He came home to Silver Glen all the time, damn it.
But not in December. And now he was paying the price.
Since he had no choice in the matter, he would have to take Emma’s suggestion and stay as far away as possible. Otherwise, he couldn’t trust himself not to beg. That was the bitterest pill of all to swallow. Despite the fact that she had humiliated and betrayed him, given half a chance, he would willingly forget the past for one more night in her bed.
It was laughable now to think he had taught himself not to feel. Of course he felt. He felt it all. Everything from the purifying blaze of well-founded anger to the crazed urge to let his lust dictate the course of the next ten days.
The choice was his. All he had to do was let Emma speak her piece. Presumably, she had some explanation for lying to him. He could pretend to believe her and they could wallow in erotic excess until it was time for him to go home to New York. The hunger that turned him inside out would be appeased.
The idea had a certain wicked appeal. But like making a deal with the devil, if he gave in to temptation, his soul would never be his own again. If he bedded her, skin-to-skin, nothing between them but the air they breathed, he might decide he could live with the past.
When whatever game she was playing ended, there was the reality that she would lie to him again. Women didn’t change. He hadn’t been enough for her once before and she had crushed him with her betrayal.
Could he do it for the sex? Could he draw a line in the sand and take only what he wanted? He’d sealed off his heart long ago. No woman since Emma had managed to tempt him. Except for his family, he cared about no one. He was a hollow man.
Pain came with relationships. His father had abandoned him by putting his obsessions ahead of his family. Danielle had abandoned him by dying. But in Emma’s case, Aidan had been the one to leave. As soon as he learned the truth, he didn’t hang around to be kicked in the teeth again. Even so, that pain had been the worst of all.
Eight
Emma cleaned blood off her leg and pondered all the ways she could murder Aidan Kavanagh in his sleep. He was infuriating and stubborn and his masculine arrogance made her want to hurl things at his head.
He still felt something for her. Even if it was only lust. But no way in heck was she going to tumble into bed with him when he thought so little of her. Perhaps she should have insisted on clearing the air immediately when he first recognized her. After all, the reason she’d come to Silver Glen, in part, was to make amends for the way she’d handled things in the past. She had hurt both Aidan and herself, though he bore some responsibility as well.
Maybe her stubborn pride was as bad as his, because she didn’t want to make her apologies to a man who said he didn’t care enough to hear what she had to say. There were a lot of things they could talk about. Important things. In her personal version of a twelve-step program, making amends was high up on the list. But it was hard to do that when the person you injured wouldn’t let you do what you needed to do.
It was probably just as well. Look at what happened tonight. It was a really bad idea for the two of them to relive their college infatuation. Sex would introduce a whole extra layer of entanglement, because Aidan’s family had no idea that Emma and Aidan shared a past.
Still, when she thought about his kiss, it was difficult not to imagine what would have come next. Feeling his hands on her body had kindled a fire, a yearning to experience his possession one more time. No man in the last ten years had made her feel a fraction of what Aidan could, not that many had tried.
Americans attributed her standoffishness to British reserve. But it wasn’t that. Not really. She wasn’t shy. She had simply learned to protect herself. Meeting Aidan at Oxford was a chance encounter. She’d been freer back then, more apt to take a chance on love.
Now, she was mostly happy on her own. Men complicated life. She had girlfriends back in Boston. And here in Silver Glen, she was already building a circle of support. She wanted to make things right with Aidan. But if that never happened, at least she had found a place to call home.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing that the hour was really not that late. Even so, she was beat. Her first outing since her accident had required more energy than she realized. Suddenly, the idea of curling up in bed for an early night was impossible to resist.
After brewing a cup of herbal tea, she set it on her dresser while she changed into a comfy flannel nightgown. Then, moving the tea to the bedside table, she sat down on the mattress, plumped the pillows behind her back and picked up the novel she was in the midst of reading. She managed to finish her tea, but just barely. After her eyelids drifted shut for the third time, she gave up, climbed under the covers and turned out the light.
* * *
Sometime later, an insistent noise woke her. In the dark, she listened carefully, her heartbeat syncopated. It took only a moment to process that the sound she heard was the street-level buzzer. It rang upstairs whenever she had a visitor.
Leaning up on one elbow, she hit the button on her phone and gazed at the time blearily. Good grief.
Since the person at the other end of the buzzer didn’t appear to be dissuaded by her lack of response, she got up, shoved her feet into slippers and reached for her fleecy robe. Her wound was still tender, but the Band-Aid had stopped the bleeding.
In the living room, she pushed aside the sheers and looked down at the street. There were no cars in sight except for her neighbor’s familiar sedan. But even from this angle she could see the figure of a man.
As if he could feel her watching him, he stepped back, looked toward her window and made a familiar let-me-in motion.
Clearly, she should ignore him. He would go away soon.
Even as she lectured herself, her feet carried her down the steep stairs. Her hand on the doorknob, she called out, “Who is it?”
With only a couple of inches of wood separating them, she could hear the response distinctly. “You know who it is. Open the door, Emma.”
Her toes curled inside her slippers. “Why?”
“Do you really want the whole town to know our business?” he muttered.
The man had a point. She jerked open the door and stared at him. He was bareheaded despite the fact that it was frigid outside. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” she asked, trying to sound irritated instead of excited. There was only one reason a man came calling at this hour. The intensity of his shadowy gaze made her pulse jump and dance.
“No. I don’t. But I’m freezing out here. May I please come in?”
She stepped back to allow the door to close, and suddenly the two of them were practically mashed together in the handkerchief-sized space. “Where is your car, Aidan?”
He shrugged, his clothes smelling like the outdoors. It was a nice fragrance, a combination of cold air and evergreen. “I walked,” he said bluntly. “We’d had a few drinks, if you remember.”
“That’s at least five miles.” She gaped, unable to comprehend such a crazy thing in the middle of the night.
“Why do you think it took me so long to get here?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes. Come on up. I’ll make you a hot drink. Can you deal with coffee at this hour?”
He followed on her heels. “I’ll take some of your famous herbal tea.”
In the kitchen, he took off his wool overcoat and tossed it over a chair. The light was too bright. She felt exposed, though she was covered from head to toe. His sharp gaze took in her decidedly unseductive attire. Though his lips twitched, he made no comment.
He still wore his tux pants and white shirt, but he’d left his jacket behind. The shirt was unbuttoned partway down his chest. A partial night’s beard shadowed his firm jaw. He looked sexy and dangerous, like a man who was about to throw caution to the wind.
What did it say about her that his rakish air stirred her? That his undiluted masculinity was both mesmerizing and exciting?
He sat down in one of her spi
ndly wooden chairs, his weight making the joints creak. For the first time she recognized his fatigue. Was it because of the hour or because of his nighttime prowl or because he had been wrestling with himself? The third option was one she understood all too well. Why else had she opened her door?
Without speaking, she handed him a cup of tea and poured one for herself. Instead of joining him at the table, she leaned against the fridge, keeping a safe distance between them.
“Why are you here, Aidan?”
The satirical look he gave her questioned her intelligence. “Don’t be coy.”
She shrugged. “Does this mean you’re ready to listen to my explanations?”
“I told you before. I don’t want to hear anything about the past or why you’re here in Silver Glen.”
“What else is there?”
He stood abruptly and plucked the china cup out of her hand. “This.”
Dragging her flush against his big frame, he dove in for a hard, punishing kiss, one arm tight across her back. His lips moved on hers with confidence...as if he remembered in exquisite detail exactly what she liked.
The old Aidan had never been this sure of himself. But darned if she didn’t like it. Without shoes, she was at a distinct disadvantage, though. She stood on her tiptoes, straining to align her mouth with his. Everything about him was warm and wonderful. Despite his gruff refusal to let her plead for absolution, there was tenderness in his kiss.
She shivered, even though in Aidan’s embrace she was perfectly warm. Too warm, maybe. She felt dizzy. As if all the air had been sucked out of the room.
“I want you, Emma,” he muttered. “Tell me you want me, too.”
It was a hard thing to deny when her arms were twined around his neck in a stranglehold. “Yes,” she said. “I do, but—”
He put his hand over her mouth, stilling her words. “No buts,” he said firmly. He paused for a moment, the look on his face impossible to decipher. “There’s only one question I need answered.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Are you married?”
Shock immobilized her. She twisted out of his embrace, staring at him wide-eyed. “No. No.” She answered more forcefully the second time.
“Good.” He picked up her left hand and lifted it to his lips. “Then, Lady Emma Braithwaite, will you do me the honor of taking me to your bed?” His droll smile was at odds with the intensity of his gaze. A tiny muscle ticked in his granite jaw as though her answer was far more important than he was letting on.
Emma had come to that moment in life when plans had gone awry and the road ahead was no longer clear. “Do you hate me?” she asked bluntly. “For what happened?”
Aidan was unable to hide his wince. “Does it look like I hate you? I’m practically eating out of your hand, damn it.”
It wasn’t really an answer to her question. “Please, Aidan. Tell me the truth.”
His broad shoulders lifted and fell. Full, masculine lips twisted. “No. I don’t hate you.” He paced the confines of her small kitchen. “There was a time when I wanted to hate you, but no more. Life is short. I’ll be leaving soon. I think we can chalk up tonight to what-might-have-been. It’s Christmas. I’m feeling an odd, sentimental need to be somebody else tonight. Somebody that I used to know. A boy, not quite a man. An idealistic, heart-on-his-sleeve kid. Too naïve to be let loose in the wild.”
For the first time, she understood that he was telling her the God’s honest truth.
“I loved that boy,” she whispered. “He was amazing and kind and perfect in every way.”
“He was a fool.” The blunt exclamation held a trace of bitterness and anger, despite his professed lack of enmity.
“I won’t let you say that.” Her tone was firm. Though Aidan Kavanagh was a mature, successful man, she saw in painful clarity the many ways she had damaged him. “If you don’t want to rehash the past, then so be it. We’ll make tonight all about the present. Come to bed with me.”
He paled beneath his tan. “No regrets when the cold light of day dawns, Emma. From either of us. I need your promise. I won’t be accused of taking advantage of you.”
Crossing her fingers left and right over her heart, she lifted her chin and eyed him steadily, even though her chest jumped and wiggled with fizzy shards of happiness. “No regrets.”
Quietly, he switched off the kitchen light and followed her to her bedroom. The sheets and comforter were tumbled where she had leapt up quickly to answer the door. Stopping beside the bed, she battled a sudden attack of shyness.
Aidan had no such problem. He removed her robe with gentle motions, and then touched the button at her collarbone, unfastening it along with three more. “Lift your arms,” he commanded.
When she obeyed, he pulled the gown over her head. She wore not a stitch beneath it. He had her naked in less than five seconds.
The look on his face was gratifying. He brushed his thumb over her navel. Gooseflesh broke out all over her body.
“You’re cold,” he said.
She shook her head slowly. “Not cold. Just ready.”
When he lifted her into his arms, she was confused. They were both at the bed already. But as she rested her cheek against his chest and looked up at him, her heart twisted. For a split second, she saw the young man who had loved her with such reckless generosity and passion.
He stared down at her for long seconds. She could almost feel his turmoil. “No one needs to know about this,” he said.
Though the words hurt, she nodded. “I understand.”
“Birth control?” His communication had been reduced to simple phrases, as though he barely retained the capacity to speak.
“I’m on the pill. And no health problems to worry about.”
“Nor I.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m not sure I can wait any longer.”
She cupped his cheek with her hand. “Why would you? We’re both on the same page tonight, Aidan. Make love to me.”
Hesitating, he stared at her with stormy eyes. “This is sex. No more, no less.”
Not love. Message received.
“Whatever you want to call it is fine by me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up.”
Fleeing to the bathroom, she leaned her hands on the counter and stared into the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated. Was she making a monumental mistake? Was it wrong to share her bed with Aidan when there were so many things left unsaid?
A slight noise in the bedroom reminded her that there was no time for dithering. Either she wanted him, or she didn’t. When you put it that way, there was only one clear answer.
She took two minutes to prepare. Then she opened the door, squared her bare shoulders and returned to the bedroom.
Nine
Aidan couldn’t believe this was happening. How many times over the years had he imagined this very scenario? Or dreamed it, vividly erotic in his head?
As he stripped off his pants and boxers, socks and shoes, he was painfully aware that he had been hard for the better part of the evening. Dancing with Emma was a particularly wicked kind of torture. Now, naked and lovely, she stared at him, her nervousness impossible to hide. He wanted to reassure her, but in truth, he had no reassurances to give. What they were about to do was either self-destructive, or at the very least unwise. Even knowing that, he couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for the idea of being sensible.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. It seemed a trite thing to mention. Surely the men in her life had been telling her as much since she was an innocent sweet sixteen.
Her hands twisted at her waist as though she wanted to cover herself. She was clean-shaven between her legs except for a tiny strip of blond fluff that proved her hair color was natural. Her legs were long and shapely, her waist narrow, her breasts high and firm.
If he were strictly impartial, he might note that her forehead was too high for classic beauty...and her nose a tad too sharp. But those minor flaws were balanced out by the heart-shaped fa
ce, full pink lips and eyes the color of an October sky.
He took one of her hands in his, finding it icy. Chafing it carefully, he cocked his head toward the pile of covers. “I think in December the preliminaries should probably be carried out in bed. I don’t want you to catch pneumonia.”
“This feels awkward,” she said with blunt honesty and a crooked smile of apology.
He nodded. “It will get better.”
They moved, one at a time, into the relative warmth of the bed. The sheets seemed chilled, but heated rapidly.
Emma reclined on her side facing him, head propped on a feather pillow. She watched him with fascination and reserve. “You must have lots of experience,” she said, the words hinting at dissatisfaction.
He mirrored her position, though he propped his head on his hand. “I doubt we want to compare notes on our sexual histories. Do we?”
“No. I suppose not.”
In her pose and in her gaze he saw the same thing that had drawn him to her when he was at university. There was no other way to describe it than goodness. It radiated from her. No woman he’d ever met appeared to be so unsullied, so open and warm.
Yet, he knew for a fact that it was only a facade. Emma had a capacity for deception, as indeed did most humans. Aidan made no assumptions about her. He had not listened to malicious lies. He’d gone straight to the source, had asked Emma for the truth. Even now, recalling that moment stabbed his heart with disillusionment.
Shaking off the unpleasant memory, he concentrated on the woman who was so close, her breath mingling with his. Reaching out, he stroked her hair, sifting the strands through his fingertips. “We were so young,” he said. “But I thought you were the most exquisite thing I had ever seen.”
“And you were brash and handsome and charmingly affable. A young Hugh Grant. Except with that adorable American accent.”
Aidan chuckled. “Perhaps it’s true that opposites attract. I was mortifyingly intimidated by your pedigree and your finishing school manners.” He moved a fingertip lazily from her cheek to her collarbone to her cleavage. Emma’s sharp intake of breath told him that the simple touch affected her as strongly as it did him.
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