by Tara Sheets
“Say whatever you want,” Emma said. “I’m going to lay down the law tomorrow evening and it’ll work out. It’ll be totally fine.”
Except it wasn’t.
Chapter Twenty
“You have to understand he lacks good breeding,” Mrs. Mooney announced, clutching Bonbon in one hand. “But Buddy is a sweet dog, in spite of that. Has anyone answered your ad in the paper for him?”
“Nothing yet. One person showed interest but they were single and had four cats. I’d like to find him a family.” Emma wiped down the pastry case and glanced at the clock. It was almost six and she felt like an exposed nerve. Hunter was going to walk through the door any moment, and she had been preparing for it all day. Two days had passed since their kitchen “sexcapade,” and she had been practicing telling him it was a mistake.
Bonbon sneered down at the cupcake case. Mrs. Mooney patted him on the head and droned on about the importance of good breeding. Emma wished the woman would just hurry up and go. With Hunter on the way, she didn’t have the extra brainpower to devote to conversations about Bonbon’s impeccable lineage. She needed to gear up for “the talk.” Maybe if she slapped herself on the face, kind of like a boxer did before a big fight, it would help her focus. She was willing to give it a try.
Mrs. Mooney tsked. “Don’t touch your face with your hands, dear. It puts your delicate skin at risk for breakouts. Fingertips have more germs than a dog’s mouth, did you know?”
Emma glanced dubiously at Bonbon. Drool oozed from between his snaggled front teeth. She’d risk the fingertips.
“Would you like anything before I put the cupcakes away, Mrs. Mooney?” Emma took a quick sip of espresso. She had probably had one too many that afternoon, but she needed strength to face Hunter.
“Got anything for hemorrhoids?”
Emma choked a little. “Um, for Bonbon?” Did dogs suffer from hemorrhoids? She didn’t care enough to check and find out.
“No, of course not. For me. I’ve had the worst time of it lately. Tried everything. There’s these witch hazel pads you can buy to help with the swelling, but I’m still not comfortable.”
Dear Lord, Emma prayed. If you can stop Mrs. Mooney from launching into a detailed description of this ailment, I will be the most devoted—
The wind chimes announced his arrival, but it wasn’t necessary. Emma’s body was a tuning fork, humming the moment he stepped inside her shop. Hunter’s chiseled face was handsomer than she remembered, if that was even possible. All of him was better than she remembered.
He nodded at Mrs. Mooney, then his gaze settled on Emma. A half smile hovered at the corner of his perfect lips, and Emma felt the magnetic pull of him all the way from her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes.
“Mr. Kane, how nice to see you,” Mrs. Mooney said, beaming. Bonbon snarled like a perfect angel. “I was just telling Emma about my—”
“—I’ll be right with you,” Emma sang out. Never could tell where Mrs. Mooney drew the line at polite conversation. “Um, let me just finish up here.” She grabbed the tongs and yanked out a “Nighty Night” cupcake. It wasn’t for Mrs. Mooney’s particular ailment, but it did help a person have a peaceful night’s rest. At least for that night, Mrs. Mooney would sleep well and not be uncomfortable.
“Here you go.” She pasted a smile on her face and boxed the cupcake. “On the house.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet. Thank you, dear. Lovely to see you again, Mr. Kane.” Mrs. Mooney bustled toward the door, then turned at the last minute. “Oh, and Emma, I do think you ought to consider Tommy Jenkins. He’s a sweet young man and he makes his own beer, did you know?”
“How fascinating.” Hunter’s green eyes sparkled with humor but his face remained deadpan.
“Yes. A very creative young man,” Mrs. Mooney added. “I told him he should call Emma. She deserves someone who’s not a hooligan. And there are so many hooligans out there, don’t you know?”
“Truer words have not been spoken,” Hunter said.
“Thanks so much, Mrs. Mooney,” Emma said. “Have a great night.”
When Mrs. Mooney was out the door, Emma threw Hunter a look.
He walked toward her, all lazy-lion smile and tractor-beam magnetism. “Hi.”
Emma swallowed. “Hi.” What sex? I barely remember. “Um, how are you?”
“I’m good.”
He was. He really, really was.
“You?” He leaned his forearms on the counter, his shoulder and arm muscles stretching his blue T-shirt in very delicious, memorable ways. Emma had a flashback of those same arms wrapped around her naked back, pulling her closer. She shook the memory off.
“Oh, I’m fine. I’ve just been working a lot. Nothing big going on.” Except crazy lust-filled dreams about you. “Uh, what have you been up to?”
“I was in Seattle yesterday, taking care of some investment details. Everything’s right on schedule for opening day.”
“That’s great,” Emma said. Nice to know his business that would ruin her own business was coming along swimmingly. The thought was sobering. It snapped her out of her erotic haze.
“We should probably, you know.” She swallowed hard. Discuss what happened between us. “Discuss the festival.” D’oh!
His lids lowered just a fraction of an inch. “Okay.”
For the next twenty minutes, he filled her in on the schedule for the following week. They talked about the painters hired to whitewash the fence down by the wharf. He gave her a USB stick with a vendor booth layout for the summer festival. They discussed store signage updates and crowd control and hiring musicians. And all the while, Emma tried to ignore the tiny licks of pleasure she felt in his presence.
There was an undeniable attraction she couldn’t shake off. That was the problem. Any other man would have been easy to ignore, but being in such close proximity to Hunter made her edgy. She felt like a baby zebra in an open field with a hungry lion tracking her. And she now knew what that hungry lion could do.
When they finally finished discussing the plans, she gave herself a mental heave-ho. Time to lay down the law. It was now or never. She stood up and gathered her paperwork, then leaned against the counter and took a deep breath. “So, about that day you came over. We should probably talk.”
That half smile ghosted across his face again and he crossed his arms. It was a simple gesture of relaxed ease, but Emma didn’t buy it. There was a hunger in his dark green gaze that she remembered all too well. The lion was on high alert.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asked.
“It was wrong,” she blurted.
Hunter’s posture shifted slightly. “You think it was a mistake.”
“Totally. I mean, I never do that kind of thing. Ever. I don’t know what I was thinking, you know?” Here came the babble. She always babbled when she was nervous. “But I know it’s not a good idea to mix my personal life with business. And you and I are just business, so I hope you understand it’s not going to continue because, you know, I can’t really believe it even happened in the first place.”
His gaze was intense, like he was imagining the things they could do. The things they had done. A delicious shiver skittered up her spine. She forged ahead. “I mean, I just don’t think it should have happened at all. It was kind of crazy and well, contrary to what you may have heard, I’m not actually crazy. Weird, sure. But not reckless like that. At least I never have been in the past. So anyway, I would like to forget about it and, you know, just go on like before,” said the queen of Babble-on. “Normal and stuff.”
Hunter nodded once and glanced down at the floor. He seemed deep in thought, as if he was trying to make a decision.
Emma tried not to notice his muscular arms, crossed against his chest. Nothing sexy about those. Nope. La la la. She could hear the second hands ticking on the wall clock. Tick. Tick.
He pressed his lips together and she suddenly remembered the feel of them, warm and hot against the sensitive
spot on her neck. Focus!
When he finally lifted his head, her knees almost buckled. The lion stared back, all wild and hungry and seductive, like he was about to lick zebra chops. He leaned closer.
She should probably back away.
He watched her beneath thick, dark lashes and lowered his gaze to her mouth.
Yup. Definitely backing away soon. She could almost feel the heat of his body on hers and her traitorous limbs ached with the desire to step closer.
His face hovered inches from hers, as if he was waiting for some sign.
Any second now, she would back away. Any second. Emma’s mouth opened on a tiny indrawn breath.
It seemed to be exactly what he was waiting for. The moment his lips touched hers, her limbs flooded with heat. Her body remembered him and was instantly ready.
He gripped her hips and lifted, pulling her flush against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, completely lost in the kiss that spread like wildfire through her blood. He carried her to the back room, knocking over a bag of sugar on the way as he braced her up against the pantry wall. She gripped the edge of the shelf, sending stainless steel mixing bowls toppling to the floor. The two of them were like a hurricane, demolishing anything that got in the way, and she was helpless to do anything but hang on.
Emma suddenly wanted to feel his skin against hers. She grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it up, breaking away from their kiss just long enough to tear it over his head.
A low growl escaped him as he ran his hands up under her apron, sending a jolt of pure desire rocketing through her.
Screwed. She was so screwed. But in this moment, who cared?
She smiled against his mouth and licked his lips. If he was the hungry lion, then she was happy, slow-roasting zebra chops.
* * *
The zebra drove home sometime later, her hair a tangled mass down her back. They hadn’t even spoken until they said good-bye. He had cupped her face and kissed her, then whispered, “Come out with me tomorrow.”
She said yes, because it was her day off. And because in spite of her determination to break things off, she wanted to see him again. What was it with her and sex in kitchens? Her face flamed with the memory of what had just happened on the kitchen floor as she brushed spilled sugar from her hair. He was like a drug and she couldn’t seem to get enough of him.
Buddy was curled in the passenger seat next to her when she pulled up to her house. She gathered him up in her arms. “Buddy, am I crazy?”
Always supportive, he licked her chin, clearly appreciating the sugar coating that still clung to her clothes and hair. Buddy wasn’t going to judge her. He never did. Emma smiled and stroked his soft fur. The best thing about him was that he seemed to love her, no matter what.
Maybe being with Hunter wasn’t such a bad thing, Emma thought as she climbed out of the car. People had flings all the time. Maybe she should just go with it and enjoy it while it lasted. Hunter Kane could be her secret fling. A thrill shot through her, ricocheting from her head to her feet. She liked the idea of having a secret fling. It made her feel wild and strong and somehow . . . normal.
Emma walked up to her house, stopping on the porch. A large bouquet of red roses sat on the doormat. Something unpleasant twisted in her stomach. Rodney always gave her red roses when he felt guilty or needed to apologize. She’d had a lot of them over the years. With great reluctance, she pulled the note card out of the envelope and read:
Angel, please don’t shut me out forever.
I’m not going to give up on you.—Rodney
The note was like a bucket of slimy mop water dumped over her head. Just. Yuck. She crumpled the card in her hand and entered her house. The roses went straight into the trash. Juliette would kill her for tossing fresh flowers, but she didn’t have to know. Emma stifled a pang of guilt. There was a lot Juliette didn’t have to know. Mood already ruined, she sat down at the kitchen table and began opening her mail. The overdue mortgage notices were just par for the course. Once, the Holloways had owned the house free and clear, but Emma and her grandmother had been forced to take out a loan against it when all the medical bills came rolling in. Between the two of them, they had struggled just to make ends meet. Now, as she glanced down at the bills, she felt more alone than ever.
Chapter Twenty-One
When Hunter approached Emma’s house on Wednesday morning, the door swung open before he reached the porch. He half expected to see her on the other side, but nobody was there.
The house was letting him in, it seemed. He paused in the doorway. “Thanks?”
If someone told him he’d be talking to inanimate objects a month ago, he’d have said they were crazy. Now the rational side of his brain was telling him he was the crazy one. After all that stuff about magic Emma had shown him, he was still trying to find logical answers.
Old houses settled. He crossed the threshold. Old houses were drafty. He stepped into the foyer. Old houses—
The door shut quietly behind him.
All right, fine. This was not an ordinary old house. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. It was unbelievable. None of this made sense. And yet, when Emma entered the room barefoot in a soft white sundress, he simply believed.
Her face was like sunlight. “I see the house let you in again. It keeps doing that.”
“Maybe it likes me.”
“Or maybe it just wants you to do more repairs. It’s resourceful like that.” A door shut firmly upstairs and Emma laughed.
Hunter wanted to pick her up and spin her around like a fool, but he held back. Something about her really messed with his common sense. He wasn’t used to feeling so out of control.
“What is that?” She pointed to the bundle in his hand.
He held out the five rawhide bones tied with a red ribbon. The woman at the pet store had done it when he told her it was a gift. “For Buddy. I thought he’d like it.” He suddenly felt like an idiot. When was the last time he’d given a woman something so stupid? Women wanted flowers or jewelry, not chew toys for their dogs.
Emma took the bouquet of bones and held them down for Buddy to sniff. The puppy gnawed at the ribbon, tail spinning with joy.
“They’re so perfect,” Emma said. “Thank you.” A tremulous smile stretched across her face and Hunter reached down to pat the puppy’s head, avoiding her gaze. She was so beautiful, when she looked at him like that, it did things to his sanity. If they didn’t leave soon, he was going to toss her over his shoulder and carry her up to her room.
“You ready to go?” Say no. Say you want to go upstairs instead.
“Okay.”
Fine, he’d wait. He wasn’t a panting teenage boy, dammit, even though she made him feel like one. It seemed like every time he saw her, all he could think about was getting her naked. But she deserved more. Besides, the idea of spending the afternoon with her on a picnic was almost better than the alternative. Lately, he just wanted to be near her. It didn’t even matter what they did. That was the damned mystery of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way about anyone, if ever.
They drove out to Siren Point, a park with a lighthouse that overlooked the north side of the island. It was a gorgeous day with not a cloud in the sky. A soothing breeze blew in off the shore and a pair of dragonflies flitted over the grass. Emma set Buddy loose to run around while she arranged a picnic basket on a blanket.
“Is that lighthouse still in use?” Hunter asked.
“No, it’s just a landmark now. They keep it locked, but Juliette and I snuck in once when we were kids. It was kind of disappointing. No hidden pirate treasure or ghosts rattling chains. Just a bunch of cobwebs and dust, and it’s empty now. But a man and his wife used to live here, or so the story goes.”
Hunter stretched out on the blanket and plucked a grape from the basket. “What’s the story?”
Emma poured them each a glass of wine, then sat cross-legged beside him. He wanted to reach out and draw h
er closer, but he stopped himself. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be fawning over her like a lovestruck teenager. He sipped his wine instead.
“Over a hundred years ago,” Emma began, “a young man lived in the lighthouse. He kept the ships from crashing against the rocks in the winter, when the fog rolls in so thick sometimes you can’t even see your hand in front of your face. He was a young man, having taken over the lighthouse after his father died. One day, he saw a woman on the rocks, washed in from the sea. According to the story, he rescued her and they fell in love.
“For several years, they lived happily together beside the ocean. On the seventh year, a big storm hit the island. The man woke in the middle of the night to find his wife gone, and he ran into the storm to find her. She was standing at the edge of the rocks, staring longingly out at the thrashing sea. Before he could stop her, she blew him a kiss good-bye, and dove into the waves. By the light of the full moon, he saw her come up for air several yards from shore. She dove up out of the waves and that’s when he saw her pearly, shimmering tail. She was a mermaid, and the ocean was calling her home.
“For the rest of his life, the man lived in the lighthouse, always watching the horizon, always hoping she would return. As time passed, the villagers felt sorry for him. They tried to set him up with nice women from the village, but the man could never love anyone again. He really had no choice, because he had been touched by magic. He would spend the rest of his days pining away for his impossible girl.”
“That might be the most depressing story I’ve ever heard,” Hunter said.
Emma laughed. “I guess it is, but it’s tragically romantic. A typical old island fable. They were star-crossed lovers, doomed from the start.”
“Like I said, depressing.” He grinned and popped another grape into his mouth.
She stretched beside him on the blanket. “Yes, but at least the man got a nice, joyful seven years with her. What if he had never loved at all? It could’ve been worse.”
