Five Days Grace

by Teresa Hill

  If the smell of her wasn't dangerous enough, the sight of her was even harder to take. Her skin was still flushed from the heat and slightly damp in places, as if she'd toweled off in a hurry. Her hair was piled carelessly on her head and the pieces of it that had escaped were damp, too. Her cheeks were flushed, and he could see that she'd taken pains to cover that bruise again. But it was worse today than it had been yesterday.

  Beneath all that, she looked all fresh faced and innocent and young. She was feeling shaky enough, as is, and he didn't mess around with nice women like her, not anymore.

  "Something smells good," she said, coming closer, bringing that vanilla scent with her.

  Rye bit back a reply, something that would likely have come out as, Something certainly does.

  "Hungry?" he said instead, too late realizing that probably wasn't the best conversation opener, either.

  "Yes." She came right up beside him, damp and warm, and she might as well have doused herself in vanilla cream. Not that the scent was overwhelming. Just that it smelled so good he wanted to take a bite out of her.

  Dessert, he thought. Emma.

  "Let's eat," he said.

  "Okay." She turned to the cabinets. Opening one, she raised up on her toes to reach the top shelf, giving him a perfect view of her tempting backside encased in a pair of jeans that fit like a glove and hugged every enticing curve.

  He practically growled, "How old are you?"

  "How old do you think I am?" She eased down off her toes, two plates in hand, seeming to take delight in throwing it right back at him.

  But at least she was smiling. He liked seeing Emma smile. Trying not to growl at her or take a bite of her, he said, "Twenty-three? Maybe twenty-five?"

  Please, let her be twenty-five.

  "Close enough," she said.

  "Emma?" He took a plate from her and filled one for her, cheese crepes topped with a sauce he'd made using some of her aunt's blackberry jam and some whipped cream.

  "It's just a number, right?" she said, taking her plate and smiling mischievously.

  "No, it's not just a number."

  Not when he was thinking he might be ten years older than she was, maybe even more. Not that he was going to let anything happen between them. Still...

  "I'm starving," Emma said. "Can we eat?"

  He frowned. "You didn't tell me how old you are."

  "Old enough," she claimed, seating herself on one side of the breakfast bar and waiting for him to do the same.

  He made a plate for himself, sat down across from her, a good bit of pretty granite countertop stretching between them, which had seemed like a good idea at the time. But it meant he got a front-row seat as every spoonful went into her delectable-looking mouth.

  And he was supposed to be figuring out how old she was, dammit.

  He had a nagging sense that he wasn't going to like her answer, once he got one out of her. But honestly, how young could she possibly be? She'd said she was finishing college. So she had to be twenty-one or twenty-two.

  Twenty-one?

  He frowned.

  Twenty-one-year-olds were practically infants, weren't they? Didn't they still giggle and flirt shamelessly and guzzle beer at parties with frat boys?

  She probably went to parties with frat boys.

  Rye sat there while she moaned and groaned in appreciation over bite after bite. He tried to block out the sound, because it made him think of Emma in her bath, in her vanilla-scented water with her now vanilla-scented skin.

  If she was a day over twenty-three and he was anyone but who he was, he would have let himself imagine feeding her crepes in the bathtub, getting her out, and eating her up.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  He looked up at her, finding her chewing slowly, her pretty mouth pursed into something that looked like a kiss at the moment. "Nothing."

  "Bad news?"

  "No. Nothing like that," he promised.

  "You'll stay here today?" She stared at her plate. Her face tilted forward. Her hair fell across her bruised cheek.

  "I don't know if that's such a good idea, Emma. You don't even know me." He'd never hurt her, but hell, she didn't know that.

  "You're going back to trying to convince me not to trust you?"

  "Hey, a little skepticism is a great thing, especially when you're a young, beautiful woman."

  "I'm not—"

  She broke off, her cheeks flushed all the more, not looking at him now. He closed his eyes and bit back a curse. She was getting to him. That sweet, fresh-faced, innocent look of hers was killing him.

  "I just want you to be safe, Emma, and I want both of us to be able to sleep tonight." Not that he had a prayer of that, not after smelling that Emma-after-her-bath smell and seeing her all flushed and fresh faced, her tight little jeans, and innocent eyes.

  "And someone who was out to hurt me would say things like that?"

  "He would if he was smart. It sure seems to be working for me. After all, I'm right here with you," he said, frustration getting the better of him.

  "You think I'm an idiot, don't you?" She went from flattered to mad in about half a second.

  "I think you can't be too careful. Look at what this jerk did to you."

  "I know." She touched a hand to her bruised cheek, as if to test and see if it were still there, still as bad as she remembered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into my problems."

  "You haven't dragged me anywhere, Emma," he admitted, taking those inevitable steps closer. He could rest his hands on her shoulders or maybe hold her hands. That seemed safe. He did that, just took both her hands in his. "I've come quite willingly. I'm afraid I'm just not that good at taking care of anyone. I've been on my own for a long time now."

  "I think you're doing just fine at taking care of me. And... Well..."

  She eased up on her tiptoes and placed a frustratingly brief, soft kiss on his lips this time.

  "And I appreciate it. Thank you."

  He just stood there. There was something so innocent about that little kiss. It might as well have been another peck on the cheek, like the one she'd given him earlier when she'd been so scared and he'd held her in his arms.

  Except it rocked him all the way down to his toes again.

  "Emma," he warned, holding himself absolutely still and straight.

  "Hmm?" She brought her hands up to rest ever so lightly against his chest. The delicate touch burned right through the fabric of his shirt. She still smelled so good and the world was spinning oddly around him.

  He hadn't had anyone to hang on to in so long, and how her mere presence could be so comforting and so unsettling at the same time, he could not understand. But he couldn't pry his hands off her.

  "Things are crazy right now," he said.

  "I know. For me, too."

  And yet she stayed stubbornly right there, her face maybe an inch from his. He wanted to tell her she really shouldn't go around kissing men she barely knew, even those little pecks on the cheek. They gave a man ideas.

  But this wasn't him getting ideas. She was inviting something entirely different now. A taste of her. All that sweetness, that innocence.

  "I think I like you," she said. "Is that such a bad thing?"

  "Yes. It's a very bad thing."

  In the end, it was the sweet softness of her that got to him. He hadn't held a woman like that in years. There hadn't been any like her, not where he'd been. Surely he could have a little bit of that. Just a taste.

  He touched the tip of her nose with his, nuzzling closer. He heard her catch her breath and thought long and hard about the skin of her cheek, about her mouth, her neck. With her hair piled high, Emma had an absolutely delectable-looking neck.

  Who's to say what he would have done in the end, given the chance. Probably gotten into the same kind of trouble she started. But she lifted her face that last fraction of an inch, and one more time, her lips settled against his.

  They were so very soft. He teased at t
hem with his tongue, at the opening there, thinking, Let me in, Emma. Just like this. It would be enough. He'd make it enough.

  Her mouth opened to his. His entire body tensed at the possibilities. He gave himself up to the wonders of kissing Emma, put his hand to the back of her head, tangled within her hair, which he wanted down. Now.

  His other hand went to the small of her back, arching her against him. Her breasts pressed against his chest. He let his hand slide down to her bottom, cupping it, pressing her against him.

  He could devour her right here in the kitchen.

  "Damn," he said, pulling back. "This is a bad idea, Emma."

  She gazed up at him, looking dazed and confused. "What is?"

  "You and me," he admitted.

  "How do you know?"

  Because it felt too good, and since when did life get to feel this good to him? Since when did anything really good ever last for him?

  Edge of Heaven

  The McRae Series

  Book Two

  by

  Teresa Hill

  ~

  To purchase

  Edge of Heaven

  from your favorite eBook Retailer,

  visit Teresa Hill's eBook Discovery Author Page

  www.ebookdiscovery.com/TeresaHill

  ~

  Discover more with

  eBookDiscovery.com

  Complete your journey with an excerpt from

  BED OF LIES

  The McRae Series

  Book Three

  Excerpt from

  Bed of Lies

  The McRae Series

  Book Three

  by

  Teresa Hill

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  She was standing in the foyer of the most elegant restaurant in town—Steve's arm resting lightly at her back, her future in-laws by her side, her new life firmly in place—when she saw him.

  Customers were heading in and out of the front doors, clustering at the hostess stand, heading off to their tables, everyone going every which way at once, while she stood frozen in place.

  There he was, Zach McRae in the flesh.

  All grown up and absolutely perfect, as she'd always known he would be one day.

  There was a quick rush of pleasure and surprise at first. She'd always liked him so much. And for a moment it was as if Julie Morrison's life were a movie playing out on the big screen and someone had just hit the pause button. No, as if they'd sent the tape in reverse. In an instant, she was seven years old again, scared, lost, and trying to hide in a quiet corner of his parents' house, wishing she never had to go home, him promising sincerely that his family would always be there for her. Young as he'd been at the time, he'd meant it, had kept that promise so many times over the years.

  Zach turned, saw Julie, and walked right up to her, shoulders wide and squared, a too-familiar smile on his face—as if he'd last seen her yesterday, not more than eight years ago—and said, "Hello, Julie."

  "Zach," she managed to say. "What are you doing here?"

  What she really wanted to say was, Please don't say another word. Please don't ruin anything.

  "Business." He was still smiling. "And you? Is this where you disappeared to? Memphis?"

  She laughed. What else was there to do? A part of her was surprised, maybe even hurt, that he'd recognized her so easily. She thought she'd come so far from that girl she used to be. Especially standing in the lobby of one of the finest restaurants in Memphis, a discreet, hopefully stylish, designer dress wrapped around her body. Steve's ring—a tasteful family heirloom passed down through the generations—on the third finger of her left hand.

  And yet, at the same time, she realized there was a part of her that despite everything else, was immeasurably pleased that Zach had known her right away, even after all this time.

  "You disappeared?" Steve asked as his arm tightened around her, bringing her back to the present.

  She realized they were all looking at her, Zach and Steve, as well as Steve's parents. Both in their sixties, tastefully gray and discreetly looking of old Southern money, they'd never been happy at the prospect of welcoming her into their family. Somehow, they'd known she just didn't belong in a family like theirs.

  Calm down, Julie told herself. All she had to do was stay calm. And get rid of him. Stay right here in this carefully constructed world. It was hers now. No one could take it away.

  Steve's mother cleared her throat and gave Julie a pointed look.

  "I'm so sorry," Julie said. "I was just surprised.... Steve, this is Zach McRae, an old friend of mine. Zach this is my fiancé, Steve Land, and his parents Barbara and Joe Land."

  As they all shook hands, Julie couldn't help but notice that Zach, all grown up, was just as straight and tall and solid as she'd ever imagined he'd be. He had dark hair, thick and clipped short and neat, even darker eyes, a strong, determined jaw, a beautiful smile. A hint of strength and power emanated from him as he stood there in a perfectly tailored suit. The stamp of confidence and ease showed in every move he made, a kind heart in the way he'd always treated her.

  "Old friends, you say?" Steve asked him.

  "Yes," Zach said, not taking his eyes off her. "And neighbors."

  "Oh?" Steve's mother sounded interested all of a sudden. "You're from St. Louis, too?"

  "St. Louis?" Zach asked, blank faced.

  And just like that, Julie felt the treacherous ground she was standing on shift this way and that.

  Julie jumped in, begging him with her eyes to just let it be. "He used to be. It's been ages since we've seen each other." She smiled up at Steve in the end. He wasn't going anywhere. He wanted to marry her, after all. Then she turned to Zach and uttered a bold-faced lie. "And your family moved to... Where was it, Zach? Ohio?"

  He took a breath, his jaw tightening. She could just imagine what was running through his head. Just like old times, huh Julie?

  Years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated to call her on a lie. He'd always thought she could be better than she was. She held her breath, waiting....

  "Yes." He finally nodded, staring at her. "I'm surprised you remember."

  All the lies, he meant.

  She hung her head, realizing he had the power to shame her, even now.

  "And you two know each other because...?" Steve asked.

  "Julie and my little sister Grace were inseparable for years when they were younger," Zach explained. "I'm sure she'd love to hear from you. In fact..."

  He slipped a hand into the inside front pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, silver case. Taking a business card out of it, he scribbled something on the back, then gave it to her.

  "Do that, Julie. Give her a call." His look practically dared her not to.

  Or what? He'd track her down? Not that it would be difficult. She'd never bothered to change her name. At the time she'd been tempted, she hadn't had the money, and once she had it, she realized she hadn't left anyone behind who'd care enough to come looking for her.

  She took the card, promising to call.

  The hostess, sleek and elegant in a slim, black floor-length skirt and a crisp white blouse, joined them, nodding respectfully to Steve's father. "Your table's ready, Mr. Land."

  Steve's mother paused for a moment, then turned to Zach. "You've just arrived in town, Mr. McRae?"

  "Yes, ma'am," he said.

  "Alone?"

  "Yes. I was supposed to have dinner with a colleague, but he got tied up at the last minute. I decided to come anyway and try it on my own."

  "Well, we can't have you eating dinner all alone. Why don't you join us? We've met so few of Julie's friends, and with her not having any family left..."

  Zach gave Julie another one of those looks. "I'd love to join you. If that's all right with everyone."

  Barbara Land looked gleeful, as if she'd read between every line and knew Julie was hiding something and that Zach might well be the key. Steve gave Julie an odd look, his arm tightening once again at her
waist. She could feel all those not-so-subtle male signals rolling off him. Hands off. She's mine. As if Zach had ever seen her as anything but a lost little girl or a reckless teenager.

  There was a short, awkward silence before Steve conceded. "Please, join us."

  Moving through the crowded restaurant, Zach caught her by the arm. She stared down at his hand, surprised at Zach the man touching her, at the little tingling energy she felt between them. It gave him the time to draw her back from the rest of the group and whisper, "Got rid of the family again, huh, Julie?"

  He knew well that she'd spent most of her high school years claiming to be an orphan or the sole child of a father who was off building a bridge in South America and hadn't been seen in years.

  "Wouldn't you, if they were yours?" she asked.

  "No, I wouldn't."

  "Of course not," she admitted more sharply than she intended with her nerves getting to her, as they wove their way through the myriad tables and chairs. "You're perfect, and you have a perfect life."

  He caught her arm again and stopped her right there in the middle of the restaurant. Quietly, he said, "You know that's not true."

  Yes, she supposed she did. It was something she'd forgotten so many times over the years, because he certainly seemed like a man who'd had everything. But that wasn't the case.

  She hadn't believed the story the first time she'd heard it whispered about the neighborhood. About Zach and his two sisters found abandoned in a motel on the edge of town at Christmastime one year. His mother found weeks later in a ditch outside of town, where she'd been left for dead. Not long after that, she was dead, Zach's father in prison for killing her.

  It hadn't seemed possible. His adoptive family seemed as close to perfect as any she'd ever known. But she'd asked Grace, who'd confirmed the whole story.

  Zach had talked about it once, telling Julie he knew what it was like to be alone and scared. He told her because he knew she felt the same way, and he knew how bad it was, something she'd never wanted anyone to know.

  And here he was, seeing through her all over again with those beautiful, dark eyes of his.