by Sami Lee
Emily laughed. “That’s a good comparison.”
“He sounded like that when he was fifteen. I think his voice broke at the age of five.”
Jet slipped his hands into the back pockets of the jeans and came farther into the room. Emily noticed the way he favored his left foot. “You did hurt yourself.”
“Just a twisted ankle. It’s nothing.”
“You should sit. Take the weight off it.”
Jet’s brow arched. “Is that an order?”
“Yes, I think it is,” Emily countered with a tilt of her lips.
Jet chuckled and moved to sit on the couch. Emily sat on the old upturned crate in the center of the room. Brand had found it at an auction, then had spent two days sanding it back and varnishing it until it gleamed. To her mind, it was the best coffee table in the entire world.
She made a curling motion with her hand. “Show me this ankle.”
“Cripes, you are bossy,” Jet remarked, but he didn’t protest. He lifted his foot and let her hold it in both her hands. Emily pressed her fingers gingerly into the flesh around his ankle, ascertaining the extent of the injury. Jet said nothing for a while, the room silent save for the sound of rain pounding against the roof and lashing at the windows.
A strange tension settled in the air, not unlike that which they’d generated outside, when he’d held her wrist. She was too close to him again, Emily realized, but what could she do? The man was injured. She had to offer assistance.
At length, Jet asked, “So what’s the diagnosis?”
“It’s swollen.”
“No kidding.”
Emily’s gaze crashed into his. Had there been a double meaning behind that response or was she projecting? Struggling with the humiliating temptation to glance at his crotch, Emily stood and rested Jet’s foot on the coffee table. “Keep that elevated. I’m going to get some ice.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jet drawled, adding something else in a mutter that Emily didn’t quite catch. Something about needing ice for more than his foot which Emily absolutely refused to analyze. She concentrated on finding the ice pack, willing the burst of cold air from inside the freezer to dispel the warmth in her cheeks.
When she returned to the living room, she was under control again. As in control as a woman could be with a pair of panther-like black eyes tracking her every move. She sat on the coffee table once more and pressed the ice pack to Jet’s ankle without returning his too-intent gaze.
“Outside before,” Jet said, breaking the heavy silence. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“Oh you didn’t,” Emily lied, the heat returning to her cheeks in a rush.
“Yes, I did. Just so you know, I’m not that guy. You’re with Brand, so I would never—”
“I know.” How she could be so certain of that, Emily had no idea. But Jet didn’t seem like the type to make a move on another man’s woman. He wouldn’t have to. He couldn’t help that he was so divine to look at shirtless that she’d tripped over her own feet. “It was me. I’m not so good with men. I never know how to act. At least not with the very good-looking ones.”
Oh shit. Did she have to add that last bit? Could her face get any hotter? Jet smiled, amused by her discomfiture. “I find that hard to believe, Emily.”
“Jet!” Emily swatted him on the leg. “It doesn’t help when you flirt.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I get the impression that it’s like breathing to you. Take pity on a woman who doesn’t get out much and isn’t well practiced in the social behaviors. I’m making enough of a fool of myself here.”
“Okay, pity taken.” Jet held up an appeasing hand. “And you’re not making a fool of yourself. You’re right, I do tend to flirt without thinking. Especially with the very good-looking ones.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “See? You’re incorrigible.”
“So I’ve been told. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll stop.”
He appeared suitably penitent so Emily chose to believe him, even though she wondered if he had that much control over it. He might be able to curb his tongue, but he couldn’t do much about the animal magnetism that radiated off him. He couldn’t change the way he smiled, like he had a juicy secret he would be willing to share if you leaned in a little closer.
He packed quite a wallop, did Jet Durante. Emily had never met anyone like him, and despite his tendency to make her blush and trip over her tongue, she liked him. She sensed she could trust him. Given all that, she said, “All right, now that we’ve got that settled, you can stay for dinner.”
His expression sobered. “I shouldn’t.”
“Why? You have somewhere important to go in this?” Emily gestured out the window, to the still-pouring rain. She followed up by pointing to his swollen foot. “With that ankle?”
“I should get on the road before dark.”
She could tell by his expression that he had nowhere to be, that he’d made no plans for the night beyond coming here and hoping to catch up with his old friend. Perhaps he’d thought they’d share a few shots of whisky while they reminisced about the past and that Brand would offer him a place to crash. Emily found herself saying, “You can stay the night if you need.”
He shook his head. “Not a good idea.”
“I have three spare rooms and enough lamb ragout to feed a small army. It’s raining fit to flood and you have a swollen ankle.”
“None of that prevents me riding a motorbike.”
“Maybe not, but it could be dangerous,” Emily persisted, even while a sensible part of her brain was telling her she ought to let him go. That she ought to encourage it. But the facts spoke for themselves. Jet was hurt, it was raining and riding a motorbike in the rain with an injury was not a good idea. He was Brand’s friend. In Brand’s absence, it fell to Emily to extend the hospitality a friend deserved. “If Brand were here he’d insist.”
“I’m not so sure of that.” Jet shrugged. “It’s been a long time and he wasn’t expecting me.”
“So? Friends are important, and to be honest before you showed up, I wasn’t sure Brand had any.”
Emily glanced down at her feet, abashed at having to admit, again, how much she didn’t know about the man who’d lived with her for the past two years. She spoke quietly. “The truth is, when Brand arrived on my doorstep it was almost like he materialized or something. Like he hadn’t existed before I met him. Other than the few details he tells me about his time in the army, I have no idea what his life was like before he came to live here. Meeting you is a surprise.”
She lifted her head again and smiled faintly. “A good one. I’m glad to know Brand has someone else, someone who seems nice. And normal.”
Jet’s lips tilted. “I’m not so normal.”
No, she supposed he wasn’t. Jet was rather extraordinary. Hellishly handsome, he oozed sex appeal and personality. To top it off, he was a globe-trotting adventurer. If he were her old friend, she’d hate to miss out on seeing him. She had to assume Brand would feel similarly disappointed if Jet left before he got here. “Please stay. Tell me more about what Brand was like when he was a teenager.”
Jet’s brows furrowed. “He really hasn’t told you anything, has he?”
His gentle tone brought an unexpected sting to Emily’s eyes. “I…I don’t like to pry.”
“You love him.” It was a statement, not a question. “If you can’t pry, who can?”
“Brand’s very…” Emily trailed off, at a loss to articulate her thoughts. How could a person explain a man like Brand, who seemed as tough as rusty nails on the outside, but about whom Emily had always sensed a hidden vulnerability? She didn’t want to push Brand—not because she was afraid he’d get mad at her, but because she feared he’d bolt like a scared colt if she opened the wrong door. Like a door to his heart he wanted to keep closed.
Well, not exactly the same intimacy. Obviously.
Emily smiled, sure now that she would convince Jet to see things her way. “Stay. You know it makes sense.”
“Emily…”
“If you promise not to flirt or take off your shirt, I promise not to drool or jump your bones.” Emily grinned and crossed a finger over her heart. “You’re safe with me, I swear.”
At that Jet laughed, a burst of sound that punctured the remaining tension in the room. “Damn, woman. You’re a nut.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“With an offer like that,” Jet finally said when his laughter had dissipated, “How can I say no?”
He should have said no.
It was an easy word to utter. Just one syllable, two letters. No. Or he could have gone all out and said, No, Emily, I can’t stay here tonight because I have a hard-on for you, and I might also still be in love with your boyfriend…who was once my lover.
Talk about awkward. And if Jet had told the truth, there was no guarantee Emily would have sent him packing. She might just as likely have asked him a million questions, like she had about his travels and about the time when he and Brand were teens living on his parents’ orchard-slash-hobby-farm. Her thirst for knowledge about Brand was obvious, so Jet had given her as many stories as he could without revealing the personal truths Brand had, for whatever reason, kept from her.
Jet’s parents, having been medically unable to have the large family they’d always wanted due to complications with Jet’s birth, had decided to become foster parents. As a result, Jet had ended up with countless brothers and sisters, some who blew in and out of his life like an elusive breeze, many he remained close with to this day.
And one, only one, he’d fallen in love with when he was sixteen years old. The one he’d had his first homosexual experience with, who’d touched his soul in places nobody else had come close to reaching. The one who’d broken his heart when he left the farm at eighteen, enlisting in the army without so much as a word. The same person who’d broken it again four years ago when a chance encounter had led to a night of passion after which Jet had woken alone. Abandoned again by the only person, man or woman, he’d ever loved with his whole being.
Brandon Walker.
Jet stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed and awake at four a.m., wondering why he hadn’t left. He needn’t have told Emily the truth. He could have made up some excuse. But when she’d looked at him with those big green eyes, all cheerful and welcoming, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint her. There was a dash of concern in there too. She was in love with Brand, yet the man had shared so little of himself with her. He was holding back, exactly as he’d always held back with Jet. It wasn’t right.
“So what are you going to do, Jet?” he whispered. “Have a man-to-man chat with him? Tell him to treat his woman right?”
Jet shook his head and a laughed ruefully. It was crazy. He’d met Emily approximately twelve hours ago. Where the instinct to protect her came from, he had no idea. Perhaps he was projecting his own pain onto the situation. Brand had hurt him with his distance and abandonment, so he saw impending disaster in Emily’s life where there wasn’t any. Perhaps Brand had changed. Emily seemed genuinely happy.
But the secrets, the lies. Eventually they’ll come out and hurt her. Or Brand will take off without a word and leave her wondering for the rest of her life why she wasn’t enough to make him stay.
Jet was asking himself, again, why Emily’s potential heartbreak was his problem when the sound of an engine approaching abraded the serenity of the night air. The rain had finally stopped about an hour ago, leaving only the gentle plopping sound as water from the overflowing gutters landed in the puddles on the ground. There was no mistaking the thrum of an older-model four-wheel drive, or the squelch of tires tracking through mud and grass. The vehicle came to a stop beside the house, right outside Jet’s open window.
His blood pounded through his veins. He held his breath as the car door opened. Heavy footfalls landed on the grass, then on the steps leading up to the front porch. The dogs let out a happy whine as their master stopped and gave them a pat. Then, with a creak of the door, he was inside.
Brand was home.
Too late to make an escape now. He should have left hours ago, but he was still here, and soon Brand was going to know it. Jet figured he ought to get the confrontation over with, to step out into the darkened living room and say G’day. But he froze where he lay, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his chest, his pulse refusing to calm down no matter how much slow, deep breathing Jet did.
He was in Brandon Walker’s orbit again, and he was a fucking mess because of it.
Just like old times.
Chapter Four
Brand tried not to wake Emily as he took off his clothes and slipped into bed. He should have washed up first, but he was wrung out. Nineteen hours in the rain, building barricades along the riverbank, trying to stop the rising water from seeping into people’s homes. They’d saved a lot of houses, but not all. Sandbags could only do so much.
Fucking sandbags. It was stupid that in all that rain and cold, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and doesn’t let go, the sandbags had reminded him of Afghanistan. He’d thought when he left the army, he’d never have to see another sandbag in his life, but that didn’t turn out to be the case. He’d fought the flashbacks all day, kept thinking he was back in the desert with bullets whizzing past his head and fellow soldiers dying beside him. He’d worked through them, refusing to let the weakness in his mind control him physically. He’d told himself a thousand times he was safe now, that everyone else was safe from him.
No more war. No more death.
A shudder passed through him, the remnants of his unwanted memories, and he forgot all about not waking Emily. He reached for her and pulled her close. She was so warm and soft, her body as fluid as water as she curved her back to his front with a sigh. The cold that had settled in his bones started to thaw, heat replacing it as she tilted her head.
Brand took the kiss she offered, feeling the warmth infuse him, letting it chase away the demons that dogged him. Emily moaned and thrust her lush backside into his crotch. His cock came to life, his emotional needs manifesting in a physical desire so strong and swift it was all Brand could do not to thrust into her without preamble or care.
Slow, slow, slow. His breaths grew ragged as he restrained himself. Emily was so giving that it was difficult sometimes not to take without offering something in return. Brand lifted the long T-shirt she wore to bed and slipped his hand between her legs. She had no underwear on, nothing to keep him from the slick juices coating her swollen flesh. Brand groaned, his control hanging by a thread when he realized how wet she was.
The thread snapped when Emily parted her thighs and said, “Now. Now.”
“Emily,” Brand rasped and positioned his erection at the entrance to her pussy. He found her clit and rubbed it as he drove into her hot sheath in one brusque plunge.
Emily gasped, and Brand froze. Too rough. Damn it. “Sorry, Em.”
“No. No, it’s good. Don’t stop.”
Brand let out the breath he’d been holding. Despite her words, he forced his movements to slow as he began to pump into her. She often told him to go for it, that he could go harder, deeper, faster than he usually did, but Brand schooled himself to hold back every time. She didn’t know how hard he was all the way through, how rough he could really be. He was…dangerous. He never wanted Emily to see that, to look at him with fear in her eyes.
So he kept to his measured rhythm, stroking Emily’s clit until s
he strained against him, her body a tense curve as she came. Her inner muscles gripped him, fluttering with her orgasm. His balls throbbed as he rocked into her, as roughly as he would allow himself to. Moments later he reached a bone-melting climax that tore a groan from his throat and banished every bad memory, every fear, from his mind.
Breathing heavily, Brand dropped his head into the soft pillow. He left an arm draped around Emily, used it to hold her close. He remained inside her warmth until she shifted, indicating she needed to use the bathroom.
Reluctantly, Brand let her slip out of bed. Before she left the room she leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Welcome back,” she said, a smile in her voice.
Brand smiled too, a fairly uncommon occurrence for him, as he listened to Emily tiptoe across the hall. Who she thought she had to sneak around for, he had no idea. Knowing Emily, she was concerned about waking the dogs. Emily cared about everyone, human or animal. She put others’ needs before her own without a thought. She was warm and kind, funny and sweet. In a word, she was loveable.
That’s why you can’t help but love her, Brand. That’s why you’re still here.
He hadn’t meant to stay, not two years. Two bloody years. He could understand why he hadn’t left. Emily was impossible to leave. What Brand didn’t get was why Emily hadn’t kicked him out yet.
It’s that generosity of hers. But generous or not, there was only so much of a taciturn, insensitive, rough bastard such as himself that a sweetheart like Emily should put up with. Even if she did love him. Especially since he couldn’t seem to say he loved her back.
Nights like tonight, when she’d been here ready, willing and able to chase all his emotional monsters away, not saying those words lodged painfully in his chest like a bubble. But telling her he loved her would only make her more committed to him, while it wouldn’t necessarily stop him treating her like crap. He knew that from past experience. From the one other person he’d loved and let down.