“I can’t.” She took a deep breath. “I want to, but I can’t.”
She ran from him. Left the balcony. Into Neptune’s lounge. Mitch walked over to the edge of the balcony and looked down. Any other man might jump and put an end to his misery, but not Mitch Hayden. Whatever agony he experienced, he deserved. Maybe he hadn’t paid dearly enough for his sins yet. But how could he ever make atonement to Emily if she was too afraid of her own feelings to name his penance?
Emily didn’t see Charles Tolbert until she bumped into him. He grasped her by the shoulders.
“Is something wrong, Emily? Are you running from someone?” Charles asked.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her hair. “Just running from myself.”
“Well, I was hoping I could talk you into a dance.”
“I’d like that.”
Charles could be sweet, even charming, at times. And he was always available. Being with him tonight might help her keep Mitch at bay. She didn’t dare risk being alone with Mitch again.
Emily danced several times with Charles as well as Rod and Zed. She and Charles shared a dessert plate and she even persuaded him to taste some champagne. And Hardy Winston sought her out again, to remind her that he expected her to send her Hannah book directly to him and he’d see the right editor took a look at it.
From time to time, she would feel someone’s eyes on her and catch a glimpse of Mitch across the crowded room. He was watching her—wanting her—needing her. She couldn‘t—wouldn’t—allow herself to succumb to the hunger she saw in his eyes or the desire she felt as intensely as he did.
Mitch had watched her from afar all night while she danced with, ate with and smiled at Charles Tolbert. Little by little the jealousy gnawed away at him until he didn’t think he could bear the sick anger that welled up inside him. And then just when he’d decided to leave, he had seen Emily, Nikki and Rod enter the elevator with Tolbert. He’d caught up with them on the main floor, and stood silently by while the foursome got in Tolbert’s Mercedes and drove away.
And now Mitch stood on the beach, as close to Emily’s cottage as he could get without being on her porch. He could make out two silhouettes in Emily’s open front door. When Tolbert kissed Emily, Mitch thought he’d die. It didn’t matter to him that it had been a quick kiss, not much more than a brushing of lips. Emily was his. He didn’t want any other man touching her.
“Thank you for escorting me to Zed’s party,” Emily said.
“You’re quite welcome. I always enjoy being with you,” Charles told her. “I’d like to take you out again very soon. It would please me very much. Perhaps we could invite Fowler to join us for the symphony.”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, then.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “I believe we could be very happy together, Emily. We have so much in common. Similar backgrounds and upbringings.”
“Good night, Charles.” Emily eased her hand out of his.
“Good night, my dearest. ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.”’
Emily tensed when Charles quoted Shakespeare to her. She shouldn’t have been surprised; she knew that he had a fondness for classical literature. But she couldn’t help thinking about how her mystery man had quoted poetry to her. Was Charles the person who had sent the letters and made the phone calls? Had he been the one who had cautioned her against Mitch? Was he capable of breaking into her home and wreaking such havoc?
Alone in the shadows, Mitch waited for Charles Tolbert to back his Mercedes out of Emily’s driveway. Then he bounded up on the porch, knocked at the front door and waited, wondering if Emily would talk to him or slam the door in his face.
She opened the door. Her eyes widened. Her mouth rounded into a silent gasp.
“Don’t get involved with Tolbert just to spite me.”
“I am not getting involved with Charles to spite you.” Stiffening her spine, Emily squared her shoulders and glared at Mitch. “You must think I’m a total fool just because of what happened with you.”
“Emily, I don’t think you’re—”
“I’m going to continue seeing Charles and my reasons have nothing to do with you,” Emily lied.
“I don’t believe you,” Mitch said.
Emily gripped the doorknob, preparing to close the door. “Go away, Mitch. Please, leave me alone.”
When she tried to close the door, Mitch blocked her move with his shoulder, insinuating himself a couple of inches over the threshold. “Be careful, honey. I’m not sure you can trust Charles Tolbert. He might be—”
“If I can’t trust Charles, then who can I trust? Uncle Fowler? Nikki? Maybe Zed Banning?”
“You can trust me.”
Emily stared incredulously at him. “How can you say that, after what happened between us? You lied to me. You hid your true identity from me.”
He was so close, too close. Releasing the doorknob, Emily took a step backward. She needed to put some space between her body and Mitch’s.
He reached out and touched a stray tendril of her dark hair. Their eyes met and held, ice blue pleading with warm cinnamon.
“You can trust me with your life,” he said, curling her hair around his finger. “There are no lies between us now, no more secrets. I’ve told you that I’d do anything for you, but you have to believe me. Believe me enough to trust me, to give me a chance to prove myself.”
She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust him. In her heart of hearts, Emily knew that she loved Mitch Hayden, despite his past, despite everything that stood between them. “I believe you mean what you say.”
He took a step closer to her. Her heart beat rapidly, as a warm flush spread over her body. Releasing her hair, he skimmed the side of her face with the back of his hand.
“I’m only a phone call away,” he said. “If you need me, for anything, all you have to do is ask.”
He didn’t want to leave her, but he knew he must She wasn’t ready for anything else, not even a good-night kiss. If he kissed her, he wouldn’t be able to leave, and it would be wrong to take advantage of Emily when she was still so uncertain about her feelings.
“Good night, pretty lady.”
Before he could change his mind and beg her to come home with him, Mitch turned and walked away, feeling so alone, yet keeping close to his heart the fact that Emily had said she believed him. Surely there was a way to prove himself to her, to show her that he’d do anything to make her happy.
Chapter 12
Emily stood on the porch watching the sunset, breathing in the unique aroma of the sea, absorbing the beauty of the red sky, the glistening ivory sand and the blue-gray waters of the bay at day’s end.
She had just come home from an early dinner date with Charles, their fifth in the three weeks since the night of Zed’s party. She cared too much for Charles, as a friend, to let their relationship go any further. She didn’t love him and she never would. She had decided that after tonight, she wouldn’t see him again. He’d made it abundantly clear that he loved her and wanted to marry her. And they both knew their union would please Uncle Fowler.
But it had been unfair of her to continue seeing Charles, leading him on, when she was in love with another man. The man next door. The man she hadn’t spoken to in twenty-one days. Was he out there somewhere, on the beach? Inside his cottage? Was he watching her?
She glanced back inside her open front door at Charles, who was deep in conversation on the telephone. He had apologized to her for having to make a business call, and she had assured him it was quite all right.
Emily sat down in one of the big wicker rockers, leaned her head backward and closed her eyes. What was she going to do about her life? She couldn’t allow things to continue the way they were now. She felt positive about her decision to explain to Charles why there was no point in their seeing each other again.
Deciding what to do about Mitch Hayden wasn’t so easy. Could she ever forget the past? Was there any way she
could look at Mitch and not remember that he was M. R. Hayden?
Mitch had made some big mistakes in his life. The biggest had been trusting the wrong people. Even though Mitch hadn’t done anything illegal or underhanded himself, he’d been duped into allowing his partner to construct unsafe buildings. Emily could understand Mitch’s desire to get rich quick. He’d come from the depths of poverty and scratched his way to the top. Unfortunately, he hadn’t paid close enough attention to what was going on around him.
She didn’t doubt that Mitch had suffered greatly in the past five years. Losing his business, his reputation and his fiancée in one fell swoop had nearly destroyed him. But it had been in the years since the trial, since Styles and Hayden Construction had gone into bankruptcy, that Mitch had paid for his sins.
Zed had told her how Mitch had become little more than a burn on the streets, drinking too much, getting into too many fistfights in seedy dives, daring God to strike him dead with every action he took.
And Emily didn’t doubt Mitch’s sincerity when he had said he’d do anything in the world for her.
So what did she want from Mitch Hayden? She wanted him to love her the way she loved him. She wanted him to marry her and give her a child. She wanted him to make love to her and not see the scars on her back.
She was sure that if she asked all this of him, he would give it to her. But she could never ask. She would never know if his actions came from real love or only from his own guilt and a deep sense of pity.
“Sorry that took so long.” Charles came outside onto the porch and sat down beside Emily in a matching wicker rocker. “You look very pensive, dear. Is something wrong?”
“Yes and no.” She turned to him and smiled. “I’ve enjoyed our dating again...”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.” Reaching across the arms of their chairs, he took her hand in his. “Have I said or done something wrong?”
“No.” She shook her head. “You’ve been a perfect gentleman, and perhaps, under different circumstances...” Emily pulled her hand out of his grasp. “I can’t see you again, Charles. I’m sorry, but I’ve been wrong to let you think that there could ever be more than friendship between us.”
“I see.” Leaning back in the rocker, Charles bent his knee, crossing one leg over the other.
“Would this decision to end our relationship have anything to do with Mitchell Hayden?”
“I really don’t think that’s any of your business.”
Charles uncrossed his legs and stood, tall and elegant in his tailored suit, linen shirt and silk tie. “Hayden’s a bit rough around the edges for a lady like you, Emily. According to Fowler, money and success didn’t turn him into a gentleman when he was at the top of his game, and now that he’s nothing more than a construction worker, he’s even cruder than ever.”
“I don’t want to discuss Mitch with you.”
Charles gazed down at Emily, then shook his head. “You’d be a fool to trust that man after all he’s done to you. My God, woman, his construction firm was responsible for your husband’s death.”
“You warn me not to trust Mitch. He warns me not to trust you.” Emily stood, facing Charles. “I’m very fond of you, but I don’t love you. All we can ever be is friends.”
“Yes, well, I had hoped for more. You’re an incredibly lovely lady. One who would do credit to any man.” Slumping his shoulders like a defeated soldier, Charles bent his head. “Fowler will be terribly disappointed that things didn’t work out for us. He has his heart set on our marrying and moving into his home.”
Emily touched Charles’s arm, wishing she’d never met Mitch Hayden, wishing her heart were free so that she might have eventually accepted Charles as her life’s mate. But now that she’d known what real passion felt like, she could never settle for anything less. Even if it meant spending the rest of her life alone.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do what Uncle Fowler wants, but I can’t.”
“You’re in love with Hayden, aren’t you?”
She couldn’t answer Charles. She simply stood there staring at him until he leaned over, kissed her on the cheek and walked down the front steps and out to his Mercedes.
Curled up on the damask chaise longue in her bedroom, Emily held a glass of peach-flavored sparkling water in her hand. A thin volume of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poetry lay in her lap. Closing her eyes as she leaned her head back, she listened to the steady beat of the rain, which had started nearly an hour ago. The spring rain had begun slowly, a soft peppering on the roof, but had turned into a heavy downpour within fifteen minutes.
Carl Reinecke’s Harp Concerto permeated the room with the tender sweetness of a music that brought to mind moonlight and roses, good wine and warm smiles. Emily felt at peace for the first time in weeks. She had made a decision tonight. She couldn’t go on lying to herself, pretending that she didn’t want Mitch Hayden in her life. She accepted the fact that nothing could change the past. Hers or Mitch’s.
Perhaps she and Mitch had no future together, but tomorrow, she would talk to him, be as honest with him as she could be and still maintain some semblance of her pride. Others might call her a fool. Perhaps she was.
Suddenly the room went pitch black. Emily screamed. Dear Lord, what had happened? Had the spring rain turned into a storm without her notice? When Emily jumped up, the book of poetry dropped to the floor. She gripped the glass in her hand.
Stay calm. Don’t panic. Look out the window. Search for light.
But there was no light. The moon and stars were obscured by thick cloud cover and heavy rain. Then, unexpectedly, off in the distance, she saw a pale glimmer of illumination. A flashlight? Or her imagination?
She felt her way across the room and set the glass of water down on her dressing table. Listening for the sound of thunder, she heard only the pounding of the heavy rain. No thunder. No lightning. No storm. Why had the electricity gone off?
Light the kerosene lamp on the dresser, she told herself. The matches are in the top drawer.
Darkness, thick and heavy, surrounded her, bearing down on her like an enormous weight. She could feel the nervous pumping of her heart as she took slow, tentative steps in the direction of the dresser. Bumping into the dresser’s edge, she grasped the side, then reached out, feeling for the lamp. Finding it, she kept one hand draped around the base while she opened the top drawer and searched inside for the box of matches. After retrieving the matches, she released the lamp momentarily.
On the first try, she couldn’t seem to light the match. Nor on the second try. Her hands trembled. Light the damn match!
A flicker of pale orange burned at the tip of the third match. Carefully lifting the glass chimney, Emily lit the lamp. The soft, warm glow illuminated the room with its dim light.
Emily breathed a sigh of relief. Some of the fear drained from her. More light. She needed more light. She kept a supply of candles and a kerosene lamp for every room. The electricity didn’t go off all that often, except in stormy weather, but when it did, Emily was always prepared. She would never find herself alone in the dark if she could help it.
Holding the lamp high in her hand, she walked out into the hallway, but stopped dead still when she heard the shattering of glass in her kitchen and the murmur of two male voices.
Walking backward, Emily eased into her bedroom and closed the door, locking it behind her. Someone was breaking into her house. Two men, who’d been whispering to each other.
She had to get help. Immediately. She set the lamp on the table and picked up the phone. Without giving any thought to what she was doing, she dialed the number as she clutched the phone fiercely in her hand.
“Hello,” the deep masculine voice said.
“Mitch! Help me! Someone’s breaking into my house!”
“I’ll be right there! Do you hear me, honey?”
“Yes, Mitch, please—” The line went dead. Emily dropped the telephone. Whoever had severed her electrical lines must have suddenly
remembered that he hadn’t cut the phone line, as well.
Emily never had owned a gun. She didn’t believe in guns. But dear Lord, she wished she had one now.
Was there anything in her bedroom she could use as a weapon? If they broke down the door, how would she defend herself, one woman against two men?
Open the window and go out onto the porch, she told herself. But it was dark outside. Pitch-black.
She heard the sound of footsteps inside the cottage. She covered her mouth with her hand, sucking in her breath, resisting the urge to scream.
Stay calm. Mitch is on his way over here. But what if the men were armed? What if they shot Mitch? Dammit, why hadn’t she called 911 instead of Mitch? If anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself.
And why had she insisted that Nikki return to her home, assuring her best friend that she didn’t need a baby-sitter? Why hadn’t she done as Mitch and Zed suggested and had a security system installed? She’d been stupid to think she was safe now, to think that the harassment was over, that there would be no more trouble. She had been wrong. Dead wrong.
The footsteps came down the hallway. The door to the bedroom beside hers opened and closed. With her eyes glued to her own bedroom door, Emily waited. The footsteps came closer. Her doorknob turned. A man’s voice called out.
“Are you hiding, Emily?”
She didn’t recognize the voice, had no idea who he was. She didn’t move and barely breathed.
“Be a good girl and keep Mitch Hayden out of your life and we’ll leave you alone,” another male voice said.
“Now you’re all alone in the dark and the boogeymen are going to get you.”
On tiptoe, Emily crept toward the window, reached up and unlatched the lock. The doorknob rattled again. Emily eased the window upward. The wind blew the rain across the porch and through the open window, hitting her in the face. She peered outside into the deep, empty darkness.
Emily And The Stranger Page 16