by Evelyn Adams
He checked his phone for notifications. It had been almost as long since he heard from the player named Severhan. It was crazy to think his sometimes partner/ sometimes nemesis would be online in the middle of a weekday, but he watched the screen for a few moments to see if he got a response. Shaking his head in disgust, he closed the screen. His recent interaction with women included an online relationship with someone he tried to beat at video games and his current nursing gig. It was the romantic equivalent of living in his parents’ basement. Maybe when this was over, he’d get his brother to go out with him, but he’d started to feel too old for bars. Add in the rate his wingmen were signing up for happily ever after and he had a feeling he was on his own.
He waited a few more minutes to make sure Sophie was asleep and wouldn’t need him and then he hurried to his truck to grab his duffel and laptop. At least he had work to do.
He always had work.
SOPHIE BLINKED AWAKE AND STRETCHED, breathing in the familiar scent of her laundry detergent and feeling the heavy weight of her down comforter. She remembered Emerson waking her twice, asking her to tell him her name and birthdate before he let her go back to sleep. He’d grimaced the first time she told him, but given the forehead kiss when he tucked her in, it wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened.
She still wasn’t exactly sure what happened there. When he started leaning in, she’d froze, not sure what to do. She’d seen the confusion in his expression as soon as he realized what he was doing. The forehead thing had been a passable save—okay, it was still weird but kind of sweet too. If it left her wondering what it would be like if he really kissed her, that was her problem—not his. And more proof that she ought to make time to date. Having romantic feelings about the first guy to pay any attention to her in a while wasn’t smart. Her experience, or lack of, with men was pathetic.
She hadn’t deliberately set out to be the world’s oldest virgin; it just worked out that way. She sat up and hugged her brother’s shirt around her, feeling the familiar sense of loss settle over her. When she was a teenager, it had been almost impossible to date with Noah around. Nothing killed a budding romance faster than an overprotective brother with a reputation of hitting first and asking questions later. He wouldn’t have hurt the guys who worked up the nerve to ask her out. At least she didn’t think so, but none of them stuck around long enough to find out.
Everything changed after Noah left for university anyway. She didn’t want to date. She didn’t want to be around anyone. She had a hard enough time forcing herself to go to school. Knowing her brother would kick her ass for skipping when he got back was the only thing that got her out of bed some mornings. Then he didn’t come back and her world went completely off its axis.
She wasn’t going to think about any of that now.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, pausing for a moment to see if she felt any dizziness. When she didn’t, she stood. The clock on her phone read three fourteen. It had to be the middle of the night and not the afternoon, but she felt too awake to go back to sleep. And she had to pee, which meant she was going to have to leave her bedroom.
After Emerson left her alone, she’d stripped off her yoga pants and bra. She tugged the pants on but figured she could make it to the bathroom and back without her bra. She’d be hard pressed to find a less revealing garment than the uni T-shirt. It was like Noah was still trying to cockblock her love life even from the grave. Or he would be if the thing with Emerson was romantic, which it wasn’t. Forehead kiss notwithstanding. If anything, he’d stayed with her out of some misguided sense of responsibility. He’d get up in the morning, see she was okay, and hit the road.
She tried not to let the thought bug her. She wanted him out of her hair. She’d wanted him gone as soon as he pulled into her parking lot. She tiptoed across the floor and opened the door as quietly as she could. If her insistent bladder hadn’t forced her from the room, she could grab a book and wait it out until morning, but that wasn’t an option. The more she thought about it, the more she had to go. And she had to pass the couch and the man sprawled across it to get there.
Emerson lay on his back, his arm flung over his head and his feet sticking off the end of the couch. He was about a foot too tall to fit comfortably on her furniture and she wondered how he’d gotten comfortable enough to fall asleep. By morning, he’d probably have pins and needles in his feet from lack of blood flow. The thought should make her feel guilty. Or it would if she wasn’t distracted by the bare muscular chest clearly visible even in the dimly lit room. He’d covered himself with the throw she kept on the couch, but it was barely long enough to cover his stomach and legs. At least it wasn’t cold in the room.
The back of his forearm rested against his forehead and even at rest, she could see the definition in the muscles of his arm. Whatever else he did, the man worked out enough to keep his body in spectacular shape. She didn’t need to see his narrow hips and the strong thighs hidden under the blanket to know they were as toned as the rest of him. It was better not to give her overactive imagination any more material to work with. Her captor slash caregiver was way too distracting already.
Stubble shadowed his angular jaw and his lips parted as he exhaled in his sleep. She caught herself leaning in closer to him in a way that wouldn’t get her anywhere she wanted to be. Emerson Southerland didn’t look like the kind of man a woman played with—not that she had any idea how to even go about doing that. She had a feeling anything that happened with the man taking up way too much space in her home would be serious business. She didn’t have room in her life for that.
Between one breath and the next, he went perfectly still and opened his eyes. She let out a squeak and stepped back so quickly she almost fell on her ass. She would have if he hadn’t reached out and grabbed her arm, steadying her.
“What’s wrong? Do you need something?”
Again with all the questions. It was like he was so focused on solving problems, it was the only way he knew how to talk.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said, turning away from his questions and his piercing gaze. It felt like the man could see right through her, making her feel vulnerable and exposed.
“It’s okay.” He sat back on the couch and waited for her to do something.
“I just need to...” She let the words trail off as she waved in the direction of the bathroom, and then she bolted, praying he’d be asleep again by the time she finished.
EMERSON ROLLED HIS neck, working out the kinks. He’d slept in more uncomfortable places, but it was definitely close. He’d spent the night alternating between having his head and neck jackknifed or having his feet hang over the arm of Sophie’s couch, but it wasn’t the accommodations that kept him up all night.
In the beginning, it was because he had to wake Sophie every couple of hours to make sure she was still okay. By the second time, he’d started to look forward to seeing her face, flushed with sleep as she blinked awake. She’d smile as if she was happy to see him, which was crazy considering he was the one waking her from a sound sleep. By the third time, she’d managed to worm her way into his subconscious. He saw her almost as clearly when he closed his eyes as when he was standing over her bed, and his thoughts drifted in much less innocent directions.
After he’d woken up and found her looking at him like he was something good to eat, there was no way in hell he could go back to sleep. She stood there with the tight peaks of her nipples clearly outlined through the thin cotton of her T-shirt and any thoughts he’d had beyond getting his hands on her rolled right out of his head. And then she’d almost fallen and he remembered why he was there and it wasn’t to take advantage of an innocent woman recovering from an injury. That didn’t mean he’d been able to fall asleep again.
He’d feigned sleep when she came out of the bathroom so he wouldn’t have to deal with the way she’d looked at him or hide his thoughts. As soon as the bedroom door cl
osed behind her, he’d grabbed his laptop and gone to work on finishing the files for the Rockcliff account. He’d also bumped Andrews to see if he’d learned anything else about the break-in. What his tech guy found lined up with the police report. By all accounts, it looked like a burglary gone wrong with Sophie caught in the middle of it. Thank God someone, either whoever hit her or someone passing by, had a conscience and called 911. It made him crazy to think what could have happened to her, but given the information in front of him, he had to admit it didn’t look like she was the target. With the half-assed way the burglary went down, it was even less likely whoever’d done it had been after his client’s pearls.
Which meant now that his night of nursing duty was over, he didn’t have any reason to hang around. He couldn’t very well play bodyguard to a woman whose only danger was from uncomfortably short furniture. He ought to be relieved, but he wasn’t, a feeling he had no intention of looking at any closer. He got up and started looking—unsuccessfully—for something to fix for breakfast that didn’t require him to cook. Unless he was missing something, Sophie didn’t even have stuff to make coffee. What kind of person didn’t have coffee?
Tugging on his black uniform polo, he glanced over at the closed bedroom door and debated running out to the corner market to grab coffee and breakfast for both of them. He hated the idea of her waking up to an empty apartment. It was insane. She’d done it the day before the attack—presumably, unless she’d had a guy over. If she had, he wasn’t the type of guy she could call when she was hurt. Emerson didn’t want to think about it. The idea of Sophie with another man made him irrationally twitchy. He tried to convince himself it was like thinking about his sisters dating, but nothing about the woman in the other room reminded him of his sisters.
“Morning,” she said, putting an end to his rambling thoughts and looking much too fresh to have just rolled out of bed.
She’d changed into faded jeans and one of those floaty shirts with a soft pink camisole underneath. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her cheeks were flushed. The fading shadows under her eyes were the only hint that she’d just gotten out of the hospital. Despite being woken up every three hours, it looked like she’d gotten a hell of a lot more sleep than he had.
“Good morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Good, in between being woken up. I mean, as well as could be expected. Good.”
She sounded nervous, not like she was complaining about being woken up. If the roles were reversed, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be as gracious about it.
“I couldn’t find coffee.” He motioned to the kitchen.
“I don’t have any, sorry. I never got used to the taste. It takes half a cup of milk and four or five teaspoons of sugar to make it palatable.”
Coffee was the only thing that kept him moving some days. For a fraction of a second, he debated wishing her good luck and then heading on his way out with a detour past the nearest coffee shop or convenience store. Anywhere to get his caffeine fix. But that would mean he wouldn’t see her again and that didn’t sit better with him than starting his day without the magical bean elixir that kept him going.
She smiled up at him—pretty and open, without any of the cynicism he carried around with him. The woman had been attacked less than forty-eight hours earlier and instead of wallowing in self pity or thoughts of revenge, she seemed ready to move on with her life. She wasn’t fragile or naïve exactly. It was more like she was somehow untouched. As if the things that had tarnished him with layer upon layer of cynicism hadn’t begun to patina her yet. Faced with her fresh faced innocence, he felt much older than his actual years, but he also found himself wanting to get closer to her, like a moth drawn to a flame the second before it burned to a crisp. He didn’t have a fucking clue what it meant, but he wasn’t ready to walk away yet.
“Grab your coat. I’m taking you out for breakfast.”
SOPHIE HEAPED A dollop of whipped cream on her forkful of chocolate chip pancakes. She’d debated going the egg white omelet route, but how often did she get to justify having dessert for breakfast? Not often enough and since she never intended to be the victim of a robbery gone bad again, she was going to take her simple pleasures where she could get them.
Emerson had been less frivolous in his breakfast choices. In addition to the egg white omelet with steamed vegetables, he’d added whole wheat toast and turkey sausage. His breakfast was like a page out of Men’s Fitness magazine. She might have felt bad if her pancakes weren’t so good. While she drank a glass of ice-cold milk—because, hello, chocolate chips—he rounded out his meal with ice water and black coffee. He was on his second cup and showed no signs of slowing. Apparently the man had a thing for caffeine.
“So Southerland Security, huh?” Breakfast had been an unexpected surprise and now that they were sitting across the table from each other, Sophie was having a hard time figuring out what to talk about. How he got exactly the right amount of stubble on his jaw to look like a man who could handle things and not like a scruffy slob hardly seemed like an appropriate question. The last thing in the world she wanted was for him to realize how much time and attention she’d already spent on his face. On his chiseled lips and those eyes that made her feel like she couldn’t hide if she wanted to.
“Yes.” He quirked an eyebrow at her before taking another bite of his omelet.
She waited but he didn’t elaborate. He just went on eating his good-for-him breakfast. The only tip off that he was feeling anything was the speed he chewed. The man was going to be finished with his breakfast before she got halfway through with hers. She had a feeling it was as close as he got to a demonstration of nerves or discomfort or, well, anything he didn’t want someone else to see. Knowing she had at least some kind of impact on him was the only thing that kept her from devouring the rest of her breakfast in silence. It was like opening an oyster. Now that she’d found the seam, she was going to keep working at it until she got inside.
“You’ve owned it for twelve years. Your brother is your partner. You started with forensic accounting and branched out to become a full-service security firm.”
Surprise flickered on his face for a second, and she hit him with her most innocent smile. She could get a lot of pleasure out of surprising a man like Emerson. She didn’t want to think about what other kind of pleasure she could get from him.
“I can Google,” she said, taking a bite of her pancakes. The melted chocolate and cool whipped cream sent her taste buds into overload, and she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Emerson was watching her with the same expression she imagined had been on her face when their server brought her the pancakes. “You didn’t think I’d have let you take me home without at least checking you out?”
“My mistake,” he said, shaking himself free of whatever he’d been thinking.
He gave her another more appraising look and she wondered why he assumed she didn’t know anything. She knew she looked young—she was young—but it wasn’t like she’d been born yesterday. The only place she was inexperienced was in relationships, and as far as she could tell, that was a good thing not a bad one. The boys slash men she’d met in her life hammered that point home repeatedly. In other ways, she had more life experience than people twice her age.
“I started the business a couple of years after I graduated from college. I worked as a forensic accountant for a few years first.”
“Money matters for dead people?” she asked, playing with him.
“Never on purpose,” he said with enough edge in his voice to make her wonder how much he was teasing. “I started out digging through systems after a crime already occurred—the money was embezzled or the company secrets stolen. It didn’t take long for me to decide it made more sense to try to catch the thieves before they struck.”
“And that’s what you’re doing now? It’s a big step from accountant to bodyguard.” She liked the way his expression changed when he spoke about his work. He got serio
us, intense, like a person passionate about what they did. It was the way she felt about making jewelry and despite the vast differences in their fields, it felt like common ground.
He laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that tightened things low in her belly. Making him laugh was another thing she could get used to.
“I don’t usually pull bodyguard duty. We have a half dozen guys—ex-military mostly—all bigger, stronger, and with more dangerous skill sets than I have. I still handle some of the computer work, although we have guys who are better at that too, and the business. Account management and that kind of thing. The boring stuff.” He paused for a moment, watching her, and she felt her cheeks flush. There was something about the way the man looked at her. As if he could touch her with just his gaze. “I made a special exception for you.”
Her brain was still stuttering over the idea of a group of guys more muscled than Emerson and him describing his work as boring. It took a moment for the rest of his words to sink in. She set her fork down and watched him, considering. Was he flirting with her? There was this odd push-pull thing between them; she hadn’t figured out.
“I appreciate that, but you know I was never really in danger. I mean, beyond the initial getting hit on the head thing. That was bad.” She was babbling, but sitting across from him while he pinned her with his green-gold gaze made it hard to think clearly or concentrate on anything but him.
“I’d have called for backup if I thought you were still in danger. My guys went over the police report and everything we could get our hands on from your boss, Seaton, and the break-in. It looks like you got caught in the middle of something and were never the target.”
