Emily And The Stranger

by Beverly Barton

  Zed was right. He had been obsessed with Emily for five years and now that he’d gotten to know her, he was more obsessed than ever. If only he’d never talked to her, never touched her, never looked into her whiskey-brown eyes, never tasted her sweet, hot mouth.

  What the hell was he going to do? He didn’t want to lose Emily. Not as a friend. Not as a... As a what? A lover? They weren’t lovers. Not yet. But Emily felt the sexual attraction between them as strongly as he did. He knew that she wanted him. With every look, every shy smile, every kiss, she told him silently of her desire. In spite of her declaration to the contrary, Mitch knew that sooner or later, she would allow him to become her lover.

  But not if she knew he was M. R. Hayden.

  Emily shifted uncomfortably in the carved mahogany Chippendale chair. She covered her mouth to hide a yawn.

  “Are we boring you, my dear?” Fowler Jordan asked, his dark-blue eyes focusing on Emily.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Fowler.” She smiled at him apologetically. her look beseeching his forgiveness for her rudeness. She knew one of the things Uncle Fowler had always liked about her was her old-fashioned Southern good manners. Grammy had set great store in good manners. As a child, Emily remembered countless times Grammy had said, “We don’t do that.” Or, “We prefer this.” Always using “we” in the royal sense. Other people might be allowed to forget their good manners, but not the McLains.

  “It appears that we’ve bored her so badly that we’ve taken away her appetite.” Charles Tolbert glanced at the food on Emily’s plate. “You’ve barely eaten a bite. All you’ve done is play with your food.”

  Emily cringed. Charles was such a fussbudget. When she had described his personality to Nikki, she’d said, “He’s as fussy as a crotchety old woman.” He wasn’t really. It was just that he was so highly organized, his life so structured, his habits so predictable, his opinions so set, that he made little allowance for mistakes—in himself or others. And Uncle Fowler doted on Charles, as he had once doted on Stuart. She couldn’t help but wonder if Stuart had been as straitlaced and uptight as Charles was and she simply had been too young and too in love to notice.

  “My dear, you don’t seem quite yourself tonight.” Fowler neatly folded his linen napkin and laid it beside his plate. “Is there something wrong? Something bothering you?”

  Telling Uncle Fowler about Ray Mitchell would be easier if Charles wasn’t sitting across the table from her. She supposed she should have known that her uncle would invite Charles to join them tonight. After all, he was determined to see her marry Charles and the two of them resume the life that he’d planned for Stuart and her. Although she had dated Charles on and off for months before she’d moved out on her own, there had never been anything romantic between them. At least not on her part. And she’d never said or done anything to lead Charles on. She was fond of him, thought of him as a friend, but she certainly didn’t love him. And marriage to him was out of the question. She had tried to make Uncle Fowler understand, but he’d told her to give herself time, that he knew Charles was the perfect man for her.

  “There’s something I think you should know.” Avoiding eye contact with either man, Emily glanced across the room at the English Regency sideboard topped by a pair of bronze Chinese vases. “I—I’ve been seeing someone for a couple of weeks now.”

  Charles strangled on the sip of coffee he’d just taken into his mouth. His pale-brown eyes rounded in shock. Fowler straightened, stiffening his back.

  “You’ve been seeing someone?” Fowler’s jaw tightened; his eyes narrowed questioningly. “For a couple of weeks, and you’re just now mentioning it to me?”

  “I didn’t want to give you something else to worry about,” Emily explained, well aware that no matter how she handled this, her uncle would not be pleased. “I know you’ve been unhappy about my moving into Grammy’s cottage and I know you think I’m insane for going into business with Nikki...and you’ve been so upset about the letters and phone calls. I just wanted to wait until I knew my relationship with Mitch was going to...to—”

  “To what?” Charles asked. Pink stain splotched his pale face.

  “Mitch? Mitch who?” The pulse in Fowler’s throat throbbed. “Not that beach burn neighbor of yours? My God, girl, don’t you realize he could be your tormentor.”

  “When you say ‘seeing’ him, do you mean ‘dating’ him?” Charles fiddled nervously with the handkerchief folded neatly into the front pocket of his navy blue blazer. A fastidious dresser, Charles always looked as if he’d just stepped from the pages of a GQ ad. But despite his attractive appearance, Emily found his light-brown hair and faded-brown eyes as boring as his personality.

  She faced Charles. “Yes, I’ve been dating Mitch.” She turned to her uncle. “Yes, Ray Mitchell is my neighbor. And he isn’t a beach burn. He’s a construction worker. He’s helping build a new resort in Gulf Shores for the Banning Construction Company. He and Zed Banning are personal friends.”

  “A construction worker?” Charles gasped. “You’re dating a manual laborer? Whatever could you possibly see in a man like that?”

  Emily groaned internally and tried not to allow her aggravation with Charles to show on her face. What did she see in Mitch, a common manual laborer? Neither Charles nor her uncle would want to hear her honest answer to that question. Mitch was the most devastatingly masculine man she’d ever known, and the most intriguing. And he made her feel like a woman. Not a lady. A woman. With deep, hungry desires and burning passion.

  “You say this Mitchell is a personal friend of Zed Banning?” Fowler asked.

  “Yes. They’ve known each other for twelve years.”

  Fowler rubbed his forefinger and thumb up and down his chin. “Perhaps I should call Banning and ask him a few questions about this man. After all, we don’t know anything about—”

  “Don’t you dare!” Emily knotted her hands into fists and held them in front of her, trying desperately not to jump up and run. “I appreciate your concern for me, but I’m perfectly capable of making my own friends and choosing whom I want to date.”

  “Yes, of course you are,” Fowler said. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t. I simply thought that a good word about Mr. Mitchell from a man of Zed Banning’s reputation would put all our minds at ease.”

  “My mind is at ease.” Relaxing her hands, Emily folded them together and placed them in her lap. “Mitch is a wonderful man. He’s kind and considerate and caring.”

  “Have you told him about the phone calls and letters you’ve been receiving?” Fowler asked.

  “No, I haven’t. You and Nikki are the only two people I told.” She glanced meaningfully at Charles. “And you told Charles.” Against my wishes, she wanted to add, but didn’t. “But I’m going to tell Mitch, now that I’ve decided to continue seeing him.” She glared directly at Charles. “Yes, that means I’m going to continue dating him.”

  “Well, you certainly can’t be serious about this man,” Fowler said. “After all, you barely know him. I’m sure that whatever... physical attraction...you feel for him will diminish when you realize the two of you have nothing in common.”

  “You could be right, Uncle Fowler. But for now, I’m not going to stop seeing Mitch. As a matter of fact, I’ve decided to—”

  “You aren’t going to sleep with him!” Charles looked pleadingly at her.

  “What I was trying to say is that I’ve decided to give my relationship with Mitch a chance to develop into something more than friendship.”

  “I suppose Nikki Griffin has been encouraging you in this relationship with Ray Mitchell.” Fowler’s slender fingers clutched the napkin beside his plate, his hand forming a fist around the linen.

  “Nikki wants me to be happy,” Emily said. “And she knows Mitch makes me happy.”

  “Then perhaps I should meet this young man.” Fowler glowered at Charles when Charles cleared his throat loudly. “Why don’t you bring him to the house for dinner this we
ekend?”

  “Thank you, Uncle Fowler. I’d like that very much. I’ll ask Mitch.”

  Emily said a silent prayer of thanks. Fowler Jordan was as dear to her as her own father had been. She wanted and needed his approval. Once he met Mitch, once he saw for himself how happy Mitch made her, then surely he would accept their relationship and cease his efforts to pair her with Charles. But whether he did or not, she wasn’t going to stop seeing Mitch. She wasn’t going to let anything come between her and the man she was falling in love with.

  Emily tossed her handbag and key ring down on the mahogany-and-walnut bowfront commode in the small foyer, then turned and locked the front door. She had left lights on in the foyer, hallway and living room, as she always did. Ever since being engulfed in heavy, black smoke during the fire five years ago, she had what some people would call an unnatural fear of the dark.

  She unzipped her dress before she reached her bedroom, then the moment she opened the door, she flipped on the light switch and kicked off her heels. When she sat down on the edge of her bed and slithered out of her panty hose, she noticed the light on her answering machine blinking. She punched the Message button and listened to Nikki reminding her of their plans to meet and have breakfast in the morning with the manager of the French Quarter Art Gallery in Fairhope.

  Emily stripped out of her slip and bra and pulled a pair of lavender silk pajamas from the top drawer of her cherry armoire.

  The next message began. The moment Emily heard the muted voice, she stilled instantly, apprehension shivering through her.

  “‘Nothing in the world is single; all things by law divine, in one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?’” The voice quoted Shelley. “If you need someone, sweet Emily, why not me? Why him? He isn’t worthy of you. He could never care for you the way I do.”

  Oh, God! It was her mystery man again. And he knew about Mitch. Only a handful of people knew she was dating Mitch. Nikki. Uncle Fowler. Charles. And Rod. And Mitch’s friend Zed Banning. But she hardly thought her secret admirer would be Mr. Banning, since she’d never even met the man. But she knew her uncle wasn’t harassing her, and she didn’t want to believe that Charles or Rod was tormenting her with these phone calls and “love” letters.

  The second message ended and a third began. “Where are you, Emily? Are you with him?” the voice asked. “I can’t bear to think of you with him. You should be with me, in my arms. I should be the one kissing you, caressing you. Not him.”

  Emily clasped her hands together tightly in a prayerful gesture, took a deep, calming breath and reminded herself that whoever the man was, he hadn’t really threatened her in any way. He sounded more like a lovesick suitor than a stalker. But she couldn’t help feeling a little scared whenever he telephoned or whenever she received a letter from him. He’d made no move to harm her physically, but nevertheless, his unwanted attention was taking a toll on her nerves.

  Several loud, heavy knocks at the front door gained Emily’s immediate attention. She jumped and gasped simultaneously. Get a grip. Stay calm. Go see who’s at the door. She retrieved a thin, lavender silk robe from the closet, slipped it on and walked down the hallway. She saw a man’s silhouette through the half-glass front door. A big man. When she reached the foyer, she hesitated momentarily before she walked over and looked outside. Mitch! Thank goodness. Breathing a sigh of relief, she unlocked and opened the front door.

  Bracing one hand on the outer door frame, Mitch leaned forward. “Hi.”

  His broad, devilish grin created butterflies in Emily’s stomach. She had never reacted to another man the way she did Mitch, on a purely sexual level. “Hi yourself.”

  “Is it too late?” He inspected Emily from head to toe. His grin widened. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in your pjs. Very sexy sleepwear for a lady who sleeps alone.”

  “I wear them for myself. I like nice things. Besides, I hardly call what I’m wearing sexy. Every inch of me from shoulders to ankles is covered.”

  Mitch reached out and placed his finger in the hollow of her throat, then slowly ran his finger downward, stopping at the top button. “Not quite everything is covered.”

  Emily’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded wildly. “How—how was dinner with your friend?”

  Mitch removed his finger. “Is it too late for me to come in for a while?”

  “Oh, no. Forgive me. Where are my manners?” Every time that man touches you or even looks at you, your good sense goes out the window, she scolded herself. “Please, come in.” She stepped back to allow him entrance.

  When he came inside, he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close. He kissed her on her forehead, then released her and walked into the living room. “Zed and I called out for pizza, then we just sat around and talked. How was dinner with your uncle?”

  Emily groaned inwardly, knowing she didn’t dare tell Mitch about Uncle Fowler and Charles’s cross-examination of her and their efforts to persuade her to stop seeing him.

  “Uncle Fowler wants me to bring you to dinner one night soon. This weekend, if you’re free.”

  Mitch tensed, every muscle in his body freezing. Fowler Jordan wanted to meet the man Emily was dating. Give him the once-over, no doubt. But Mitch couldn’t meet Jordan. There was a good chance he might recognize him as M. R. Hayden. No, he had to tell Emily the truth himself. And soon.

  “Could we put off dinner with your uncle until later?” Mitch asked. “I had special plans for us tomorrow night.”

  “What sort of special plans?” Emily sat down on the sofa and motioned for Mitch to join her.

  “I booked us a dinner cruise.”

  “You did? Oh, Mitch, how roman—How very nice.”

  “Weren’t you going to say; ‘how romantic’?” He sat down beside her, placed his arm across the back of the sofa and eased his body close against hers.

  “Yes, I was, but...I feel sort of silly. I’m the one who set the rules. We were going to be friends. Nothing more. Friends don’t go on romantic dinner cruises.”

  Mitch slid his arm down and around her shoulders, turning her toward him in the process. “I think we both know that we’re past the friends stage of our relationship, if we were ever in that stage. I think I’ve been in the...uh...‘romantic’ stage since the first day we met.”

  “I suppose, if I’m honest with you and with myself, I’ll have to admit that I’ve never been able to think of us as just friends, either.”

  Mitch ran his hands up and down her arms, caressing her tenderly. “Before our relationship goes any further, there are some things you need to know about me. Things that could make a big difference to you.”

  “I can’t imagine anything that could change the way I feel about you.” Emily lifted her hand to his face. Looking into his blue, blue eyes, she stroked his cheek. “I’ve become very fond of you in a very short period of time. I can hardly believe we’ve known each other only a couple of weeks.”

  “I feel the same way.” Mitch laid his hand over hers and pressed her palm against the side of his face. “I’ve never known anyone like you. Anyone as kind and loving and honest. Don’t you see, Emily, that’s why I have to be honest with you. You have a right to know the kind of man I am.”

  “I think I already know.” She placed her arms around his neck and drew him to her, his lips a hairs breadth away. “You’re strong yet tender. Rough yet gentle. Loving, understanding, honest—”

  “Not honest, honey. Not honest with you about...” Dear God in heaven, how could he tell her? How could he bear to see that sweet, trusting look wiped off her beautiful face? She cared about him, truly cared about him, in a way no other woman ever had. And he cared about her, more than he’d ever cared for another human being.

  “You’re scaring me a little bit,” she said. “You make it sound as if you’re an ax murderer or something.”

  “Not quite that bad, but... That’s why I booked the dinner cruise tomorrow night. I want us to have o
ne special night together before I tell you all about who Ray Mitchell really is. When I bring you home tomorrow night, I’ll tell you everything and pray you can understand and forgive me.”

  She cupped his face in her hands. His strong, masculine face. His rough, rugged, handsome face. “No matter what it is, I’ll try my best to understand. I promise. And I can’t believe you’ve ever done anything that I couldn’t forgive.”

  Mitch swallowed hard. If only he could believe her. If only she could forgive him once she knew he was M. R. Hayden. “I want you to remember something. Will you, Emily? Will you remember that I’d rather die than ever hurt you, that I’d do anything to make you happy?”

  “Oh, Mitch.” She leaned into him, taking the initiative, pressing her lips to his, wrapping her arms around him.

  He responded instantly, catching fire like kerosene exposed to a lighted match. Crushing her against him, his embrace surrounding her, Mitch thrust his tongue into her mouth and leaned her backward slowly. Pressing her down on the sofa, he covered her body with his.

  He wanted her—wanted her now! But he couldn‘t—wouldn’t—take her. She had a right to know the real identity of the man making love to her. If he took her now, before she knew who he was, she really would hate him. If there was any hope for them, any slight chance that she might one day give herself to him—to Mitchell Ray Hayden—then he had to tell her the truth. It was the only way.

  Emily trembled with desire. Mitch knew the signs. Just a little more good loving and she’d be his for the taking. He drew her up and onto his lap, ending the kiss. He nuzzled her neck. She sighed.

  “I’d better go before I...before we... I don’t want to go,” he said. “I’d like nothing better than to stay here and make slow, sweet love to you all night long. But we aren’t ready for that yet. You aren’t ready.”