The violent storm still lives, and it will break free one way or another. If it doesn’t manifest itself in a violent sexual release, it will do so as just plain violence. Eric will fight to the death to protect the haven he has with Emma, to keep her and what they have between them safe.
“I’m . . . not . . . fucking . . . around. Leave her alone.” He grinds his teeth and grips her wrists harder, tighter.
A tear slips out of the corner of Deborah’s eye, but she’s smiling. “Of course, Eric. Whatever you say.”
He releases her and walks out of the closet and into the bathroom. He takes deep gasping breaths as he splashes water onto his face and stares at himself in the mirror. He feels the familiar release and nausea that comes after he indulges his demon, but this time it is violence, not sex, that he regrets.
It is fear, not relief, that he feels.
As the club is closing, the black Jeep waits for them. The valet gives Eric his keys and he helps Emma inside.
“Did you have a good time?” She runs her fingers along his arm as they drive home from the club.
He has an impulse to tell her what happened, and he should, but he won’t. If he tells her what he’s done, the rough way he handled Deborah, he fears Emma will be appalled—and she damn well should be. He’s so ashamed of his inability to control himself. Although he didn’t give in to the temptation to satisfy his sickness with Deborah, what he did to her was no less reprehensible. He has been rough with women while pleasing them, but he has never been violent. He has never caused anyone harm. That shadow from his childhood has never surfaced within himself. Deborah may have deserved it, and he may have left her with just bruises, but he’s no less repulsed. He reaches across the car and pulls Emma’s hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss.
“Yes, I did.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Emma awakens to the sound of banging. On a Saturday. She forces her eyes open and feels the empty space next to her where Eric should be. She sits up. Her body is sore and her hair is a ratty mess. She finds herself topless, in a black lace thong. The top sheet is tangled around her body, and the bottom sheet has pulled away from the four corners of her mattress. She rubs her eyes. It looks like a bomb went off . . . or a storm hit. Her comforter’s on the floor along with scattered, strewn clothing. Her bra hangs from the desk chair, and one of Eric’s socks dangles on her lampshade. She sighs and lies back down, thinking about how her bedroom got this way, but her smile fades as she remembers something else about last night.
Eric was different. The way he was with her was different. Beside the passion, there was fear in his eyes. She feels unsettled, grabs her robe and rushes downstairs, anxious to shake that image of him from her mind. She finds Eric in her kitchen, the counter cluttered with dirty bowls and dishes. It smells like sugar and warm butter.
“Hey.” Her voice is hoarse from moaning all night long.
He turns around, spatula in hand. “Hey. I’m making pancakes. Well, I’m trying to. I sort of suck at this.”
He laughs at himself, and Emma can’t help but smile. She approaches him and his blue eyes are on the frying pan, but then he shifts his gaze to her. Even after all they’ve shared, she still has to stifle a gasp when she looks at him. She watches as he swallows hard, his forehead creased. The look of worry, or fear, or whatever it was she saw last night, still lives on his beautiful face. It’s breaking Emma’s heart.
“What’s going on inside your head? Tell me, please.” She takes the spatula from his hand and rests it on the stove, then shuts the burner off. His eyes are downcast and she takes his tortured face in her tiny hands. “Look at me. What is it?”
“Have you ever wished you could undo something?”
“Eric, you know that I have. What is it you want to take back? You’re so different now. You’re not the man you used to be. What is it that you want undone?”
He doesn’t answer, but brings his lips to hers. He kisses her, and she accepts this reply. His strong hands and long fingers wrap around the satin that covers her bare back. The kiss still holds the desperate fear she saw in his eyes last night, and all Emma can do is try to make it go away with her touch.
He hums against her skin as he kisses her and opens her robe. Then her robe is on the floor, then she is on the floor, and his sweet face is hovering over hers.
“I want to change it all. Every day before I found you. I want to wash it all away, make it better, make it clean, make it good for you. I want to deserve you, Emma. I want to give everything to you, all you should have, and more.” His voice is laden with heartfelt sincerity.
“You are all I want. Don’t say those kinds of things. I’d never change you. You’re perfect, just like this.” She pulls his clothes off his body, and then he’s buried deep inside her. Her dark hair is splayed against the pale tiles, her soft flesh pressed against his hard body. She wraps her legs around him, and her back arches against his hips. He rocks against her, and she gasps for breath as she holds his rough jaw in her palms.
“Look at me.” She doesn’t see fear in his eyes now. She sees deep inside him, where her name is etched on his soul. It fills her with more happiness than she has ever known.
He cradles her head in his hands and moves with fury, but he’s gentle as well. He forgets the evil that’s trying to enter his heaven. Emma is the most beautiful and precious treasure he has ever found. His chest may burst from what he feels inside. No darkness, just her. Just her, just Emma, just love.
The couple is so engrossed in each other that they don’t notice Deborah standing beside the kitchen window, watching them. She runs her hand over her wrists, over the purple, thumb-shaped bruises. Her husband asked how she got them and she explained that her tennis instructor was overzealous with his backhand lesson. She doesn’t even make an effort with her excuses anymore, and her husband is too busy fucking other women to care.
The marks on her skin are a small piece of Eric, and she treasures them. She can’t wait to feel him touch her again, when he surrenders to her advances. Deborah will get what she wants. A simple attraction has bloomed and twisted into an obsession. She’s proud that she was able to draw such intense emotion from him at the club, and she’s confident in her ability to force him to reach that peak again. Finding Emma’s husband was no easy feat, but she made contact with Aaron, and once he arrives, Emma will be out of the picture. Deborah will not be daunted. She will not be stopped.
His work boots are covered in paint and he wipes his hands on a rag as he admires his work. He lets out a deep breath. The house is finally complete.
It’s beautiful, but his pride is fleeting. Creating has always been his form of penance, and he continues to need absolution. The encounter in the coat closet with Deborah revealed to him that he is not, and will never be, good. The fact that he wants to be better, and the reality that he is not, plague him. He will never be worthy of Emma.
He’s been checking over his shoulder, his ears trained to listen for the sound of the white car. He dreads Deborah’s return, but he’s sure it’s inevitable. His eyes close and he focuses on something better—Emma. His heart warms, and he smiles, but the voice in his head reminds him that in spite of her reassurances, he’ll never be the kind of man she needs. He should leave so she will be able to find that man. It’s selfish for him to persist in his desire to keep her when she could have so much more. Someone honest and kind, who isn’t battling a vicious demon. He can’t bring himself to keep away from her, and that weakness, that failure to do what’s right, saddens him even more. He jumps in his Jeep. He has decided his course and is on his way to get a present for the woman he loves.
That evening, Eric knocks on Emma’s door, flowers in hand. A breeze gusts and makes the wind chime dance. He turns to look at the silver cylinders that once drove him insane. He now loves the sweet tones they emit. She opens the door, and she’s lovely. Her hair is down in soft waves, her body contained in a pale, rose-colored strapless dress. Her face carries a b
lush that matches the shade of the fabric covering her sweet smooth skin. She is gorgeous.
“You look . . . very pretty.”
Eric reveals what he has concealed behind his black-suited body. Red roses—for her. The special gift he has is hidden in his coat pocket, and he plans to wait for the right moment to give it to her. Emma takes the flowers with a small smile.
“Let me put these in water and then we can get going.”
Eric follows her inside. She puts the bouquet on the kitchen table, right next to the open invitation to the engagement party. Then Eric takes her hand and they’re on their way.
If someone were watching them, that person would think they were on their very first date. If someone were watching them, their heart would melt at the sweetness of this moment. If that someone were sane, they would think Eric and Emma are perfect for one another. But the person who is watching them at this moment thinks none of these things.
After they depart, Deborah waits on Emma’s porch as a green rental car pulls into the driveway. A man gets out. He’s tall and lean with reddish hair.
“You must be Deborah. I’m so happy you called me. You’re a good friend to Emma for reaching out on her behalf. I figured she would never want to see me again after I left.”
Deborah feigns sincerity and compassion. “Aaron, it’s so wonderful that you have come for her. I just know she’ll be ecstatic to see you again.”
“She’s not here?”
“No. She’s at a party. La Luna restaurant. I can tell you where it is.”
Ian slips on his cufflinks and combs his dark hair. He grabs a condom and puts it in his jacket pocket. He’s so confident in his game. It’s rare that he fails to get what he wants—the luxury of being a wealthy and handsome man. Jeff invited him to this engagement party as a setup. Some single friend of theirs who’s nursing a broken heart will be seated right next to him tonight. Her name is Emma. She’ll be helpless against his charms. He’s certain that she’ll be begging for it. An easy lay. He gets in his Mercedes and speeds down the highway.
La Luna restaurant is situated high on a bluff overlooking Pine Lake. Eric and Emma approach in his Jeep, just as the sun is setting. Pink and orange saturate the sky. It’s breathtaking as it melts down into the black water. But to the East, dark clouds billow and gather, and the evening sky is lit with a flash of distant lightning. A storm is coming.
They enter the candlelit foyer, and Emma finds their handwritten place cards. As they walk to their seats, they notice Abby, Jeff, Danni and Sean are seated with them, as well as a man Emma has never seen before.
“Emma, Eric, this is Ian.” Jeff introduces them with reluctance. After casually extending an invitation at Abby’s request, he had forgotten all about it until he saw Ian walking into the restaurant tonight. He hopes the fact that Emma is with Eric won’t be too awkward for his friend. Jeff has said nothing about Emma now being involved with Eric, because Ian is not the kind of guy who cares if a woman is in a relationship.
Eric shakes Ian’s hand, thinking nothing of the introduction, but is shocked when Ian brings Emma’s delicate fingers to his lips and kisses her hand. His smug expression makes Eric uneasy. Emma’s face flushes at the unexpected contact, and Eric feels envy and irritation rush through him. He snakes his arm around her back, pulling her to him and jostling the table as he does so, knocking over an empty wine glass. He clears his throat and composes himself.
“Emma, would you like to dance?” Eric doesn’t wait for an answer, but guides her to the dance floor.
Once they’re alone, it’s easy for Emma to shake off the creepy vibe she got from Ian, but it’s not so easy for Eric to let his jealousy and anger fade. Emma rests her head against his chest, and they dance in silence, happy to be alone together in a crowded place, isolated in their little bubble, like plastic figurines in a snow globe.
Eric sighs against her as their feet and bodies move together in tender unison. “If I never dance with anyone else, ever again, I’ll be happy forever. Só você, amorcita.”11
That promise of eternity makes Emma’s eyes fall closed with contentment, but they flutter open when she hears thunder rumbling in the distance. The warm air that hangs over Pine Lake rises, pushed upward by swift gusts of wind. It meets with colder temperatures. Warm and cool battle against each other, trying to equalize the imbalance. The oppositional air masses press and smash against each other creating aggressive thunder, spectacular lightning, and punishing rain.
Ian watches the couple dance. His pride is bruised. Annoyed that he was brought here on a supposed blind date, his eyes roam Emma’s legs, and he thinks of what he’d like to do to her, but he won’t get the chance tonight. He shoots Jeff a nasty and disappointed look, but Jeff is too busy whispering to his wife to notice. Ian sinks back into his seat and contemplates leaving, but then he sees a tuxedo-clad waiter. If he isn’t going to get lucky tonight, he might as well get stinking drunk and let Emma and her boyfriend bear the brunt of his irritation.
The guests are seated for dinner. Eric’s on his fourth glass of Scotch, and the waiter brings him another. Emma can smell the alcohol on his breath. He has had way too much to drink. He seethes with tension and his leg jostles up and down. It shakes beneath the white tablecloth and Emma eyes him with concern. He seems off, he seems angry, and she’s certain it’s because of the man sitting to her left. Ian has made several unwarranted, snide, and rude comments, but Emma and Eric are the only ones who have noticed this display. Emma caught Ian looking straight at her cleavage and she assumes he’s attracted to her and is envious that she’s here with another man.
“So you’re a teacher, is that right?” Ian asks, and sips his drink.
“Yes, at St. Simon’s School for Girls.”
“And you find that rewarding?” He shifts his body to face her and his knee touches hers. The proximity makes Emma uncomfortable.
“Yes, I do. It’s an amazing experience, making a difference in a child’s life. I love what I do.”
“The pay must be pathetic, especially in a Catholic school. Doesn’t that get under your skin? Working so hard for such little money?”
Emma sees Eric stuff a forkful of food in his mouth in an effort to hold his tongue.
“Um, it’s not about money for me. That’s not why I do it. I enjoy helping children.”
“You should just have a child of your own and give it up. You’re just a professional babysitter anyway, right? You know what they say, ‘those who can, do—those who can’t, teach.’ ”
She has heard that stupid expression a million times from many small-minded people. That is something she can shake off, but the jab about having a baby hurts her so much she struggles to refrain from crying. Her chin trembles and tears prickle in her eyes at the memory of the child she lost. Eric’s fists clench and he pushes back from the table. He jumps up and looms over Ian, struggling to keep his demon contained.
“I think you need to apologize to my girl for being such a rude fucking prick.” He’s about to boil over, but his appearance is still calm.
Ian stands, rising to Eric’s challenge. “Why don’t you fuck off? I’m talking to her—not you.”
Eric draws his clenched fist back and it flies. He tolerated Ian’s bullshit out of respect for Sean and Danielle, but now this asshole has crossed the line. He feels himself fading away—any semblance of decorum, calm, or sanity evaporates and is replaced with an acidic, corrosive, and violent impulse. The black takes over and he has no control over himself. He doesn’t feel the sharp impact of his fist meeting Ian’s face. A thud assaults his stomach. His pulse pounds, he hears screams, glass breaking . . . and Emma’s voice. The sweet sound almost pulls him back; it almost drags him out of the blackest depths. But even she can’t save him now. The monster he struggles to constrain has risen to the surface. The need to feel release is suffocating him. He wants to kill Ian for hurting the person he loves. All of the injuries she has suffered in the past are something he can’t change
, but he can change this. This moment. He can break this motherfucker’s bones, and split his flesh, and make him bleed. He can repair all the wrongs that have even been done to himself and to Emma by beating this enemy senseless.
Something wet splatters on his face and then he’s on the floor. He feels a quick, sharp pain to his head and then he’s on top of a lumpy mass. His fist flies an innumerable amount of times as he kneels over Ian’s distorted flesh and jabs and jabs over and over again. Bones crack, and his knuckles sink deep into the object of his hate. All he hears are screaming voices.
“Stop it!”
“No!”
“Eric! Eric! Eric!”
Emma shrieks in pain, then a hand grabs him and the light spins around him, and he can’t move.
Emma knew this would happen, but it’s no less shocking when it does. Eric moves like a rabid animal. Glasses fall and shatter on the floor. Someone screams—is that her own voice? The whole world slows and sounds are muffled. Ian throws a punch at Eric, and Emma wants to rush to him, but she’s frozen. Eric tackles Ian, and they slam to the floor. Emma cannot believe her eyes as Eric beats Ian. It’s barbaric. He has lost control. He’s a different person, a remorseless delinquent. A mess of fists and grunts crumple together. He throws punches without mercy, blood splatters all around him, and still he doesn’t stop. Ian has his arms crossed in front of him in an effort to shield his face and defend himself. He’s no longer trying to fight back, but that does not affect Eric’s destructive hands. So violent, so cruel.
It feels like forever, but it has been just seconds. Emma snaps out of her shocked trance and her feet move. She rushes toward the men and tries to grab Eric. If he looks in her eyes, he will come out of his rage and stop this unwavering assault. She reaches for him, but Eric will not be stopped. He swings at Ian again and again; his elbow flies back and slugs Emma in the eye. She staggers back in pain, her palm pressed against her aching eye socket. It begins to swell. She’s dizzy, but through her blurred vision, she sees Sean pull Eric off the bloody, mangled mess that was Ian’s face. She’s sick. Disgusted by what Eric has done. He has betrayed her. Though it was unintentional, she never dreamed he would hurt her this way. She never thought he was capable of inflicting this kind of pain on anyone. She falters and someone grabs her, shielding her and dragging her out of harm’s way. The arms that hold her are familiar.
The Righteous and The Wicked Page 18
