“Wh - what are you doing here?” she said.
“I just asked you the same thing.” He came toward her, studying her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing. I just dropped by to … to…” She waved a hand. ”But I thought you had a meeting?”
“It was cancelled. I’ve spent the last half hour on a conference call with my mother and her chief of staff.” Emerson found one of her cold hands and gave it a squeeze. “Have you eaten?”
“I couldn’t.” Food wouldn’t stay down.
“You look pale,” Emerson said, tugging on her fingers. “Come sit in my office and I’ll get you coffee or tea. Maybe hot chocolate?”
She shook her head. “I have errands.” Other places to visit, other items to replace.
“God. You can’t eat. You look unwell.” He watched her edge away from him and ran his free hand through his hair, making it stick up like a little boy’s. “This is all my fault.”
“No.” This was because she was weak, because she’d relapsed, because ten years ago she’d felt so powerless for five days.
“We have to talk. We really have to talk.” Emerson’s fingers tightened on hers and he tugged her in the direction of his office.
What could she do? She stepped forward and then - wouldn’t you know it?her foot found the object she’d dropped. Stumbling, she might have gone down without Emerson’s strong hold on her.
“You okay?” His gaze dropped from her face to the floor and his expression turned from concern to puzzlement. Leaning over, he swiped the figurine from the floor. “It’s Patsy’s hula girl.”
The figure’s body swiveled as Emerson held its legs stationary. Roxy stared, mesmerized by the way the straw of her skirt moved.
“Patsy’s been looking all over for this since it disappeared a couple of weeks ago.”
Thirteen days.
“It…” Roxy wet her lips. “It must have rolled under the desk.”
Emerson frowned. “I’m sure she looked there. And of course the cleaning crew would have found it before now.”
Helpless, Roxy shrugged. Then Emerson did, too. Next, he propped the little dancer against his secretary’s computer monitor and tugged Roxy toward his office again. “Patsy will be happy.”
That makes one of us, Roxy thought.
Emerson hesitated. “I’m sorry, Roxanne.”
Had she said it out loud?
“I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”
She had said that out loud.
“I don’t deserve any -”
“Roxanne.” Emerson groaned. “Don’t think I don’t realize I’ve been running hot and cold these last few weeks.”
“Cold and cold,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes. Then he led her to the love seat positioned against one wall of his large office. She sat at his urging, though he paced about the room. Her hands clutched her purse in her lap.
“I wish I knew when this went wrong…” He continued to pace.
The seeds had been sown ten years before. When she’d been rescued, there’d been relief and elation … and then a lingering anxiety any time she felt buffeted by events. When things seemed beyond her influence, her uneasiness built and built until finally she could no longer resist the compulsion. Then … then she took “control” back in a small but insidious way that left her feeling ashamed and sick afterward.
Years ago she’d found the courage to address the urge and finally deal with it, which made the habit only more repulsive upon its return two months ago. No wonder Emerson had cooled. He’d sensed the hideous flaw lurking inside her.
A tear burned her cold cheek, and she wiped at it with her hand. When she was fourteen, she’d learned that crying never solved anything. Without that outlet, though, she felt the tension inside her lurking, stress in every corner, stress preparing to strike like those alligators she’d imagined before.
She cut her gaze from Emerson’s restless movement and looked toward his desk. Beside a leather square full of pens and pencils was a walnut-sized green frog. It was a candle, actually, a silly token she’d found when they’d first started dating. She’d teased him that he was the frog she’d kissed to find her handsome prince.
When really, the one with the green skin and the warts was her.
Suddenly, the urge came over her. Powerful, dark, a little thrilling. Impossible to resist. She wanted the frog; if she had it, she’d feel comforted. Soothed.
No.
She slid her hands beneath her thighs, appalled and angry at the craving. To distract herself, she took a breath and held it. And then held it some more, seeking the point of discomfort to punish herself for her weakness.
It didn’t help. As soon as she found herself gasping, she also found her hands free again. They wanted to feel that smooth wax and she could imagine the pleasure of rolling it against her palms, running her thumbs over the friendly googly eyes.
No!
She was breathing too hard. Closing her eyes, she attempted more deep inhalations, trying to relax and let the feelings of anxiety and impulse roll through her. They clung tenaciously.
And the little frog would make her feel so happy.
“Roxanne.”
Her eyes popped open. She realized she was on her feet, and the candle was in the clutch of one fist. Emerson was staring at her.
Busted.
“You’re taking back the frog?” he asked, his voice husky. There was something pained in his eyes.
Her fingers uncurled and there the amphibian sat, in the cradle of her palm, smiling like she couldn’t. “I…”
“God, Roxanne.” He dropped to the love seat and put his head in his hands. “How could I have done this to you?”
It wasn’t him, though. It was that other man, those dark days, that fourteen-year-old girl who’d been so afraid. With Emerson by her side, she’d thought that girl had finally vanquished all her weaknesses, but they still breathed fire in a secret place inside her soul.
He lifted his head. “If you weren’t so beautiful, maybe I could take a chance. If you weren’t so perfect…”
Beautiful?
Perfect?
She couldn’t stay to hear any more. Rushing toward the love seat, she made for her purse. In her panic and haste, she reached out with the hand that held the frog and she bumbled both. The candle fell to the carpet, the purse tipped.
The contents landed on top of the candle, an avalanche of other people’s things.
Stupid things. Valueless things.
But not her things.
“What is all that stuff?” she heard Emerson ask.
As she knelt on the ground to scoop them back into her purse, the words fell from her mouth, as suddenly and quickly as the purloined items. “They’re my big, bad, ugly secret.”
“Roxanne?”
“I’m not perfect, Emerson. Not perfect at all.” She stared down at her small, yet criminal hands. “After the kidnapping … I … I developed an impulse-control disorder. I started, um, taking, um, stealing things.” Humiliation burned like cold fire over her face and down toward her churning belly.
“An impulse-control disorder,” Emerson repeated and leaned from his place on the love seat to pick up the laminated card that indicated the U.S. senate’s in-session dates. “This is my mother’s,” he said. “I bet she has a drawerful of them in Washington. She would have given it to you if you’d asked.”
Her fingers curled around a thumb-sized kachina doll that she’d pocketed just yesterday. Her mother had bought it for Roxanne’s half brother’s small daughter. She’d stolen a child’s toy from her own mother. “You don’t understand.”
“I know I don’t. I’m so … so surprised.”
She couldn’t look at him. “I don’t want these things. I take them when I get anxious. It’s how I take control of my fears.”
“What do you have to be afraid of, Roxanne?” He still sounded baffled.
“You.” Lifting her head, she me
t his beautiful blue eyes. Her prince, who’d once considered her perfect. “I’m afraid that you don’t love me anymore.”
Without waiting for a response, she ran out of his office, leaving the frog behind.
But taking her warts and green skin with her.
*****
“Come on,” Jack had said softly, as if he was offering a polished apple. “You know you want to.”
“No,” Stevie had protested. “It’s only a fantasy.”
“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t give it a try.” He’d kissed the side of her neck, and it was sweet until he ended it with the slightest sting, a combination sure to have her melting - and likely leaving a mark behind.
She’d shivered. “Well…”
He’d tipped up her face to gaze into her eyes. “Mon petit chat, it will be fun.”
The French got to her every time. She sighed. “But you can’t tell anyone, Jack. Not ever.”
“It will be our secret, mon ange,” he’d said, smiling. “Our dirty little secret.”
Which, of course, dirty it was, since what he’d coaxed her into doing was going up in the dusty farmhouse attic in search of the legendary Bennett-Baci treasure. Perhaps there, he’d reasoned, they’d find the lock that fit the key that Liam had turned over to her weeks ago. She’d been carrying it around with her ever since - not that she’d let Jules know.
But Jack knew. Jack seemed to know exactly what made her smile, laugh, sigh. That was the real reason she’d agreed to the attic adventure - to give herself something to do besides moon over her fake fiancé. These last couple of days, ever since they’d decided to stay engaged, the mooning had only gotten worse.
But even with decades of detritus around them, he still made her nuts, from the provocative body brushes he managed as they moved about the space to the way his smile gleamed knowingly at the responses she tried to suppress. The bulb-and-chain lighting made brave inroads in the gloom of the cramped quarters, but the setting felt more intimate than she’d expected.
Which fed her need to break away. “I’m going to take this box downstairs,” she said, hitching it onto her hip. “It’s photo albums from when we were kids that Allie and Jules might like to see. Are you okay up here alone for a few minutes?”
He was restacking boxes by the narrow window that he’d cracked to allow in fresh, cool air. “Sure,” he said lightly. “As long as you keep clear of the fuse box.”
The darkness. She’d forgotten his fear of it. And somehow, knowing his vulnerability only increased her own sense of defenselessness. Her stomach tightened. “I’ll bring us up some wine and cookies,” she said and hurried back to the kitchen.
They’d made spaghetti earlier in the evening, one of her few culinary feats. There was half a bottle of a Chilean cabernet sauvignon/sirah blend left over from their meal, and as far as she was concerned, it would do. Anything went well with the chocolate-chip treats from the bakery next door to Edenville’s old-time hardware store. She put a few on a platter, then set it and the bottle on a tray along with a couple of stemless wineglasses. Time to head upstairs again.
But instead, she hesitated, hearing a little voice whispering at the back of her mind. Don’t go into the attic.
Her fingers squeezed the edges of the tray, even as she scoffed at that horror-flick phrase. Don’t go into the attic? Come on. There weren’t any monsters up there.
Only Jack … so don’t go into the attic.
A chill trickled down her spine even as she scoffed again. Jack wasn’t a monster! Jack would never hurt her! He wasn’t dangerous -
But Jack was dangerous … to her. The knowledge of that had been looming like Lon Chaney since New Year’s Eve, when he’d been merely a shadow on the resort’s portico and she’d been forced to reassure herself that no man could make her bleed.
Could Jack?
Her heart jolted, as frightened as if someone had suddenly surprised her from around a corner. It started knocking against her rib cage loud enough to hear -
No. That was real knocking - the sound of knuckles on the back door. She crossed the floor to pull it open.
“Emerson!” She blinked. Though he wore his usual coat and tie, his hair was standing on end.
In one stride, he was over the threshold and had her shoulders in his hands. He slammed her against his chest and planted a heavy kiss on her mouth.
How many seconds passed? Two? Three? But once her brain re-righted itself, she shoved him away. “What the hell? What are you doing?”
His breathing was labored. “Stevie. Oh, God, Stevie.”
Jack, she corrected, casting a quick glance over her shoulder. It wouldn’t be good for him to find Emerson here. “You need to go away,” she told him.
Instead, he shut the kitchen door and took both her hands. “We need to talk.”
“Nuh-uh.” She backed away, slipping from his hold. “How’d you know I was at the farmhouse?”
“I stopped by your duplex. When you weren’t home, I talked to your next door neighbor, Gil. He said you were here.”
With Jack. “Well, I’ll be sure to thank Gil for that.” Though she’d prefer to sock him in the stomach, she doubted she’d get the chance. His new wife, her friend Clare, was fiercely protective of her six-foot-five Italian stallion. “Now, Emerson, you’re interrupting -”
“That’s exactly what I mean to do. Interrupt the crazy train. It’s time I put a stop to all that’s happened since I donned a pair of fuzzy green antennae.”
“Oh, jeez.” Was that what had happened to his hair? Green antennae? “If it’s the crazy train you want to get off, Emerson, you’ll have to speak to the conductor, and he isn’t here.”
“I did wrong by you. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waved that away and then gestured toward the door. “Let’s talk about this some other century, okay?”
He stubbornly stayed put. “No. Tonight. Now.”
She sighed. “Emerson -”
“I’ve always liked you, Steve. Since we were kids. Then when we started dating … Well, you were easy to be with. You’re so strong. Capable. Self-reliant.”
“Darn,” she said, sotto voce. “And they still wouldn’t let me join the Boy Scouts.”
“You don’t know how appealing those qualities are,” he said. “I never lost sleep over you. I never wondered what would make you happy. You’d speak up for yourself.”
Because he’d never thought about what mattered to her on his own. Emerson had never taken the time to figure out something she might need. Jack’s image popped into her head, smiling, coaxing, understanding. Come on, he’d said. You know you want to.
“It’s time for you to leave, Emerson.”
He appeared not to hear her. “Best of all, a man didn’t have to worry if he always said the right thing around you.”
She winced.
His face fell. “Steve…” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. ”I know, I know. About that -“
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“We have to talk about that if I’m going to make this right. If I’m going to get back on the right track.”
She just wished Emerson and his crazy train had bypassed the winery altogether tonight. “We’re definitely not having that discussion,” she said, her voice fierce.
“The things I said…” He sifted his hands through his hair and it went even wilder. ”It’s just that … You’re going to think I’m an even bigger SOB, but at the time when I broke it off, I … I…”
“Was already seeing Roxanne behind my back.”
He looked sick. “You know.”
“Yes. Roxanne -”
“She’s not to blame! I met her at a party, and…” He shrugged.
Stevie leaned against the countertop. “She told me she stole you.”
The starch seemed to go out of his dress shirt. “I can’t talk about that.”
“Fine,” she said, pushing off from the tile. “We’re done here.”
“No!” He moved closer and grabbed her hands. “That’s exactly what I don’t want. I don’t want to be done with you, Stevie. Not ever.”
She stared at him. He looked sincere.
His fingers squeezed hers. “That must be where it all went off track. I was wrong. It’s you. I want you back.”
“You can’t.”
“I do. I was stupid. Blind. Foolish. Call me a thousand names and I’ll agree with every single one. But I’m desperate. I’m desperate to have you in my life again.”
This was a dream come true. The man who’d done her wrong was actually groveling. She was pretty sure she could serve him an entire humble pie and he’d sit down in the middle of the town square and eat bite after bite in front of everyone she knew.
What she’d always wanted.
But she didn’t want him.
So instead of being filled with smug satisfaction, she only felt…
Sorry.
Her chest ached, and she realized she felt sorry for Emerson and for Roxanne. And for Jack, too, who she understood had a huge emotional stake in his little sister’s happiness.
She didn’t protest as Emerson drew her close. His arms wrapped around her back and she patted his shoulder, wishing she could straighten this out for all of them. “I can’t believe I said those things,” he murmured.
She closed her eyes. “Never mind.”
“It was because I thought I was in love with Roxy. I had to -”
“I know.”
He held her tighter. “You’re a wonderful woman, Steve, and I hope I didn’t ruin our chance to get back together. I should never have said -”
“Please, Emerson. Don’t.” Though the wound had healed over months before, deep below it still ached.
But he continued talking. “I should never have implied you weren’t good enough for me. I should never have said that the mother of my children couldn’t be a limo driver with a high school education and a single business course under her belt.”
The pain lashed again, but before she could react to it, a new presence blasted into the kitchen. It snatched her from Emerson’s embrace and then it faced Stevie’s ex, a monster dark and angry.
“Emerson,” Jack said through his teeth. “I am going to break your face.”
Then He Kissed Me Page 19