."
"What kind of stuff did you do?"
"I didn't have a curfew so I'd stay out all night."
"Didn't your friends have curfews?"
He nodded and grinned. "They did. So after midnight I was hanging out with guys who were older than me. We were definitely up to no good. Drinking and partying."
"And no one knew that you were only sixteen?"
"I was big for my age."
I was...surprised. The mature man sitting across from me was so different than what he was describing.
"I'll admit that I'm having trouble picturing you as a juvenile delinquent. And your parents never found out?"
"Nope, and they wouldn't have cared. Like I said, they simply should never have had a child. They were too engrossed in their own lives."
"What did your parents do?"
"They were archeologists. They were gone a lot."
The picture was becoming much clearer.
"And they left you behind with a nanny?"
"Yes, but don't feel sorry for me, Emmy. I'm not scarred for life or anything. But it did help me decide what I wanted to be when I grew up."
"A psychologist?"
He nodded. "Yes, although I started out researching child and parent relationships but quickly found that romantic relationships were far more fascinating. Or maybe I just didn't want to dig into my own family dynamic? Either way, I don't regret anything. We're all a product of our upbringing to a certain extent. It's what we do with it that's important."
"Are you close to your parents now?"
"No, Emmy. I'm not." His tone was gentle but firm. "Thankfully, we've given up any pretense of being a family. The last time I saw them was...about four years ago at a cousin's wedding."
I couldn't imagine not having any family. I complained about mine but in the end, I loved them to death.
"I would think they'd be proud of you and your achievements," I muttered, shoving a forkful of potatoes in my mouth. Owen, on the other hand, appeared completely unperturbed by his parents' cold attitudes.
"They're good people, Emmy. They just never should have been parents."
I wanted to slap my fork down on the plate. Loudly. "You shouldn't defend them. They don't deserve it. They may not have wanted to be parents, Owen, but by God they brought you into this world. You deserve to have parents who give a shit. It's not fair."
"Life isn't fair."
"You're far too forgiving."
If I ever met his mother and father, I'm not sure that I wouldn't be able to keep from smacking them upside their heads. Or maybe stomping on their toes.
"Did you ever think that I forgave them for myself, not for them?"
"Well...no. Dammit..."
"You're a sweet woman, Emmy Grant. You want to make everything okay for me even though it's been years since I was a child. I'm a psychologist. Believe me, I've worked through the anger and come to this place of acceptance. I can't change the past and I can't change my parents. There was a time in my life when I thought I could and it brought me nothing but heartache and frustration. But you are right...I deserve better. That's why I don't bother to try and have them in my life anymore."
"That's very mentally healthy."
"It took a long time to get there. But I think it explains why I'm so passionate about creating love and happiness, and why I want it for myself."
My mouth went dry and I took a quick gulp from my water glass. Most men wouldn't have said that out loud.
"You want to get...married?"
Consider me stunned. I was probably staring at him like a deer in headlights.
"Absolutely. Marriage, kids, a dog. The whole nine yards. I just haven't found the right person yet, but I'm looking."
He was looking. Actively. Because he wanted to get married and have a family.
I couldn't remember the last time a man had said those words to me. Years?
Don't get me wrong. I was aware there were plenty of men that wanted to settle down with the right woman; it's just that I hadn't dated any of them in a long time. Not that I was on a date with Owen. Or was I? Was this a date? Holy shit. I might be on a date with Owen.
That was more disturbing than hearing he wanted to get married.
Clearing my throat, I took another big drink of my water. Suddenly I was really thirsty.
"In your job you must be exposed to millions of eligible women."
That brought me down to earth with a hard thunk. Millions of women. Prettier. Smarter. Funnier. Sexier. Less neurotic.
His brows pinched together and he rubbed his chin. There was just a bit of stubble there.
"In a way, although I don't make a habit of fishing off the company pier, so to speak. I have, of course, taken my own test and I do look for matches but I haven't found anyone I've been interested in, to be honest."
He was looking at me. Like really looking at me. As if he was trying to see inside me all the way to my soul. Was he saying that he was interested? If he was, what did I think about that?
I think I liked the idea. If he was interested.
Why couldn't men have a sign that popped up over their heads when they found a woman attractive? It would make life so much easier. I was decent with body language but I couldn't quite get a read on Owen except that he was relaxed and open with me. I didn't get any subterfuge from him, no bragging or preening. He was...himself.
How novel.
"What about you, Emmy? Are you close to your family?"
It appeared we were done with the marriage and commitment portion of the evening. Thank goodness. It was stressful as hell.
Chapter 9
Owen
Emmy loved her family. It was easy to see as she lit up when talking about her brother and two sisters, plus her parents. Her expression would go all soft when she described her mom and dad. Earlier in the evening, she'd talked a little about her childhood but then she'd changed the subject to me. I wanted to know more about her.
"Were you the middle child?"
Shit. I needed to keep my damn mouth shut, but sometimes the doctor in me came spilling out.
Frowning, she tilted her head at my question. "Yes. How did you know?"
Fuck. Because I was a psychologist and it was obvious. Women, however, didn't necessarily find that fun and attractive on a date.
Wait...was this a date? I'd asked her to have dinner with me. I wanted it to be a date. I wanted to kiss her at the end of the evening. Or earlier, if that could be arranged. Did she think this was some casual meal that two acquaintances were sharing? Shit.
"A lucky guess, that's all."
Her eyes narrowed and she made a huffing sound. "Because I'm efficient and practical and don't like to be the center of attention?"
Among other reasons.
An alarm went off in my head. Danger. Divert. Change the subject and fast.
"Would you like dessert?"
Shaking her head, she placed her napkin on the table. "I'm stuffed. There's no way I could eat another bite. It was so good, though."
The meal had been wonderful. This resort had earned its reputation.
"How about a walk on the beach?" I suggested. "It's a beautiful night."
I held my breath as she contemplated my offer. If she said yes, then we both definitely knew it was a date. If she said no, then it was still up in the air. She m
ight know it was a date but not be enjoying it, or she didn't know it was a date and my question sounded creepy.
"I'd like that." She leaned forward, a brow raised. "But don't think I don't know what you're doing. I know you're trying to get my mind off of your statement that I'm the middle child."
I almost choked on my drink. "Why would I do that?"
"For obvious reasons. And I'm going to let you. For now. How about that walk?"
"I'll get the check and we'll go."
Moonlight, a warm breeze, sand beneath our feet, and the sound of the tide. It was a recipe for romance and this woman made me feel very romantic indeed. I wanted to kiss her under the stars.
Emmy
If anyone had told me a few days ago that I would be strolling down a moonlit beach, my shoes in one hand and the other held by a gorgeous man, I would have told them they were insane. I wouldn't have time for fun and romance. But here I was and this was most definitely romantic.
I was a practical woman, but even I wasn't immune to the sound of the waves against the sand and the stars hanging overhead. Palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze and the smell of salt and coconut oil was in the air. The entire scene was pure seduction. It didn't help that I might have had a little too much rum at dinner, but the drinks were so delicious. A rum drink at home simply didn't taste the same way it did in the tropics.
"You're very quiet," Owen said, his fingers entwined with mine. It felt good. "Was it something I said?"
"No. I'm just enjoying the serenity."
"Then do you want me to shut up?"
Laughing, I shook my head. He was a good sport and had a nice sense of humor. "Not at all. I like talking to you. You don't ramble on and on about sports."
"You don't like sports?"
"I like sports just fine but I don't want them to be my sole focus of conversation and life in general. There are other topics that are interesting, too."
Geez, I sounded uptight. Again. Maybe I needed this vacation more than I thought. Time to relax.
"Such as?"
"Movies. Books. Music. Food. Those are just a few."
Somehow, we'd stopped walking and were standing just on the edge of the water. If I took just one tiny step to the left the waves would have lapped at my bare toes.
The moon shone down brightly and I could see Owen's far too handsome face. He was wearing a playful smile.
"Okay, this sounds like fun. What's your favorite movie?"
We were going to play a game? Why not? Shelby was constantly telling me I needed to lighten up and have some fun.
"Mary Poppins."
His shoulders shook with laughter. At me.
"Mary Poppins? I can see why."
"She's practically perfect in every way," I replied tartly, knowing full well why he was laughing. "And Dick Van Dyke is terrific. But it's the music that steals the movie."
"It is a great film. I'm not arguing."
"What's your favorite movie?"
"Citizen Kane."
"I saw that once. It was good."
"But no dancing penguins."
"It would have been improved by a big musical number at the end."
In fact, I think most films could be improved that way.
"I agree. I don't know why Orson Welles didn't include one. How about food? What's your favorite food? Mine is spaghetti and meatballs."
I liked Owen when he was like this. A bit silly and fun. I didn't care if he laughed at me a little because he would be fine with me laughing at him.
He was becoming more attractive by the minute. I was in dangerous territory.
"Spaghetti sounds really good but I think my favorite is fried chicken. I know it's bad for me though, so I don't eat it too often."
His fingers slid up the flesh of my arm, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake. "I eat spaghetti at least once a week."
He moved a step closer so that our bodies were almost touching. Not quite but almost. My breath caught and my knees turned to jelly.
"Can you cook?"
"I can. One of my nannies taught me. You name it and I can probably make it."
Leaning down, his gaze captured mine. I could feel the heat from his body and feel his warm breath on my cheek. Shit. Butterflies danced in my stomach and my heart had crawled up into my throat making it difficult to talk. I was able to get out one single word.
"Meatloaf."
I sounded like Kermit the Frog.
"Yes."
"Pizza."
"Who makes pizza? I order it in. But I probably could make it if I tried. It's just a bit of dough, sauce, and cheese."
I couldn't seem to look away and the tension between us grew into a palpable thing. I wanted him to kiss me. I think he wanted to as well. The idea of simply throwing myself into his arms crossed my mind but the still sane part of my brain kept me standing firmly in the same spot.
Okay, maybe I wasn't all that sane. It could just be sheer fear of rejection. What if I was imagining all of this?
"Coq au vin."
Kiss me.
"You got me. That's one I can't do."
Who cares? Kiss me. Just grab me and do it. I think you want to. I know I want you to.
"Emmy? Are you okay?"
No, I'm not. For the first time in months, maybe even a year, I'm with a man I'm truly attracted to.
"I don't care that you like the outdoors."
Fuck. What in the hell was I saying? I'm babbling like a fool. I glanced down at the sand trying to calculate how much time and effort it would take to dig a hole and disappear. I could feel the heat in my cheeks and I hoped it would continue because then I could just melt away into a pile of goo.
If Owen thought my statement was strange, he was too polite to say so. He smiled and his fingers came up under my chin, his thumb caressing my sensitive skin. I couldn't stop the shiver that ran through me and dammit, he noticed, of course. Even in the moonlight I could see his expression of triumph.
Just kiss me.
"I don't care that you don't like the outdoors, Emmy."
Owen didn't make me wait any longer. Bending his head, his lips captured my own, tentatively at first and then more powerfully when I didn't back away or slap his face. He had one hand cupped behind my head as if he was afraid I was going to twist away, but that definitely wasn't going to happen. This man knew how to kiss.
Not too wet. Not too dry. Just the right amount of pressure. Then he softly ran his tongue over my lower lip and I opened up to him as he pulled me closer. Pressed up against his hard chest, I could feel his heart beat and smell the tang of his body wash, clean and crisp. It filled my nostrils and made me dizzy, or it could have been the kiss.
It was probably the kiss.
I don't know how long we might have stood there, lost in each other but the sound of people approaching had us pulling apart. I wasn't one for public displays and this beach wasn't exactly private.
Our breathing was ragged as we stood there, staring at one another. I didn't know what to say and I never did at a moment like this. Did we high five? Did I compliment his kissing prowess?
I should have read the chapter in Shelby's book that talked about the first kiss. Too late now.
I didn't come to this island for a vacation romance. Heck, I didn't even come here for a vacation, but I was smacked dab in the middle of one and I wasn't sorry.
I liked Owen Campbell, and I was going to have some damn fun while I had the chance.
Even though it wasn't practical in the least.
Owen
After dropping Emmy at her hotel room door - with another kiss - I walked the three feet to my own room and went inside. The evening had turned out much differently than I'd expected it to. It had been a surprise to see Emmy in the restaurant and an even bigger shock that she'd agreed to dine with me. The most important fact, however, was...
I was blown away by the kiss. Just knocked on my ass and left for dead.
What an amazing woman and what a fan - fucki
ng - tastic kiss.
She might not like the outdoors and she thought Citizen Kane should be a musical. She was adorable and I was falling fast and hard. Emmy Grant was a delicious combination of efficient, practical, fanciful, and fun with a side of hotter than sin. My lips were still on fire from that kiss. She ought to be illegal in all fifty states, or at the very least come with a warning label.
Clearly, all the men she'd dated in the past were idiots to let her slip through their fingers. Luckily, I was no dummy. I couldn't wait to spend more time getting to know her. I'd made sure to make a date for the next day.
I wanted to make it special. A woman like Emmy, who planned events for a living, wasn't going to be easy to impress.
What could we do to make it a memorable day?
Emmy
After quickly showering and brushing my teeth, I slipped into an old t-shirt and under the covers. I'd promised to work on reading Shelby's book but honestly that wasn't why I was retrieving it from my carryon bag.
I needed to figure out what in the hell I was doing with Owen.
I wasn't a virgin. I'd dated lots of men over the years, some I'd slept with and some that I didn't. I liked sex and didn't have any guilt about engaging in it. I was human and humans are sexual beings. We like pleasure and sex - with the right guy - was pleasurable. When I was between boyfriends, I also had a vibrator in my bedside table. It sat next to a small bottle of lubricant and a box of condoms.
Because one never knows. I wanted to be prepared.
I'd even had a few one-night stands when I was younger. I wasn't exactly proud of that but I wasn't ashamed, either. I considered it part of being young and dumb. It wasn't an activity I was planning on doing now.
I say all of this so you'll understand that I'm no novice in the dating, romance, and sex department. In fact, I considered myself to be fairly savvy when it came to men. But there was something about Owen that turned me into a gawky teenager. I hadn't even been one of those when I was a teenager.
Touch Him (ManTrap Book 3) Page 6
