Emma felt a smile tug at her lips, heartened by his confidence. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s my girl.” And with that parting comment, he disconnected.
Though, like Payne, she didn’t appreciate the bet part of Hastings’ and Garrett’s machinations, she couldn’t deny that she had a lot of respect for Colonel Hastings and genuinely appreciated the opportunity he’d given her to finance her way into a better life.
Provided she found the pocket-watch first, she would be shaving at least three years of hard work off her shoulders and getting into vet school that much faster. Honestly, without this new start, who knew if that’s even what she would have pursued? She’d like to think so--she’d always been determined--but the possibility of scratching the dream off as a lost cause or for financial reasons might have proved too tempting. At any rate, love him or hate him, she appreciated Hastings offer regardless of what Payne thought of the bet.
Or, as much as she knew it wasn’t true, what he would ultimately think of her.
If she’d been a guy this morning, no doubt he would have decked her instead of kissing her, but since she’d been a girl and she’d pushed him past his coping point, he’d done the first thing he could think of to put her in her place--he’d lifted her right off the floor and kissed her--and if they’d been anywhere but in a public place, he would have had her on her back three minutes later. Perversely, she found herself disappointed that he hadn’t.
Honestly, Emma thought. The way she’d reacted, you’d have thought she’d never been kissed before. Her silly heart had done a little cartwheel of joy, she’d been so thrilled, and her bones had melted and every hair on her body had prickled as though she’d been hit with a slight electric charge. It had been a take-no-prisoners shut-up-or-put-out siege that had absolutely rocked her world and shook her senses.
Or senseless, as the case may be, she thought with a wry smile, because all she’d been able to think about since he’d ended the kiss was pissing him off enough to get another one.
And another one.
And another one.
On her neck and needy, equally sensitive places further south.
In her daydreaming and secret fantasies about the legendary so-cool-he-was-hot former Ranger, Emma had always imagined him being a thorough and methodical lover. She’d imagined him taking his time, lingering, if you will, from one end of her body to the other. Inspecting, measuring, kissing, sucking and stroking her. Coaxing a flame, stoking a fire to a slow but steady fever-pitch of sexual satisfaction. It had been a fabulous fantasy, complete with the occasional help-yourself orgasm on her part.
Now she had to revise her fantasy and, though she wouldn’t have thought it possible, she preferred the new one to the old. The new one featured a so-cool-he-was-hot legendary bad-ass former Ranger coming unglued--for her.
That kiss might have started out as a lesson for her--a form of punishment--but it had swiftly morphed into something else altogether. His tongue hadn’t asked for entrance--it had demanded it. She’d tasted the need there, the sweet flavor of wild, primal desire and her own body had reacted in kind. An uncontrollable urge had spiked in her loins, licked through her veins, burning up any vestiges of ordinary sexual hunger. She’d wanted to devour him and, given that mouthwatering enormous bulge she’d felt against her belly, he’d been equally as hungry for her.
As if things hadn’t been complicated enough, Emma thought with a helpless whimper. Now he had to go and throw that damned kiss into the mix. The kiss that made her want so, so much more.
It gave an entirely new meaning to sleeping with the enemy.
Emma’s stomach rumbled, reminding her of yet another hunger which hadn’t been satisfied today. Certain she wouldn’t have been able to get a raisin down her throat with a sling-shot while Payne was joined at her hip--or her ass, since he’d mostly followed her--Emma had elected not to stop for lunch, but had continued her search instead.
Naturally, he’d been above such a human necessity such as food, so they’d plowed on throughout the day without stopping for so much as a sandwich. Thankfully she still had a couple of cookies left in her room from yesterday and had washed them down with a bottle of water she’d carried in her purse. But one muffin and two cookies didn’t a proper meal make and, as such, she was due. Norah, bless her accommodating heart, had flagged her down when she’d rushed back in this afternoon long enough to tell her that dinner would be ready at six.
Emma glanced at the clock and saw that it was five til. Close enough, she thought with a sigh, pushing up from her bed. No doubt Payne would be in the dining room as well, but maybe she’d get lucky and end up on the opposite side of the room. The opposite side of the planet would probably be better for her sexual sanity, but probably that was too much to hope for.
She ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it a little to get rid of the bed-head, and fumbled through her purse for her compact. A little powder, a little gloss--God help her, Emma thought, realizing she was doing the frou-frou thing because Payne was more than likely downstairs. Sheesh. Disgusted with herself, she jammed the cap back on her lip-stick and tossed it into her purse. She was an idiot--an absolute idiot--and, as a bracing act of defiance, immediately wiped off the newly-applied gloss.
Muttering under her breath, she snagged her purse and walked downstairs.
“Ah,” Norah said as she approached the dining room. “You’re here.”
“And hungry,” Emma added with a significant grin. “Something smells good.”
“Dad made pot roast. It’s fabulous.”
It certainly smelled fabulous, Emma thought, her mouth watering.
“Come with me,” she said, herding her forward into the dining area. “Your dinner companion is already seated. I’ve paired you up with the best-looking man here. With the exception of my husband, of course,” she added with a knowing twinkle.
Emma’s gaze tangled with Payne’s from across the room and she felt a sick smile catch the corner of her mouth and tug. “Oh, how nice,” she said, because an “Oh, hell,” didn’t seem appropriate. “Did he ask you to do this?” she asked, trying to sound secretly thrilled as opposed to ready to wretch. She wouldn’t put it past him in the least.
“It was my suggestion, but he was quite pleased with it.”
She’d just bet he was, Emma thought, inwardly seething.
“I think he may like you,” Norah confided, her warm gaze twinkling. “We’ve had more than one couple begin their romance here.”
Romance? Her and Brian Payne?
Her heart gave an odd little jolt and a nervous chill hit her belly. Now that was certainly a frightening thought, one her foolish heart thankfully had sense enough not to entertain.
Sleeping with him? Sure. Mutually satisfying, everybody went home happy. But falling for him? Saying, “Here’s my heart, please don’t flash-freeze and break it?”
Absolutely not.
In the first place, she knew what a hardened bachelor looked like, and he was it if she’d ever seen one. A man didn’t manage to get to the ripe of age of thirty-something without getting married for a reason. He was either vehemently opposed to the idea, had commitment issues, or was gay. She could personally rule out the latter and pegged him for a mutant combination of the other two.
And in the second place, a guy with those kinds of issues--particularly one with Payne’s considerable fortitude--was more than she reasonably imagined she could tackle. The temptation was there, of course. He’d be a challenge. But she instinctively knew that if she dared to offend him with any kind of tender emotion, he’d frost her so fast her hair would freeze. Risking her heart knowing the outcome would be emotional suicide and frankly, all recklessness aside, even she had better sense than that.
Pity though, Emma thought as she made her way across the dining room. If he ever cared enough to focus some of the legendary attention-to-detail on loving a woman, she’d be one lucky girl.
For whatever reason, the idea was wh
olly depressing.
Possibly because she knew that girl would never be her.
* * *
Payne felt his lips slide into a smirk as Emma took the seat opposite him. “Haven’t lost your appetite, have you?”
She placed her napkin in her lap, then looked up and blinked at him. “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He took a hefty drink of wine, hoping to drown some irritation. “I guess because you looked nauseated a moment ago when you looked over and saw me sitting here.”
“Have I hurt your feelings?” she asked with mock concern, being her typical smart-ass self. The galling answer was yes, but he’d rather have his balls sawed off with a pair of dull hedge clippers than tell her that. Furthermore, he wasn’t supposed to have feelings for her to hurt, so that telling realization made him distinctly uncomfortable.
“No, I’d just prefer you not puke on my food,” he drawled, purposing sounding disinterested. “So long as you’re just sick of my company and not sick, we should be fine.”
Emma paused to look at him and he had the momentary uneasy sensation that she’d somehow picked up on the lie. That she could see through him. She rolled her eyes, looking miserably contrite. “I’m not sick of you, per se,” she told him and gestured wearily. “I’m just sick of...the tension, if that makes sense.”
Of the sexual variety? he wondered, or of the find-the-pocket-watch kind?
In either case, he knew what she meant. After all, it was only Day Two and he felt like he’d been through Hell Week. His broody gaze swung back to Emma.
And it was all her fault.
Women, he thought darkly, the historical downfall of the men in his family. But no matter how much she mucked up his game, she wouldn’t be his downfall. In fact, if this mission played out as successfully as every other one in his life had, then it would be the other way around.
For whatever reason, that thought wasn’t as comforting as it should be. He supposed because in this instance he wasn’t busting up a terrorist cell or freeing prisoners of war. He was here on another man’s whim, protecting his honor for the sake of a historical geegaw whose actual authenticity was still in question. There was no honor in this errand, no greater good to be won and, in this case, winning meant robbing another person of a new beginning.
Time to mine for a little more information in that regard, Payne thought, telling himself it was strictly for professional reasons. Better armed and all that. It couldn’t possibly be because he was fascinated by her and wanted to know everything she’d willingly share about herself. That would be pathetic and Brian Atticus Payne was not, under any circumstances, pathetic.
“What do you say we call a brief truce?”
She cocked her head and regarded him through cautious eyes. “How brief?”
“Dinner,” he replied. “Let’s just eat and be cordial. Do you think you can do that?”
Her lips twitched. “If I put my mind to it.”
Payne snorted. God, she was adorable.
Emma released a small breath and relaxed back into her chair, seemingly at a loss now that she was supposed to be nice to him. She folded her hands primly in her lap and he watched her gaze dart around the dining room, evidently prepared to look at anything but him. She almost appeared...nervous, but that hardly fit the balls-to-the-wall little spitfire he’d come to know.
“So,” he said, deciding to toss an old line into the conversational pond. “What made you decide to join the military?”
That sugared-violet gaze finally found his and her lips slid into an endearing, self-deprecating smile. “A dare.”
He chewed the inside of his cheek to hide his smile. “A dare?”
She nodded. “Hardly the noble reason I’m sure you joined. You probably had grandiose notions about God and country and protecting our borders and freedoms.” She paused while Harry slid steaming plates filled with pot roast, potatoes, carrots and onions in front of them. “While I, on the other hand, let some bone-headed boy taunt me into it and I joined simply to prove a point.”
Given his recent encounters with her, he could easily see that. “I take it you did.”
She quirked a pointed brow. “I served eight years. What do you think?”
He barely knew her and, oddly, wouldn’t expect anything less. “Eight years, eh?”
“Yeah,” she confessed with a wistful sigh. “I would have re-upped, but my grandfather was dying and my mother needed me at home.”
“I’m sorry.”
She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “Ah, well. You do what you’ve gotta do, eh? Family comes first.”
He wouldn’t know anything about that because his had always been a dysfucktional mess, to borrow Guys’ word for it. Still, it was reaffirming to see that some families were normal, or had achieved an approximation thereof, at any rate. An unexpected pang of wistfulness for that kind of bond washed over him--odd, when he thought he’d beaten that longing into submission years ago--but he managed to wrestle it away with images of his feuding, miserable parents.
“So what’s next for you?” Payne asked. “You’re mother had mentioned something about vet school to Guy.”
She smiled, poked her tongue in her cheek. “She thought he was a potential boyfriend. She would have told him that I was out saving kittens from a drainage pipe if she’d thought it would have made me more attractive.”
Payne felt a laugh break up in his throat. Finished eating, his pushed his plate away. “So she was lying?”
“About vet school? No. I want to go. It’s Plan C.”
Thoroughly intrigued, he leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine. “What happened to plans A and B?”
“A was the military. It didn’t pan out.” A wry smile ripened her lips. “B’s checking groceries at the Hefty Hog and picking up every bit of work I can until I can afford Plan C.” Her brow clouded. “My grandfather’s care was...a strain. I’m helping my mother out right now.”
Payne stilled, digesting that little bit of information. So it was as bad as Guy had said, possibly even worse. Hastings timely offer had been a much-needed shot of financial breathing-room and the only thing standing between her and her new and improved life was him. He’d know this, of course, but he hadn’t fully absorbed it until now. Something about her glib, resigned tone made the enormity of what she stood to lose if he won all the more stark and ugly.
“Having an attack of nobility?” she drawled, utilizing that uncanny way she had of reading his thoughts when no one else, even his closest friends, had ever been able to do so.
“No,” Payne lied, slightly perturbed.
“Good. Don’t. It’s insulting.”
“Insulting?”
“That’s right.” She regarded him with cool amusement. “It implies that you actually don’t think I can find the pocket-watch before you do--that I am incapable--and that, Sir Brainiac, is insulting.”
A smile meandered across his lips. “I take it we’re finished being cordial.”
She grimaced adorably, then grinned. “Cordial’s boring. I’d much rather fight with you.”
And he’d much rather fuck her, but that was hardly polite dinner conversation, now was it? “I’d finished eating, anyway,” Payne said.
“Good. Then I didn’t break any rules.”
No, she just liked bending them shy of breaking them--just like Guy, Payne realized with an uneasy start. Now that was a comparison he should have made before now, he thought, not altogether sure he liked the similarity. Before he could articulate a response, she stood.
“This wasn’t so bad,” she said. “Maybe we should do it again sometime.”
“Back to being a smart-ass, I see,” Payne remarked, shooting her a long-suffering look as he stood.
She batted her lashes at him. “It’s part of my charm.”
“You should slap who ever told you that.”
“Bite your tongue,” she admonished with a patently false frown. “I’d never hit my mother
.”
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you up.”
“There you go again. I think I know the way.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t. I was being a gentleman,” he said through partially gritted teeth. Good Lord, she seemed determined to step on each and every one of his already shredded nerves.
“Oh. Well, thank you, then. I wasn’t aware I was in the company of one.” She mounted the stairs, then turned and faced him at the top of the landing with an exaggerated frown. “Was that what you were being when you picked me up off the floor today and kissed me without permission?” she asked innocently. She fished out her key from her purse and started toward her door.
Payne’s face burned. “Sorry. My mistake,” he said tightly. “I must have misinterpreted your tongue in my mouth.”
She unlocked her door, but didn’t open it, then turned around and glared at him from between narrowed eyes. “It was a reflex.”
A reflex, eh? Payne thought, goaded--drawn--into her personal space once more. He was being a bully again, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. She did that to him. Make him act first and think later.
He backed her into her door, forcing her to look up at him and braced his hands on either side of her head, effectively boxing her in. Her eyes widened and a wild pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. “Does that mean you’d reflexively kiss me back if I did it again?” he asked softly, lowering his head.
He stopped a hairsbreadth away from her mouth, could taste her sweet breath, but purposely didn’t close the distance between them, forcing her to make the call. Her gaze tangled with his--hot, hungry, desperate and torn--then drifted down to his lips once more. Another one of her sighs caressed his lips, then she whimpered, said, “To hell with it,” and kissed him like her very life depended on it.
Payne staggered as she launched herself at him. A low growl emitted from his throat, reason snapped and he was on her.
CHAPTER 9
I am such a moron, Emma told herself as she wrapped her arms around Payne’s neck and her legs around his waist. In the nanosecond after she decided to accept his dare--because that had been what it was and the self-serving wretch knew she couldn’t resist, dammit--and had closed the paper thin distance between their mouths, Payne had scooped her up and was feeding at her mouth as though she was a feast and he hadn’t eaten in...forever.
Men Out of Uniform: 6 Book Omnibus Page 25
