She's No Angel

by Leslie Kelly

  Whatever the case, he was on guard, and it was time to move forward, starting with an apology to Jen. Then, perhaps, seeing if they were finally ready to pick up where they’d left off at his grandfather’s house.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” he told Tommy as he paid the tab. “I have to get going.”

  His ex-partner nodded. “Watch your back.”

  He would. He definitely would. He’d watch Jen’s, too, if she allowed him to get close enough to do it. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure she’d let him. After Saturday morning, when he’d practically shoved her into her apartment in his hurry to get her out of danger by distancing himself from her, she’d seemed pretty pissed off. She might not be speaking to him. Or she might thank him for saving her life. She might even be armed and ranting as she’d been the first time he’d met her. Or she might throw her arms around him and kiss him in pure gratitude.

  Well, that last one was a stretch. But one thing was sure—he could hardly wait to see her and find out.

  EMILY HAD A DATE.

  She’d never had one before, well, not a real one. A friend of the family had taken her to a high-school dance once at her father’s request about sixty years ago. Since then, however, she’d only had lunch dates with girlfriends or bridge dates with the local club. Never a man-woman date.

  But she did now. Tomorrow night. With Mr. Roderick Ward.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered as she looked at the five outfits she’d strewn across her sofa, trying to decide between them. How foolish. She owned absolutely nothing that made her feel as if she actually belonged with a man like him.

  Some might look at him and see a butler to a rich man. A servant. But Emily knew he was much more than that. He was a servant to Mr. Potts in name only. In truth, they were friends. Contemporaries. Equals.

  His pride insisted he still be called an employee. That was the only way Roderick would continue to live in Mr. Potts’s house. From what he’d said last Sunday night at the dinner party, he had his own home, in England, and could probably live there very comfortably for the rest of his life without working another day.

  But he’d miss his friend. He and Mortimer were like an old married couple who’d been together their whole lives. Or like two soldiers who’d survived a war.

  Well, wasn’t that exactly what they were?

  “Miss Baker?” a man’s voice said. It was accompanied by a knock on her door.

  “Come in, Damon,” she said, recognizing the voice.

  Damon Cole, Allie’s handsome young man, walked in, greeting her with a smile. She’d grown more attached to the boy every day. What a charmer, what a delight. And how deeply in love he was with Allie and her baby boy. It made even an expert at love like Emily realize she didn’t know everything there was to know about the most tender of emotions. Damon had given up his former life to come here and be with the woman he loved, including starting up a counseling center right here in Trouble. Emily didn’t know how much this would resemble his work as a child welfare worker in Florida, but considering the number of nutty people right here in Trouble, he’d sure be busy.

  “I got home early but Allie and Hank aren’t there.”

  “She ran out to the grocery store,” she said. Seeing Damon’s disappointment, she added, “But I’m sure they’ll be back any moment. Why don’t you sit down and wait?”

  He glanced around the room at the dresses covering every surface. Blushing, Emily quickly grabbed them up, feeling foolish. “Sorry. I was just…doing a bit of spring cleaning.”

  “In August?” The twinkle in his eye said he was teasing. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the hearts of all the single men in Trouble by going out on a date.”

  “You tease,” she said, blushing to the roots of her hair. She was too old for such nonsense—dates and blushing and worrying over what to wear.

  Somehow, though, she didn’t feel old. She felt young and carefree. As she hadn’t since she’d been a teenage girl, shortly before both of her parents had gotten sick and her quiet, lonely life of nursing them had become the only road she could travel.

  It seemed like forever since she’d allowed herself to have romantic dreams about herself. Decades. Yes, her brother had given her a glimpse of a normal life once, thirty years or so ago. When he’d been financially able to, he’d offered to hire someone to take care of their parents so Emily could try to have some kind of life of her own. But by then, her father had been confined to a wheelchair and her mother had refused to let a stranger take care of him.

  So she’d stayed. She’d always stayed.

  “Is it Mr. Ward?”

  That jerked Emily out of her thoughts and made her go as stiff as a ladder. “Please tell me Allie told you that because if I thought I made a fool of myself over him at dinner last week, I’d never be able to face any of those people again.” Particularly Ida Mae and Ivy Feeney.

  “She hinted at it,” Damon explained. “Where are you going?”

  “To dinner and a movie.”

  Damon frowned. “Please tell me he’s taking you out of Trouble. I’ve only lived here a few weeks and I already know the only two restaurants are fit primarily for the cockroaches that live inside their walls. And I don’t think the Movie Palace renovation is finished yet, is it?”

  Emily bit the inside of her cheek. Damon had the right of it when it came to local restaurants. “We’re going to a place up in Weldon then to a documentary up at the college there.”

  “A documentary, huh? Not exactly typical first-date stuff.”

  That it was her first date in reality was something she did not want to admit, not even to as nice a young man as this one. “I’m sure it will be quite informative.”

  “Informative? Boo. You want hot and sexy,” another voice said. Allie, carrying Hank on her hip and a grocery bag slung over her arm, entered the living room. Dropping the bag, she bent to give Damon a kiss, immediately releasing Hank to his waiting arms. Damon held him like an absolute natural.

  Emily gave them a moment to say hello before responding to Allie’s ridiculous suggestion. “I’m afraid hot and sexy are two words that are not in my vocabulary.”

  “Why not?” Unperturbed, Allie began tossing through the dresses. “Nope. Nope. Maybe for a funeral…like your own.”

  Damon cleared his throat. “You sure haven’t mastered that whole tact thing, babe.”

  Tossing her head in a cute move that sent her brown curls bouncing, Allie gave Emily a brilliant smile. “Who can be tactful when there’s romance in the air?” Then she pointed to a dress Emily had pulled out only as a last resort—a dark pink one that was a bit too flashy, in her opinion. But it did make her eyes sparkle, so she’d included it. “Wear that one. Let him know you’re interested.”

  “Didn’t saying yes let him know I was interested?”

  “You’re hopeless.”

  “I’m not very experienced at this kind of thing.”

  Allie must have heard the uncertainty in Emily’s voice because she let off the teasing. Dropping the dresses into a heap, she reached out and put a gentle hand on Emily’s shoulder. At that moment, it was as if she knew Emily’s darkest secret—that she didn’t have just a small amount of experience, she had absolutely none. None with dating. None with love.

  None with sex.

  None.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered, knowing she’d been foolish to even consider going on a date at her age. “I’m going to have to call and decline.”

  Allie’s tender touch turned into a big hug. The girl was tiny, but she had strong arms and a fierce heart. “No, you’re not,” she whispered. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

  At that moment, Emily realized her secret wasn’t her own at all. Allie had pegged her rightly as a spinster virgin. She pulled away, looking for pity or amusement in the feisty young woman’s face. Of course, she saw neither. Allie’s bright brown eyes reflected the kindness of her nature. The same sweet, cocky attitude she
’d had since the day Emily had met her on a bus bound for Trouble. Even pregnant, nearly broke and carrying a yappy dog, the girl had been irresistible. The kind of daughter Emily would have loved to have, if she’d ever had that chance.

  “You’re doing this,” Allie said. Then she pointed to the pink dress. “And you’re wearing that.”

  There was one more thing to be said for Allie Cavanaugh: she was determined. So though Emily put up a few more minutes of feeble argument, in the end, she agreed to do exactly what her young friend advised.

  Picturing the next evening, she honestly couldn’t say which situation worried her more—that Mr. Ward would see her in that dress with her new hairdo and get the wrong impression.

  Or that he’d get the right one.

  WHEN MIKE KNOCKED on Jen’s door an hour after leaving the bar, he immediately summed up her mood. She was mad. He obviously had not been worrying for nothing.

  “Come to protect me again?” she asked when she opened the door of her apartment. Her tone dripped sarcasm and her expression was anything but friendly.

  Not that Mike noticed. He could pay attention to nothing except the huge bruise on her right shoulder, revealed by the tight, sleeveless tank top she wore. A matching one was visible farther down her arm, and a bandage on her elbow said she’d been wounded there, as well. “Damn it. Did I do that?”

  She nodded toward her shoulder. “This one’s such an interesting shade of purple, don’t you think? Much more attractive than the black-and-yellow ones on my hip and back.”

  He stiffened, feeling like an abuser for having hurt her.

  Apparently noticing, she grudgingly stepped back and opened the door wider to usher him in. “Not that I’m complaining.” Even though she was. “You may well have saved my life.”

  He entered the apartment, immediately glancing around for any evidence of another man-hater party. He saw nothing out of the ordinary—no glaring friends, no wine, no ice cream or porn.

  All of that was a good thing, except, maybe, the porn. He’d love to see Jen’s face flushed and moist with excitement as suggestive images made her own imagination run rampant in her mind. Watching other people have sex didn’t interest him in the least, but watching Jen be affected by it most definitely did.

  Considering she was barely speaking to him, however, he didn’t figure it would be a good time to mention that. Or to ask her if she was ready to pick up where they’d left off last weekend by making their way to the nearest hotel. Or her room.

  For the first time in forever, he wished he’d picked up a few points on getting into a woman’s good graces from Max. He was the lover of the family; Mike the fighter. Max would know how to seduce Jen out of her bad mood and into bed. Mike’s instinctive response was to shove her back against the wall, slide his hands into her hair, tug her mouth to his and not stop kissing her until the frown left her face.

  Then drag her to the nearest bed.

  Not that he’d ever try to manhandle her—he knew Jen well enough to know that was the wrong way to proceed. Besides, she was too bruised and banged up for that. Her movements were slow and careful, shadows of painful weariness visible beneath her eyes. Which just made him tense all over again with the need to hurt whoever had nearly crashed into them both, necessitating his rough rescue.

  “Anyway, um…thanks,” she finally said after she’d closed the door behind him, remaining close to it in the narrow front hall of her apartment.

  “Well that sounded sincere.”

  “Thank you for tossing my ass out of the path of an oncoming van,” she clarified. “And saving me from being squashed by it. I know I could have been killed.”

  “Getting better.” He was about to open his mouth again, to try to somehow apologize for throwing her against the side of a building and leaving her covered with more bruises than a teenager after a game of paintball. But she wasn’t finished.

  “I am not, however, very happy that you followed up by dumping me on my doorstep with an order to stay home.”

  Yeah, he guessed he had done that. Getting Jen home safely and finding out who’d targeted him had been all he could think about once he’d made sure they were both okay. He’d hustled her here after they’d made their statements to the responding officer and dropped her off as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of her. When, in truth, all he’d wanted was to stay with her and make sure nobody had followed them to her place.

  “I’ve lived here for seven years. I’m not some fresh-from-the-farm kid who doesn’t understand the big city.”

  “But have you ever had to deal with a psycho who could hurt you?” he asked in his own defense.

  She crossed her arms and cocked a brow. “Are you forgetting who my relatives are?”

  Point taken.

  “You acted like I’m a poor, helpless woman who doesn’t know how to put on her shoes unless her big strong man draws her a diagram. And frankly, I didn’t like it.”

  Mike simply stared, somehow knowing there was more.

  She finally lowered her arms, her lashes dropping slightly as she looked toward the floor. “As for not calling me for two days afterward…”

  Now they were getting to it. He hadn’t called. That was twice in the past week when she’d felt stood up, which suddenly made her prickliness a little more understandable.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he murmured, unable to keep his hands to himself anymore. He reached up and brushed the tip of his finger over that dark bruise on her shoulder, flinching when she winced beneath his touch. The raw, angry-looking thing was the size of his palm, covering most of her shoulder and disappearing beneath the fabric of her shirt. “So damn sorry,” he mumbled through a throat tight with regret. “I got caught up in investigating what happened.”

  “Do you think it was more than a random accident?”

  He didn’t want to go into the whole Ricky Stahl story. He somehow felt that voicing his name would bring the filth into their lives—into her life—and Mike couldn’t stand the thought of it. He didn’t even want her to know someone like that existed, much less that he’d nearly killed her, all because she’d gone out for a cup of coffee with Mike.

  So he skipped the details, instead merely telling her, “I think it could be connected to a drug case I testified about last week, but that’s only my gut talking.”

  “Listen to it,” she murmured, sounding concerned, but also a bit distracted. As if she was much more aware of his touch on her shoulder than she’d like to admit. “To be honest,” she added, “that whole thing didn’t seem accidental to me.”

  He’d read her statement to the officer at the scene, the one who’d arrived immediately after the van had taken off, so he knew she meant it. Mike was glad to know she had strong instincts—and that she trusted them. “I know. That’s why I wanted to get you home safely.”

  She shifted closer, the tension slowly easing out of her as he continued to stroke the edges of her shoulder. Using his fingertips, he traced the outline of her bruise, carefully. Tenderly. Apologetically. “I can’t stand the thought of putting you in any danger.”

  Suddenly the muscles in her shoulder tensed and out came that determined jaw. “I hate that protector crap.”

  He’d have expected nothing else.

  “I don’t need anyone protecting me, Mike.”

  The letters and threatening phone calls she’d received after her last book disputed that statement. But he didn’t press her because Jen hadn’t opened up about it. Most of what he’d learned had come from his grandfather, by way of her aunts.

  He wished she’d confide in him. Tell him everything that was happening and admit she was vulnerable enough to need someone once in a while. And that maybe that someone could be him.

  His desire for her to do that was almost strange, since he liked her toughness. A lot. He didn’t want her to change. So maybe it was that innate protector instinct his brothers swore he possessed rearing up again. Or just the need to plant himself between Jen and a
nyone who might dare try to hurt her.

  Which was pretty ironic considering she was bruised up because of him. That made him feel like a first-class shit.

  “You might not need a protector,” he finally admitted, continuing to caress her shoulder, trying to ease the tension away again. “But you could use someone to take care of you once in a while.” Unable to resist the softness of her skin any longer, he moved closer, stepping in as she retreated back against the wall. She didn’t seem anxious to escape him. Instead, she almost began to sway, appearing weak on her feet and needing the wall for support. As if his touch had made her wobbly.

  Well, that would make sense. He was having a hard time focusing on anything else—including standing—because of the way her silky body felt beneath his fingers.

  “Maybe you need someone to make you feel better,” he whispered, as he moved closer to her shoulder. Using his mouth, he traced the path his fingers had taken, gently kissing the bruised skin, hearing her soft sigh of acceptance in his ear.

  “Kisses to make it feel better?” she said, her defenses audibly dropping away with every word.

  “Uh-huh. I’m sorry I hurt you, Jennifer,” he murmured as he continued to kiss her, so carefully, so tenderly, not wanting to cause her one more moment of pain. With every brush of his lips, he heard her sigh, felt her quiver. He inhaled her scent…and her acceptance. “So sorry.”

  She moaned, lifting her hands in the air, almost putting them on his shoulders, but not quite touching him. As if knowing he wanted to do the touching, to soothe away every memory of pain and do penance for having caused it.

  Her hands slowly fell. Her head tilted back against the wall. Her eyes drifted closed. And Mike continued to taste her warm skin, to silently apologize and kiss away her hurt.

  That was his only intention, to make it up to her, give her pleasure instead of pain. But of course, as soon as he began, he knew, very soon, he was going to be in a whole lot of pain, himself. Because the need to have her, to finally finish what they’d started back in Trouble, was about to crush him.