by Julia Goda
Another long pause. Daxton repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fists at his side.
“I’m not joking, Dad. You should have seen him. The suit he was wearing to see a property that has stood empty in the Rocky Mountains for two years was ridiculous. I bet it cost more than I make in a month. Pristinely polished shoes which weren’t so shiny after he set foot in one of the cottages, not to mention the dump of snow we got last night, plus what’s been coming down since. His nails are manicured, his brows waxed, his hair cut to perfection. Everything about him screams ‘Look at me! I’m rich! Bow before me!’ And he insisted on coming out today, Dad, on Christmas Eve of all days, not caring if people want to spend time with their families instead of working. Sneering and looking down his nose at me, judging me from the minute he laid eyes on me. My jeans cost less than two hundred dollars, so I probably wasn’t worth being nice to. And when I offered him a place to stay, he looked disgusted. No ‘Thank you,’ no ‘That’s kind of you,’ no nothing. What I did get was shock and disbelief when he saw my house, as if he thought all I could afford was some shack in the woods with no running water. He’s a total dick, Dad, but that’s it. Don’t worry. And hopefully he’ll be gone by tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll command one of his poor lackeys to come and get him if he can’t get his car fixed. Then I can forget about him and go back to enjoying Christmas.”
Daxton closed his eyes in shame, something he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager and had been caught lying to his mother. The disappointment and hurt on her face had made him feel heinous and he had never done it again. Emersyn’s words made him feel the same yet more so. She was right. He was a total dick. Of course, he had known yet hadn’t given a damn, hadn’t cared what people thought about him, but hearing those words coming out of Emersyn’s mouth now, knowing they were true, seared deep.
“Okay, Dad. Yeah, I will.”
Then she burst out laughing, throwing her head back and laughing a deep, throaty laugh.
His gut tightened a different way at that sound.
Fuck.
There was so much going on inside of him, he didn’t know where to start to sort everything out. He was unpracticed, had been ignoring his feelings for most of his adult life, and his method of disregarding any kind of emotion since his parents had died didn’t seem to work with this woman.
Without knowing or wanting it, without him giving her permission to do so, she had cracked him wide open.
Laid him bare.
“You gonna call tomorrow morning?”
“Okay.”
“You too, Dad. Merry Christmas.”
She hung up and went back to the stove, checking on things then sipping her wine as she walked further into the living room.
And he no idea what to do.
For the first time in fifteen years, he was clueless.
Wasn’t that ironic.
Emersyn
Replaying my dad’s words—the ones at the end of the phone call, not his earlier ones when he lost his shit on me—brought back my smile.
“Scrooge. Good one, Dad,” I murmured through a giggle before I finished piling the wood just right to start a fire. My dad hit the nail on the head with his reference. Though I doubted this particular Scrooge could be led toward enlightenment by any ghost. That would require an electric spark so enormous it could trigger evolution.
“Let me do that.” I jumped in surprise at hearing his clipped tone so close to me, breaking the match I was using to light the fire.
“Shit.” I laid a hand over my chest to prevent my rapidly beating heart from jumping out. “How long have you been standing there?”
His face was blank. Neither hard nor cold, yet not soft or warm either. Carefully constructed, it seemed. Had he heard my words, my giggle? He gave nothing away as he came closer and then bent down and took the matchbox out of my hand. He didn’t say a word as he struck a match and held it to the dry kindling, spreading the fire then blowing softly to help it along.
“There.” His voice was still brusque when he leaned back, yet stayed crouched down, facing the fire.
I stood up and looked down at him. “Thank you,” I uttered sarcastically then turned and made my way back to the kitchen. “Not that I needed your help. I’ve been capable of lighting my own fires for years. If you hadn’t scared the bejeezus out of me—”
“I apologize,” he cut me off.
I eyed him over my shoulder but didn’t stop. He was now standing as well, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on me, his gaze intent. I must have heard wrong. There was no way that word existed in this man’s vocabulary. “You apologize?”
“I do.”
I stopped now as my eyebrows flew up in shock, but he didn’t say anything else as he held my stare, his face still blank yet his eyes weirdly tender, as if he wanted to say more yet didn’t know how. I wasn’t sure what to do with that. I tilted my head as I studied him. What was his game? Then I shrugged my shoulders on a, “Whatever,” and resumed walking, not interested in figuring this man out. He would be gone come morning, thank goodness. All I was focused on right now was trying to somewhat salvage my night as much as possible. Starting with the food. I uncovered the turkey breast, upped the oven temperature, and reset the timer to twenty minutes. I liked the skin crispy; gave it lots of flavor. Then it was time to mash the potatoes, the last chore on the checklist.
“Is there anything I can do?”
I whipped my head around as I drained the potatoes, startled by his question—and yes, again, his unexpected nearness. Was he a ninja in disguise or something?—promptly pouring the hot water over my hand. “Shit, shit, shit!” I dropped the saucepan into the sink with a loud clang then reached to turn on the cold-water tap.
“Here, let me.” He was right there, one hand turning on the water, the other gently holding my wrist, guiding it under the spray, the side of his body brushing mine. What the fuck? I tried to pull out of his hold, but he tightened his grip. Not a lot, just enough to keep me where I was.
“It seems I have to apologize again. I didn’t mean to startle you.” His gaze was fixed on my hand as he slowly turned it, making sure every red part of my skin got cooled. It stung, but I didn’t flinch, didn’t move at all. When I didn’t answer him, he peeked over his shoulder at me. Yes, peeked. I didn’t think a man like Daxton McArthur would be able to peek at anything—a man like him stared, or glared, or sneered. Never peeked. Yet here he was, doing exactly that.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Have you seen the movie Split?”
“Split?” he repeated, confused, a state he probably wasn’t familiar with.
“Split. Where three girls get kidnapped by a man with twenty-three different personalities. You’re not going all James McAvoy on me, are you?”
There was a short pause before he burst out laughing. His amusement was so great, he threw his head back as his body shook with deep, loud, hearty laughter.
It was glorious.
The most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.
“Holy shit,” I whispered, then froze on the spot as his eyes met mine. Good goodness, but they were magnificent.
Warm.
Open.
Happy.
And his face… It had changed completely. Gone was the anger, the sneer, the blankness, replaced by delight, wonder, and joy.
Pure beauty.
“Holy shit,” I whispered again, this time causing his laughter to die. I expected his eyes to grow cold again, to become distant, his smile to die, turn into a frown. But it didn’t. His lips stayed turned up and his gaze remained warm.
“You think I have multiple personalities? Twenty-three of them?”
Was he…was that…was he teasing me? “Ugh, well…maybe not twenty-three, but…yeah. Kinda.” I wasn’t usually one short for words, but he was throwing me for a loop. Who was this guy?
“I see how you might come to such a conclusion”—he roamed my face—“but I can assure you”—the smile still played around
his lips as he zeroed in on mine—“that this man standing right here is the only man inside this body.”
Gosh. Why did that sound so unbelievably hot in his low, rough voice?
I could do nothing but stare, gape as he licked his lips, hold my breath as he leaned in.
“How’s the hand?”
“What?”
“Your hand? How is it?”
I snapped my eyes away from his face and looked at my hand as I flexed it under the water. “It’s fine.”
“No pain?”
I shook my head.
“Good.” His voice was a whisper now. When his dry hand touched my cheek and turned my face until I was again looking at him, it felt warm, intimate, familiar. How could that be? How could the horrid and despicable person I’d met this afternoon do a one-eighty in an hour and become this… this…nice, gentle, caring man? I searched his eyes, trying to find the answer there, trying to figure out what was happening. He held mine, kept himself open for me, inviting me in. I looked deeper, then deeper still, needing an answer, wanting it desperately without knowing why, just knowing it was essential to me in some inexplicable way. There was a lot there, almost too much to take in, but still, I tried.
“Emersyn?” His voice was a low, yet soft, growl, if that could be believed.
“Yeah?” I breathed, incapable to resist the sudden attraction lighting a fire in my belly.
“I need to kiss you.”
My body leaned into his, as if pulled, as if in a trance, when I agreed, “Okay.”
His thumb gently glided over my cheekbone, back and forth, caressing me as he pulled my face closer, until our lips were a hairsbreadth apart.
I parted my lips, wanting, waiting…
A load banging at the door made me go stone still and my eyes grow wide. More banging had me turn my head to the front of the house, as if I had the power to see through walls.
“Emersyn, please, open the door!”
I heard a growl coming from the man still holding my face, but I ignored it when the utterly familiar voice told me who was at the door.
“You have got to be shitting me.” I jerked away, turned off the water, grabbed a towel to dry my hand, then threw it onto the counter and marched to my front door. Oh no. No way. He was not here. Without checking the peephole, I yanked the door open. And there he stood, the bastard, his eyes pleading, his hair disheveled, as if he’d pulled at it repeatedly. I had to admit, being reminded of the many times I had run my fingers through it stung a little. I’d loved his hair. But I’d never touch it again. Or him. “What the heck are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“No. We don’t.”
“Please, Em, it’s Christmas.”
“I can read a calendar, Mark, so I’m aware. That doesn’t explain why you’re here, at my house, interrupting my night, making what you knew would be a shitty day for me even shittier after I stressed how very not welcome you would be in my life the last time I saw you.”
“Em, honey, I’m so—”
“Oh no. Don’t you dare,” I hissed. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. You created the mess, now you’ve gotta bear the consequences. Leave. Now.”
He did the opposite, taking a step toward me, his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, begging me. Fucking asshole. “Please, Em, hear me out.”
“Hear you out?” I crossed my arms. “What excuse do you think you could possibly tell me to change my mind? Let me guess. You tripped and your dick accidentally slid into her conveniently positioned vagina. No, wait, you were roofied. No? How about this? She held a gun to your head and forced you to fuck her.”
“Come on, Em, you know—”
“Yes, Mark, I know. I know you fucked her, I know you did it voluntarily and repeatedly while you were in a committed relationship with me, which is all I need to know. Everything else is irrelevant. Now, leave.”
He took another small step forward, his hand out to touch me.
I moved back, warning, “Not one more step, Mark. Do not touch me,” and hit something hard standing behind me. Then an arm came around my waist and pulled me in.
Ninja in disguise. Definitely.
“You were asked to leave. Twice. I advise you do so.” Daxton’s voice was low and powerful, menacing.
I stilled for a moment but then relaxed in his hold, strangely grateful he was here to have my back.
“Who are you? And why are you in Em’s house?” Mark growled possessively, as if he still had any right to claim me as his.
Before I could open my mouth to tell him it wasn’t any of his business, I was moved, the arm that had been holding me now tight around my shoulders as we stood side by side and he leaned into Mark to get right up in his face. “I’m a man you do not cross. And you just made the fatal mistake of crossing the line by trying to touch Emersyn. Against her will. After she demanded you leave. Now you’re done talking to her. Now you’re dealing with me. And I assure you, you do not want to deal with me.”
“What the fuck? What is this?” Mark snarled. “Some sort of revenge? I made a mistake, now you have to get back at me? With this guy? He’s wearing a tie, for fuck’s sake.”
I snorted. Was he really that stupid? And did he honestly think I’d be vindictive and, well, stupid? The snort was all I could get out before my jaw dropped at what I heard next.
“Emersyn doesn’t need to lower herself to behavior of that kind. She is honest. She is smart. She is gracious, kind, loving, and loyal. Not to mention beautiful. A woman like her doesn’t fuck for revenge. A woman like her gives the beauty of her love to the people who deserve it, and she is smart enough to cut out the people who don’t. Which means you. You disrespected her, betrayed, deceived, and humiliated her. You don’t deserve to be in her presence, and she doesn’t want you in her life. Now, I’m going to close this door and you’re leaving. If you don’t, she will call the police and press harassment charges.” On that, he moved us back and closed the door firmly in Mark’s face.
Wow. Those were some amazing words. The man hardly knew me, yet the certainty in his voice told me he believed every word he’d said. It felt nice. And a little terrifying.
“Did that just happen?” I asked in a mix of wonder, irritation, and disbelief as I stared at the closed door. The arm around my shoulders tightened.
“It did.” Then the arm moved me until we were standing front to front. I rested my hands on his chest and tipped my head back.
“Thank you,” I said softly, “for saying those things about me.”
The look he gave me was soft and warm, though I could still see annoyance in them as well.
“Do you… uhm… did you mean them?” I bit my bottom lip in uncertainty. Gosh, what the hell was wrong with me? I wasn’t this hesitant, worried person who needed reassurance to feel good about herself. And from someone I barely knew and was uncertain I liked, no less.
“Every word.” His reply was firm. Unshakeable.
“But you hardly know me. And this afternoon, you weren’t all that impressed with me. What changed?” I voiced my unspoken question from earlier, needing the answer to come straight from him.
“I was an ass. You were right to call me a jerk when you talked to your father.”
I sucked in my breath and stilled. “You heard that?” I wasn’t sure if I should be horrified he’d heard, or if I should be upset he’d eavesdropped.
“I did. I heard everything you said to him. And you were right. My behavior was despicable. I treated you like you were beneath me, unworthy of my respect. Yet you were gracious enough to invite me into your home, because you’re a good and kind person, sacrificing your holiday to help a friend and then take in a stranger who has shown you nothing but contempt. It humbles and shames me. I am a hard man, Emersyn. History and circumstances have made it so, and I doubt it will ever change. But you reminded me of the part still inside of me which used to be different. And I want to be that man with you.”
“So, you do hav
e multiple personalities.” Yes, out of all he’d just said, that’s what I focused on. He chuckled but didn’t answer as he stared down at me with amused yet serious eyes.
“Do you accept my apology?”
“I think it’s the best apology in the history of apologies.”
“So, yes?”
“Yes.”
“What about the other part?”
“The other part?” I scrunched my brows in confusion.
“The you-and-me part.”
I looked at his shoulder, thinking. “I don’t know.”
He cupped my face in his hands and lifted my chin so I was again looking at him. “I know that guy fucked you over, but I’m not like him. I might be a jerk, but I would never betray you. I have to be honest, though. I have never tried this before. I have no idea what I’m doing. But I know this: I want you. And I tend to get what I want. I also take care of what’s mine and never let anyone take anything from me.”
“You want me to be yours? As in, you want my body?” My voice was squeaky as my heart rate spiked, both with panic and excitement. I couldn’t deny my extreme attraction to him—at least the him he was right now—but I also needed to acknowledge that his intensity and change of heart worried me, or rather scared the heck out of me.
“That’s part of it, but I want more than just your body,” he said through a roguish smile, causing my belly to flip.
More? Was he saying…?
“I want us to spend time together, eat dinner, go out, watch a movie, veg on the couch in front of the TV, anything we can think of including you and me. I want to know everything about you. And I’ll tell you everything you want to know about me. I want us to be together.”
I swallowed, overwhelmed by what he was telling me. Did things like these actually happen in real life? I mean, I’m a fiction editor, so I’ve read every love story there is. And don’t get me wrong, I loved them as much as every other person with a romantic bone in their body. But I never thought anything like this would ever happen to me. It seemed too fantastical. Absurd yet strangely wondrous. But I couldn’t help but want it.