by Laura Kaye
Caine got off his bike, and Emma’s pulse kicked up in her veins. She had no idea what was coming at her. And then he was in front of her, standing within the circle of light so that she could see him clearly. Her breath caught as those eyes landed on her. Ice-blue heat in a harsh face. Harsh all except for—
“Here,” he said, holding something out to her.
—the soft fullness of his lips. Emma had to drag her gaze away to see what was in his hand. A plastic grocery bag swung heavy in his grip.
“What is it?” she asked.
One thick, dark brow arched upward toward the knit cap.
Chewy sniffed and danced in her lap, his tail wagging. Guess he’d made his vote on Caine clear.
Unleashing a shaky breath, she took the bag.
The moment she did, Caine stepped back into the shadows and returned to his bike. Only then did she peer into the bag.
Her heart was a sudden bass beat in her chest. She pulled out a bottle of water. A bottle of Coke. And bottles of Excedrin, Aleve, and aspirin. Chewy sniffed each item as she pulled it out.
Emma could only stare at the small pharmacy she lined up on the stoop next to her. He’d…called someone to get her medicine? And they’d actually gone and bought it and then drove it to him—for her?
Who. Did. That?
“Is it…the right stuff?” he asked quietly, his voice coming to her from the darkness.
Seriously. No one did that. Who was this guy?
“I can’t believe you did this,” she said.
“Fuck. It’s not the right stuff?”
She shook away the disbelief. “No, no. It is. Thank you. I’m just…stunned.”
And totally not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when this night had unleashed a marching band in her head—and that had been true before getting mugged, getting saved by a biker, and then…getting saved by him again?
She uncapped the Excedrin and the Aleve, fought through the foil seals and stuffed cotton balls, and greedily swallowed down two pills of each medicine with a long gulp of the Coke.
“I’ll pay you back as soon as I can,” she said, grateful beyond words. It’d been a long time since anyone had looked out for her like this. Not since the grandmother who’d raised her died three years ago.
He didn’t respond, and she had the strangest feeling that she’d said the wrong thing.
Emma debated. Resisted. Debated again. Then sat Chewy on her stoop and pointed at him with a “Stay.” Her stomach flipped as she stepped down to the sidewalk. But there was still that relief and even more of that fascination, and so she approached his bike like he was a lion who was maybe wild and would eat her alive but maybe, just maybe, tame and would let her pet him. Which was a totally weird way to think of a man, but whatever, it seemed right here. For this man.
Even though she couldn’t make out his face in the shadows, she felt his eyes on her almost immediately. Emma fisted her hands at her sides and forced her feet to keep moving until she reached the edge of the sidewalk just a few feet from his bike. From him.
“Thank you,” she said.
He palmed the cap on his head. “You said that already.”
His gruffness might’ve hurt her feelings if she hadn’t gotten the feeling that her gratitude made him uncomfortable. “Well, all of this is worth saying it more than once.”
He breathed out heavily from his nose, a sound of exhaustion…or exasperation. Emma didn’t know.
She stuffed her hands in her pockets. “You don’t have to stay, you know. I’ll be okay. Especially after the medicine.”
He crossed his arms. “I’m staying.”
“Why?”
“You want me to go?”
“No,” she rushed out, stepping down off the curb. Closer to him. Close enough that she caught the flash of his eyes in the dimness. “No, I don’t. I just don’t know why you’re going to such lengths to help me. That’s all. Curiosity.”
“Curiosity killed the…”
“…the cat. Yeah, yeah, I walked into that one, didn’t I?” She chuckled. “Seriously, though.”
“I let him get away.”
“What?”
Now his sigh was more like a growl. “The asshole who jumped you. I let him get away.”
Wait. He felt guilty? “You didn’t let him—”
“I did. And now he has your keys and your address. And you’re stuck outside in the freezing cold at midnight.”
A chill raced down Emma’s spine. Because in the midst of everything else, she hadn’t put those two facts together in quite that way. For just a moment, her headache fought back against the pain meds. “Do you think he’ll come back?”
“Fuck,” he bit out. “I didn’t mean to…probably not, okay? Guy was probably just a junkie hoping for some cash for his next fix.”
Emma wasn’t sure that made her feel much better. Because her purse was still going to be floating around out there…somewhere. And not just with her keys and license, but with all her credit cards, too. Canceling those was one more thing she needed to do once she was done with the locksmith. “You’re probably right,” she managed. And then, with more conviction, “None of which is your fault, obviously.”
“Look, lady—”
“Emma.”
“What?”
“My name is Emma. And I’m totally not old enough for you to call me lady.”
He huffed, and she could almost hear him roll his eyes.
She found herself biting back a smile. “You sigh a lot.”
“You talk a lot.”
That made her laugh. “I know. Hazard of my job, I guess.”
He shifted on his bike, and his boot scuffed the pavement. “Which is?”
She almost missed the question, but her belly gave a weird little flip that he’d asked. He didn’t seem like a jobs-and-weather small-talk kinda guy. “I teach kindergarten. When you spend your days with twenty-three five- and six-year-olds, you’re bound to be talkative.”
He grimaced and scrubbed a hand over his face.
Now she was the one sighing. Because she felt like she’d said something wrong again.
Which made her want to do something that might help him. And, in a weird way, allowing him to help her actually would help him, too. Because then he wouldn’t have to sit here anymore either. In the freezing cold at midnight.
So she swallowed down the little ball of nerves suddenly in her throat and asked, “Still want to pick my lock?”
His head jerked toward her and then he was off the bike and standing right in front of her.
And wow if all that intensity wasn’t overwhelming up close. Overwhelming and strangely breathtaking. “Is that a yes?” she whispered.
“Hell, yes.”
Chapter 3
It took Caine less than a minute to let Emma into her house. She gawped as he pushed the door open and gestured for her to go in. Chewy raced ahead, his nails clicking against the hard woods.
Emma cleared her throat. “That was impressive. And kinda scary. Are you that good or is my lock that weak?”
“Both,” he said, pocketing the key ring that held the little wire devices he’d used.
“Well, that’s, er, not really…” She swallowed the words, not wanting to criticize him again.
But he apparently heard it anyway. “I suck at reassuring, remember?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s just that… I don’t know, maybe it’s better not to hide from the truth anyway?”
His gaze collided with hers, and there was an intensity there she didn’t understand. One that made her pulse race with a new dose of that fascination. “Always.”
Nodding, she stepped into her entryway and peered at Caine. She wanted to thank him—again—but didn’t think he’d appreciate it given their earlier conversation. So instead she smiled and said, “You were my hero tonight, Caine.”
“Never call me that,” he bit out, those icy blue eyes narrowed to slits.
Emma’s heart
tripped over itself and her tongue got tangled. And then it didn’t matter that she didn’t know how to respond because he was off her stoop in a flash. Back into the shadows and on his bike.
Er, that…had not gone the way she intended.
Stomach falling, Emma debated, but this time she erred on the side of leaving him alone. On a tired exhale, she closed her front door and nearly moaned from how good it felt to be inside where it was warm. She shrugged out of her coat and hung it in the front closet, and then leaned against the door jamb to her living room and admired the colorful glow of the lights on her tree—the only lights she had on.
She adored sitting in a room lit only by her Christmas tree. It was something she’d picked up from her grandmother, who used to spread a blanket out on this very floor in front of the tree and tell Emma stories—made-up stories about fantastical worlds, or real-life stories about when Emma’s mother had been young. Stories her mother hadn’t been around long enough to tell herself because a pulmonary embolism had taken her away when Emma had been just nine.
Still, Emma didn’t associate the warm, almost magical glow of the lights with sadness. Instead, they made her feel closer to the women she’d loved and lost—which was why she was firmly part of the camp that put up decorations the day after Thanksgiving—tree, lights, and her grandmother’s Santa collection, too—and didn’t feel the slightest bit self-conscious if they stayed up well into the latter part of January.
Heck, she’d been the proud owner of a Valentine’s tree or two.
She grinned at where Chewy had curled up in his plush dog bed, his well-groomed little head resting on a stuffed Chewbacca. His namesake. As a girl, Emma had thought the expressive sounds that the Star Wars character made were the cutest things she’d ever heard. And when she’d adopted the little guy the summer before she started her job at Frederick Elementary, she’d still remembered that. “You have a hard life, you know that?”
In answer, the dog gave a big sigh and burrowed in deeper.
And the sigh made her realize…she hadn’t heard a motorcycle engine start up.
Frowning, she went to her front window and peered around the tree. Sure enough, Caine’s dark silhouette remained. Part man, part motorcycle. As if he were some sort of mythical creature from her grandmother’s stories.
Why hadn’t he left…?
Her gut gave her the answer that, holy crap, he was waiting. Because even though he’d gotten her inside out of the cold and made sure she had medicine, her locks weren’t yet changed and her keys were still out there somewhere…which meant Caine wasn’t going to leave.
A tingle ran down her spine.
“This isn’t right,” she said. The man had saved her. Taken care of her. The least she could do was invite him in to wait. Determined, she marched to her door and went back out onto the stoop. “You’re still waiting.” He didn’t answer. “Obviously, you’re still waiting. So, come in.”
That got a reply. “What?”
“Come in already. It’s cold out here.” She hugged herself.
“Good night, Emma.”
She made for his bike. “This is ridiculous. If you’re going to insist on waiting, which is very much above and beyond, then I have to insist on you doing it inside my house where it’s not freezing.”
Arms crossed, his voice was a low rumble. “You have to insist?”
Two could play the stubborn game. And she dealt with five-year-olds for a living, so he didn’t know who he was dealing with. She crossed her arms, too. “I do.”
He tilted his face toward her, allowing her to just make out the stern set of his features. And it was the first time that all that edgy intensity, all that darkness, and all that gruffness tripped the switch in her brain that registered sex appeal. Registered it hard.
This guy was nothing like the men she occasionally dated—other young professionals she met at her gym or through friends. But, man, there was something about this dark knight thing Caine had going on that was suddenly—and epically—hot. Maybe it was the way his long legs stretched out from the bike. Or the way his crossed arms emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. Or the way seeing him in shadow emphasized the strong angles of his face.
“What happened to my being a stranger and having a knife and breaking into your house?” he asked.
She almost laughed because he was so obvious in his attempt to be not-reassuring now. Which, go figure, actually was reassuring. “Well, in the time since you used your knife to protect me, we’ve gotten on a first-name basis, you had someone bring me medicine, and you used your powers for good. Plus Chewy wagged his tail at you and he’s a very good judge of character. So…” She gestured toward her house and grinned. “Won’t you please come in?”
* * * *
This is not a good fucking idea.
That was Caine’s thought as he dismounted the bike.
So then why was he doing it?
It had better not be because the blonde was cute as fuck. Though she was. And not just because she was pretty. She was also playful and talkative, earnest and funny. And she didn’t seem put off by him, even when he tried to put her off. All of that reminded him of someone he once knew. Someone who’d once been stuck to him like glue no matter what he’d said. Someone who’d once called him her hero.
Someone he didn’t want to be reminded of.
So, yeah, it had better not be because of any of that.
As he climbed the steps to her row house, he felt like he was headed to the goddamned gallows. Which just proved how big of a fucking misfit he was.
“If they’re true to their estimate, it should only be another thirty minutes,” she said as she led him into the living room.
A place where, apparently, Santa Claus knickknacks went to die judging by the sheer number of them. Jesus. He peered around. Big, little, glass, wooden…Santas appeared on every surface. The mantle. The end tables. The built-in bookcase. Behind him, a big tree blocked most of the front windows, its branches laden with colored lights and ornaments. But even if Christmas hadn’t thrown up all over her living room, the place would’ve appeared feminine, what with the overstuffed white furniture, baby blue pillows, and frilly lamps and floral curtains.
“Go ahead, make your comment,” she said from behind him.
He turned to find her in the doorway that led to the dining room and kitchen beyond. The light of which backlit her hair, making it glow in a halo around her face.
Like he needed the reminder of her sweetness and decency. She was a kindergarten teacher, for God’s sake, which nearly made her the poster child for wholesome innocence. And he’d had a threesome with strangers earlier tonight. Caine shook his head. What the hell was he doing in her house again? “Nothing to say.”
She arched a brow, seemingly unaware of how out of place he felt. He was the guy best left in the shadows to rain down justice when it needed to be dispensed—the ache in his not fully healed hand was just the most recent reminder of that. He wasn’t the guy you made nice with and invited inside. And never had been.
“Really?” she teased.
“A wise man knows when to keep silent.”
She laughed. “Does a wise man also like coffee? Soda?”
“I don’t need anything.” Standing in the middle of the living room, he literally itched to leave. “In fact, I’m just gonna—”
“Oh, come on. Don’t make me eat Christmas cookies at midnight by myself.” She waved for him to follow as she turned toward the back of the house.
His stomach clenched, cementing his feet in place. When had he last eaten? The apple at breakfast?
Emma stopped in her kitchen doorway. “You coming?”
Without the bulk of the winter coat surrounding her, the slight build of her frame was more visible, even in the jeans and oversized sweatshirt she wore. He’d thought her features delicate, but in truth, all of her appeared that way, and it soured his gut to remember how she’d been struggling with her mugger when he’d first come upon
them.
Warily, he followed her into the kitchen, a small but bright room with yellow walls, white cabinets, and a two-seater table. Besides two Christmas placemats on the table, the holiday hadn’t vomited in here, and it made Caine feel slightly less on edge. He didn’t hold anyone’s love of the season against them, but for him the day had only ever represented disappointment and all the things he didn’t have. And never would.
Arms crossed, Caine stood near the doorway and watched Emma as she washed her hands and retrieved a canister and napkins.
“Okay, coffee or soda? Or water? Or tea?” She smiled. “Basically anything except alcohol which I sadly have none of at the moment.”
“Water’s fine,” he said, not at all surprised she didn’t have alcohol in her house. Not that he cared. He drank only infrequently, not liking the feeling of his senses being dulled, or his reaction time being delayed. But it was just another little confirmation of her wholesomeness that was so unlike himself.
“You sure?” She opened her refrigerator door covered in kids’ stick-figure drawings and peered in. “I have milk, too.”
Shaking his head, he was about to reiterate his choice when his gaze landed on something in her fridge and his eyes went wide. “Is that orange soda?”
She grabbed two and grinned. “It is orange soda. You like?”
He shrugged with one shoulder. He hadn’t had an orange soda in years, but once upon a time it’d been a childhood favorite. One of the few treats the home offered the kids.
Emma put ice in glasses and placed the drinks on the table. “Sit down. I’ll bring the cookies over.”
“Mind if I wash my hands first?” he asked. The longer he spent in Emma’s presence, the more he felt the ménage clinging to his skin, and it was nauseating. Or maybe that was a side effect of his hunger.
“Of course.”
When he was done, he sat on the edge of the closest seat and popped open his can. Bubbles fizzed over his fingers, and the sweetness of orange hit his nose as he poured.
“Okay, there’s snickerdoodles, chocolate chip, molasses, peanut butter, and sugar cookies. I can take credit for everything except the peanut butter,” Emma said. “They always turn out too dry when I make them. And then I discovered the ones at Dutch’s and they’re amazing, so those I bought. I think they got a new baker in there because they’ve seriously upped their dessert game. Do you know that place?” Emma brought a heaping plate of cookies to the table and slid into the other chair.
