It was only recently that she’d found reasons to come out of that haven. And the two main ones were, right at this moment, lying on the floor of her living room, sharing one of the most tender, lovely scenes she’d ever personally witnessed.
“He likes you,” said a young woman’s voice, so filled with happiness it made Emily’s heart ache to hear it.
“I like him, too,” was the laughing response as a dark-haired man bounced a sweet baby on his stomach. “He’s perfect, Allie.”
The three of them—man, woman and baby—were sprawled out on the carpet, the strange man having won little Hank over immediately with his warm voice and gentle tickling. They were laughing, touching, loving. Forming the new family Emily had prayed her young friend—and tenant—Allie Cavanaugh would find.
And now she’d found it. The handsome young drifter Allie had fallen so madly in love with earlier this summer had come back for her. He’d been waiting here for her when Allie had gotten home from working at Mr. Potts’s house this afternoon.
Emily had seen him outside, in his car, and had known immediately who he was. She’d been worried at first, knowing how hurt the girl had been by his rejection last month. But when Allie had brought him inside to meet both her and the baby, the gleam of love shining in the man’s startlingly violet eyes had been completely undeniable, especially to an expert like Emily.
Which both thrilled her…and broke her heart. Because it meant one thing: she was going to be alone again. The single mother and her one-year-old son, who’d become Emily’s family since moving into the small upstairs apartment last fall, were now going to be part of someone else’s family. This man’s.
“As it should be,” she murmured, watching from the dining room as she laid out plates for supper.
Before calling them in, she wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her dress. She wouldn’t want the blissfully happy young woman to think for a moment that Emily wasn’t thrilled that, once again, true love had conquered all.
If only it had, just once, done so for Emily.
CHAPTER THREE
“My husband died” is so much simpler to say than “My husband screwed our eighteen-year-old babysitter in the back seat of our Lexus and is now shacking up with her in Laguna Beach while I try to bleed the bastard dry for child support.”
—Why Arsenic Is Better Than Divorce by Jennifer Feeney
THROUGHOUT THE REST of their brief drive into town, Jen’s reluctant rescuer kept the conversation to a bare minimum. Keeping his hands tight on the steering wheel, his jaw remained rock hard, his lips firmly set, making her wonder if she’d imagined the smile she’d seen once or twice since they’d met. He sat up straight, military-like, and with the single exception of the line about her panties, he hadn’t made any effort to flirt with her. Or pick her up. Or even ask for her phone number.
From some men, she’d think the behavior was just gentlemanly. But she sensed that Mike Taylor, though he’d certainly been good to come to her aid, didn’t much care about things like being a gentleman.
She knew his type. She’d written about his type in her books. He was the dark, sexy, intense brooder who could have a woman on her back with her legs over his strong shoulders within five minutes of meeting her.
Then he’d be gone. On to his next challenge, his next woman in need. The lonesome cowboy or hardened soldier, having satisfied his basic urges and taken care of his little woman, would head back to battle, leaving her behind to clean up whatever messes he’d caused along the way. Typical story…he saves the world, she pays the electric bill.
How many women had written to her about this type of man during her days as the Single in the City columnist at Her Life? How many more had she talked to when writing her books?
Tons. And they all had the same story. The classic Mr. Hot and Deadly might be wickedly good in the bedroom, but he failed in nearly every other aspect of a relationship.
So just have sex with him.
Though the idea came out of nowhere, it certainly did have merit. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had no-strings sex. Being the Single in the City girl, it had almost seemed like her sacred duty to be out there participating in the bar hookup scene on the occasional Saturday night. Of course, that had been many years ago, when she’d been twenty-three, stupid and horny.
Now she was twenty-nine, wise…and still horny.
Being honest, she had to admit the idea of having sex with him had not come out of nowhere. Her body had been intensely aware of him from the moment he’d stopped to pick her up. She’d just been too angry at being ditched to really consider it until now. But how could she not have noticed his hot, masculine smell and the coiled strength of his body? Especially once they were enclosed in the small confines of his Jeep.
He was just about the hottest thing she’d ever seen and Jen had gone past amber straight to red alert right around the time he’d oh-so-casually mumbled that line about silky panties and soft thighs. Even now, minutes later, she had to shift in her seat as his words rolled around in her brain again, the memory of that gruff voice driving all other sound away. The rumble of the engine, the hiss of the air conditioner, the whoosh of the world passing by as they drove through it…
Ceased. To. Exist.
There was just the echo and his low, nearly inaudible breaths. And maybe the thudding of her own heart. Having opened the floodgates in her mind, she was now nearly drowning from the erotic possibilities playing out there.
“You cool enough?” he asked, glancing over at her, as if he could feel the temperature rising with the heat of her thoughts.
Jen quickly nodded, crossing her arms in front of her, where goose bumps suddenly rose.
He noticed. Was there anything he didn’t notice? “Sorry, turn the AC down if you’re too cold.”
“I’m fine,” she muttered, wishing he’d just shut up, stop looking at her, stop noticing everything about her. She needed him to get out of her head so she could figure out what to do about her interest in him.
Because there were definitely some issues preventing her from acting on that interest.
First, she was staying with her crazy aunts who would probably drug Jennifer and steal the man for themselves if she ever did get him into her bed. Second, she was so out of practice with the let’s-get-it-on game that she wasn’t even sure how to tell him she was interested in no-strings sex. And third, he’d shown almost no sign that he was the least bit attracted to her.
That, more than anything, kept her from so much as making a suggestive offer to pay him back for his help. If she’d felt certain her interest was returned, she might have given it a shot. But he hadn’t, other than that one comment about her underwear, which almost seemed not to have happened at all given how reserved he’d been for the rest of the drive.
She was too weary, wary and on guard to risk rejection right now. Especially after having been so soundly rejected by her own relatives less than an hour ago.
Jen knew she was attractive, but men had as often spewed at her as flirted with her lately, especially after her appearance on a national morning show to promote her new book. She’d gotten both creepy propositions and hate mail from men afterward. Those she could usually ignore, but some nasty calls to her unlisted home number she could not. They’d concerned her, which was why this trip to Trouble had been so perfectly timed.
“So,” she said, trying to fill the silence, “your grandfather said he just moved here last year?”
He nodded.
When he didn’t say anything, she reached in and tried to pull a few more teeth…er, words…out of his mouth. “I thought most people chose to move