“Will go wrong,” Emmie finished. “Of course, I’ve heard of it. I find it unrealistically negative.” She felt giddy again. Free of anxiety, now she felt challenged rather than pressured. “Really, finding a baker was the hard part. Since you have two good arms, the rest should be-dare I say it? A piece of cake.”
On the wide front steps flanked by massive boxwoods they ran into Jax. His normally hard face softened by tender amusement, Jax was watching his small son race around the wide lawn attempting to catch bright leaves as they drifted down from the many old shade trees. Jax had been absent for most of Tyler’s short life but was determined to make up for it now.
“Emmie! Emmie!” Tyler caught sight of them and flung himself toward Emmie, arms outstretched wide intending to hug her around the knees the same way he hugged Pickett. Apparently, he had decided Emmie rated the same affection.
Tyler was utterly unrestrained in administering hugs. Do-Lord put his arm behind Emmie’s waist ready to catch her if Tyler unbalanced her, but before Tyler could connect, Jax swept him up.
“Easy Tyler, remember? You have to be careful with ladies.”
“You said I had to be careful with Pickett.”
“Well, you have to be careful with Emmie, too.”
“Do I have to be careful with Aunt Grace, and Aunt Sarah Bea, and Aunt Lyle?” Tyler listed Pickett’s sisters. He seemed delighted with all the family he was acquiring along with a stepmother and missed no opportunity to name every one. “And Aunt Lilly Hale and-”
“Yes,” Jax interrupted the list. Since Pickett’s family was large, it could go on quite a while. “You have to be careful with every single one. Now, can you give Emmie a gentle hug? She has a hurt arm, so you need to be extra special careful.”
Lifted into position by his father, Tyler settled hands weightless as snowflakes on Emmie’s shoulders and pressed his cheek against hers. After a moment’s hesitation, Emmie brought her good arm up to hold him to her.
“Did the hug make you all better?” Tyler inquired with a child’s innocent faith as his father lifted him away. “Do you want another one?”
“Um, maybe later.”
“Did you know I’m going to be five soon?” Tyler asked Emmie in the lightning fast shift of attention typical of children. “I’m four now,” he clarified, “but then, I’ll be five.”
“Oh.” Emmie seemed unsure of what to say, but she gave the child the courtesy of taking him seriously. Do-Lord liked that about her. So many people thought that because children were na?ve they were negligible. “When is your birthday?”
“Tomorrow!”
“Not tomorrow, son,” Jax corrected. “December twelfth.”
“December twelfth,” Tyler parroted. “That’s soon, right? Did you know after we get married tonight, Pickett’s mother will be my grandmother?”
Emmie’s eyes turned to Do-Lord in momentary confusion. She must not have much experience with little kids. Do-Lord nodded. “Yes.” She turned back to Tyler. “I knew that.”
Before he could start into another did you know Jax hung Tyler upside down by his hands. Tyler executed a backwards body flip to the ground.
“Hey, Tyler, go get us five more leaves to take to the hotel, okay?”
Tyler held up a hand, fingers spread wide. “Five?”
“Right.”
When the little boy was out of earshot, Jax turned to Do-Lord. “Listen, I just found out his other grandmother, Lauren, is coming to the wedding. Pickett insisted on inviting her.”
Do- Lord whistled softly. Lauren was the mother of Jax’s ex-wife, Danielle. Tyler had stayed with her until Jax could return from Afghanistan. There had never been any love lost between her and Jax, and now she was trying to take Tyler away from him. The wedding wouldn’t have been rushed if not for the need to head off any possibility of her getting Tyler.
“Wait a minute,” Emmie interrupted. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing. I understand where Pickett’s coming from. Lauren might not be the best custodian for Tyler, but she’s still his grandmother. He needs the link to his mother and his past that Lauren can provide.”
“I understand what Pickett’s saying, too. Inviting Lauren was her call, and you know I’m going to back her. I had hoped Lauren wouldn’t accept. Pickett doesn’t know what Lauren is capable of. She hasn’t ever had to deal with her.”
“Don’t sell Pickett short. She’s a lot tougher than she looks. She can deal with anything Lauren can dish out. She’ll protect Tyler if she needs to, but she says it’s best not to protect children from knowing their parents and grandparents.”
Do- Lord laid a careful hand on Emmie’s good shoulder. “You don’t have to defend Pickett to Jax. He’s on her side. She shouldn’t need to handle Lauren on her wedding day. No worries, boss,” he added to Jax. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
Jax nodded his understanding. “Thanks.” He gave Do-Lord and Emmie a considering look, his light-colored eyes flicking between them. “Where are you two off to?”
“Emmie’s ready to leave. I said I’d give her a ride. She can’t drive with her arm in a sling.”
“Is there anything else I need to know?” Jax’s tone was bland, disinterested. Like hell. He knew something was up. Do-Lord wondered what stray flicker of body language had given them away. Do-Lord would just as soon have stayed out of range of Jax’s radar. It would be better if Jax had no foreknowledge of Emmie’s quixotic scheme or Do-Lord’s reasons for agreeing to help her.
“Nah. I’ve got everything handled.” Do-Lord matched Jax’s casual tone perfectly, knowing he didn’t need to add trust me.
“I got ’em. I got the leaves.” Tyler ran back to the adults.
Jax slung his son across his shoulder in a fireman carry. “I’m going to take him back to the hotel so we can swim for a while. Maybe I can drain off a few gallons of excitement and get him to nap.”
Tyler twisted around on his father’s shoulders to regard Do-Lord and Emmie with a look eerily like his father’s. “Don’t forget,” cautioned Tyler. “You gotta be extra special careful when you hug Emmie.”
Do- Lord grinned and noogied the kid’s hair. Tyler was going to need some fine-tuning before he had his father’s ESP. Do-Lord didn’t think any hugs would be needed. Doing a favor would accomplish his goal. “No problem, big guy. See you later.”
Chapter 5
The muscular pickup, parked on the grassy edge of the tree-lined drive, had to be the biggest truck Emmie had ever seen. Do-Lord unlocked the door on the passenger side and held it open.
“This is a new truck, isn’t it?” Emmie stalled for time. “What kind is it?” She had no interest in trucks whatsoever, but she needed a minute to gather her courage to face the pain of climbing in.
“A Silverado 250,” His narrowed eyes traveled over her in cool, deliberate
assessment. Though there was nothing sexual about the way he sized her up, her breath stalled in her throat. She had never felt so looked at in her life. His lips pursed, as if he was fighting a smug smile. “You need help getting in.”
She stiffened. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
He ignored the question. “Do I need to be careful of anything besides your shoulder?”
“Everything else works fine. Really, I can do it.”
Again, he ignored her. “Brace your good hand on my shoulder for balance-” When she didn’t comply, he took her hand and set it on his shoulder. “When I pick you up lean toward me slightly. Don’t want to bump your head.” Not waiting for her agreement, he placed two hard, warm hands on her waist and lifted.
The sheer novelty of the experience streaked in a shocked tingle down her legs and up her spine. She wasn’t the kind of dainty little thing men picked up, and even if she was, she didn’t hang around the kind of jocks who showed off their muscles by picking women up.
Emmie hardly had time to absorb the feeling of his shoulder under her hand before her butt was in contact with the passenger seat, her legs dangling sideways.
She shifted in the seat attempting to swing her feet into the car. Her cheeks turned white. She bit her lip, but she didn’t groan.
“Stop. Don’t twist,” he commanded, anticipating her. “I’ll straighten you up. If the Cargo is already injured, it usually works better if the Cargo lets me do everything.”
One arm around her back steadied her, while the other went under her knees to lift her legs. Dragging on panty hose had been out of the question this morning. His hand brushed the naked back of her legs just above the knee. For one breathless second, she thought it lingered. Then, so smoothly she thought the tiny hiatus hadn’t happened, she was facing forward.
She hastily tugged at the hem of her skirt. Turning had twisted it, baring her thighs. If she’d ever been one to swear, she would have sworn now. Covering her legs, one-handed and with no leverage, was impossible.
“Raise up a little.” His voice, suddenly deeper, grittier, was so close she felt the moist puffs of his breath. “I’ll straighten your skirt.”
Efficiently, but with no trace of hurry, he ran his hand under her buttocks to free the bunched material. When that was done, he firmly and totally unnecessarily, smoothed the wrinkles from the cotton twill.
“Are you done?” Emmie tried to snap but wasn’t sure she succeeded.
“Almost.” He extended the seatbelt, and she realized he intended to buckle her in.
“Enough!” She caught the hand in which he held the metal tab. “I’ll do it, thank you.”
He didn’t release the tab. He just looked at her. Patient. Implacable.
His head was level with hers, so close she could see the gold and brown flecks in his irises. His eyes weren’t cold and hard now.
She had never been on the receiving end of a will so focused it was palpable.
She gasped and drew his scent deep into her lungs. Wool, starch, spice, and some ineluctable, masculine essence. She could still feel the impression his hands and arms had made on her body-the smooth, casual strength with which he took control.
With the same strobe-like intensity as when she had realized one couldn’t judge his personality by his good-humored smile, Emmie suddenly understood this man wouldn’t give up. He never gave up. The knowledge shuddered through her like a gong that had been struck. Without a word spoken she knew she had been warned: let go of the belt or he would do more.
One pointed eyebrow quirked. “Are you going to let me do it now?”
What was he talking about? Stunned by insights, overcome with sensory surfeit, Emmie found the question baffling. As if she could find the answer there, her attention fixated on his mobile mouth. His lips reminded her of Brad Pitt’s, she thought, too bemused to notice the irrelevance. The upper curved in a perfect bow, while the lower poked out as if he knew a secret that poised his lips at the beginning of a smile-or the beginning of a kiss. “Do it?”
“Buckle the seat belt.” This time the grin was outright, genuine, and so steeped in amused arrogance Emmie wanted to writhe in mortification for letting him make her think about kissing, even momentarily.
Heat flooded her face and spread down her chest in a fire that threatened to consume her entire body. Her torso tightened in a weird reflex that included her nipples.
He was so proud of his little display of masculine dominance she wanted to hit him, and that made her writhe because she didn’t believe in violence. And she wanted to run her finger tips over the short velvety-looking hair on his nape-and that made her writhe even more.
Emmie wasn’t na?ve about sexual attraction. No one who worked on a college campus could be. If the massive distraction of sex could be eliminated, the test scores of her students would rise one whole letter grade. But she wasn’t the kind of girl who’d ever needed to be warned against bad boys. She wasn’t the kind who lost her head- but more to the point, she wasn’t the kind bad boys gave a second glance. Or, for that matter, a first one.
And bad boy he was. It didn’t show through anything as clich?d as a leather jacket or a sullen attitude. He’d been all polite, deferent charm to Pickett’s mother and sisters and aunts. He dressed with military polish, and his hair was cut shorter than Jax’s. And yet she was sure he never played by the rules-not unless he fixed them first.
If she could, she’d get out of the truck right now. She’d had all she ever wanted of masculine disdain for her plainness. If he knew what she was thinking, he’d probably laugh.
Thank God, once the seat belt clicked into place, he withdrew without further comment.
Do- Lord shut her door. His fingers left a film of moisture on the chrome handle. Sweaty palms. Shit. When was the last time his hands had sweated from being close to a girl?
He’d been pleased-he’d admit it-when he’d realized Emmie couldn’t climb into his truck without his help. It freed him to take charge, and SEALs liked to be in charge.
For the last two days he’d fought the urge to put himself between her and movement that would cause her pain. No more. She wasn’t going to hurt herself- not on his watch.
But when he’d gone to straighten her up on the seat, his hand had encountered the moist, silky smoothness of her thighs and their soft weight. Turning her had twisted her skirt, exposing her legs to the top of her thigh, allowing him a whiff of her warm, secret woman essence.
It blindsided him. In the way of odors, it bypassed his cerebral cortex and zoomed into his most primitive instincts to survive and to mate. With craving close to pain, he had wanted to bury his head in her lap, press his nose against the source, and draw it deep into his lungs.
If he thought she was the least bit willing, he would lay her down right her beside the
sandy driveway. He would have her on the golden leaves beneath the pecan trees in the thin November sunshine.
His unit had been stateside not quite three months, and he knew himself to be still more than half-wild, his senses tuned to register every nuance of his environment. In the aftermath of combat most guys were sexually charged. He was no exception. But God. He hadn’t expected this.
Apparently he needed a lot more R and R than he’d had.
He’d willed himself to keep his movements slow and nonthreatening while he’d pulled down her skirt. He wasn’t going to go caveman on her. He’d never forced a woman and never would.
Still, invading her space by reaching across her body to buckle her seat belt had been an act of pure male dominance-primitive, atavistic, aboriginal as hell, and damn satisfying. It made getting sweaty hand prints on his new truck almost worth it.
Focus. Knee-buckling lust had thrown him for a minute, but there was a bright side. He drew a deep breath and consciously made his shoulders relax. At last, he’d figured out what irritated him about her, and why he couldn’t stop watching her. Had they not had their battle of wills over the seat belt, had he not been looking straight into those kitten-wide, blue eyes, he wouldn’t have seen them fix on his lips or noticed the flare of her delicate nostrils. His little, spinsterish professor had been turned on too. Now that he could see it, he couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to connect the dots.
He rounded the front of the truck, shrugging out of his sport coat. Since social time was over, he no longer needed it to make the correct impression. Now that he knew what was going on, he had another impression in mind…
Sealed with a promise Page 6
