Unintentionally Mine

by Stephanie Rowe

  He relaxed under her gaze, and a small smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. "You get it," he said softly.

  "I still think you shouldn't go. Not if you think you might die. You have to listen to your instincts." She thought back to the night of her wedding, while she'd been standing in the foyer of that beautiful church. "I knew something was wrong," she said softly. "Right before I married Preston, I was suddenly terrified. I felt like something was going to leap out of the earth and swallow me up." She managed a small smile. "I thought it was nerves, but it wasn't. My instincts picked up on something, and I didn't listen." She met his gaze. "If you feel like this mission will go bad, don't go."

  He studied her, and she grimaced, bracing herself for his harsh retort that she didn't have the right to talk to him like that, or to make judgments about his life. Harlan was a man that practically bled independence. No way would he tolerate her offering her opinion—

  "My father died alone," he said softly, surprising her with a confession instead of hostility and condemnation. "He died in the woods, and no one knew or cared that he was gone. I found him months later. He'd been half-eaten by scavengers, rotting away two miles from the town he'd lived in his whole life. No one cared. No one looked for him. He just lay there, injured, waiting to die, and knowing that no one gave a shit."

  Her heart tightened. "That's so sad."

  "I don't want that to be me."

  Emma touched his face, her heart aching for him. A man like Harlan would never talk of these things, not with strangers, not with women. She knew that, and yet in the darkness, on the eve of what he thought was his death, the words came. "Astrid would look for you—"

  "She didn't. I've been gone for almost a year, and she let me go."

  "That's not fair. She sent emails, and you didn't answer—"

  "Not the same." He gripped her wrist. "It's not the same."

  "Well, you have to reach out and—"

  "Marry me, Emma."

  She froze, sudden terror careening through her. "What?" She must have heard wrong. She must have—

  "Marry me." He took her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. "Let me put your name on the emergency contact form so that when I die, they have someone to tell. Someone to bring me home to. Someone who will notice."

  Tears began to burn in her eyes, for his pain, and for her own fear...as well as the aching desire in her to say yes. "Harlan, we barely know each other. Astrid should be the one to take care of things if you die—"

  "No. I won't do that to her." He cupped her face, his fingers rough against her jaw. "But you've been there. You've seen darkness. You understand."

  "I won't get married again," she whispered. "It broke me, Harlan. It really broke me. I believed in him, and I was wrong. So wrong. I can't go back there. I can't trap myself like that. I can't make a mistake like that again—"

  "No, sweet Emma." He pressed his lips to her forehead, a kiss so gentle it made more tears fall. How could this man of such darkness be so tender? "I want nothing from you. It's not a real marriage. It's just a promise to notice when I die."

  "I can notice that without marrying you." Because she would notice. Dear God, in one day, this man she'd watched from afar had come plunging into her life and torn it apart. She wanted to tell him not to go on the stupid mission and die, but she knew there was no chance. He had to go. She could feel it in his words, in the weight of his gaze. He was running from demons, just as she was, and he was using his work to escape. "How can you ask me to marry you just so I can mourn your death? What kind of request is that?"

  For a long moment, Harlan said nothing. He just sat there with his head bowed, his forehead against hers. Finally, he squeezed her hands and sat up, releasing her. "You're right."

  "What?" The air suddenly felt so cold with him gone, a chill that seemed to burrow right into her bones.

  Harlan slouched back in the driver's seat, no longer facing her, but looking forward. His left arm was draped over the steering wheel, the other resting on the gearshift that was on the side of the boat, by his right hip. "I'm a bastard," he said softly. "I should never have asked that of you." He ran his hand through his hair and glanced at her. "That wasn't my plan. I don't know why I did it. Forget it, okay? No pressure."

  She managed a smile, but she didn't feel relief. Instead, she felt a sudden urge to leap and grab at the offer before he could retract it. "It's okay."

  "Thanks." But he didn't start the boat. He just sat there while it floated. The air grew cooler, and Emma started to shiver.

  Harlan glanced over at her. "Cold?"

  She shook her head, not wanting to give him a reason to take them home. "No."

  He raised one brow. "I could warm you up."

  She burst out in nervous laughter, even as her body pulsed in response. "You're hitting on me?"

  He shrugged. "Going away to war tomorrow, darlin'. Might be my last night on the earth." He winked at her, no doubt trying to diffuse the tension. "Show a soldier a little love, yes?"

  She shoved her hands into her pockets. "You're incorrigible. Was that all the proposal was? An attempt to get into my pants?" No man had gotten into her pants in a long time, and she'd had no interest in it either. But with the way Harlan was looking at her, she was thinking of things she hadn't thought about in a long time.

  "No. I'd still marry you if you'd be up for it. Getting you naked is completely different." His eyes were dark. "You do something to me, Emma Larson. You always have."

  Heat pulsed through her at his confession. All those times she'd been craving his touch, he'd been experiencing the same reaction? She quickly shook her head, trying to chase away tempting thoughts that were far too dangerous. "Stop it. I don't have sex anymore."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I don't want to."

  "No?" He moved closer. "I think you're a liar."

  Her heart started to pound. "I'm not a liar. I'm terrified," she whispered.

  His eyes darkened. "Of sex?"

  "Of men. Of making myself vulnerable. Of failing."

  "Failing at sex?"

  She nodded.

  He cupped her jaw, moving in closer. "Emma, babe, your ex-husband should be shot."

  Then he kissed her.

  Chapter 5

  Emma froze when Harlan's lips descended upon hers. The kiss was electrifying and terrifying, flooding her with a torrent of emotions so powerful they seemed to chase all sanity and self-preservation from her mind. He tasted like vanilla, with a hint of freshly brewed coffee—all natural, all man, and pure heat.

  She couldn't have said no, even if she wanted to...but she didn't want to stop him. For the first time in so long, so excruciatingly long, the sensation of a man's mouth on hers didn't feel like an assault trying to destroy her. It was a sensual caress of delicate seduction, a decadent temptation of pure desire.

  Unbidden, her hands drifted to his shoulders, to the mass of rock-hard strength beneath her palms. Heat seemed to burn through her skin where she gripped his shoulders. She felt his steel muscles shift as he raised his hand and wrapped it around the back of her neck, steadying her under his onslaught of seduction.

  For a split second, she tensed, grabbing his wrist in self-defense.

  He stopped the kiss immediately. "He trapped you by your hair, didn't he?"

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she still couldn't relax her grip on his wrist, or quell her need to pull his hand away from her hair. "How do you know that?"

  "Because it scared you when I did that." He released her hair and ran his hand down her arm, his face still resting against hers. "I know how to scare people, but I didn't mean to scare you."

  "It's okay." She realized she was trembling now. "It's not you. It's me. I have issues."

  He laughed softly and pulled back, but his eyes were dark and impenetrable. "We all have issues, Emma. If you didn't, I'd think you were dull and delusional."

  She laughed then, relieved that he didn't expect her to be some ray of sp
arkling sunshine. "Well, you don't need to worry about that. I'm fully loaded." She didn't even know why she was telling him. She worked hard to be normal, to function in society, to hide all the damage she still battled from her marriage. She didn't want to be seen as the woman who couldn't move on, as the woman who was too weak to reclaim her life.

  But for some reason, Harlan made her feel like it was okay to admit it. Maybe it was because he would leave in the morning, and she'd never see him again. Any secrets he took with him would disappear from her life forever.

  At the thought of never seeing him again, an unfamiliar sadness seemed to take root deep in her chest. It made no sense. She barely knew him. He was nothing more than a shadow that had flitted in and out of the periphery of her existence for the last two years, a man who wasn't hers, and who had never even drifted within reach of her fingers. So, why did it matter if she never saw him again?

  "I should get you back." Harlan turned away and started the engine. He didn't look at her as he drove the boat in a sweeping turn, heading back toward her dock.

  There were no further words between them, but she could still feel her lips burning from his brief kiss. She could still feel his hand in her hair. His palm sliding down her arm in the most seductive of caresses, sending electricity tingling through her body. She hadn't thought she had the ability to react to a man anymore. Too many walls, too many shields, too much fear. Sexual desires had died long ago for her...and yet, one kiss, one sweet, magical kiss from a man who lived a life of violence, and everything had come roaring back to life.

  Emma leaned back in her seat, the wind whipping her hair around her cheeks as she watched Harlan drive the boat. He was focused on the water in front of them, searching the blackness for the safe route that he had clearly memorized.

  He looked over at her and smiled, and she smiled back. "There's nothing like being on the water, is there?" he shouted over the roar of the engine.

  "It's amazing," she yelled back. The air was so fresh and pure, the water splashing over the sides of the boat, the night a heavy blanket hiding them from the world. Harlan grinned wider as he opened up the throttle, his body relaxed as he allowed himself to absorb the pitches of the boat with ease.

  He might not fit in the small town society of Birch Crossing, but as she watched him embrace the experience of being on the water, she realized that he was a perfect fit for life on a lake. A man who could be at peace in the utter simplicity of nature and companionable silence. She envied him, a man who carried all that weight and darkness, but could shut it all down for a boat ride.

  He looked over at her again, then held out his hand. "You drive."

  "What? No. I'm fine—"

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Come on." He pulled her in front of him, squeezing her between the front of his body and the steering wheel, though he did take a step back, bracing one bare foot on the seat behind him. "You're in control, babe. Enjoy it."

  "I don't know the lake well enough," she shouted at him over the wind. "I can't—"

  "I'll watch. You drive." He set her hand on the steering wheel. "Go for it."

  Emma grabbed the wheel as the boat started to veer off to the left. The leather was cold and smooth to the touch, and she gripped it tightly. Despite growing up in Birch Crossing, she hadn't spent much time on the lake, and she'd never had an interest in actually driving a boat. But as the wind hammered at her face, and the boat bounced across the open water, a strange exhilaration began to flood through her. The engine was roaring, the water churning up in their wake, and the wind whipping her shirt against her body.

  "Faster," Harlan yelled, taking her right hand and setting on the throttle. "Push down a little bit more."

  Emma tapped the throttle with a couple fingers, and Harlan's laughter echoed in her ear. "Really? That's all you've got?"

  She grabbed the gearshift and pushed down hard. The boat leapt forward so fast that she pitched backward into Harlan. He braced her fall with his body, his well-muscled arm reaching past her shoulder to grab the windshield for balance so he could support them both. He leaned forward, his face so close to hers that his cheek was against hers. "Awesome, isn't it?" he yelled. "Total freedom."

  She nodded, her eyes watering from the wind. It was incredible. They were going so fast, screaming across the black lake, hidden by the darkness of the night. She had no idea where they were going, or what they might hit, and she felt crazily wild and reckless, like she was throwing herself off a cliff on a stormy day and letting the winds hurl her around for an exhilarating, dangerous ride.

  Harlan inched closer, his body against hers, moving in perfect tandem as the boat lurched beneath them. The heat from his body, the dampness of the water, the violence of the wind... "I feel alive," she shouted. "It's incredible!"

  "I know!" Harlan tapped her shoulder and pointed ahead to the right. "Your place is in there. Start heading that way."

  Regret filled her as she turned the boat, slowing it slightly as they began to head toward the dark shapes of the wooded land. The wind began to die down, and the boat slid more deeply into the water as she slowed further. The white of her dock was up ahead, barely visible in the water. With a sigh of regret, she slowed the boat all the way, until it was drifting, momentum still carrying it toward her home.

  Harlan hadn't moved away from her, his body framing hers possessively. "I always forget how much I miss the lake until I come back," he said. "Then once I take the boat out, I remember why I keep coming back."

  Her house loomed in the night. It was a small, one-bedroom cabin that had been so ramshackle that she'd been able to afford it on the small amount she'd saved from her job. Preston's prenuptial agreement left her with nothing, but she didn't want his money tainting her cabin anyway. It was her sanctuary, a place for art and solitude, but now, with the energy of Harlan circulating around her, it seemed empty and lonely, a place that was missing life.

  The boat bumped against the dock, and Harlan leaned past her to grab the pilings. He held onto the post, but she didn't move to get out. Sitting on the dock was the blanket that she'd wrapped around herself when she'd been out there crying, before Harlan had appeared. She'd been crying because she was alone, and because the little girl she'd dreamed of saving would never be coming home. It hadn't been treasured solitude; it had been devastating loneliness...which had been completely chased away by a boat ride with Harlan.

  "How come you don't have a boat?" he asked.

  She shrugged, finally pulling herself together. "I don't know. I never thought about getting one. Money."

  "You can use mine while I'm gone." He took her hand to help her out of the boat. "It will be good for it to get some use. Just make sure to have someone pull it out of the lake before the ice comes in."

  The dock was cold and damp under her bare feet, and Emma shoved her hands into her front pockets.

  Harlan nodded at her. "You're losing something."

  She looked down and saw a black thread from her shorts was hanging partway out of her pocket. It had twirled around her bare finger like a ring... She froze, her heart starting to pound as she recalled Chloe's words about why she would never get selected to adopt Mattie. You're a single, unrelated woman—

  She couldn't change the fact she wasn't related to Mattie, but what if she had a family? A husband? A real home? Would that help?

  "Don't let the bastard win," Harlan said quietly, as he shifted into reverse. The engine hummed as the boat began to slide away from the dock. "Do more than survive, Emma. You deserve it."

  Emma looked up sharply as a strip of moonlight swept across his face. His features were dark and hooded, his mouth tight, his body tense. He was going back to hell, and they both knew it. He wasn't coming back. He would go on missions until he died, whether it was this one, or a later one. He would never come back to claim her... If she married him, he would never come back to destroy her as her husband. "Harlan!" She ran to the edge of the dock. "Wait!"

  H
e shifted into neutral, but the boat continued to drift away. "What?"

  Her heart started to pound, and fear swirled around her. "I—" She stopped, her breath tight in her chest.

  Harlan shifted the boat into forward gear. The boat jerked, and then switched direction, moving ever so slowly toward her. He put it back in neutral as he neared and caught the piling again. His gaze met hers, dark and foreboding. "Tell me."

  She stared at him. "Okay," she whispered.

  His brow furrowed. "Okay, what?"

  Oh, God. Could she really say it? She gripped the string, twisting it so tightly around her hand she knew it was cutting off the circulation. "You're really going to go on this mission?"

  Disappointment flared in his eyes. "That's what you wanted to ask? Yeah, I'm going." He shoved back from the dock—

  "Wait!" Emma ran forward and jumped onto the boat. Her foot slipped, and Harlan grabbed her arm, yanking her into the boat before she fell into the water. His strong grip was like a manacle around her wrist, but she didn't let herself stop to think, to realize what she was saying. "I'll do it, Harlan."

  His face darkened, and his grip tightened. "Do what?"

  "Marry you."

  * * *

  "Hello! Ned! Wake up!"

  Emma shifted restlessly on the front porch, waiting nervously as Harlan pounded on the door. It was three in the morning now. Three in the morning! What were they doing? A light went on in the house, and Harlan stepped back, waiting for the door to open.

  His face was inscrutable, and it had been since the moment she'd said she would marry him. She couldn't tell if he was happy or mad or even insane. He had simply gotten serious about making it happen, which is why they were on the front steps of the town clerk at three in the morning.

  The door finally opened, and the front porch light illuminated the night, almost blinding her. Wearing a pair of faded red flannel pajamas, Ned Hartmann peered through the screen door, his gray hair askew and his eyeglasses not quite straight. "Harlan? Emma? What's going on here?"