Everything changed if Pickett was going to be there. “When is the family reunion?”
Pickett chuckled in fond exasperation. “Today, silly. That’s why I’ve been calling you and calling you. I’ve got to see your new clothes. I’ve got an idea for a few items I think you should get. Grace’s taste is infallible, but, you know, serious. You need some fun clothes too.”
“Fun clothes? You mean sports clothes?”
“No. I mean apparel, the purpose of which is entertainment. That’s a foreign concept for you, isn’t it? I’ve got to admit I hadn’t fully grasped the possibilities myself until Jax,” Pickett added with a chuckle that was positively sultry.
More than ever, Emmie regretted that she hadn’t been around for Jax and Pickett’s courtship. This was a side of her friend she’d never seen before. Being in love had evidently brought out new elements in her Pickett’s personality. There was a new kind of confidence about her, a deeply personal self-assurance. Emmie was a tiny bit shocked and a tiny bit envious.
“What kind of fun are we talking about here?”
Pickett giggled. “The kind you’re thinking about. But also frivolous or provocative things—like you’d look great in high-heeled boots.”
Emmie was on the verge of pointing out how utterly impractical high-heeled boots were when she got a picture of standing in front of Caleb wearing them. And nothing else. Her heart did a double backflip.
“Say you’ll come, Emmie.”
“I don’t know. Caleb is here.”
“Oh, that’s right! So much has gone on here, I forgot today was the day. How did it go?”
“We went to the open house, but Caleb got thrown out.”
“Is he there now?”
“He’s in the living room.”
“Where are you?”
“In the bathroom.”
“Why are you in the—forget I asked that. This conversation has gone way off track. But now, you’ve got to come because I’ve got to hear the whole story, and I’ve got to tell you what I think sent Lauren into treatment.”
Chapter 24
CALEB WAS IN EMMIE’S BIG BLUE VELOUR EASY CHAIR reading a book, his tie loosened, his shoes kicked off, his feet in coffee-brown socks propped on the ottoman, when Emmie returned to the living room. He had switched on the standing lamp behind the chair. The light brought out the gold in his reddish-brown hair and dwelt in loving lines along the planes and angles of his face. He wasn’t handsome, and he never would be. He was beautiful. Her artist’s eye noted the color composition, palest yellow shirt, tobacco brown slacks, deep blue chair.
His legs were crossed at the ankles, his elbow propped on the armrest, his head supported by the headrest. Light, reflected from the open book, limned the underside of his chin and found the golden fringe of his lashes. A buoyant lightness filled her chest as if something she had waited and waited for had at last transpired.
In a way she couldn’t define, he had made the chair, the lamp, the corner of the room, his, and he looked completely at home there. Except for Pickett, not that many people entered Emmie’s space, and as a rule she felt more at ease when they left it. From now on, the room wouldn’t look quite right without him.
His eyes lit in welcome when he saw her. He held up the book so she could see the cover. “Asimov’s I, Robot. I took it from your bookshelf. Hope you don’t mind. It’s one of my favorites.” He moved his legs to one side on the ottoman in a clear invitation for her to perch there.
Emmie sank down on the low footrest. A faint, warm shock traveled through her when her hip came in contact with his crossed ankles. His toes, those long, strong, elegant rough-hewn toes stroked across her buttocks in what might have been an accidental settling, might have been a caress. Emmie was momentarily diverted, but his expression was so innocent she returned to the subject of the book.
“Mine too. I liked the three laws of robotics. I loved them so much I committed them to memory. ‘One: A robot may not injure a human being or through inaction allow a human to come to harm. Two: A robot must obey a human’s orders except where to do so would conflict with the first law. Three: A robot must protect its own existence except where to do so would violate rules one or two.’ In the stories, the robots must make moral choices within a nested hierarchy of values.”
“Unh-unh.” Caleb shook his head. “The robots weren’t acting morally. They’re machines. The three rules were a design function to make them harmless.”
Again, she felt a stroking movement of his toe near the small of her back. This time she caught the playful gleam that accompanied it.
“True. Nevertheless, as the three rules are weighted, they are a perfect, logical encapsulation of Christian ideals.”
His smile left “interested” and shaded into “indulgent.” “Do you think anyone lives by them?”
“My parents do. The first law of robotics summarizes the commandment to love one another and the Golden Rule. The second rule is about service. My parents’ life purpose is to serve, and their obedience is to the laws of God.”
“What happens when Biblical commandments conflict with the first law? The Old Testament requires the faithful to stone people for everything from wearing the wrong clothes to sassing their mama.”
“Right. Deuteronomy 22:5 and Exodus 21:17—although your translation is extremely loose.” Emmie rolled her eyes. “My parents are Christians, not 4000 BC desert nomads. Christ’s commandment was: ‘love one another.’ It supersedes all the others.”
“How about looking after themselves?”
“They would say self-maintenance is incumbent upon Christians—the body is a temple and all that—but they believe it comes third. The first two are much more important. I think I loved the book because at last I could see the logic on which they based their lives.”
“The logic? Not the faith?”
“Faith didn’t work for me. I hated that they had sent me to live with my grandmother. I knew they loved me, but it was a paradox. If they loved me, why didn’t my happiness matter? If I couldn’t stay with them, why didn’t they come to the States with me?”
“Why did they send you to America?”
“Two people with our mission were kidnapped and held for ransom by terrorists. They were targeted because they were Americans. My parents sent me to live with my grandmother for my safety.
“I, Robot put the choices they made into a framework I could understand. For my parents, the first law meant they needed to stay and minister, despite possible harm to themselves. However, they could not, through inaction, allow me to come to harm. Anyway, I was a typical self-absorbed teenager. I wanted them to be dedicated to me, not to God.”
Emmie laughed. Until this moment she’d never seen it from this perspective exactly.
His eyes were gold again. The angles of his cheeks softened, and his lips, those shapely, full, firm-looking Brad Pitt lips, opened in an unconscious smile. He wrapped one hard hand around her upper arm, tugging her forward, lifting her onto his lap. “I don’t think you’ve ever been typical in any way.”
He tucked her left arm between them and settled her right hand on his shoulder so that her arm was completely supported when he leaned her against his chest. “Shoulder okay?” he murmured. Instead of kissing her as she expected, with smooth strokes he molded her until she relaxed against him with her head on his shoulder.
Emmie nodded, her eyes suddenly hot and wet. Emmie had encountered his strength before. She’d seen the smooth confidence with which he moved her body when he needed to. No matter that she still wasn’t sure how much she trusted him—at some point her body had decided it trusted his. Pickett had told her repeatedly to become more aware of how she was being treated. He wasn’t dominating her as he’d done before when he’d buckled her seat belt. She couldn’t yield though until she understood… something.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
A soundless chuckled moved his diaphragm. “Holding you.” “Oh. Why?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“Is that a good enough reason?”
“Emmie. Stop trying to figure out the regulations for what’s happening between us.”
Was that what she was doing? From the first she’d been a little afraid of him, sensing he wasn’t a man who would be easily kept in his place. Time had proved her right. She hadn’t successfully managed him. At every point he had been doing what he wanted to, what he saw fit to do, and as she had expected, she hadn’t been the reason.
“And don’t ask me what is happening,” he said, apparently having read her mind. “All I know is I went looking for my father and found you. That’s enough for now.”
Enough for now. The words moved around in his mind as if he was deep in a forest, and they were echoes tossed from tree to tree, sometimes right beside him, sometimes impossibly distant. After a while they fragmented, became softer…
Something had changed. Something that defied every bit of her experience (albeit limited) with men. Despite his protests that he had pulled her in his lap because he wanted to hold her, Emmie had expected him to make love. She had waited, and waited, trying not to control what he was doing. But she did like to understand the goal, and his response indicated there wasn’t one, which wasn’t entirely satisfactory. And then—she wouldn’t have believed it if it hadn’t happened to her—he had fallen asleep.
Draped across him as she was, the sensation of moving with his breath was almost like floating, and when he didn’t do anything… and didn’t do anything… she had been lulled into deeper and deeper relaxation. When eventually she had realized that his breath had become deep and regular and he might be asleep, she hadn’t known whether to laugh or to cry. She’d had plenty of experience with men who couldn’t get rid of her fast enough when they learned she wouldn’t put out, but if he could ignore the fact that she was there and go to sleep even with her on his lap, she was insignificant indeed.
On the other hand, she’d noticed how much of the smiling ease with which he approached life was in fact ironclad self-control. He was miles from the swaggering jocks with their sense of entitlement and unwillingness to take seriously anything that didn’t directly impact their own egos. She was a little ashamed of herself for ever having thought that of him. This afternoon she’d become aware that there was a price for the seeming ease with which he managed and mastered every situation. Maybe the bill had come due, and he was simply exhausted.
The arm under her was going numb, but she didn’t want to move lest she wake him. It was a small enough courtesy to give the man a few minutes of peace. She was mastering his lexicon of smiles, but she’d never seen his face in repose. He’d sighed deeply and expertly shifted her so that the pressure on her arm was relieved. She was disappointed a few minutes later when he removed the hand on her hip to look at his watch.
He opened his eyes. Outside the broad slats of the white plantation blinds, night had fallen. He must have dozed for a minute.
Funny, he couldn’t remember the last time he had dozed off, accidentally, without preparing himself for sleep first. He wasn’t good at going to sleep, period. He’d never gotten the hang of power-napping, as some guys could, sleeping for ten or fifteen minutes wherever they were, no matter how noisy or bright or uncomfortable.
He’d survived as a SEAL only because he required less sleep than most. Through meditation he could achieve profound relaxation that allowed his body to rest, while he remained alert. He lifted his left arm from where it rested on Emmie’s hip to check his watch. He’d only been out a few minutes. That he had done it while holding Emmie on his lap defied imagination.
“Are you awake now?” she asked.
“Um-hmm.” He felt ridiculously good, and when he put his hand back down, he felt even better. The flap in her skirt—the flap that had teased him and tantalized him all afternoon—had come open. His hand encountered the silky mesh of her hose. He was instantly as alert, as fully conscious, as he had ever been in his life. And as hard. But there were some particulars he needed to know first. “When’s your birthday?”
“February 16.” Suddenly, Emmie sat up straight. “Birthday! I forgot.”
“Whose birthday?”
“Tyler’s. That was Pickett on the phone. I’m supposed to ask you, instead of going out to dinner, would you be willing to go to Aunt Lilly Hale’s family reunion? It’s like a Christmas party she throws every year.”
“Tonight?” All the plans he had made for an intimate dinner to set the mood, a little wine, and then back to Emmie’s cottage, disappeared. He couldn’t think of much he wanted less than to make conversation with people he didn’t know in the huge formal rooms of Lilly Hale’s house. He wanted Emmie. Needing to have her was getting close to an obsession.
“Yes. She wants me to meet her there.” She looked at his face, which he knew wasn’t radiating joy. “Forget it. I’m sure a family party of people you don’t know doesn’t sound like a fun time. You don’t have to go.” She started to scoot of his lap. “I hope you’ll excuse me from dinner with you.”
“Wait a minute,” he anchored her hips in place. “Yeah, I’d rather have an evening alone with you—a chance for us to talk—yeah, talk, not the other four-letter word. But if this is what you want to do…”
“Usually, it wouldn’t be. But I’ve seen so little of Pickett lately. We’ve talked on the phone, but it isn’t the same.”
“This isn’t for Pickett, it’s for you? You want to see her?” Emmie nodded. He gently helped her off his lap. “Stand up for a second. I need to get my cell phone. I left it in my jacket pocket.” He punched in numbers and in a distant part of the house, Emmie’s phone warbled. A look of confusion appeared between her brows. “Your phone is ringing,” he told her. “You left it in the bathroom.”
Chapter 25
EMMIE PADDED IN HER STOCKINGED FEET THROUGH THE kitchen and the bedroom. She had to turn on the light in the bathroom. The phone was on the lip of the tub.
What kind of game was Caleb playing now? She was asking for a sudden change in plans, and she’d been a little disappointed when Caleb wouldn’t go along, but not surprised. Blount had never wanted to do anything that was her idea—blowing her off for the faculty dinner wasn’t out of character—she should have expected it. And he’d sneered more than once at what he called her “country cousins.”
She and Pickett had sworn they would keep their friendship strong, and if that meant going off and leaving Caleb, she would.
“Hello,” she said.
“Is this Emmie?” Caleb enquired, for all the world as if he hadn’t expected she would answer her own phone.
Emmie swallowed a surprised laugh and played along. “Yes, it is.” Phone to her ear, she started back to the living room.
“This is, your friend, Caleb.”
“Yes, Caleb.” Emmie suppressed another giggle and added with dry understatement, “I had guessed it was you.”
“There’s a party at Miss Lilly Hale’s house tonight. I’d like to go, but I don’t have a date. I was wondering if you’d go with me?”
The sheer sweetness stopped her in the doorway to the living room. If he’d said, “Okay, I’ll go with you,” never in a million years would she have trusted that he was doing anything but placating her. His back was to her. He was touching items on her desk in one of the few aimless gestures she’d seen him make. “Yes,” she whispered past the yearning that threatened to close off her throat. “I’d love to.”
He must have known she was there, but he kept his back to her. “Do you want me to pick you up?”
Emmie thought they were done. Why was he carrying it further? “Pick me up? You’re standing in my living room.” She closed her phone. “Caleb, what is this about?”
He turned around, clipping the phone to his belt. “It’s called multitasking. We’ll go to the party. We’ll go because you want to see Pickett. But I want it to be perfectly clear—you’re going with me because I just asked you for a date, and you ac
cepted. Even if you spend the whole evening talking to Pickett—this counts as our second date.”
“Sit tight.” Caleb pushed the gear lever into park and shut off the engine. “I’ll come around and get you.” It wasn’t a suggestion. She had asked for this. Put that man anywhere near a four-wheel drive vehicle, and every alpha trait he had came to the fore. He pressed the latch of her seat belt before she could reach it. In the glow of the delayed turn-off headlights, she thought she caught a trace of a smirk.
He opened her door.
At least a token protest was called for. “I’m perfectly capable of climbing down myself.”
“I know you are. Lean forward.” He grasped her waist. Emmie was used to the casual strength with which he picked her up, but he didn’t set her on her feet. Instead he pulled her flush with his body.
Her breasts brushed his chest as he slowly let her down.
“You’re using this as an excuse to cop a feel!”
“Right.”
“You’re taking advantage of me.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought you were doing the ‘man has to be in charge’ thing.”
He tugged one of her curls. “Think multitasking.” The corners of his Brad Pitt lips dug deeper into his cheeks. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Golden oblongs of light streamed the promise of welcome and warmth from every window of Aunt Lilly Hale’s house into December’s early dark. Emmie pulled her coat closer. Damp wind chased leaves across the sandy driveway. Because they were late, Caleb had to park almost at the highway.
He bent and put his lips to her ear. “Look.” He pointed to the edge of the field where a drainage ditch divided the field from the road. “Deer. Five of them.”
Mary Margret Daughtridge SEALed Bundle Page 50