by Brenda Novak
She didn’t answer, but she had to bend her head back to look up at him, and he thought he saw her eyes lower to his lips. She expected him to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her. Deeply, hungrily…
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and he took advantage of the fact that she left them parted by pressing his mouth very lightly to hers.
She stood, stiff but compliant, as their lips brushed. His blood roared in his ears, but he wouldn’t allow himself to put his arms around her for fear she’d feel restricted, overpowered. He simply strung feathery kisses across her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw. By the time he reached her neck, she seemed to understand that he was serious about not taking more than she offered and began to soften. She even leaned toward him a little.
As gently as possible, he let his mouth slide down her slim throat, nipping at her skin, raising goose bumps. “If you don’t like something, tell me,” he breathed.
She said nothing. She closed her eyes and arched her neck as he moved lower, and he smiled inside. She liked it. Hope began to equal the desire tightening his groin.
Purposefully touching her in ways she’d find nonthreatening, he came up the other side of her neck, traced her ear with the tip of his tongue and used his breath to evoke a shiver. His fingers itched to slip beneath her T-shirt. But this wasn’t about getting to the bottom line. This was about discovering that sense of “we” he missed so much. He couldn’t achieve it without her full cooperation, without a passionate response. Considering that, her enjoyment was almost more important to him than his own.
Sliding his hand around to the base of her skull, he cradled her head in his palm, being careful to keep his grip loose, so she’d know she could break away if she wanted to. He wasn’t worried about pressing her for more. Pressing her would only make him wonder, later on, if he’d gone too far. She’d let him know if she wanted him to make his caresses less innocent. She’d place her arms around his neck, moan when he hit a certain spot or move eagerly against him. A woman could send the signal he was looking for in a thousand different ways, but he had no doubt he’d know it when she did.
Emma didn’t send any overt signals, but neither did she withhold. When he kissed her again, as sweetly as before, she gazed up at him for a second, and he thought he read surprise, even curiosity, in her eyes. “You okay?” he murmured.
She nodded, turning her head to catch his lips as they moved softly across her face.
He nuzzled her neck. “You smell good.” She felt good, too. Clean. Warm.
He slid the tips of his fingers down her arms, and she slipped them around his neck.
Closing his eyes, he caught his breath at the softness of her breasts against him. She’d chosen to do that all by herself. She was also burying her fingers in his hair and opening her mouth for deeper, wetter kissing.
She was killing him by degrees. The desire to move faster, to feel her naked against him, to see her throw her head back in ecstasy, curled through his veins like smoke. She could wrap him in her innocence and warmth, provide his body with acceptance and release, his mind with a moment’s reprieve.
He groaned when she began to respond in earnest. She tasted so good. Testosterone made his heart bang against his chest. As cautious and slow as he wanted to be, he had to bring her closer to him, make her part of him—so he wouldn’t have to spend this night as alone as he did all the others.
Slowly he moved his hand to her hip and rubbed his thumb across the bare skin just above the elastic of the boxers. He shook with the desire to cup her breast, to feel her nipple rise against his palm. But he didn’t want to take anything. He wanted her to guide him.
She didn’t lift his hand to her breast, as he wished she would. But she did shift slightly. To make it easier for him? Or had he imagined it? He let his hand glide beneath her shirt but moved instead to her back, where he skimmed her spine, exploring her muscles with his fingers while savoring the softness of her skin.
Then, as her arms loosened from around his neck, his heart skipped a beat. Was she going to stop him after all? Or worse, offer to perform something that would let him know she wasn’t as involved as he thought?
She did neither. Almost curiously, her expression rapt, she brushed her fingers over his bare chest, circled his pectorals, touched one nipple.
His stomach muscles tightened convulsively, and he started thinking about leading her to the bed. But he didn’t make his move fast enough. Max must have rolled over inside the bathroom because he suddenly kicked the wall, and Emma froze. Preston could feel her holding her breath, waiting to see if her son would come out of the bathroom.
After several seconds, Max didn’t appear. But when Preston tried to kiss Emma again, whatever she’d been feeling before was gone. She was stiff and mechanical.
It was over before it had ever really begun. He’d lost her.
Closing his eyes, he hauled in a deep breath and forced himself to let go. “It’s late,” he said when he could speak. “Get some sleep.”
Then he walked out into the warm night and went to sit by the edge of the glassy pool.
AFTER THE DOOR CLOSED behind Preston, Emma sank onto the bed, too weak and shaky to remain standing. What had just happened? One minute she was in the bathroom, giving herself a pep talk about suffering through Preston’s unwanted attentions. The next she was melting beneath his hands.
Blowing out a silent whistle, she lay back and stared up at the ceiling. Her skin still tingled where his palms had moved slowly up her spine, pressing her fully against him. She’d expected him to pull her into bed right away and take what he seemed to want, what his obvious arousal proved he wanted. But surprisingly, he’d held back. He’d been more concerned with what she might be thinking or feeling.
Was this considerate man the same one who’d been so gruff with her and Max today? The man who’d dumped them and hoped to be rid of them?
The two mental images didn’t quite match. But that telephone call she’d overheard revealed a lot. What would she be like if she lost Max?
Losing Max to Manuel, or even to diabetes, was always a possibility. The worry she carried with her drew closer to the surface, and she went into the bathroom to move her son into bed. Fortunately, he wasn’t sweating or showing any other signs of distress.
Once she had Max situated, her mind immediately returned to Preston. Who knew a man could kiss like that? When his lips had brushed hers the first time, so lightly, it was barely a kiss at all. Somehow, he’d made her want to seek his mouth….
Throwing an arm over her eyes, she remembered the restrained, almost reverent way he’d touched her after that, and marveled at the confidence he must feel to leave so much room for reciprocation. He hadn’t pushed her to take more than she was ready to receive. His touch had been an invitation to participate, an invitation to experience something far beyond anything she’d experienced with Manuel.
And she’d almost taken that opportunity. Now that she was feeling more like herself, she was glad she hadn’t. She barely knew Preston Holman, and soon she’d never see him again. But for a few seconds, she’d felt as though she needed Preston’s hands on her more than her next breath.
So where was he?
Leaving the bed, she went to the window and parted the drapes but she couldn’t see him outside. He wasn’t around when she got up to test Max at three, either. She was just starting to worry that he might have gone to another motel and abandoned them, after all, when she heard him come in at nearly four.
Emma feigned sleep as he moved around the room, even though she was fully awake and had been watching the clock since she’d been up with Max. As a single mother with a child to protect and a dangerous ex-lover dogging her every step, she had no business becoming so involved with a stranger. Least of all one caught up in his own past. Still, she couldn’t help feeling safer when Preston was around.
From beneath her eyelashes, she watched him cross the room to the bathroom, heard the toilet flush and the sink tap go on. When h
e returned, he shed the jeans that fit him so perfectly and crawled into the other bed wearing only a pair of boxer briefs.
Emma breathed deeply, trying to determine whether or not he’d been drinking. She hated it when Manuel drank, because it heightened his possessiveness and lengthened the time it took him to achieve an orgasm. But she couldn’t smell any alcohol on Preston, only soap and a hint of aftershave.
Her nipples began to tingle as they had when he’d stroked her back, and she wondered what it might’ve been like to make love with him. Different than with Manuel. Certainly better.
With so much going on in her life, she was crazy to even think about it she decided, and turned over. Slipping her arm around Max’s little waist, she pulled her son close to her. Manuel was probably in town by now. He—
Emma didn’t want to dwell on that, either. Letting her mind drift back to the man who’d surprised her so much when he’d kissed her tonight, she listened to Preston’s breathing grow deeper and steadier until she finally slept herself.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Emma began to stir as Preston hung up with the mechanic at Mel’s Auto Repair.
“The garage is open,” he told her when she leaned up on one elbow.
She yawned. “This early?”
“Yeah.” Briefly, their eyes met and last night’s intimacy stood between them. Preston had to acknowledge that Emma looked even sexier sleepy and disoriented than she did wide awake and coherent. But he wasn’t about to let her affect him the way she had before. Sleep didn’t come easy for him as it was. And wanting something he wasn’t going to get didn’t help.
“If I hurry over there, maybe we’ll get out of here today,” he said and turned away to pull on a T-shirt. “They have a free continental breakfast downstairs. I’ll bring you and Max a plate before I go.”
“That’d be great.”
He bent over to tie his tennis shoes. “What do you want?”
“What do you think they’ll have?”
“Doughnuts, muffins, coffee, juice, cold cereal. Maybe some waffles and eggs.”
She shoved a hand through her sleep-tousled hair and seemed to have trouble deciding.
“I want sugar cereal,” Max announced, throwing off the covers and joining the conversation.
“No, not sugar cereal,” Emma said. “Get him—”
“Then a donut. How ’bout a doughnut? Pul-leeze, Mom?”
“Get Max some eggs, bacon and—” she frowned at her son “—a doughnut, I guess. A small one, if they have it. If they don’t have eggs, please get him a waffle and no doughnut. And ask if they have sugar-free syrup.”
Sugar-free syrup? Preston had never known a mother more concerned with her son’s diet. “What about you?”
“I’ll have the same.”
He shoved his wallet in his pocket and gathered his keys. “Let me in when I get back. My hands will be full.”
“I’ll go with you and help you carry everything!” Max cried, and bounded out of bed. But Preston knew better than to take Max. Spending time with him was difficult. And if Manuel was in town, it wouldn’t be wise for Max or Emma to leave the room.
“You need to stay here with your mom. I’ll be right back.”
Max’s face fell. “You don’t like me, do you.”
Preston hesitated at the door. What could he say? He didn’t like Max. He didn’t like him because he was alive and Dallas wasn’t. But that made no sense, even to him. “I’ll be right back,” he said again, and shut the door, hating himself more than anyone.
CHAPTER NINE
AS SOON AS Preston left to take the van to the garage, Emma counted the carbohydrates on Max’s plate and administered his morning insulin. His syringes weren’t supposed to be reused, but she carefully capped the needle and put it back in Max’s tester kit. If worse came to worst and she couldn’t buy any supplies this morning, she’d have no choice but to use it again. Insulin couldn’t be taken orally. But she only had two more test strips, not even enough to get through the day. She had to do something about his meds as soon as possible.
“Can I have another doughnut?” Max asked, licking the powdered sugar off his fingers with exaggerated satisfaction.
Emma shook her head. He’d already eaten more carbohydrates than he should have for breakfast, which meant she’d had to increase his insulin dosage. Despite her instructions, Preston had brought back doughnuts and waffles, with strawberries and whipped cream, and no sugar-free syrup. “Come on, Emma,” he’d said softly. “We’re on the road. An extra doughnut won’t kill him.”
Little did he know. She’d almost set him straight. But at that point, Max had grinned broadly at her, as if Preston’s generosity signified an acceptance on his part, and she hadn’t said a word. She wanted Max to feel normal for a change, knew his illness would only alienate him further from Preston, who was already sensitive about having Max around. She thought she’d better continue to downplay the attention her son required, at least until they could get out of Ely.
“What are you doing?” Max asked.
Emma had picked up the phone, twice, and hung up without dialing. She wanted to call Rosa to see if there’d been any word from Juanita. But she was afraid of what the news might be. She already felt she was balancing on a high wire; it might not be smart to look down, to see how far she had to fall. Especially when she couldn’t do anything about the situation back home.
Or could she? Digging the envelope that had come from Juanita out of her purse, Emma stared down at the list of names and numbers on the paper inside it. She wasn’t sure it was enough to help her friend, but the possibility gave her hope.
“What’s that, Mommy?” Max asked.
“It’s nothing, honey.” She put her son in the bath, so he’d be occupied while she spoke to Rosa. Then she dialed the number. The call would be charged to the room, but she planned to pay Preston back in cash. Surely he wouldn’t mind as long as she reimbursed him.
Rosa answered immediately, as if she’d been sitting by the phone, waiting for it to ring.
“Rosa, it’s me,” Emma said, listening to Max play happily in the water with his action figures.
“Vanessa? Are you okay?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I managed to reach Manuel last night. He said he’s found you, that you’ll be home soon.”
Emma’s blood ran cold. If not for Preston, Manuel would’ve caught her. He still might.
“Manuel doesn’t have me yet,” she said. “But I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to avoid him. Where was he when you talked to him?”
“The number on my caller ID started with seven-seven-five.”
“That’s Nevada.”
“I know. I called the operator after we hung up and asked. But she said the whole state, except for Las Vegas, has the same area code, so I can’t tell you exactly where he was calling from.”
Probably right here, maybe a block or two away. Emma rubbed the goose bumps that rose on her arms.
Max yelled, “Dive! Dive!”
Pulling the phone with her, Emma glanced into the bathroom to see an army guy take a flying leap.
“What about Juanita and Carlos?” she asked, turning away again. “Have you heard from either of them?”
“No, nothing. Manuel says he hasn’t seen them. But I know he is lying. I know it.”
Emma moved back to the nightstand and ironed the wrinkles out of the paper she’d extracted from her purse. Could this information help? She knew threatening a man as vengeful as Manuel was dangerous, but Juanita had risked herself for Emma’s sake. Now Emma had to reciprocate. “I’m so sorry, Rosa. This happened because of me. I was so sure he’d never suspect Juanita, or I wouldn’t have asked for her help.”
Once again, Rosa’s voice wobbled. “It’s not your fault. It’s Manuel. He’s the devil.”
“Rosa?”
“What?”
Emma heard Max talking in a high voice for one of his “men.” He was proclaiming, “Don’t wor
ry, I’ll save you….”
“I’m in real trouble,” she said into the phone. “I have to buy Max more insulin. If I don’t, he could get very sick—or worse.” The bathroom had fallen quiet, so she checked on Max again. He was fine.
“What are you going to do?”
“I was hoping you would help me.”
Rosa hesitated. “How? Manuel, he…he frightens me.”
For good reason, Emma thought. But she couldn’t focus on that. A plan was forming in her mind. She knew it wasn’t the best plan in the world, but it was the only one she could think of that might throw Manuel off her trail and help Juanita at the same time. “With him and his men swarming the town, I’m afraid to leave my motel room. But…” She twisted the phone cord through her fingers as her mind raced. “What if…What if I called a motel somewhere else, in another town, and rented a room? You could tell him you talked to me, that you know where I am.”
“He thinks he already knows where you are.”
“But he hasn’t found me. You’ll tell him he’s looking in the wrong place. Offer to trade him my location for information on Juanita.”
Rosa was silent as she thought it over. “Do you think it might work?”
“We’ve got to try something.” Emma couldn’t risk going any longer without Max’s meds. “When you find out where Juanita is, tell him I saw his man go into my motel room last night and hitched a ride to—” Emma searched her mind for a plausible location that wasn’t in the direction she and Preston would actually be traveling “—St. George.”
“St. George? I don’t know this place.”
“It’s in southern Utah.”
There was another long silence. “Why would you need to rent a room there?” Rosa asked.
“Oh, no, it’s going off!” Max said, and made explosion sounds.
“As confirmation,” Emma said. “Manuel’s smart. He may not believe what you tell him. This way, if he calls all the motels in St. George and finds I’ve rented a room there—”
