Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel)

by Novak, Brenda

  “Pretty much. This enforced inactivity, which Mick likes to refer to as a vacation, is the longest break I’ve taken in more than a decade. I snatch a three-day weekend from time to time, but that’s about it.”

  “And that’s the way you want it?”

  “It’s always been enough,” he said simply, then gave her a lingering look. “I might be re-thinking that, though.”

  Emma trembled a little at the intimacy in that look. Did she want to be responsible for anyone even considering shaking up their lives, especially when her own was such a mess? “Not on my account, I hope,” she said lightly.

  “Why is that?” he asked, setting the eggs on the table, then adding a plate of scones he’d obviously gotten from Nell. “You have something -- or someone -- in your life I don’t know about?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean I want a relationship.”

  “You did last night.”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t remind me of that,” she chided. “Maybe all I wanted was inspiration.”

  His expression darkened slightly. “Did you find what you came for, Emma? I was teasing last night, but now you have me wondering.”

  “I won’t know till I sit in front of the computer again,” she said blithely, though the truth was she’d gotten a whole lot more than she’d bargained for. The kisses they’d shared, the warmth of sleeping in his arms on that cramped sofa, those things had set off a yearning for something she’d never expected to want again.

  Yearning wasn’t the same as reaching for, she told herself sternly. And sparks in the night weren’t the same as reality in broad daylight. She was wise enough to know the difference, strong enough to resist the temptation.

  At least she hoped so. And given Jaime’s disappointed expression, she had to wonder if he’d ever give her another night like the one they’d just shared.

  ***

  Jaime didn’t know whether to be exasperated or relieved by Emma’s mixed signals. One thing he did know was that the key to understanding her might be in that book she’d written. He didn’t want to stir up talk by asking Shanna if she had the book and without his computer, he couldn’t order it online. Instead, he called the office and had one of the secretaries who luckily was in on a Saturday morning if she’d look up the closest chain bookstore. He jotted down the number and made a call to order a copy.

  “How quickly do you think you can get it to me?”

  “We have it in stock,” the clerk said. “I can put it aside and you could pick it up today.”

  “I can’t get there,” he said with real regret. “I’ll pay for a courier to bring it to me, if you can arrange that. I’d really like it today, rather than waiting for it to get here by mail next week.”

  “That’s awfully expensive,” she said.

  “It’s important.” he told her. “Can you arrange it?”

  She put him on hold, then came back and promised it would be there by early afternoon. “One of our part-time employees lives not too far from there. He said he’ll bring it. You can work out the payment with him, if that’s okay.”

  “Perfect,” Jaime told her. “Thanks so much.”

  Even though it might be hours before the book turned up, he showered and dressed quickly, then poured himself another cup of coffee. After that he settled on the porch to enjoy the late morning breeze and wait for something that might tell him everything he needed to know about the woman who’d gotten under his skin so darn quickly.

  ***

  Emma wrote as if the house were on fire and she had to get finished before the walls collapsed around her. She couldn’t recall ever feeling such a sense of urgency, such passion for the words that were flowing onto the screen. She was almost breathless by the time she reached the end of the chapter and knew in her heart that readers would be the same.

  She sat back, drew in a deep breath and smiled for the first time in ages at the work she’d accomplished. Jaime had apparently been right about one thing. Apparently she had needed some new people and new experiences in her life to re-charge her creative batteries. Not Jaime, specifically, she assured herself, but what he represented: a fresh outlook, new inspiration.

  There was, of course, a huge danger in buying in to that notion. Jaime would be gone in a few weeks, a couple of months at the most. Then what? Would her well dry up again? She shuddered at the thought, not only of losing focus, but of Jaime out of her life as quickly as he’d entered it.

  At least he’d brought her out of her shell enough to see the world around her again, to start appreciating what she had, rather than focusing on what she’d lost. She’d have to be sure to thank him for that before he left for good.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by an impatient knocking on her front door and the sound of her mother’s frantic voice calling out to her. Emma hurried to open the door.

  “Mom, what on earth? Is everything okay?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” Jessica said, sucking in a deep breath as she visibly tried to calm herself. “Why weren’t you answering your phone? I’ve been calling for hours. I was sure you’d fallen in the shower and broken something or who knows what. I’ve been worried sick.”

  But not worried enough to leave the library early to come to check, Emma thought, noting that it was now just past the library’s early afternoon Saturday closing time.

  “I was writing,” she told her mother. “My phone was charging in the other room. I never heard it ring.”

  Her mom put a hand to her chest. “Please don’t do that to me again, Emma. You really scared me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said sincerely, giving her mom a hug. “Come in and I’ll fix you a cup of tea, or would you like something stronger. I have a bottle of wine I could open.”

  “Tea would be nice.”

  She followed Emma into the kitchen. “I called until late last night, too. Were you writing all night?”

  Emma flushed. “No.” She described the evening she’d spent at the pub with Nell and Dillon, avoiding any mention of Jaime. “Then I stopped by to visit a friend.”

  “Mr. Alvarez?” Jessica asked hopefully.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “I’m glad,” her mother said, a note of satisfaction in her voice. “I think he’s good for you. You’ve seemed happier since you met him.”

  So, her mother had noticed it, too. She couldn’t be sure if that was good or terribly worrisome.

  “Is there any potential for something more?” her mom pressed. “Will he be staying in town?”

  “Only until his bones heal and he’s done some therapy,” Emma said. “He’s helping out with the planning for this year’s fall festival, so I imagine he’ll stick around for that. Sooner or later, though, he’ll go back to his real life.”

  “And where will that leave you?”

  “Right here in Chesapeake Shores, Mom. You don’t have to worry that I’m going to take off and leave you.”

  “Actually I was hoping you would,” Jessica said. “Not that I don’t want you around,” she added quickly. “But I would like to see you sharing your life with someone again. Writing is isolating enough without distancing yourself from everyone just to protect your heart.”

  “Someone else said something similar to me recently,” she admitted.

  Her mom chuckled. “Mr. Alvarez, perhaps? I imagine he had his own ulterior motives for mentioning it.”

  “He probably did,” Emma agreed.

  She studied her mother thoughtfully. In her late fifties, she was still a lovely woman with not a single strand of gray in her short, dark brown hair. Her porcelain skin was flawless and she had a slightly curvaceous figure despite the rigorous walks she took every evening. Men should be flocking around her. Emma wondered if they were.

  “Mom, did you ever think about marrying again after Dad died? You were so young. I’m sure you had your chances.” She thought back, trying to remember if there had been any suitors. If so, her mother had been discreet about them. Emma o
nly recalled one. “There was our old neighbor. Steve Tate thought you were something pretty special.”

  “Steve Tate thought my cooking was better than his,” Jessica corrected. “I told him to hire himself a chef if a good dinner every night at six was what he was looking for.”

  After a startled instant, Emma laughed. “What about after you moved here to run the library?”

  “I was too busy.”

  “So the advice you were just handing out to me wasn’t valid for you?”

  Surprising mirth sparkled in her mother’s eyes. “A mother never likes to have her own words turned on her,” Jessica scolded.

  “Doesn’t mean they aren’t true,” Emma said. “Maybe I should get the matchmakers to turn their attention to you.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Jessica’s expression turned sly. “I’ll tell you what. You get married again and settle down, give me a couple of grandbabies to cuddle, and I’ll consider going on a date again.”

  “You might be in a retirement home by the time that happens,” Emma cautioned.

  “I’ll take my chances. If you have any real consideration for my social life, you won’t wait that long now, will you?”

  Emma shook her head at the sneaky trap. “You’re hanging out too much with Nell O’Brien.”

  “Can you think of a better role model? When it comes to getting things done for her family, no one in town is any better.”

  Feeling closer to her mother than she had in some time, Emma impulsively asked, “Mom, would you like to go somewhere for a bite to eat?”

  Her mother looked startled by the invitation. “You don’t have plans with Mr. Alvarez?”

  “Don’t look so disappointed. No, I don’t have plans with Jaime, and I would enjoy spending the evening with my mother. We don’t do that nearly enough.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” her mother said decisively. “Where shall we go?”

  “Brady’s is the place for special occasions,” Emma suggested.

  “And this is a special occasion? I know perfectly well it’s not your birthday or mine.”

  “No, but it is the day you and I officially got off to a fresh start, not as mother and daughter, but as friends.”

  Surprising tears promptly filled her mother’s eyes. “Do you mean that?”

  “I do,” Emma assured her. “Just don’t think that entitles you to give me unsolicited advice and paw around in my closet to borrow my clothes.”

  “As your friend, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jessica promised. “But as your mom, I wouldn’t count on my not speaking my mind, if I have something to say. That will never change.”

  For once, though, Emma thought she might not mind it so much. Today was turning out to be full of miracles and new beginnings. Thinking back to her exchange with Jaime earlier, the one that had left him looking as if she’d actually hurt him, made her wonder though, if there had been an ending today, too.

  She pushed aside the concern and linked her arm with her mother’s. “Let’s show this town that the Hastings women are a force to be reckoned with.”

  Her mom laughed. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you today, but I like it.”

  “Me, too, Mom. Me, too.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jaime spent most of Sunday immersed in Emma’s book, pausing only long enough to fix a sandwich for lunch and another for dinner. He was totally absorbed all the way through, in part because the story was so well-written, but mostly because he could picture Emma in the heroine’s journey from psychologically abused victim to a strong independent woman.

  There were sections that infuriated him as he imagined Emma living with a man like the character’s ex-husband. In some ways, though, the chapters at the end when she put her life back together bit by bit and found the love she was meant to have were worse. The heroine -- Quinn Anderson -- had completed a transition to a rich, full life that continued to elude Emma. Only the fact that he could see Emma starting to reach for such a life gave him some small measure of satisfaction and conviction that she was on her own road to recovery.

  On Monday morning, he was on his porch at dawn with his mug of coffee, He’d brought out a thermal pot and extra cup as well. With any luck he was early enough to catch Emma before or after her run.

  It was just past seven, when he saw her coming down the street, her skin glowing from the exercise, her hair damp from the humidity and her exertion. He thought she looked beautiful.

  “Good morning,” he called out as she neared his gate.

  Her step faltered as she glanced his way, her expression oddly wary. “Good morning.”

  “I have coffee,” he said, then added, relieved that he’d thought of it, “Or bottled water, if you’d prefer.”

  She hesitated. “I could use some water,” she admitted finally.

  “Then join me.”

  As she stepped onto the porch and accepted the cool bottle of water, her gaze landed everywhere but on him. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

  He smiled. “It’s not even seven-thirty. You’re not due at work until at least nine.”

  She frowned slightly. “You checked on my schedule?”

  “Didn’t have to. You walk past here predictably at 8:45 most weekdays. You come back just after 1. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. And before you suggest that I’m stalking you, remember that I’m stuck here. Observing what goes on in the neighborhood keeps me from going stir crazy. I even know which day Mrs. Kelly goes to her art class and which day Mr. Davis cuts his grass.”

  She sighed. “Sorry. I seem to be in a prickly mood.”

  “Turnabout’s fair enough. You’ve seen me at my worst a time or two. Is this mood about me or has something happened?”

  “I have no idea,” she admitted. “More than likely I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” She finished the water, then looked longingly at the thermal pot. “Any of that coffee left? That might help.”

  He nodded. “That’s why I brought out an extra cup.” He poured the coffee and handed it to her. “How was your weekend?”

  “Productive,” she said, sitting on the very edge of the chair beside his as if she was ready to bolt at any second. At last, though, there was a faint spark of life in her eyes.

  “You’re back in your writing groove?” he asked, pleased for her. “That’s great.”

  “I had dinner with my mother on Saturday, too.”

  “Something you don’t do often?” he asked, hearing an odd note in her voice.

  “Something I almost never do willingly. Saturday night it was my idea. We had a good time.”

  She sounded surprised.

  “Your mother seems like a very nice woman,” he said, treading lightly to see what she might reveal about that relationship.

  “Actually she is. I don’t think I noticed that before the other night. She was always my mom, if you know what I mean. She was always picking at me to do things her way.”

  “That’s what moms do,” Jaime said. “You should meet mine sometime. She can reduce me to being a twelve-year-old faster than you can say media noche.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “A media noche is one of the Cuban sandwiches that’s so popular in Miami,” he explained.

  “I think I’d like to watch your mom take you down a peg or two,” she said, smiling.

  “Then I’ll have to arrange it.”

  She looked flustered by his promise. “So, how was your weekend? I probably should have come by to check on you.”

  “Despite what I said the other day about you being my angel of mercy, you’re not my caregiver, Emma. I was fine. I was totally absorbed in a new book.”

  “The Louise Penny mystery or the Earl Emerson?” she asked eagerly, sitting back at last and starting to look more at ease.

  “No, this one was different. It was by a writer who was able to move me with the depth of the emotions in her story.”

  “Really? That doesn’t sound like your taste.”
/>   “It’s not my usual taste, no,” he conceded. “But I have a particular fondness for this writer.”

  “Anyone I might have heard of.”

  He held her gaze, then lifted the book from the table beside him.

  Emma stared at it in shock. “My book? You read my book? Why?”

  “I thought it might be revealing. It was.”

  Emma looked dismayed. “I know I shouldn’t feel like this, but it feels like an invasion of privacy.”

  Jaime was totally taken aback by her reaction. “The book was a bestseller. You shared your innermost thoughts with a lot of people. Did that bother you?”

  “No, but now it’s you who’s reading it. You know I was writing about my own experiences in a lot of ways, deeply personal experiences I don’t talk about. Most readers had no idea about that.” She gave him a defiant look. “Just so you know, though, I’m not that heroine. I’m nothing like Quinn Anderson.”

  “I know it was fiction, Emma, but you said yourself that you’d poured a lot of your story into the book. I thought it might help me to get to know you, to figure out why you’re still keeping this barrier between us.”

  “I keep a barrier between us because you’re leaving, Jaime,” she said with exaggerated patience. “I’ve told you that already. It’s one thing to be caught off-guard and get your heart broken. It’s another altogether to walk right into it with your eyes wide open.”

  “Emma, I’m not going to break your heart,” he said solemnly with a level of certainty that even surprised him.

  “How can you say that? I already feel more than I should. The other night when I was here…” Her voice trailed off before she finally admitted, “I felt too much, Jaime.”

  “So did I,” he said quietly. “But I’m not going to run from it.”

  That silenced her. He saw what might have been a tiny spark of hope in her eyes, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

  “I mean that, Emma. I was so antsy to get back to work when we met that I would have crawled back to Seattle if I’d been able to. Now I’m already dreading the day I’ll have to leave. I’m thinking of ways to stick around. When Nell asked me to work on the fall festival, I seized that like a lifeline. She reminded me I could do my therapy here and, instead of balking at a longer stay, I’ve already asked the doctor for the names of physical therapists in the area.”