Mitch took a tentative step into the room. Emily sat on the chaise longue. She stared at him, her eyes red and swollen, her face damp with tears.
“Please, come in, Mitch.” She scooted to the edge of the chaise and stood. “Is there something wrong? Do you need anything?”
Did he need anything? Yes. He needed her. Was something wrong? Yes. He wasn’t holding her in his arms.
“I heard you crying. I was worried,” he said.
“I’m sorry if I woke you. I tried... It’s just that I’m scared, and I don’t want to be scared.”
“You didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep.”
“You’re in a different house. A bed you’re unaccustomed to sleeping in. I understand.”
Mitch stared at her. She stood there looking like a lost child who only moments before had been crying for her mother. Only, Emily wasn’t a lost child, and his instincts told him that if she’d been crying for anyone, it had been for him.
“I can stay with you.” He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, the hesitation before she spoke.
“Mitch...I...”
“Wouldn’t it be appropriate for friends to sit and hold each other, to comfort each other, to talk the night away if they wanted to?”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen anything as lovely as Emily Jordan standing there wearing a pair of darkgold pajamas, the feminine contents of her lacy bedroom surrounding her.
He’d never seen so much lace. At the windows. On the tables. Covering the bed, creating a canopy with curtains that dropped down from the top of each bedpost. White and cream and ivory combined in a room that whispered the word lady ever so softly.
An ivory damask chaise by the windows basked in the moonlight. The wooden floors had been painted a plush cream and delicate striped wallpaper in shades of white and cream decorated the walls. Etched crystal lamps sat on each side of the bed, one on a round, lace-draped table and the other on a cherry Victorian bedside table. Watercolors that he felt certain Emily herself had painted hung in gilded frames, punctuating the walls in shades of palest pink, blue, lavender and green.
“There hasn’t been a man in my bedroom since...since...” Emily held out her hand to him.
Her hand trembled. Damn! He wanted to sweep her up into his arms and lay her down in that big, lacy bed of hers and give her the kind of relief a night of lovemaking could provide for them both. But Emily wasn’t asking for sex; she was asking for comfort.
God help him, he hoped he bad the strength to give her what she wanted and needed, without demanding more.
Emily had tried not to cry, and when she’d failed, she’d tried to mask her sobs by crying into a pillow. Now she wondered if she’d wanted Mitch to hear her, if she’d subconsciously cried out for him to come to her.
He stood only a few feet away, wearing nothing but his unbuttoned slacks. The brown hair on his broad chest glistened like golden silk curls in the warm light of her bedroom. He looked so big and hard and totally male-in the midst of all her feminine lace.
He didn’t make a move toward her, standing rigid as a statue, as if he were afraid to reach out and touch her. Emily took a step forward, then another. Mitch waited for her to come to him. She raised her hand to his face, touching his cheek with her fingertips.
“Will you come and sit with me?” she asked. “Will you hold me in your arms? Will you spend the rest of the night talking to me?”
Every nerve in Mitch’s body came to full alert. Control! Control! he told himself. Give her what she’s asking for. Prove to her that you’re the man she can count on. You need this woman as much as she needs you.
After lifting her off the floor and into his arms, Mitch carried her across the room. He sat down on the chaise, bracing his shoulders against the back, positioning her between his legs. Circling her arms, he clasped his hands across her waist. Emily leaned back, resting against his chest, her head on his shoulder.
Mitch kissed the side of her face, brushing his lips against her hair directly above her ear. “Talk to me, pretty lady. I’ll listen to every word you say.”
Closing her eyes, Emily breathed deeply, absorbing the feel of Mitch’s strong arms holding her, his hard body protecting her. Turning her head, she buried her nose against his flesh, loving the clean, masculine smell of him. She kissed his shoulder. He tasted hot and salty and delicious.
“You aren’t talking,” he said.
Snuggling into his embrace, Emily sighed. “I can’t ever remember feeling so safe, and so very special. Thank you, Mitch.”
“And I can’t ever remember looking forward to spending the night just talking to a beautiful woman.” Mitch chuckled, and felt warm relief spread through him when he heard Emily’s quiet laughter.
“Have you ever had a dream, Mitch? Something you wanted so very much?” she asked.
“Yeah. Once. A long time ago.”
“Did your dream ever come true?” She rubbed her fingertips across his clasped hands, caressing his knuckles.
“In a way.” Was now the right time to bare his soul and tell her about his past, as he’d planned on doing after their date last night? “I wanted to be a successful businessman and make a ton of money. I accomplished that goal, but I made a lot of mistakes along the way, and not only did I pay dearly for my mistakes, a lot of other people did, too.”
Opening her eyes, she tried to turn around in his arms, but he held her in place, nuzzling her neck with his nose. “What about you, Emily, do you have a dream?”
“You don’t want to tell me, do you? About what happened to your dream? Is what happened to you that painful?”
“I’ll tell you everything, honey.” He tightened his hold on her. “I had planned to tell you last night, but that was before we discovered someone had broken into your house. What I’ve got to tell you can wait another day. You don’t need anything else to make you unhappy tonight.”
“Have it your way. We’ll talk only about happy things tonight.” She held both of his hands. He turned her hands over, twining his fingers through hers.
“Is your dream something that makes you happy?” Mitch asked.
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“I want to publish my Hannah books. You know. I’ve told you about my little heroine, Hannah, whom I based on my Grammy. I’ve almost finished the first book, watercolors and charcoal sketches and the story itself.”
“I think you’ll sell your book,” Mitch said. “I’ve seen your work, you know. You’re very talented.”
Emily sighed. “It’s been my dream to write and illustrate children’s books ever since I wasn’t much more than a child myself.”
“You really do love children, don’t you?” He knew that many of her art students were children, a few of them physically and mentally handicapped. She often spoke about individual students. A little boy who liked to paint everything in his pictures various shades of red. A little girl who talked incessantly and giggled every time Emily scolded her. And always, there was a wistful look in Emily’s eyes when she talked about children.
“That was my other dream.” Emily willed the tears to stay inside, willed the pain not to come. “I’ve always wanted children of my own.”
“Then someday—”
“I lost a baby.”
Inadvertently, Mitch slipped their entwined hands down over Emily’s flat stomach. She quivered. He gripped her hands tightly.
The pain in her voice was almost his undoing. She had lost a child when Ocean Breeze had collapsed and caught on fire. She had lost more than a husband that fateful morning in April five years ago. Both deaths weighed heavily on Mitch’s conscience. If only he’d realized sooner what Randy was doing. If only...
“Do you want to tell me about the baby?” Mitch asked.
“No. Not tonight. Only happy talk. Remember?”
He remembered. “Tell me some more about your Hannah books, and about your Grammy.”
Mitch held Emily in his arms for hours,
talking a little, but mostly listening to her as she told him every detail of her Hannah books and countless stories of her life growing up with her beloved Grammy. He’d never spent a night just holding a woman, comforting her and loving her with only his thoughts.
When dawn broke, spreading a thin coat of pale pink across the horizon, Emily slept in Mitch’s arms, there on the chaise longue. Safe. Secure. Cherished.
And finally, Mitch slept, too. Hopeful for the future for the first time in a long time.
Chapter 8
Emily stood in the doorway looking at the destruction in her living room. Somehow it appeared even worse in the cold, hard light of day. She had decorated this room with the same loving attention with which she had decorated the entire cottage. The project had helped save her sanity in the days after Stuart’s death and her recuperation from the surgeries. Almost everything could be replaced, even the pair of Staffordshire dogs that Grammy had given her as a Christmas gift. But the replacements would never be the same.
Turning around and leaving the wreckage behind her, Emily made her way to the kitchen, where fresh coffee was brewing. She’d set the machine shortly after Mitch had left to run home for a shower and shave. She poured herself a mug of Southern Pecan coffee, then nudged open the back door and went out onto the porch that wrapped all the way around the cottage.
As she strolled along the porch, Emily’s thoughts returned to last night. To the anger and fear she’d experienced when she realized someone had broken into her home. To the desperate need to protect herself and to punish the culprit. And to the sense of safety and peace she’d found throughout the night as she lay in Mitch’s arms.
Come what may, she didn’t have to face it alone. Whoever was behind the phone calls, the notes, this break-in, they would have to bear Mitch’s wrath. No matter what lay ahead, Mitch would be at her side. Mitch would help her find out who had broken into her home, and Mitch would make sure...
Mitch. Mitch. Mitch. Emily sat down in the wooden rocker on the side porch, sipping her coffee and smiling. She had been falling for the man since the day they met, but last night she had toppled over the edge and fallen head over heels in love with him. She’d never known the feelings she experienced during the hours they sat together, his arms draped lovingly around her, the two of them alone on her chaise longue. His understanding, his comfort, his gentle care had taught her that she could give her heart to this man and he would cherish it. She could trust Mitch. She could count on him to be there for her.
When other men might have pressured her for sex, when other men might have taken advantage of her vulnerability last night, Mitch had known exactly what to say and do to help her through the traumatic experience. His every thought had been for her happiness and well-being. In her heart of hearts, she knew the day would come when she would trust Mitch enough to show him her back, and he would not turn away from her.
For the first time in five long years, she had hope for the future—a future with Mitch.
When Emily heard the car coming up the drive, she stood and walked down the steps to meet her best friend. Nikki ran up the stepping-stones walkway that led from the drive to the porch. Throwing her arms around Emily, Nikki hugged her close.
“Thank God, you’re all right. When Mitch phoned this morning to tell me what had happened, I wanted to strangle the SOB who broke into your house. The police are going to have to do something. This has gone beyond phone calls and letters!”
Emily led Nikki up the steps and onto the porch. “Calm down. The police have no evidence against anyone. They can hardly arrest someone without proof of guilt.”
“They need to question Charles Tolbert and maybe even Rod Simmons.”
“I can’t believe either of them would break into my home and cause all this destruction,” Emily said. “I could possibly see either one of them making the phone calls or writing the letters, but not wreaking havoc in my house.”
“Then who?” Nikki asked.
“I don’t know.”
Nikki glanced toward the front door. “Is Mitch still at his house? When I talked to him he told me that he’d spent the night here with you.”
With her arm draped through Nikki’s, Emily led her around the porch. “We didn’t sleep together last night, if that’s what you’re wondering. Well, actually we did, but we didn’t do anything. Well, we did. We talked. But nothing happened. No, that’s not true, either. Something did happen.”
Grabbing Emily by the shoulders, Nikki shook her. “Stop babbling. You’re not making any sense.”
Emily smiled. “Mitch held me in his arms all night. We lay on the chaise in my bedroom. We talked and talked. Well, mostly I talked and Mitch listened. And we fell asleep like that.”
Nikki released her hold on Emily, shaking her head from side to side. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you? I mean all the way in love with him.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh, Em. Did y’all get around to confessing your secrets to each other last night, the way you told me y’all were going to do?”
“After the break-in, last night didn’t seem the appropriate time.” Emily led Nikki into the kitchen. “He’s coming back over for breakfast. I was going to clean up the mess in the living room, but Mitch said my insurance agent wouldn’t want us to bother anything until the adjuster came out and took a look at the damage.”
Nikki pulled down a mug from the rack hanging beneath one of the white cabinets and poured herself a cup of coffee, then added two teaspoons of sugar. “Em, I want you to promise me that you’ll tell Mitch about what happened to you. About being burned in the fire that killed Stuart. And ask him about his past. You need to know.”
“Nikki, I don’t understand why you’ve been so persistent about my telling Mitch about my past and about my finding out every detail of his life. After all, what difference does it make? I’m in love with him, no matter what sort of life he lived before we met.”
“What if he’s—”
Mitch knocked at the back door. Nikki jumped. Emily turned and smiled. He opened the door and walked into the kitchen.
“Good morning again.” Slipping his arm around Emily’s waist, he pulled her close and kissed her cheek. He turned and smiled at Nikki. “Hi, Nikki. Are you having breakfast with us?”
“Uh...I don’t know.” Nikki widened her eyes in a questioning pose as she looked at Emily.
“Yes, she’s having breakfast with us.” Emily opened the refrigerator, pulled out a carton of eggs and handed it to Mitch. “You promised to fix me an omelette.”
“So I did.” Mitch took the eggs, then told Emily what other ingredients he’d need to prepare his one and only culinary speciality—a western omelette.
All the while he was showing Emily how proficient he was in the kitchen, he felt Nikki watching him, her hazel eyes filled with a look that Mitch finally decided was suspicion. Why was Nikki Griffin suspicious of him? Had she figured out who he was? If so, why hadn’t she told Emily?
During breakfast and the cleanup following, Emily didn’t seem to notice how oddly her friend was behaving, but Mitch was well aware of Nikki’s scrutiny. He realized that he couldn’t put off telling Emily the truth. If he didn’t tell her first, and if Nikki did know, she was sure to tell her.
“Let’s take our coffee and go out on the porch,” Emily said. “It’s a perfect day for sitting outside.”
“I can’t stay.” Nikki grabbed her purse off the countertop. “You two need some privacy to talk.”
“You just got here,” Emily said.
“What do you think Emily and I need to talk about?” Mitch asked.
“Oh, Nikki’s got herself in a snit because we still don’t know a lot about each other,” Emily said. “She’s worried about me because she doesn’t trust men and she’s not sure I should trust you.”
“Em, could I talk to Mitch for a few minutes? Alone?” Nikki asked, then tossed her purse on the table.
“Oh, for goodness sakes. Fir
st you’re leaving so Mitch and I can talk and now you’re staying to talk to him yourself.” Emily threw up her hands in disgust, then lifted her coffee mug and stood. “I’ll go sit on the porch and rock and look at the bay, but you make this little talk quick and don’t you dare say anything unkind to Mitch.”
The moment the back door closed behind Emily, Nikki turned to Mitch, who still sat at the kitchen table. “Your name isn’t Ray Mitchell, is it? You’re M. R. Hayden, the guy who owned half of Styles and Hayden Construction Company.”
Mitch’s stomach clenched; a sour taste coated his tongue. This was what he’d feared—that someone else would find out his true identity before he revealed himself to Emily. “How long have you known?”
“Fowler Jordan came to my house late last night It seems that when Emily mentioned you to him, that you were her neighbor and she liked you—liked you a lot—Fowler hired a private investigator to find out about you. It didn’t take the PI long to discover who you really are. Just a few phone calls. The guy brought Fowler his report last night and then Fowler came to see me.”
“My God, is he in the habit of having every man Emily meets investigated?”
“There haven’t been any men in Emily’s life since Stuart died. Unless you count Charles Tolbert. And Fowler handpicked Charles for Emily. Your coming into Emily’s life sort of messed up Fowler’s plans.”
“Why would Jordan come to you?” Mitch asked. “I thought Emily said that he didn’t like you.”
“He doesn’t. But he knows I love Emily like a sister. He wanted me to be here today, to be here for Emily, when he told her who you are.”
“Nikki, give me a chance to explain—” Mitch spread out his hands across the table, his palms open, beseeching her.
“You cannot imagine how much Emily lost and how terribly she’s suffered. How could you, of all people, cause her even more pain?”
“I didn’t want to tell Emily about my past until we became better acquainted. I wanted her to know the real Mitch Hayden before she judged me based on the man I used to be.” Mitch took a deep breath.
Emily And The Stranger Page 11
