by Leslie Kelly
Yeah. Yeah. And ohhhh yeah.
Emma was shaking her head. “I never intended…this doesn’t mean…”
His jaw stiffened. “It is what it is, Emma Jean. To hell with intentions or regrets.”
“I don’t regret it,” she replied, her admission surprising him. He’d have figured she’d sooner slip and fall in the Joyful Grocery Store again than be so honest. “But hooking up with you again sure wasn’t what I had in mind when I came here to hide out.”
Her words took him by surprise. “Hide out?”
She tugged her robe tighter around herself and looked toward the floor. “No, I’m just kidding.”
Sensing she was close to coming clean about why she’d really come to Joyful, and why she planned to stay, he took her chin and lifted her face. When they were eye to eye, he ordered, “Tell me.”
With a heavy sigh, she admitted, “I lost my job. My life savings. My best friend. Everything. I’m destitute and broke and unhirable. So I came to Joyful to…I don’t know…wait out the storm?”
His jaw dropped open. He had not expected this. Emma’d been raised with not only a silver spoon in her mouth but an entire tea service at the ready. How she could have reached such a state truly baffled him.
She seemed to see his disbelief. “It’s true.” Then she turned her face, curling her cheek into his fingers. “But today, now…well, let’s say I’m feeling better than I have in a long time. I’d been feeling lonely and lost and afraid.” She gave him a saucy smile. “Not to mention hot.”
Her suggestive comment didn’t have the effect she’d probably been going for. Emma’s sexy teasing couldn’t refill the part of him that had suddenly been sucked empty by what she’d admitted. By what it meant.
She was down and out. She needed a savior, someone to make her feel better, someone to lean on.
Same old story. Once again, he’d played the hero for Emma Jean Frasier. No, this time he hadn’t given her flowers and an arm to lean on while walking into the prom. Instead, he’d given her a mind-blowing fuck to help her forget her troubles for a while.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and pulled his hand away from her.
She didn’t seem to notice his distraction, because she sounded very casual when she asked, “So who was at the door, Johnny?”
He finally remembered why he’d come looking for her. Just the sight of her in her silky pink robe had made him forget they were no longer alone in the house. And her confession about what she was really doing here had made him forget everything except how empty and furious and used he’d felt the last time he’d been stupid enough to get involved with Emma Jean.
She hadn’t wanted him back then, she’d wanted Nick. And this time, she hadn’t wanted him, either. She’d wanted a hard body to comfort her.
If this were a normal situation, he’d probably have figured what the hell and taken her to bed again as many times as she needed until she felt better. But not with her.
He couldn’t do this again. She’d torn him up when he’d been a young, stupid kid. He couldn’t imagine the damage she could do now that he was a grown man.
No more.
“It was Claire,” he finally responded, keeping his voice even and his breaths steady. “She’s, uh, still downstairs. I think she’s in trouble and she needs a friend.”
Thank God for Claire. No way could he stay here and not let Emma Jean know exactly what was going on in his head. Which would do nothing but leave them snapping and shouting at each other as they had on prom night.
He was older and wiser now. He didn’t need to fight with Emma Jean. He just needed to get away from her.
EMMA KNEW THINGS had to be bad with Claire because for the rest of Friday night, and all morning Saturday, her friend never asked for the dirt on what she’d interrupted between Emma and Johnny. That would have been easy to answer: the most incredible sex of her life. Or, at least, the afterglow of the most incredible sex of her life.
She was still slightly stunned by it. By the suddenness and the intensity. Like a wicked summer thunderstorm, what they’d shared had been shocking and powerful and then suddenly gone.
Gone. She sensed Johnny had been gone even before he’d left the house the previous night. Something had certainly been gone—his warmth? The lazy-sweet look in his eyes that said he wanted to take her to bed and never get up?
Something.
He’d been almost tense. Not cold, but somehow, as crazy as it seemed, reserved. Ridiculous given the intimacies they’d shared in her living room, but it was true. Something had made him grow distant.
It’s for the best.
She’d been repeating those words in her brain all morning. Getting involved with Johnny would be a mistake of gargantuan proportions. She was in town for one reason—to wait out the firestorm and controversy until she could get another job and go back to her real life in New York.
Not to stay. Not to turn into a small-town girl involved with the local stud. No matter how good that stud was in bed. Or on the floor. Or any flippin’ place.
Johnny had chosen Joyful. He’d gotten out once, had tried living in a big city, with a good job, far away from the stigma of being one of “those Walkers.” But he’d come back. His choice said a lot about where his head was and what he wanted out of his life.
They were on two different roads, going in two different directions. They’d both been caught in the same summer storm, that was all. It had to be all.
She just had to stop the whispers in her brain that kept reminding her it was the stormy season.
“So, you’re sure you want to go to this reunion?” Claire asked from the doorway.
Emma looked up from her bed, where she sat painting her toenails a screaming fuchsia, and nodded. “Yes. I’m sure. It’s about time this town realizes I’m not hiding because of what happened on prom night. And you’re coming, too.”
Claire entered the room and sat down on the bed. Reaching into Emma’s giant cosmetics case, she sorted through the nail polish and selected a bloodred shade.
“Umh, honey, that shade is so not you,” Emma said.
“Why not? I’m through being safe and sweet.”
Emma couldn’t help it. She snorted. “You? Safe and sweet?”
Claire simply glared. “I am.”
“If you say so.”
Emma still couldn’t believe the reason Claire and Eve had shown up on her doorstep. Claire’s husband, Tim, had apparently gone all caveman on her because Claire had decided to go back to work. He sure didn’t sound like the loving husband Claire had spoken of.
“I still can’t believe you walked out,” Emma murmured.
“What was I supposed to do when he practically accused me of being a lousy mother?”
“I’m sure he didn’t say such a thing.”
“He didn’t have to,” Claire replied with what looked and sounded like a harrumph. Emma couldn’t be sure, since she’d never actually witnessed one, but that disgruntled, groaning, frowning thing Claire had just done probably qualified.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours,” Emma said without hesitation. “And you’re right. You do deserve to live your life and feel free to be who you really are.”
Claire nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“But…”
The harrumphing thing happened again.
“But, you should at least expect your husband to react when you don’t tell him about things like getting a job or putting your daughter in day care.”
Claire had told Emma about her drastic lifestyle changes, and her husband’s less than enthusiastic reaction to them. What she hadn’t been clear on was what had fired her up so much to go roaring out and make those changes without a word to Tim.
Claire swiped some red nail polish on her index finger, and looked at Emma through her curly brown bangs. “I got his attention.”
“Yeah, you sure did.”
“He knows I’m serious.”
“Consi
dering you packed your bags and your child and left, I’d say he does.” Then Emma gave her friend a gentle smile. “But don’t you think it’s time to talk to him about all this?”
Claire frowned. “I’m not sure he’s ready for talking. Besides, I think he needs more than one night alone in our bed to realize I actually was there, sleeping beside him, for the past few years.”
Whoa. That sounded more serious than a spat over a job. Though she didn’t want to pry, she sensed her friend needed to talk. “Um, problems there, too?”
Claire frowned. “Closest thing I’ve had to a sexual experience this month was when the guy fixing my bathroom sink bent over and gave me a plumber’s smile.” Tapping her finger on her cheek she added, “I think I had my last nonchocolate-induced orgasm right before the turn of the century.”
“You’re exaggerating.” She hoped.
“Maybe. But not by much.” Claire grabbed a bottle of nail polish remover and began to methodically remove every bit of the polish she’d just applied.
Emma nodded toward her supply of polish. “Go for something softer this time.”
“You’re the one who had the screaming hooker red in your makeup kit,” Claire shot back.
“Gift with purchase.”
Claire nodded, understanding instantly, as would any woman who glommed up every gift with purchase at the makeup counter. Even though the colors in said gifts were ones that would usually only look flattering on a corpse. Or a transvestite.
Emma reached for the bottle, intending to tuck it away in case she ever needed to bribe someone on the set of the Jerry Springer Show. Not that she’d been arrested, for, oh, a few days now.
“I don’t know why I’m bothering,” Claire said, looking with disgust at her short, neatly trimmed nails.
“Because you’re beautiful,” Emma replied. She’d waded in this deep, so she figured she might as well head all the way in. “Get back to your orgasms.”
“What orgasms? You mean the ones I’m not having because of the sex I’m not having?”
No sex. That’d been Emma’s lot…until yesterday…but as a single woman who hadn’t dated anyone even casually for over a year, she had an excuse. Claire did not. “Why not?”
“Well, I’ve never been a vibrator kind of gal….”
Emma snorted a laugh. “I meant, why aren’t you having sex?”
Claire’s grin faded and she absently reached for a bottle of pale pink polish. “I look awful.”
“Oh, puh-lease…”
“No, I know I’ve let myself go. It was hard enough losing the first twenty pounds I packed on when I was pregnant. These last twenty are a bitch. I don’t think they could be blown off my butt with an explosive device.”
“So what? You’re beautiful, Claire. Voluptuous. Gorgeous.”
Her friend didn’t look convinced, though Emma was serious.
Pointing to her breasts, Claire muttered, “Then there’s these things.”
Emma sucked her lip into her mouth to prevent a laugh. Claire looked as disgusted as if two dead rats were hanging from the front of her dress. “Uh, honey, in case you hadn’t heard…men like big breasts.”
“These have moved past big and gone to the watermelon stage. When Eve was a baby, I was afraid to bring her into bed to nurse her at night because I thought for sure I’d suffocate her with one of these puppies. They were about four times the size of her head.”
Emma was snorting by this point, and Claire’s grin had returned. Then she softly admitted, “I guess that was part of the problem. Suddenly they turned into milk machines instead of…”
“Playthings?”
Claire nodded.
“I think there’s a name for that.”
“Elvis Presley syndrome?”
“Something along those lines.”
Emma thought about Claire’s problem. So much for perfect, blissful marriages. If someone as kooky-sweet and loveable as Claire couldn’t make it work, how could anyone?
What an utterly depressing thought.
“So you see why I’m not totally thrilled about going to this reunion tonight. I’m already feeling bad enough about my life. I don’t particularly relish spending an evening with a bunch of people who’ve probably already heard through the grapevine that my husband’s thrown me out because he wants a younger, skinnier, nicer woman.”
Emma rolled her eyes at Claire’s exaggeration. Though, honestly, experience told her the gossip chain probably would distort the truth in such a manner.
“Personally,” Emma said, “if it were me, I’d want to dress myself in something drop-dead gorgeous and show up at the party making every man there drool.”
“Drool? I think you mean gag.”
Emma groaned. “Drool! Now, Tim is coming, right?”
“I’m sure he will. If only to see if I show up.” Then Claire snickered. “Drop-dead gorgeous, huh? Got any big giant canvas feed bags floating around?”
Emma glared at her friend, getting tired of hearing her rag on herself. “You’re buying into the stereotypical b.s. that has screwed up so many American woman. Have you seen some of the new, more normal-sized supermodels?” Determined, Emma rose to her feet, walking carefully with toes spread and upraised to avoid any smears, and pulled a dress out of her closet. “You’ve got to pull a Scarlett in Gone With The Wind. Show up in a wicked dress and act like you don’t give a fiddle-dee-dee what anyone thinks.”
She pointed to her own red dress, which was short, tight and low enough to stop traffic. She’d only worn it once and had immediately decided upon it when thinking about the reunion.
Claire’s eyes bugged out. “You must be crazy if you think I can fit into that!”
“No, this is what I’m wearing.” She hung the dress back up and carefully waddled back over to take Claire by the hand. Pulling her to her feet, she said, “Let’s drop Eve off at your mom’s. Because you are going to get a new dress. And I know just where we’re going to look. A shop that’s having a huge col-o-sul sale.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
JOHNNY HAD absolutely no interest in attending the ten-year reunion of his brother’s high school class. He’d gone to his own last year and had been bored to tears. This would be much worse.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t get out of it. He’d agreed to be the alumni speaker. A former Joyful High grad who’d somehow done something to aid the residents of this town was always invited to address the party. Usually it was an alumni from the same class. But apparently Nick and Emma’s graduating class had been kinda thin on suckers…er…local success stories.
Lucky him.
Of course, he’d agreed to it weeks ago, long before Emma Jean had ever come back to Joyful. Certainly before he’d done the unthinkably stupid and had sex with her again. This party would have been bad even before what had happened between them last night. Now, he couldn’t imagine how tough it was going to be, knowing what they’d shared the day before. And knowing there was no way they were ever going to share it again.
He’d rather be tied to a chair and forced to watch Gigli a dozen times than attend tonight’s big to-do. But he’d promised.
Arriving at the hotel in Bradenton where the reunion was being held, he couldn’t help casting a quick eye at the people entering the place. He recognized a few faces. Guys he’d played football with, some he’d shared detention with. A former bully he’d punched for beating up one of his younger Walker cousins.
But no Emma. And, he found himself acknowledging, no Nick.
Not that he expected his brother to show up here. No way would Nick come back to town, for this event of all reasons. If he’d been coming, he would have told their mother, and she would have told Johnny.
Still, he couldn’t help looking at every guy entering the place, wondering if he’d see and recognize his brother’s lanky form or familiar cocky grin.
Dammit, he’d missed him. Missed their friendship, the relationship they’d once had.
Sometimes Johnny wishe
d he’d handled things differently. He’d just been so furious with Nick after he’d run out on Daneen. Truthfully, he’d been furious with him since he’d run out on Emma. But it had only been when Daneen had come back to Joyful with her baby son that he’d confronted his brother. Once the family had found out where Nick was—in the Marines—Johnny’d written him to express his opinion. He’d pulled no punches in his letter, expressing every bit of anger and disappointment he felt for his only sibling.
Nick had never replied. And the only time they’d seen each other since was when they’d stood on either side of their mother, watching their abusive prick of a father being buried.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
He immediately looked up and saw Daneen standing right outside the door of his SUV.
“They aren’t worth a wooden nickel.”
She shrugged, then stepped back to let him open the door and step out. “I heard you were the guest speaker tonight.”
“Your class wasn’t exactly full of overachievers, was it?”
She swatted his arm. But before she could say another word, they both saw a little red convertible pull into the parking lot and zip into a space close to the entrance.
He’d recognize that blond head, not to mention the shrill squeak of her brakes, anywhere.
“Emma,” he murmured.
“So she showed up after all,” Daneen muttered, not sounding pleased by the development. She said something else, but by that point, Emma had stepped out of her car, and Johnny was completely incapable of focusing on anything else.
Red. Oh, God help him, her dress was red and short and glittery and tight enough to reveal every delectable curve of her body. Low-cut with thin shoulder straps the only thing holding everything in place.
“Have you seen much of her since she’s been back?”
Johnny smiled inwardly, thinking of just how much he’d seen of Emma Jean recently. Particularly last night. “I’ve seen her.”
“I hear you’ve been seen with her,” Daneen said, sounding deceptively noncommittal.