by Evelyn Adams
“Hello, Momma,” he said, leaning in to brush a kiss over his mother’s cheek.
Part of her wished he’d greet her with a kiss too. Instead, he looked at her sitting opposite of his mother as if she’d become something dangerous. Like a ticking bomb or something. Okay, so probably not a good thing.
GABE CLEARLY HAD a death wish. Nothing else explained why he’d call their mother and tell her about Sophie. The bastard had been so damn happy with himself, strolling into his office and casually mentioning he thought their mother planned to drop by to check on the woman he had staying in his apartment. That’s how he said it, the woman, as if she were something other than just a client. He ignored for the moment that Sophie hadn’t hired them, and if Gabe hadn’t cockblocked him the other night, he might have already crossed the line with her into something beyond client. Hell, if he was being honest—which he wasn’t—she was already so much more.
He adored his mother. She didn’t meddle in his life—not more than was to be expected, anyway. He wasn’t sure why the idea of her and Sophie spending time together threw him into such a tailspin. He couldn’t imagine his mother would do anything but love the innocent young woman who’d been thrust into the middle of this mess. And it didn’t seem like Sophie had an abundance of—or even any—family in her life. She’d probably welcome a little maternal attention. He ought to be happy she was getting some extra attention instead of being stuck in his apartment all day by herself.
Emerson wasn’t happy. All he could think about was the two of them together in his space, getting to know each other while his too-perceptive mother drew conclusions she shouldn’t. That wasn’t fair. If he hadn’t kissed Sophie, there’d be nothing for his family to ferret out, and he just couldn’t bring himself to regret the kiss. If he was being honest with himself, half the reason he was freaking out was because he had every intention of doing it again. And he had a feeling there was more truth in the conclusions his mother likely jumped to than he was comfortable admitting.
He didn’t know what Sophie was to him, but she was more than a client. He blew past Smithson at the door to his apartment, barely managing a grunt of acknowledgment when the other man said, “Your mom’s waiting inside. She’s great.”
Heading straight for the kitchen, he found his mother feeding a nervous-looking Sophie. Forcing himself to dial back the crazy, he pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek and then stopped himself before he circled the counter and pulled Sophie into his arms. The woman was dangerous. Having her waiting at home for him was dangerous. Letting his family get close to her was dangerous. If he started thinking of her and home and family at the same time, he’d never be able to maintain the distance he needed. Not that he’d managed it all that well so far.
“Your mother was kind enough to bring me lunch,” said Sophie, watching him warily, like the slightest move might set him off.
He didn’t blame her, but it was the opposite of the effect he wanted to have on her. He wanted to be the one who made her feel safe, not scare her.
“And Sophie was kind enough to tell me about her family and share her gorgeous work with me.” His mother arched an eyebrow at him, asking without words what was wrong with him.
“I’m glad you weren’t alone all day. I was worried about you.” There, that at least was the truth. Thinking about Sophie distracted him from everything else he’d tried to accomplish that day.
They hadn’t made any progress on Rainier’s murder and it didn’t sound like the police had anything either. He felt the frustration start to close in on him again and then his gaze landed on the makeshift workspace Sophie had set up on his kitchen table, and the meaning of his mother’s words finally hit him. He’d been wondering about Sophie’s past for days. Every time he asked, she’d dodged. Not in a suspicious way; more like it was uncomfortable and she didn’t want to relive it. It was the reason he hadn’t pushed and the reason he’d been dreading sitting her down and asking her the questions he needed answers to. With no other obvious leads, Sophie’s past was the next logical place to look.
In an afternoon, it sounded like his mother had found out more details than he had in days, which was the perfect kind of irony. She’d always had a way of making complicated things seem easy. It was something he’d admired but never managed to emulate.
“Can I see?” He crossed the room to the kitchen table but waited a step away until Sophie nodded her permission.
“Of course.” She remained seated, but he could see her lean forward, feel her interest in what he thought.
Not that he knew enough to have an opinion about jewelry. That was a better job for either of his sisters, but especially Becca. She’d been playing around with clothes and jewelry and makeup since she could walk. And shoes. How could he forget the shoes? He’d carried boxes and boxes of shoes when he helped his sister move into her new downtown apartment when she became an associate at her law firm.
He rounded the table to stand over the velvet-lined tray holding what looked like dozens of pearl flowers. He didn’t need to know anything about jewelry to know he was looking at something amazing. The tiny misshaped pearls were all different, just like the petals on a flower. Sophie had somehow managed to combine them in a way that made them more beautiful together. She really was an artist.
“Sophie.” He’d known she was good at what she did. He’d seen a few portfolio photos of her work on the jewelry store’s website, but he had no idea how seeing the work in person—in progress—would affect him. The honest beauty of the delicate creation stole his breath for a moment.
“It’s just something I’ve had turning around in my mind for a while. It’s going to be a bridal set, I think.” She sounded nervous and he realized he hadn’t spoken more than her name.
“I want it.”
“What?” she asked, uncertainty slipping to confusion.
“Sell it to me. Please,” he added almost as an afterthought. “Momma, Amanda would love it, wouldn’t she?” His sister was a climbing guide who rarely wore much jewelry, but the small pearl flowers gathered together felt like her. Beautiful, unique, genuine.
“She would,” said his mother, her eyes shiny. The emotion of the moment seemed to have caught them both off guard.
“I want to buy it for her as a wedding gift.” Gifts were supposed to be for both the bride and groom, but with as beautiful as Amanda would look wearing the necklace, her husband-to-be was already getting a gift. The fact Michael knew it was the thing that kept Emerson and Gabe from trying to chase the guy off. That and he made their sister ridiculously happy and she’d kick their collective asses if they tried to run her life.
“No,” said Sophie, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I can’t sell it to you.”
He opened his mouth to protest but she held her hand up, stopping him.
“It will be my gift to you. It’s not a fair trade for everything you’ve done for me but it’s a start.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You didn’t have to take me in.”
It wasn’t the same thing. There was no way he could know Sophie was in danger and not do everything in his power to keep her safe. That wasn’t something he needed to be paid for, but he saw the hopeful expression on her face and realized giving him the necklace would make her feel as good as it did him.
“Okay, it’s a deal, but then I don’t want you telling me what I can and can’t do where you’re concerned.” His mother made a startled voice and he realized how his words must have sounded. Sophie, on the other hand, hit him with a cat-and-canary grin. The predatory pleasure in her expression would have made him blush if he was prone to those kinds of things. “You know what I mean,” he said, letting the heat that was always just below the surface where she was concerned show in his eyes and pinning her with his gaze.
Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink and he had to work to keep his grin below the shit-eating possum level. He loved making Sophie blush. And if it made him wonder how she’d loo
ked flushed from his lips, his hands, his body moving over her—well, that was his problem. One he’d figure out how to deal with.
“I better go,” said his mother. “Your father will be wondering where I disappeared to.”
Emerson turned to face her and caught her lips curving in an expression that could only be described as smug. It reminded him of his initial plan to become an only son. But when he saw the expression on Sophie’s face as she hurried to hug his mother, he decided to give Gabe a reprieve. She looked lighter, happier than before. Spending time with his mother had been good for her and he couldn’t begrudge either of them that, even if it gave his momma the wrong idea about what was going on between them. He could fix that part later, after Sophie was safe, back in her own space and his apartment was empty again. The thought made him irrationally sad, but he shoved the feelings away into the deep, dark recesses of his psyche where they belonged.
“Thank you so much for saving me from myself.” Sophie seemed reluctant to let go and he wondered how his mom always managed to do that—to connect with people in a way that made them want to open up to her.
“You need to set yourself an alarm while you’re working. There’s extra chili in the fridge. Two minutes and you can have something healthy to eat.” She turned, including Emerson in her instructions and he nodded, although he thought he’d done his part feeding Sophie with the trip to the grocery store and the note. Sarah Southerland’s expression said otherwise.
“Thanks for coming, Momma.” Emerson folded his mother in a hug and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
She cupped his face with her palm and for a moment he felt more like an uncertain boy than a man responsible for a building’s worth of employees and a roster of clients, a few of them household names.
She looked at him for a second as if she wanted to say something, to give him some kind of advice. In the end, she simply said, “I love you.”
He followed her to the door, fighting back a grin when Smithson’s eyes lit up. He was pretty sure his mother promised the man chili in the breakroom when his shift ended, but he wasn’t about to say anything about it.
“I like your Sophie,” she said as he punched the button for the elevator.
“She’s not my Sophie. We’re not dating.”
The door opened and she got into the elevator but not before she hit him with a whatever you say, dear look that meant she didn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. He’d seen her use the same look for years when he and his siblings had tried to get away with something.
“I mean it, Momma.” He wasn’t sure why the denial was so important to him or why it bothered him so much to make it.
“Just take good care of her. I don’t think she has anyone else.”
Which reminded him, his mother knew more about Sophie’s family—or lack of it—than he did.
“What did she tell you about her past?” He felt like a sneak, but if he was going to keep Sophie safe, he needed to know why someone was after her in the first place. His own attempts to get her to open up hadn’t yielded much of anything useful.
“That’s not for me to say. You’re going to have to get her to tell you herself,” she said, pushing the button for the garage level. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” He waited until the elevator door closed behind her before he turned back to his apartment and Sophie.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked when his gaze met the other man’s.
“Nothing, boss.” There was an incongruity in seeing a man as formidable as Smithson look sheepish.
“Nothing,” he repeated, shaking his head. He’d bet money his mom left cookies in the breakroom for his guys too.
“YOUR MOTHER IS SWEET,” SAID Sophie when Emerson walked back into the kitchen.
Her back was to him as she bent over to put her chili bowl into the dishwasher, giving him a spectacular view of her denim-clad ass. Heart-shaped with hips just wide enough to rest his hands on and legs that seemed to go on forever. Her feet were bare against the cold tile and the cherry-red polish on her toenails stood in stark contrast to his gray floor. He had a brief vision of what it would be like to have her pretty, slender feet rest on his shoulder, but he squashed the image before he embarrassed himself.
Maybe it was her age—hell, maybe it was his—but being around Sophie made him feel like a randy teenager. He thought about sex at the most inappropriate times. All the time actually. It was a constant balance trying to manage his blood flow so he had enough left to think with. It also made him feel uncharacteristically out of control.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, and the look in her eyes made him wonder if she could read his thoughts. “Your mom filled your already full refrigerator. The chili is awesome.”
He clenched his jaw, willing away the inappropriate images making him misread Sophie’s intentions. He’d been fighting the urge to devour her, and she’d been offering him chili. He was losing his mind.
“I’m okay. Thanks.” He wasn’t, but he’d had lunch. He wasn’t hungry for food. “I hope she didn’t interrupt your work too much. My asshole brother must have called her.”
Her face clouded for a moment, and he kicked himself for being insensitive. He was supposed to take care of Sophie and instead he’d spent his time picturing her naked and implied he didn’t want his mother to meet her. God, he was the asshole, not Gabe.
“I didn’t mean...”
“No, it’s okay. She’s fantastic. I had a really nice time with her. I’ll have to remember to thank Gabe the next time I see him.”
Ouch.
He had a feeling any explanation he offered would only make things worse, and he still had a bunch of uncomfortable questions to ask her.
“Could we sit down for a couple of minutes? Do you have time?” he asked, trying to give her as much of a choice as he could.
She nodded, and he followed her to the sofa, sitting beside her on the worn leather instead of taking the opposite chair. After seeing how warm and open she and his mother had been with each other, he had an irrational urge to be close to her.
“What’s up?” She shifted to face him, tucking her feet with their distracting pedicure underneath her.
“We’ve hit a bit of a wall.” He was going to tell her the truth and try not to scare her at the same time, which he had a feeling would be harder than his blood balancing routine. “I’ve dug into both of the attacks—the robbery and the shooting—and the only thing I can find in common is you. I’m out of obvious leads and with the situation with Rainier, things seem to be escalating.” He called it a situation instead of torture and murder, but from the expression on her face, he didn’t think she was fooled. “You said you don’t know why someone would want to attack you.” She opened her mouth, and he held up his hand to stop her. “I believe you. I do. But I still need to figure out the reason so I can eliminate the threat.”
“You came here from Australia, but you’ve got dual citizenship with the United States.” He ticked off the things he knew, hoping if he laid out what he found he could get her to talk to him.
“I was born in the States, but my mother took my brother and I back to Broome before my first birthday. I don’t remember any of it.”
She wouldn’t. He’d found her birth certificate and a record of her leaving the country at seven months old with her mother and brother. There was no record of her father and the trail he’d found disappeared once the small family got back to Australia. He could send a man there or go himself, but until he had some idea of what he was looking for, it felt like wasted energy.
“What happened to make you leave Australia?” He waited and when she still didn’t answer, he reached out to touch her knee.
It was an innocent touch that felt anything but. She met and held his gaze, her blue eyes burning into him the way her skin burned him through the denim. Watching her, he paused, simply letting his hand rest on her leg. If he’d gotten any indication she didn’t want his touch, he would have stood
immediately and moved to the chair, but it felt like just the opposite. Like if he wanted barriers between them, he was going to have to be the one to erect them.
He wanted to touch her, but it was more than that. The way his mother talked to him and the way Sophie had shied away from talking about her past before, he had a feeling it wasn’t something she wanted to relive. He couldn’t protect her from that, but he could will her to take some of her strength from him. He could stay with her and make sure she knew he was there, right beside her. And he could keep everything else he was feeling to himself.
“My mother, my brother, and I lived on a pearl farm near Water Bank. My mum didn’t dive. She graded pearls and handled some of the sales to the local places in Broome. Just to the touristy shops, nothing major. Noah, my brother, dove a bit, but he never had much interest in the beds, and I was too young to do anything but help my mum. She taught me everything I know about pearls.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “She died when I was fifteen. Pancreatic cancer.”
It took a Herculean effort for him to keep his hand still, not to squeeze her leg or pull her into his arms. He couldn’t imagine losing his mother at any age but especially not that young. He remembered his sisters as teenagers. Sophie would have been just a girl. Just getting to the part where she really needed her mother.
“Noah turned eighteen right before my mother passed. He took care of both of us.” She smiled when she said the words, and he could feel the love she had for her brother.
He didn’t have any trouble imagining what it would be like to be responsible for his sisters. Hell, even for Gabe. And he didn’t have any doubt how badly he would have messed it up at eighteen. Emerson wasn’t sure he wanted to know what came next. With the way Sophie clearly felt about Noah, something must have happened to keep her from reaching out to her brother when she got in trouble.
He moved his palm from her knee to reach for her hand, grateful when she twined her fingers with his in acceptance of his touch. He didn’t know how to comfort her, but he knew he wanted to try. Running his thumb back and forth over the pulse point at her wrist, he waited for her to keep talking.
