“This may sting a bit,” she whispered.
The antiseptic-laced gauze connected with his busted lip, and he hissed, feeling the counter bite into his lower back when he pulled away from her.
“I’m sorry.” She winced.
He wasn’t certain if he was sorry too, or relieved—sorry he hadn’t been able to taste her lips or relieved that the spell he’d been under had been broken before he’d made the mistake of kissing her. And it would have been a mistake. A colossal mistake. Because he had a feeling she would taste like heaven. And that was the one place he deserved no part of.
* * *
“I’m sorry, Mac. I know it stings, but it’s not quite clean yet.” Emily stepped closer to Mac, knowing that he had nowhere else to go with the kitchen counter at his back, and gently held his chin with one hand while dabbing at his injured lip with the gauze. His five o’clock shadow felt sandpapery under her fingertips, and the intimate way she was touching his face made her own feel hot.
He was still, allowing her tender ministrations, but she noticed a tension in his muscled frame that hadn’t been there before. And it had nothing to do with the sting of the antiseptic.
She had known he was going to kiss her, she’d felt it with every fiber of her being, and then she’d panicked. She couldn’t let herself want Mac. It would be like inviting pain and worry to take up permanent residence in her heart. So, instead she’d pressed the antiseptic to his lip and brought them both crashing back to reality.
“There, that’s better.” She handed him the dishcloth with ice. “Here, put this back on it.”
He complied, leaning against the counter, his gaze tracking her movements while she cleaned up the bandage wrappers and repacked the first-aid kit. His watchful brown eyes made her nervous.
She tried to think of something to say to break the silence stretching between them. Thankfully, he did it for her.
“I need to head back to Muldoon’s to settle our tab with Pete. Can I give you a ride back to your car?”
Emily nodded. “That’d be great. Thanks.”
* * *
Mac and Emily said their goodbyes to Sean and Julie—who, judging by their secret smiles, were fast approaching the kiss-and-make-up phase of their argument—and got into Mac’s black SUV.
Mac deftly backed out of the driveway and pointed his car toward Muldoon’s, and Emily gazed out the passenger window into the cloudy, dark night. She hoped the clouds weren’t an indication of rain. She didn’t want to have to drive home from the pub in bad weather. She hated nothing more than driving in the rain. It reminded her too much of the night her parents had died. She studied the pattern of rolling gray clouds moving quickly across the full moon and nervously chewed her thumbnail.
“So how does a girl like you end up on a blind date with a guy like Sir Talksalot?”
Emily puzzled over the almost angry tone of his voice. “A girl like me? What is a ‘girl like me’ like?”
“Smart. Professional. Good sense of humor. Pretty. And way out of Frank’s league.”
Unwillingly flattered by his terse appraisal, she shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess one day you wake up and realize that you’ve let yourself become so wrapped up in work and other people’s lives that you’ve forgotten to have a life of your own.” Forgotten, avoided. Potato, Po-tah-to.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she continued, her tone a bit more defensive than she’d intended. “It’s difficult to meet people with the hours I work. Meeting someone online seemed like a good way to widen my social circle.”
He turned to look at her, almost veering off the road. “You met him online? What the hell were you thinking?”
Emily gripped her seat with one hand and pointed to the road with the other. Only after he’d calmed himself enough to concentrate on driving did she deign to answer. “Don’t be a caveman. The world is a different place than it was even just ten years ago. Meeting online is a completely legitimate way to meet someone.”
Mac seemed to will himself to be calm, like a parent trying not to lose patience with a small child. “Do you have any idea how many predators meet their victims using the Internet? It’s not as safe as you’d like to believe.”
God, he really did sound like a dad. And what would her dad have thought of her meeting someone using an online dating service? It had been a long time since anyone had worried about her like this. Of course Sean and Julie cared about her, but they had their own children to fret over, and Emily tried not to give them any reasons to worry about her, too. Which reminded her—she hadn’t told Sean that she’d arranged her blind date online.
“I’m not a complete moron. I didn’t give him my last name. I didn’t even have my real name on my profile. It wasn’t until we’d traded a few e-mails that I decided to tell him my first name and agreed to meet him someplace public.” Even as she made her defense, a shiver of unease ran up her spine. Something niggled at the back of her brain, but as she reached to remember it, it slipped further out of her grasp. She hated that feeling. That feeling of knowing that she’d forgotten something important.
Mac ran his hand through his auburn hair in an exasperated gesture. “It wouldn’t be terribly difficult for someone to get that information. I suppose you gave him your phone number?”
Emily did not appreciate his condescending tone and she let her voice communicate her irritation. “Just my cell number. He can’t reverse look up my address from my cell number.”
“You’d be surprised what someone can do with one small piece of information.”
She sighed, frustrated. “I think you’re being a little paranoid about this.”
“And I think you could stand to be a little more paranoid about this. Meeting someone is not worth risking your life over.”
Emily could think of nothing that would change his mind, so she said, “Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Sean that I met Frank online. He’d never let me live it down.”
Mac’s voice gentled. “That’s because he loves you, and he worries about you.”
She laughed. “Sure. That and he likes to tease me mercilessly.”
“It must be nice to have a brother that you’re so close to though.”
Was that a wistful tone in his voice? She was about to ask if he had any brothers or sisters but he spoke first. “I still don’t get why you went online though. If you were willing to go on a blind date, why not let a friend, or even Sean or Julie, set you up with someone?”
With an unladylike snort, she started ticking reasons off on her fingers. She held up her index finger. “One. My friend Sandra can’t even find a nice guy for herself, let alone someone else. And when she does occasionally, accidentally stumble across a decent guy, she refuses to believe he’s trustworthy and runs him off.” She held up another finger. “Two. Julie doesn’t socialize with single men because my brother has a jealous streak a mile wide.” She held up a third finger. “And three, Sean’s friends are all cops. And I don’t date cops.”
Even viewing him in profile as he watched the road, Emily could see Mac’s eyes narrow. “Why won’t you date police officers?”
She paused before answering. Looking out the window, she noticed they were nearing the parking lot behind the pub. The truth sounded utterly ridiculous, even to her. She couldn’t say, My parents died in a car accident when I was eighteen and I’m terrified that terrible things are going to happen to the people that I love. As a defense mechanism, I refuse to become attached to anyone who does anything dangerous for a living, or—as my sister-in-law pointed out—anyone at all, whether they have a dangerous job or not.
But, she was trying to change that, wasn’t she? Trying to open herself up to new people, new experiences, new possibilities.
Just not cops. No, she wasn’t that open.
Skirting his question, she asked, “Why is it that you and my brother can refer to yourselves as ‘cops,’ but when I say it, you correct me and say ‘police officers’?”
&nb
sp; He let out a surprised laugh. “I don’t know. I suppose we don’t have to show ourselves or each other respect, but we expect other people to.”
She smiled, but inside she felt nothing but relief, because they were already pulling into the parking lot and she hadn’t answered his question. Now, if she could just make it home before the rain started, she could crawl into bed with a good book—one that would take her mind off the man next to her—and try to salvage some part of this horrid day.
Tomorrow would be a new day. And next weekend, a new date. She wasn’t giving up on this online dating thing just because of one stupid Frank. Her Harry was out there somewhere. She just had to meet him.
* * *
Heavy rain pelted the windshield, and Mac flipped the wipers to a higher setting. He was grateful for the rain. The slick driving conditions gave him something to concentrate on and kept his mind from the thoughts that had been occupying his brain since he’d left Muldoon’s.
They’d all been thoughts of Emily. First, he’d worried over her health and safety. Was she getting enough rest? Would she try to meet another guy online? Would Frank start pestering her now that he had her phone number? And then his brain shifted gears to wondering things like: what would her lips taste like if he kissed her? What would her body feel like pressed up against his? And if he gave in to his curiosity and kissed her, would one kiss be enough?
He eased off the accelerator, pushing the questions aside, and turned his SUV into the parking lot of his apartment complex. Grabbing a newspaper from the backseat to use as a makeshift umbrella, he stepped out of the car and jogged up to the security door of his building. He was almost done punching in his key code numbers when the door was pulled open and he heard a voice over the rain.
“Officer McAvoy, that you?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Juan,” he said, rushing inside to get out of the rain, which now blew sideways, soaking him, and rendering his newspaper cover useless.
Juan was one of the few people in the building he knew by name. Primarily because Juan knew everyone in the building by name. He was retired, in his late sixties, and had a much more traditional view of what it meant to be neighbors. He’d get the mail if you were out of town, kept a watchful eye on the teens that sometimes congregated on the property, and was president and sole member of his own neighborhood watch initiative.
Mac suspected Juan had something to discuss with him and tried not to smile. What would it be this time? Probably, a complaint about skateboarders using the stairs and wheelchair ramp out front for their own version of the X-games.
“I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to let you know there was some guy milling around your apartment this afternoon.”
Juan had Mac’s full attention now. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, an older guy was pounding on your door for over twenty minutes. Pretty scruffy looking, long brown and gray hair, pulled back in a pony tail, and a tattoo of a cross on his forearm.” Immediately picturing the man that Juan described, Mac’s jaw clenched. When he didn’t speak, Juan continued. “He kept banging on the door saying, ‘Come on Bryan. Answer the door. I need to talk to you.’ I finally told him to get lost. He stopped banging on your door after that, but he still waited in the hallway for another hour before he left.”
Mac’s jaw was so tense it started to throb. Juan waited for him to respond, but he couldn’t quite unhinge his mouth to speak.
“I just thought I should let you know,” Juan said.
“Thanks, Juan. I appreciate that. If he comes by again when I’m not home, tell him that you’ll call the police for trespassing if he doesn’t scram.”
Juan nodded gravely, clearly taking this new responsibility very seriously.
Mac walked slowly up to his apartment, feeling grim. The only thing he needed less than further involvement with Emily Simon was any involvement at all with his ex-convict father.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“So you fix people for a living, huh?”
Fork halfway to her mouth, Emily paused. Her second attempt at an online match was Frank’s antithesis. With Frank, she’d had ample time to savor her food while he talked. And talked. And talked. Now, sitting with the blond-haired, blue-eyed man across from her, the conversation stayed so steady, she hadn’t been able to enjoy her parmesan-crusted steak while it was still warm.
With no small amount of regret over her quickly cooling food, she lowered her fork. “No, unfortunately, I’m not that powerful. It’s far less glamorous than that.” She gave in to her watering mouth and took a bite of steak, chewing quickly. “When I decided to get my master’s degree in counseling, I was young and naive. I probably thought I could fix people. But the truth is—no one has the power to fix another person. And believing that you can, only leads to frustration and heartache.” Waving her now empty fork, she pointed it toward Ted for emphasis. “What I can do is offer my clients the mental and emotional tools they need to fix themselves.”
“Ah, I see.” Ted grinned, an off-center smile. “That’s deep.”
Where Frank had lacked social graces, Ted was abundantly charming.
But was he too charming?
He took a sip of beer and she studied his mouth. His lips weren’t as full as Mac’s—oh, why did all roads lead to Mac? It had been a week since the-kiss-that-never-happened and Emily could not seem to get through a day—okay, an hour—without thinking of him. Here she was, on a date with a perfectly good-looking, interesting, decent conversationalist and she was comparing him to the temperamental police officer she’d decided she should avoid like the waiting room of the doctor’s office during flu season.
And the sad truth was—as far as the comparison went—Ted was coming in second.
When Emily was near Mac, the warmth of awareness coursed through her veins. Wherever Mac was in a room, her eyes were drawn to him like a tigress tracking game.
And even when they didn’t agree, their shared sense of humor and easy banter felt comfortable. Being with Mac—talking with Mac—felt natural.
Conversation with Ted, on the other hand, felt forced somehow. Everything about him seemed a little too polished, practiced, phony. Even his choice of restaurant reeked of pretension. Where Mac would have been happy with pub fare, Ted had picked a fancy high-priced restaurant with sleek industrial decor and geometric-shaped plates. Plates that despite their giant size held a small amount of food.
She was doing it again. Comparing Mac to Ted and she’d never even been on a date with Mac. Never even kissed him. Pathetic.
Mac comparisons aside, the fact was, Ted was handsome and sociable, but his demeanor reminded Emily of cheap nail polish. It looked great at first, but was likely to chip and wear away at the slightest provocation.
The waitress stopped at their table. “Can I take that plate out of your way, sir?” she asked with a friendly tilt of her head.
Ted looked pointedly at the fork in his hand and then to his plate, which had one small piece of chicken left on it, and said—without a trace of humor in his voice, “Does it look like I’m finished with my plate?”
And there was the first chip in the polish.
* * *
Emily nudged the phone further up with her shoulder, trying to hold it against her cheek, while unlocking her apartment door.
“So, how did it go? It’s only nine-thirty. Does that mean it didn’t go well?” Julie’s rapid-fire interrogation made Emily smile. “Was he hot? Are you going to tell me about your night or what?”
Emily laughed, closing the door behind her with her heel and tossing her purse on the couch. “That depends. Are you going to stop asking questions long enough for me to speak?”
Mac’s warnings had prompted her to tell her sister-in-law about her blind date tonight. She figured if Ted turned out to be some crazy kidnapper, it would help if someone knew she was missing and could alert the authorities. So she’d told Julie that she would call when she’d arrived home safe and that if she didn’t call by midnight to send out a sea
rch party. She’d been joking. Sort of.
She shrugged out of her jacket. “He wasn’t hot, but he was handsome in a kind of sleek, urbane way. He was nice, seemed interested in me, asked questions—lots of questions actually—about my life and family. He knew how to keep a conversation going…”
“But?”
“I don’t know. Something about him just gave me a bad vibe.”
“A bad vibe? Are we talking potential stalker bad vibe? Or probably cheats on his taxes bad vibe?”
Emily chuckled. “Neither. It just felt like our date was scripted. He asked all the socially appropriate first date questions, and it felt a little phony. I don’t know…Maybe I’m being too critical.”
“Well, maybe he was nervous,” Julie said, her voice over-bright and full of hope.
“Maybe…But, there was one other thing that bothered me. It was a small thing really…but I didn’t like how he talked to our waitress. Am I being too picky?”
“Hmm,” Julie paused, and Emily could just picture her biting her thumb, contemplating the situation. “That’s hard to say. If he was rude to the waitress in public, there’s no telling what he might be like in private.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
“I don’t know. I tried to leave things open-ended. I told him that I’ve been really busy at work and that I’d give him a call sometime.”
Julie giggled. “How typically male of you. Did you kiss him?”
“He kissed me actually.”
“And how was it?”
Emily bit her lip, thinking back to the hard awkward kiss Ted had landed on her lips. There had been more heat, more connection, more pure need in the moments before the-kiss-that-never-happened than in Ted’s kiss. “Not good. Definitely not good.”
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