Emily And The Stranger

by Beverly Barton

  When Mitch rode up in front of the Paint Box and saw Emily’s champagne-beige Buick LeSabre. he realized that when they’d made arrangements to meet, neither of them had thought about the fact that they’d be in separate vehicles. Of course, some people might not call his Harley-Davidson low-rider a vehicle.

  The Paint Box was located in a small, two-story building in the middle of Fairhope. The outside walls were painted a pale yellow and boasted dark-green awnings over the front door and display windows. Canvases of various sizes had been hung in the windows, along with a variety of imaginatively displayed art supplies.

  He glanced into the shop and saw Emily waiting for him just inside the full-glass front door.

  He pulled off his helmet, hung it on his cycle and swung his legs over and off. When he neared the entrance, Emily opened the door, her eyes bright with greeting, her mouth curved into a welcoming smile.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” Mitch said. “Like I told you when I phoned, I had a call from my boss, so I had to run over to Mobile.”

  “No problem.” Emily stepped aside to give him room to enter. “I just realized when I saw you drive up on your motorcycle that we have separate means of transportation.”

  “So we do.” He loved the look of her, the soft, feminine curves of her body, the sweet, warm smell of her skin and hair, the slow, syrupy drawl with which she spoke. “I guess we were just too eager to see each other again that we didn’t think this thing through.”

  “Why don’t you ride on his motorcycle?” Nikki stepped out from behind the counter and offered Mitch her hand. “Hi, I’m Nicole Griffin, Emily’s business partner and friend.”

  “I can’t go with Mitch,” Emily said. “I have my car.”

  “So, I’ll leave my old clunker here. Nobody would steal that pile of junk. I can drive your car home tonight, then stop by and pick you up in the morning.”

  For such a petite woman, Nikki shook Mitch’s hand with a firm grasp. Mitch assumed she was around Emily’s age since they seemed to be close friends, but she looked like a teenager with her slender curves, wide hazel eyes and cropped cinnamon hair.

  “I think your friend has a good idea there,” Mitch said.

  “I don’t know.” Emily hesitated, wondering if she had the nerve to ride on the back of Mitch’s motorcycle. A motorcycle!

  “Come on, pretty lady, live dangerously.” Mitch grinned at her, that devastatingly sexy grin she was finding more and more irresistible.

  “How are we going to carry a grocery bag on that thing?” Emily pointed outside to the Harley.

  “No problem,” Mitch said. “We’ll just put the stuff in my saddlebags.”

  “Oh. Well, all right...I guess.”

  Nikki picked up Emily’s straw bag off the counter. “Mitch, could you excuse us for just a minute?”

  “Sure, I’ll take a look around the store.” Amused by the elflike Nikki, Mitch watched out of the corner of his eye as he walked away. Nikki grabbed Emily and pulled her behind the counter. He wondered what was going on. Girl talk, no doubt.

  Nikki lowered her voice to a breathless whisper. “He’s gorgeous. I mean drop-dead gorgeous!”

  “I know,” Emily said.

  “Here, take your purse and give me your keys. I don’t want him to know we’re talking about him.”

  “I have a feeling he’s already figured that out.”

  “Em?”

  “What?”

  “I think you’re right. A guy like that isn’t going to waste time writing silly love letters or making breathy phone calls.” Nikki glanced at Mitch and sighed dramatically. “I’m sure he knows that if he wanted a woman, all he’d have to do is snap his fingers and she’d come running.”

  “So I have your unequivocal approval to date Mitch?”

  “You have more than that,” Nikki said. “I want you to have a wonderful time tonight. If the subject of sex comes up, don’t dismiss it too quickly.” Nikki grabbed the keys Emily pulled out of her purse.

  “Just take the car keys. I’ll need my house key to get into the cottage for my wild night with Mitch,” Emily said teasingly.

  “I sure hope there’s a tender, gentle lover beneath all those bulging muscles.” Nikki squeezed Emily’s arm. “Have fun. Live a little for a change. But be careful.”

  “I will.” Emily walked over to Mitch and placed her hand on his back. He felt warm and hard, and Emily wished that she were touching his naked flesh instead of his cotton shirt. She jerked her hand away.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  “I guess, but...what about a helmet for me? Isn’t it against the law to ride without one?”

  “I’ve got an extra.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Why did he carry an extra helmet? For whatever woman with whom he chose to share the ride? Emily scolded herself for the raw feelings of jealousy that cut through her heart. She had no claims on Mitch. They were little more than strangers.

  Just as Mitch and Emily headed for the door, a lanky young man walked down the steps that led to the upstairs rooms Emily used for her art studio. He held a stack of books in his hands. “Emily, do you mind if I take these books home with me?”

  Emily pivoted slowly, smiling as she faced her student. “No, of course not, Rod. You’re always welcome to borrow any of my books.”

  Mitch noticed the way the boy was staring at Emily, a shy but hungry look in his gray eyes. The young man was far too good-looking with his curly black hair and lean body. Who was this kid? And exactly what was his relationship to Emily?

  “You need to hurry and finish up in the studio, though,” Emily said. “Nikki will be closing the shop very soon.”

  “I didn’t mean to stay so long,” Rod said. “I just got busy and forgot the time. I’ll clean up and head on out.” Rod glanced meaningfully at Mitch. “Are you in a hurry, Emily? I’m sorry if I—”

  “Go on, you two,” Nikki told Emily, then turned to Rod. “Emily has a date tonight, so she’s leaving—tight now. But I’ll hang around a few more minutes. Long enough for you to get squared away.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thanks.” Rod took several steps backward, up the stairs. But he watched while Nikki Griffin ushered Emily and Mitch out the door.

  Mitch glanced back at the boy who glared at him, anger and jealousy marring the perfection of his handsome face. The kid had it bad for Emily. Mitch wondered if she knew. Surely she did.

  “Bye, you two. See you tomorrow, Emily.” Nikki stood in the open doorway, watching while Mitch helped Emily onto his cycle and handed her a metallic green helmet, then adjusted the strap under her chin.

  When the Harley roared to life beneath them, Emily slipped her arms around Mitch’s waist, leaning into him, absorbing the security of his strong back. As they pulled out of the parking spot, Emily turned, her gaze catching sight of Nikki in the doorway. She was smiling.

  As they rode along the highway, Emily clung to Mitch, wondering all the while if she’d lost her mind. Emily McLain Jordan had never done anything so wildly exciting in her life. She had always preferred walks on the beach, classical music, poetry, art, good literature and men as gentle and cultured as Stuart had been. But Mitch was a man with rough edges, aggressive, possessive and earthy. With him the music would be earsplitting loud, jazz or hard rock. And she didn’t doubt for a minute that his taste in literature ran to more basic male interests—sports, cars and adventure.

  For five long years she had isolated herself from life. And now, for the first time, she was reaching out to embrace the joy of being alive, the thrill of sexual attraction, the danger of risking her life and her heart to a stranger.

  Dear Lord, please don’t let me regret this night.

  Chapter 5

  The sun lay on the horizon like a giant orange ball nestled against multicolored layers of cotton. Rays of twilight sunshine melted into the earth to the west and sent soft shadows across the waters of Mobile Bay and to the south. Boats of all sizes lined the docks of the Fair Harbor Marina.


  Mitch drove his Harley up in front of the Fly Creek Fish Market. Once he’d dismounted, he turned to Emily, lifted her up and off, then lowered her slowly to her feet. Their bodies touched intimately as they stood together, alone in their own little world of sexual awareness. He removed her helmet and hung it on the Harley, then took off his.

  Emily stared at Mitch, into his stark, ice-blue eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. A tremor of sexual longing rippled through her. Mitch was so big and tall and utterly masculine, and his casual attire of jeans and cotton knit shirt enhanced his rugged, blond good looks.

  Mitch dressed like the man he was—a laborer, a blue-collar worker, who drove a motorcycle and drank beer straight from the bottle. But Emily didn’t mind that his social position didn’t equal hers. His athletic, tanned body and ruggedly handsome face couldn’t be bought at any price. He was the most fascinating man she’d ever met.

  “I’m glad you weren’t in the mood for steaks,” Mitch said, nodding at the naturally aged wood structure behind them. “I’ve been told that this fish market sells some of the best seafood in Alabama.”

  “I make a wonderful clam linguine.” Emily stepped back away from Mitch, deliberately putting some distance between them. “Would you be insulted if I offer to pay for the groceries?”

  Mitch glared at her, realizing she suspected he had just enough money in his wallet to cover the cost of their dinner, which would mean he’d be eating bologna sandwiches the rest of the week. Paying rent for the cottage next to Emily took a hefty chunk out of his paycheck.

  “Call me old-fashioned, pretty lady, but on a first date, I consider it my privilege to pay for dinner. I’ll buy the fixings and clean up afterward if you’ll prepare our feast. I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook.”

  “I’d say that’s a fair deal.”

  Mitch couldn’t keep himself from inspecting the elegantly slender woman standing so close to him. Emily had pulled her dark hair away from her face and secured it with a pale-yellow ribbon that perfectly matched her long-sleeved yellow blouse and skirt. The soft fabric clung to her curves in a flattering yet seductive way. The golden locket lay atop the middle of her chest, dipping into the hollow between her breasts.

  Emily eyed him suspiciously, then took a tentative step toward him. “You make me wonder what you’re thinking when you look at me that way.”

  “What way?” Mitch slipped his arm around her waist, and smiled when she didn’t try to pull away from him.

  “Like you’re wondering...well, you know...about—”

  “You’re a very suspicious woman, Emily. I agreed to be your friend. If you think I have an ulterior motive for asking you for a date, why did you say yes?”

  “Because I’m very attracted to you.” The warm flush of embarrassment crept into her cheeks.

  He knew Emily’s honesty shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. His past experiences had left him skeptical about the entire female sex. Loni’s betrayal had taught him not only that he shouldn’t trust a woman’s pledge of undying love and devotion, but that he didn’t dare trust his own emotions. Mitch couldn’t help wondering if he had the guts to be as honest with Emily.

  “I’m very attracted to you, too.” He guided her toward the market. “You’re different from any woman I’ve ever known.”

  They entered the seafood market, the odor of the ocean’s bounty ripe in the air.

  “I’m quite old-fashioned, aren’t I?” Emily asked. “I suppose it comes from having been raised by my grandmother.”

  “You’re an old-fashioned lady who’s attracted to me, yet wants only friendship,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m a guy down on his luck who hasn’t wanted anything from a woman but a good time in a long while.”

  Feeling the touch of his hand on her back in every nerve ending of her body, Emily swallowed. Her cheeks flared crimson. “They say that opposites attract.”

  “In our case that old idiom seems true.” Mitch took a deep breath, aware that the conversation was getting a bit too heavy. At this rate, he’d be telling her that he wanted to make love to her tonight. “Come on, let’s get our clams and head for home.”

  The last fading rays of sunlight spread a soft riot of color across the horizon just as they turned off Scenic 98 and drove up Emily’s long, tree-lined driveway. Mitch parked his Harley, helped Emily off, removed their helmets and carried the groceries inside through the back door. He had wondered what the interior of her house looked like. Now he knew. The inside of Emily’s beachfront cottage was every bit as classy, as elegant, as feminine as the woman herself.

  Emily lifted the items from the small sacks Mitch had set on the kitchen counter. “I can handle things from here if you want to run home and shower.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I won’t be long.” He reached out and touched her face, running his knuckles across her cheek, brushing his fingertips under her chin.

  The corners of her mouth quivered. Her lips parted on a sigh. She simply couldn’t believe the heady effect the mere touch of his hand against her face had on her.

  “Take your time, Mitch. I need to freshen up, too.”

  Circling the back of her neck with his big hand, he pulled her gently toward him, burying his face in the soft dark tendrils of hair that the wind had freed from their confinement. “Don’t freshen up too much.” He breathed in her sweetness. “You smell like the wind and the sea and woman.”

  Emily’s heart fluttered inside her chest like a trapped bird trying to escape. His lips grazed her ear. She sucked in her breath.

  “I’ll be back.” Mitch stepped away from her, smiled, turned around and walked out of the kitchen.

  Emily tried to return his smile, but all she could manage was a weak nod. This isn’t going to work, she told herself. No matter what he said, Mitch wanted more than friendship from her. His every look, his every word, his every touch was a form of seduction.

  If only she weren’t so afraid. But how could she not be? No man would want to make love to a woman whose body was hideously scarred. How could he run his hands over her damaged flesh and not cringe?

  After dinner tonight, she would have to end their relationship before it went any further, but she wanted—no, she needed—the pleasure of one beautiful evening with Mitch.

  Emily had set the table with her best—Royal Doulton china, sterling silver flatware and Swedish crystal. She had arranged the centerpiece hurriedly, using the spring flowers from her small flower bed in the yard. The tapering candles, four all together, in their crystal double holders, flickered like twinkling stars, casting a warm glow over the room. Nervously, Emily patted the sides of the pastel-green cushion in the antique French cane-back chair on which she sat.

  The last man for whom she’d prepared dinner had been her husband. The night before he died. The night before her whole world had been destroyed.

  Emily looked across the table at Mitch, smiled when he smiled at her, then forced her gaze away from his. Glancing around the room, she absorbed the atmosphere she had created. The romantic, intimate mood she had set. Her dining room was small, but she had redecorated it during the past year, using many of Hannah McLain’s treasures. Uncle Fowler had encouraged her in every way possible to renew her interest in the world, to embrace life again. This house, this summer cottage on the eastern shore of Mobile Bay, had come to mean more to Emily than a home. Each room was a precious part of the sanctuary she had created for herself. Each picture on the wall, each lamp, each piece of furniture, had been selected and installed as therapy for a woman who hadn’t cared whether she lived or died.

  A stylized draped fabric wallpaper wrapped the dining room. A room-size needlepoint rug covered the floor. And an antique Country French hutch held her collection of trompe l’oeil plates. The pewter chandelier was an antique and matched the one in her living room.

  “I’m afraid I’m not dressed appropriately.” Mitch cast an apologetic glance at his clean but faded jeans and his best shirt, the long-sleeved cream
cotton shirt he’d bought with his first paycheck.

  “Don’t be silly. You look fine.” Emily couldn’t imagine a man more handsome than Mitch. Certainly not one more masculine.

  “I look out of place at your dinner table. You’re wearing silk and I’m in old denim.”

  “I think silk and denim make an interesting combination, don’t you?” Sadness and longing combined with the sympathy Emily felt for Mitch. “I didn’t dress this way or serve our meal in the dining room to make you feel uncomfortable. I did it to impress you, to present myself and my home in the best light. I wanted tonight to be special.”

  Mitch uttered a rather unpleasant oath under his breath, then made a sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh. Hell, he didn’t know what to believe. Had she said that because she felt sorry for him or had she really wanted to impress him? He didn’t want her pity. He hadn’t allowed anyone to pity him since...since he’d been a kid and his parents had often taken charity from the church in the small Mississippi town where they’d lived.

  “You didn’t have to wear that expensive pink silk dress or lay the table with your finest to impress me, pretty lady.” Reaching across the table, he laid his palm open, extending her an invitation. “You’re impressive enough all by yourself.”

  Emily stared at his hand for several seconds, listening to the drumming of her heartbeat. She laid her hand in his. “And you’re impressive enough all by yourself, too.”

  “I don’t ever want your pity, Emily. I grew up on pity and charity. The two always seem to go together, and believe me, they have a way of eroding a person’s self-worth.”

  Emily understood all too well what he meant. She’d been given enough pity in the past five years to last her a lifetime. Pity did erode a person’s self-worth. She was a prime example.

  “Let’s promise each other that, no matter what, pity for each other will never play a part in our friendship,” Emily said.

  Damn, why hadn’t he thought before he’d spoken? He’d been touchy all his life about being pitied and often his first reaction to anyone’s kindness was to suspect that they felt sorry for him. But Emily, who, no doubt, had been smothered with pity after the Ocean Breeze tragedy, would understand the damaging effects of pity on a person’s pride.