With a shrug, she walked out to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator and taking a long drink before putting the cap back on and stretching. As she did every night, Emery double-checked the locks on the front door before shutting off the lights on her way to her room. Closing the bedroom door, she pulled back the duvet on the bed and slid between the sheets.
Remember to ask Eliza where she got these, because they’re fabulous. The sheets were glorious, the pillows were perfect, and if she were honest with herself, this whole experience was like staying at a five-star resort rather than someone’s home. And considering this wasn’t the Montgomerys’ primary residence, it was even more impressive. Maybe I should send her a gift basket to thank her.
Thoughts of whether to send flowers or chocolates or both swirled in her mind as she got comfortable and turned out the light. As predicted, it didn’t take long to fall asleep. One minute she was thinking of baskets, and the next—
A sound in the distance woke her up.
Emery wasn’t a particularly light sleeper, but after the whole situation with Derek, there had been many nights when the media were outside her home making all kinds of racket in hopes of getting her to come out and talk to them. It had put her on edge then, and apparently, she hadn’t gotten over it yet. Holding her breath, she waited until she heard it again.
And she did.
Cursing quietly, she climbed from the bed and tried to think of something she could use as a weapon. The last thing she wanted to do was turn on the light and alert whoever was here to her presence, but in the dark she wasn’t quite sure of what she could get her hands on.
And where the hell was her phone?
With her ear pressed against the bedroom door, she thought she heard the sound of someone in the kitchen. She could hear the refrigerator door opening and closing and then the same with a cabinet or two. Seriously? Someone breaks in and makes themselves at home? What in the world?
With no other choice, Emery reached into the closet and pulled out a shoe—more specifically, a stiletto—and silently opened the bedroom door.
Sure enough, the light was on in the kitchen and she could see the shadow of whoever was in there making themselves something to eat. On tiptoes, she made her way down the short hallway in stealth mode, stopping with her back against the wall. Her heart was racing as she considered her options.
Jump out and scream?
Sneak up behind him and scream?
Use one of the moves from her self-defense class and scream?
It didn’t take long for her to notice a pattern, and she had to rack her brain for the best way to handle the situation. Glancing back down the hall, Emery remembered tossing her purse on the upholstered chair in the corner of her room. Maybe she should just go back and—
She screamed.
A large figure had loomed in front of her—his arm against her throat and his entire body pinning her to the wall. It took all of three seconds before he released her.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re—Emery? What are you doing here?”
Simple enough question—but breathless and wound tight from fright, Emery passed out cold.
* * *
Holy crap… He’d killed her.
Carter dropped to his knees and gently shook her the second Emery collapsed. “Emery? Emery, come on now…wake up!” Fear had him by the throat when he realized how rough he’d been with her a moment ago. He had no idea anyone was staying here and thought she was a burglar—how was he supposed to know it was Emery? And for that matter, he was still confused as all get-out why she was here.
Giving her another small shake before checking her pulse, he continued to coax her to wakefulness.
His hand getting smacked away was kind of a shock.
“You still know how to make an entrance, Montgomery,” she murmured, slowly sitting up. Looking around as if still a little dazed, she took her time before letting her eyes land on him. And when they did, they were shooting daggers.
“Are you okay?” Hesitantly, he reached out to help her to her feet and once again she moved his hand away. It wasn’t until she was up and steady on her feet that he realized how little she was wearing. “Um…Emery?”
“What is your deal, Carter? Why would you attack me like that?” she demanded.
“Yeah, so… I had no idea you were here and—could you please go put some damn clothes on?” If he wasn’t so freaked out over what had just happened, he would have laughed at her shocked expression when she looked down and realized she was in nothing more than boy shorts and a clingy shirt.
With a muttered curse, Emery spun around and practically sprinted to her room, slamming the door behind her.
It took a minute for Carter to breathe normally. Resting a hand on the wall, he tried to gather his wits. When had everything gotten out of control? Why didn’t his mother mention any of this to him? How could she not come out and tell him that the one person who’d aggravated the crap out of him for most of his school years was staying in their condo? If it wasn’t so damn late he’d call his mother and find out, but now he had no choice but to talk to Emery and find out from her instead.
Walking back into the kitchen, he finished his drink and waited for Emery to come back out.
And waited.
And waited.
It was already after midnight and all Carter wanted was to get undressed and go to bed. His dinner had gone longer than planned because he’d got to talking to the owner, who’d then introduced him to the chef and it became a very lengthy thing. The food had been spectacular, and before he knew it he’d lost track of time. The entire time as he walked home, all he could think of was how satisfied he was and how ready he was for sleep.
That plan was shot to hell now that he had to deal with Emery.
He finally realized she wasn’t coming back out, and that just got him all riled up again. Stomping down the hall, he knocked on the door. “Emery?”
No answer.
Great, maybe he really had hurt her and she was passed out again. He threw the door open, and she let out a small scream when she spotted him.
From under the blankets in the bed.
Son of a…
His first thought was how he was going to strangle her, but then realized he knew exactly how to get back at her.
Leaning lazily in the doorway, he crossed his arms and simply stared at her. The small bedside lamp was on, so he had no problem seeing every emotion play on her face—and he remembered each and every expression from all those years in school together.
First she was shocked.
Then she looked at him expectantly.
When he did nothing but quirk a brow at her, she got mildly annoyed.
Followed by majorly annoyed.
The huff of frustration was next, along with narrowing her eyes at him, and Carter had to fight a smile because he had forgotten how much fun this could be.
“Dammit, Carter! What do you want?”
His eyes went wide. “What do I want? Seriously? I come home to my family’s place and find you here! And I believe I asked you exactly what you were doing here and you chose not to answer!”
“I fainted, you idiot!” she cried, clutching the duvet to her chest.
Then he moved from the doorway and sauntered across the room, looking at all of her things scattered about before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Whatever,” he said casually. “I figured you’d grab a robe and come back out and talk to me like an adult. Clearly only one of us has matured.” He gave a careless shrug and looked at her with an easy grin.
Yeah, she looked ready to spit nails.
And it was awesome.
“Only one?” Emery sputtered, sitting up straighter. “Look, what is your deal, Carter? You knew I was going to be here! We’re working on the cookbook this week!”
For a moment he was too stunned to speak.
Or blink.
Or breathe.
“Um…what?”
She nodded vigorously. “The cookbook? The one you gave a half-assed effort to? Any of this ringing a bell?”
Now he was annoyed. “Yes, I’m familiar with the project,” he deadpanned. “What I’m not familiar with is what any of it has to do with you.”
Emery’s mouth opened and then quickly closed as she looked at him with disbelief.
They were at a stalemate, continuing to stare at one another. It was making Carter crazy. All he’d wanted was to come back to the condo after enjoying a good meal and get some sleep. Now his mind was racing, he was more than a little ticked off at his mother, and—and what? Studying Emery, he couldn’t quite say what he was feeling.
Annoyance. Always stick to annoyance where Emery Monaghan is concerned.
Good advice.
Unfortunately, now that they were both a little calmer he could see the effects of her fiancé’s scandal on her. She looked tired—and not just because it was late. He could see the circles under her eyes. Normally, whenever they used to spar, those same eyes would twinkle.
They were fairly dim and wary now, and that—for some reason—had him wanting to hunt down the bastard and punch him in the face on principle. No doubt Emery could be a pain in the ass, but she didn’t deserve to be treated the way Whitman had treated her.
No one did.
With a loud sigh, Carter raked a hand through his hair and stood, his eyes never leaving hers. “It’s late. Let’s just talk about this in the morning, okay?”
Emery nodded.
“You gonna be okay?” he asked, figuring maybe she wasn’t saying much because he’d hurt her earlier in the hallway. “I mean, I know I got a little rough out there and…are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
While it had been fun giving her the silent treatment only minutes ago, Carter found it less than entertaining to be on the receiving end. Moving in close, he braced his hands on the bed on either side of her hips and leaned in until they were nose to nose. “I’m not leaving until you say something.”
And that’s when he saw it.
A hint of a twinkle.
“Something,” she said quietly, her lips twitching.
He surprised himself by placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Good girl.” Stepping away, he made his way across the room and stopped in the doorway, his hand on the door knob. “Get some sleep. We’ll figure this all out in the morning.” Carter had the door almost completely shut when he turned and looked at her one last time. “Good night, Em.”
“’Night, Carter.”
This time he shut the door and walked across the hall to the other guest room. It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her she was sleeping in his room, but what would have been the point? They were both more than a little stressed out, and while he couldn’t speak for Emery, Carter knew he’d feel more in control the morning after a good night’s sleep.
And an early morning call to his mother.
Remembering his suitcase was still in the living room, he hung his head and went to retrieve it. Trudging to the guest bedroom, his limbs suddenly felt like lead and the thought of doing anything more than climbing into bed seemed too much.
Closing the bedroom door behind him, Carter placed his luggage in the closet, stripped down to his boxer briefs, and tossed the duvet and sheets back. The cool cotton felt amazing against his skin and as soon as his head hit the pillow, all of his muscles began to relax. For several minutes he tried to make himself think of all the things he was going to have to address tomorrow with Emery—mainly, how he didn’t need or want her help. But…
He yawned instead and thought of how vulnerable she had looked as he walked out of her room, and dammit, he didn’t want to focus on that. Yeah, she’d had a rough time of it recently, and yeah, she probably needed something to keep her mind off of the cheating scumbag she was engaged to, but that didn’t mean he had to be involved in any way, shape, or form. Uh-uh. No way. Not his problem.
Rolling onto his side, Carter punched his pillow and let out a long breath. And as he lost the fight to keep his eyes open, his last thought was how he wished he’d gone directly to Montauk, because the sound of the waves would be awesome right about now.
* * *
“What the hell are you eating?”
Emery choked and coughed for several moments before she could respond. “It’s a Pop-Tart, Carter.” She waved the chocolate pastry in the air for emphasis.
His hair was a mess and he was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt. He looked fairly exhausted. Emery glanced at the clock and saw it was a little after eight o’clock, but she had a feeling Carter could have used another eight hours of sleep.
“Why would you eat something like that?” he grumbled as he walked over and made himself a cup of coffee.
“Because it’s delicious,” she said, feeling happy with her choice of a chocolate-filled, chocolate-covered breakfast. “It’s even better with a tall glass of milk!” Which she then held up for him to see.
He groaned. “Is it because there isn’t a lot of food here? I planned on shopping at some point today. I’ll make sure to get you some real breakfast foods so you don’t have to eat…that.”
Rolling her eyes, Emery popped another piece into her mouth. When she was done chewing, she asked, “What do you mean by real breakfast foods?”
Shrugging, Carter added milk and sugar to his mug before facing her. “Eggs, cheese, fruit…you know, real foods.”
“I’m not a fan of any of those things,” she said casually. “Especially the fruit.” She shuddered for emphasis.
“What do you mean you’re not a fan of fruit? Everyone likes fruit!”
“Not me.” She took another bite of her breakfast and had to fight the urge to laugh. There was a vein bulging at his temple and if he gripped his mug any tighter, it would shatter. “Although…does jelly count? Like grape jelly? Because I love a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
No doubt his molars were being ground into dust.
“Sometimes I eat strawberry Pop-Tarts. That probably counts as fruit, right?”
Slamming his mug down on the kitchen island, he muttered a colorful array of words as he paced back and forth. It was highly entertaining, and it felt good to feel…happy. Yes, that’s exactly what Emery was feeling right now. Happy. There was a lightness in her chest that hadn’t been there in years.
Damn.
It really had been years since she’d felt silly and carefree and…
“Do you think there’s fruit in jelly beans?” she asked, knowing full well there wasn’t. “Do you think that’s why I don’t like them?”
“Emery…”
She took the last bite of her toaster pastry and smiled sweetly at him. When she stood up, she walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. “I know there’s not much here, but I did buy a box of Lucky Charms and there’s milk.” She paused and scanned the contents. “There’s some white bread for toast.” Peeking her head out from behind the door, she looked at him. “And I do have some jelly, so you could put that on it if you’d like. You know, get some fruit in for breakfast.”
“That isn’t quite what I had in mind, and I think you know it,” he said.
With a shrug, Emery closed the refrigerator, threw away her napkin, and rinsed out her glass. Taking her seat again at the island, she figured now was as good a time as any to start talking about the project.
“I looked at the recipe files you sent over and I think I know how we can improve on them,” she said.
Carter’s bark of laughter stopped her from going any further.
“Excuse me,” she said stiffly. “What’s so funny?”
Leaning on the
granite, Carter took a moment to compose himself. “Emery, you just sat here explaining your eating habits, which could rival any five-year-old’s, and you think you’re going to give me advice—me, a trained chef—on how to improve my recipes? I mean, do you not see how ridiculous that sounds?”
Well… She hadn’t until he worded it like that.
Unfortunately, now it felt like a challenge and she never backed down from a challenge where Carter Montgomery was concerned.
Studying him for a moment, she cleared her throat and prepared to make her case. “Actually, I wasn’t implying that I could improve your recipes. After all, I’m not a trained chef—as you so nicely pointed out,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “However, the recipes you chose are completely uninspired and typically something that can be found in just about any cookbook anywhere. I think my sister-in-law has a similar one that all the moms from her daughter’s preschool put together.”
He straightened as his expression went fierce. “Now, wait a minute.”
Because she had been studying the files for the last several days—including this morning over her Pop-Tart—Emery reached across the island for her folder and opened it before speaking again.
“Stuffed Holiday Turkey?” she asked and then looked at him. “Uninspired.” She flipped to the next recipe. “Glazed Christmas Ham? Aren’t there companies who do that for you so all you need to do is heat it up?”
“Not if you want to—”
She held up a hand to stop him. “You went from boring to ridiculous,” she stated, glancing at most of the remaining recipes. “Everything else contains ingredients most people wouldn’t eat or would be too intimidated to try to make.” Closing the folder, she eyed him. “And what is your obsession with gouda?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me—so many of those recipes involve gouda. There are other cheeses, you know.”
“Are you sure? Because judging by your earlier comments, I’d bet good money you couldn’t name more than three.”
Slowly coming to her feet, Emery took a few steps toward him. “Just because I don’t like to eat your pretentious food doesn’t mean I’m ignorant, Carter. And don’t think for one minute that you’re better than I am because you cook fancy food for a living. I know where you came from and I happen to know you grew up eating the same things I did, so don’t try to act superior to me.”
A Dash of Christmas Page 3
