by Rian Kelley
“Love it,” he confirmed. “A better fat would be avocadoes or olive oil, but I love butter and I work for it.”
“How often do you eat red meat?”
“Often. When I’m home I buy a roast—maybe eight pounds—have it for dinner then carve up the rest for sandwiches or to top off salad.”
“One of those life style changes.”
“Exactly.”
He bagged his own groceries, and hers too, and then she followed him out of the store.
They walked along the paved streets, the moon shining through the leafy trees and casting shadows on the sidewalk. Micah carried most of her bags along with his. They were a few short blocks from town but as the evening had progressed the temperature lowered and the chill in the breeze slipped beneath the collar of Emme’s jacket and raised goosebumps on her spine. She shivered delicately and pushed her hands into her pockets.
“Snow soon,” Micah said.
She agreed and decided she might have to shop online for a heavier wardrobe. Something she wasn’t looking forward to. Nothing seemed to fit when it arrived, even when she used the merchant’s sizing chart. Besides, she wasn’t liking the cold so much.
“I don’t know if I’ll last,” she said.
“Missing sand and surf already?”
She thought about that. She enjoyed walks on the beach especially in the fall and winter. She loved storms and the churning sea and the energy they seemed to give her.
“I miss it, but I have such a good start on my novel, I’m afraid to leave here.”
“You have a few weeks to decide.”
“I’m definitely not a snow bunny.”
“Not my preference, either.”
No, a man who loved to surf and ocean swim wouldn’t find the mountains as appealing as the beach.
“Tell me again why you’re so willing to help me.” She’d seen interest flare in his eyes, but also his determination to squash it. And she’d felt sexual tension build between them, time and again, but noted also his decision to ignore it. What had happened between them during and after the real estate agent had fled her rental was undeniable. And hot. Definitely hot. Ditto the moment in the baked goods aisle of the grocery store. The intensity in his eyes had seared her skin and Micah had nearly given into the attraction and kissed her. But had stopped. The man had a will made of steel. As far as he was concerned, nothing physical would happen between them. So there was something else. Another reason he’d offered to whip her into shape. “You think I’m an accident waiting to happen.”
“Not exactly, although the ladder was a bad idea.”
Emme nodded. She’d had serious doubts about it herself. “There’s a huge difference between a calculated risk and foolishness.”
“I don’t think you’re foolish.”
“Thanks.”
“But you are driven.”
“Explain.”
“Lara Croft,” he said, then lowered his voice as if to whisper a secret, “Isn’t real.”
She gave him the sharp point of her elbow. “I know that. She’s an ideal.”
“Which by definition isn’t attainable.”
“But it is inspirational.”
A group of joggers, head lamps glowing, approached them on the sidewalk and Micah slowed so that he could slide behind her and give them room to pass.
His hand brushed against the soft swells of her ass and his hips were lined up perfectly for the kind of play that did a man good, but he swallowed the groan that came to his lips.
“Inspiration is good,” he continued. “But so are practical goals.”
“I have those.”
“Give me one.”
“No less than thirty minutes of exercise daily.”
“That’s good,” he agreed.
“But you still haven’t told me why you’re helping me.”
“I’m bored,” he told her. “I’m here for a few reasons. One of them is to reorganize my life. You know, find a little balance.”
“You let an area of your life take over,” she guessed and when he nodded, she prodded further, “Which part?”
“Work.”
It usually was for a man. She hated the cliché, but found truth in it—women went to excess on relationships and men on career.
“And helping me is going to help you?”
“If I’m running or boating or lifting weights I can’t be looking through papers, connected to the internet.”
“True.”
“I’ve never been idle before.”
She heard the bite of his teeth in those words. “You’re having a difficult time.”
“Yeah.”
She thought it through, as they turned off Main Street and onto the sidewalk that would lead them into the older subdivision and their rentals. The lighting here was gas lamps, quaint and fitting in a town that was isolated by geography and many ways by time.
“What else?” she prodded.
It was the perfect moment to admit that he was there to look after her, to watch her closely and see if she was pirating company secrets or hiding from lethal threats, but that wasn’t possible.
“I’m recovering from an injury,” he said. He tried never to mention it and he was so far on the mend the doctor had cleared him for normal pursuits, so long as he took it in moderation.
Emme turned and stared at him. Concern made her features soft and pliable. “You’re hurt?”
“I was,” he said. “Now I begin the long climb back. Slowly. Doctor’s orders.”
“Then you shouldn’t be exercising.”
“I should be, and this arrangement is perfect. You need to go slow and it’ll keep me moving but not going overboard.”
“So it would be mutually beneficial?”
“Definitely.”
“What happened?”
Micah considered his responses but he’d already decided to be as honest with Emme as he could be. Everything except his true reason for being in the Sierras had to be the truth.
“I was shot.” At her gasp he rushed in to assure her. “The bullet was in and out. But it tore through cartilage in my leg and soft tissue takes a lot longer to heal than bone.” Not to mention the blood loss, which he wouldn’t. But Micah had lost quite a bit while the shoot-out raged and the good guys stabilized the situation.
“Where?”
He patted his thigh. “But it was almost three months ago. It’s time for me to get back in shape, start testing my limits again.”
“OK, and half an hour is a good start, but I’d like to work up to an hour. Maybe ninety minutes. Think you could tell me what exercises should be included?”
“We can work up to ninety minutes,” he agreed. “And that would be a mix of cardio and muscle building.”
“I read an article about weight loss and muscle gain. It takes forty-five minutes of cardio to efficiently burn enough calories I’ll see the needle on the scale shift. It takes another forty-five minutes of weight-bearing work three times a week to improve muscle tone—four-to-five times a week to develop that shredded look I’m after.”
“Shredded?” Light was cast across his face and she watched as his lips rolled in a disapproving manner. “Shredded is for men and professional athletes.”
She stopped. “I thought you understood. I want muscle.”
“A woman is born to have curves.” And Emme had them in spades. “You need to understand that, Emme. You can’t fight nature and win, but you can work with it to enhance what you have. Any other expectation will lead to disappointment.”
She understood his reasoning. “Fine.” They turned onto their block. Orange lights were strung over windows and sheeted ghosts hung from trees in preparation for Halloween. “So we start tomorrow?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“I’ll be ready,” she promised.
He walked her to her door and offered her the groceries she’d purchased. She tried not to wrinkle her nose in distaste as she thought about the salad greens and dr
essing under two grams of sugar, the wheat pasta she’d finally agreed to, and the non-fat creamer that she knew would destroy her coffee.
Her despair must have been reflected in her face for he followed her train of thought and said,
“Two weeks is the standard,” he said, “for flushing out the system.”
And she wondered if that applied to desires of another kind. Specifically, her lust for Micah. She took the grocery bags but looked up at him, unable to hide the banked heat she was feeling. And he had no problem following her thoughts, again. He shook his head and said,
“It’d take a lot longer than that.”
Chapter Eight
Micah stood on her porch and watched Emme close the door. He waited for the slide of the dead bolt before he turned and walked across their yards. With every step toward his rented home, he thought about how much he wanted to be inside Emme Montgomery. An empty house awaited him. Drafty and generic in the way of most rentals, it made him miss his home tucked into the rolling desert hills east of the city proper and only a short distance from Crista’s Craftsman Bungalow. A handful of his brothers lived within minutes of them. There were always noise and comfort close at hand in the form of family. The past week was probably the longest he’d gone without seeing his nephews. It was good to be back at work, good to be moving into his usual routines, but something was missing in his life and he’d never been more acutely aware of that than when he’d walked away from Emme Montgomery. And that put his head in a spin. It was too soon to feel anything more for her than lust. It didn’t matter that he felt like he’d known her days before he’d met her, what with researching her background, following her for two weeks, learning many of her habits and even her smallest gestures. He liked Emme Montgomery. He admired her creativity, the tenacity that drove her to the top of her career, and even the courage to leave it all behind to chase a dream—if that was her reason for being in the Sierras. But there had to be more at play in his emotions tonight. And maybe some of that was missing his family.
It was almost as cold indoors as it was out. He started the gas fireplace and strode into the kitchen with his purchases. Tomorrow, after their run, he’d talk Emme into joining him at the farmer’s market. He’d noticed during his surveillance of her, that even when shopping at Whole Foods she had kept her purchases limited to standard fare. Variety on her plate would help her maintain her goals.
He wanted Emme to have success. In her honesty she’d made herself vulnerable. He could easily imagine her the smallest of her class, picked last for sports. And he could imagine her standing in front of the church, trembling with the enormity of her loss and pummeled by public humiliation.
Her former fiancée was a spineless bastard and Micah would get a lot of pleasure out of putting his fist through Alan’s face if he ever had the opportunity.
He arranged his produce in the crisper then closed the fridge. He had work waiting for him. A call to Bruno for an update and debriefing. He booted up his computer and pulled out his cell phone. His screen saver was a photo of the boys, dressed in their Halloween costumes. The Hulk and Captain America, of course. And he smiled, remembering their exuberance the year before as they’d bounced from house to house trick-or-treating. He’d miss that this year and that didn’t sit right with him, but Crista had given him a preview.
He tried to move his mind to business. Micah’s thumb paused over his contacts but he dwelled on the twins’ images a moment too long and his heart won. He pressed the speed dial icon for his sister and listened to the dull drone of the ring.
“Hey, brother,” Crista answered. “What’s up?”
“Same,” he said. “How are the boys?”
“Human tornadoes,” she said. “They got into the bag of candy for the trick-or-treaters.”
Micah laughed. “You know you did the same.”
“I snagged a bite-sized Milky Way,” she protested. “Once or twice. By the candy wrapper count, the boys have eaten seven rolls of Sweet Tarts.”
He could almost feel her groan all the way to the Sierras. “The small rolls, right?”
“Small, yes. But so are they.”
“And now they’re buzzing.”
“The treetops,” she agreed. “The only good thing about it is they’ll crash soon. And it’s close enough to bed time they’ll be out for the rest of the night. That’ll give me time to clean up the mess they left in their wake.” She let out a long breath and he heard the squeaking of her desk chair as she sat down. “But why did you really call?”
“The boys are always first.”
“Thank you. You know I count on you guys for that.”
Micah and his brothers made a point of always being accessible. Last month, still recovering from the gunshot wound, Micah had accompanied the boys and their class on a fieldtrip to the Wild Animal Park. They were never without male attention.
“But. . .?” Crista pressed.
“I don’t see it,” he said. “Duplicity.”
“In our subject?”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
“Ah, so you made contact today?”
“I spent a few hours with her,” he confirmed and that piqued her interest.
“Really? How did you manage that?”
He explained about Emme’s fall, the lurking realtor and the dinner he’d shared with their subject, as Crista accurately referred to her. He even told her about his plan to keep Emme close.
“Lara Croft? You mean from Tomb Raiders?”
“Exactly. She wants to be fearless and a force to contend with.”
And he heard not a little sympathy in Crista’s voice when she replied, “Break ups are a bitch.”
“Especially when it goes down as Emme’s did,” he agreed and told her about Alan’s desire for Emme’s money.
“Yellow-bellied bottom-feeder. If he shows up there, knock him around a little,” she said.
“Not a problem.”
Crista called for order with the boys and then asked, “Then the thigh’s better?”
“Everyday. But you knew that before I left.”
“Just checking. So you’re going to turn Emme Montgomery into a super hero?”
“Not quite. I’ll help her build muscle mass and endurance.” And regret the loss of softness and every disappearing curve. “She wants to be ripped and ready for anything. Kind of like you.”
Crista snorted. “I’m far from fearless, Micah, but I’m glad I put on a convincing show.” She sighed. It was a soft but revealing action for his sister. Micah knew her well and he wondered what she was dealing with at the moment that she didn’t want to share.
“So,” she returned to business. “You don’t think she’s stealing and you don’t think she’s been threatened?”
“She’s up here to write a book.”
“Hmm.” She considered that. “I can see it. That’s not a big leap from creating gaming heroines and villains.”
Except that Emme was writing, from what little he’d seen, about a woman softened by need not pumped up and ready to conquer the world. But he didn’t say as much. The content of her book wasn’t pivotal to their case.
“I guess,” he said. He typed in the password on his laptop and then brought up the files he’d need. Each was a locked cache that required an encrypted access code. Then he stood and moved toward the kitchen window. From his position he could see Emme’s backyard and a portion of her deck. Ambient light seeped from the kitchen windows. All quiet. “You think Bruno is just panicking?”
“Possible. He lost his Fort Knox. Isn’t that what he called her?”
“’National treasure,’” Micah quoted. “Her games net seventeen million annually.”
Crista whistled softly. “Damn. And he offered her a salary not even ten percent of that?”
“He said that was generous.”
“I’m not feeling the love.”
No, it seemed pretty paltry to him, too, under the circumstances. But he had looked into it. “She would
have been one of the highest paid gamers in the U.S.”
They often saw the imbalance of Big Business.
“‘Can’t buy me love,’” Crista sang.
But was it as simple as that? Maybe, in Emme’s case, coming from a family who followed their dreams. Maybe, after losing at love and staring at a calendar populated with family weddings, it made sense.
“You find out anything new?”
“I peeked at her financials again,” Crista said. “There was an inquiry made yesterday, just before the close of business. A corporation I haven’t heard of. One of those shell games.”
A business inside of a business. Masking was not uncommon in commerce and industry. Most people would be disconcerted to find out that the toothpaste they used was produced by the same manufacturer of lightbulbs and garden fertilizer.
“What kind of inquiry?”
“Credit score and payment history. Either Emme Montgomery wants a loan or is looking to open an account.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Did our subject mention a big purchase?”
“Nothing.”
“Maybe she’s looking at gym equipment.”
But they both knew Emme had enough money stashed in savings that she could write a check for something that small.
He heard one of the twins buzz by Crista. He probably had his arms spread wide as an airplane and his body tilted as he veered away from his mom and out of the room seeking adventure. He missed the boys. He also knew Crista couldn’t remain on the phone much longer.
“Keep an eye on it,” Micah said. If an account was approved it would show up on Emme’s credit report within days.
“Of course.” Crista agreed and didn’t bother hiding the ‘duh’ in her voice.
“Sorry. Just thinking aloud.”
“You seem a little rattled,” she observed. “Want to tell me why?”
Micah did not talk to his sister about women. Lust was not a subject he spoke about at all. He preferred action to take care of the problem and since that wasn’t an option here he would suffer in silence.
“Not rattled, sis,” Micah told her. “Tired.” Which was not far from the truth. Keeping tabs on Emme was an around the clock responsibility. He’d set up sensor alarms at the front and back of her rental, planting the beacons in the garden beds where they went unnoticed. If someone bigger than a raccoon approached the house he’d know about it. But he slept lightly, anticipating the buzz of the wireless system. It had worked beautifully earlier that night when the realtor had arrived at Emme’s door.
