by Amy Olle
Now, he scooped Emily’s discarded blue jeans up off the floor and thrust them at her. “This shouldn’t have happened. I made a mistake.”
She drew back, her wide eyes filling with pain.
He didn’t care. He had to get away. Gulping for air, he shot out of her house like a convict from the Supermax.
He didn’t look back. He didn’t dare.
The right thing to do, and Luke always did the right thing, was to get away and stay away from her.
In his truck, he cranked the key in the ignition and the engine growled to life. He scrubbed a hand over his face, only to breathe in the intoxicating musk of her arousal, which lingered on his skin.
He balled his hand into a tight fist.
It was a momentary lapse in judgment. Nothing more. Just a mistake. A sweet mistake—the sweetest—but a mistake nonetheless.
But it wouldn’t happen again. Not if he wanted to stay on the right side of rock bottom. It couldn’t.
Chapter Eleven
She couldn’t speak for his regret clogged in her throat, so rather than demand to know why he’d say something so cruel, she watched in mute frustration as he stormed from her house.
That night, she lay awake, replaying every detail of their lovemaking in her mind, trying to pinpoint exactly where it’d all gone wrong. Was it when they did it in her kitchen without any regard for being caught in the act by her houseguest, or cousin, or his brother? Or when they’d forgotten to use protection?
She may not have a lot of experience with men, but she had no excuse that might explain such an oversight. She had no one but herself to blame for that fact that such a special moment, her first orgasm with someone other than herself, had left her feeling rejected and dejected.
She flopped onto her side.
Had she really expected anything other than confusion and disappointment? Though oh-so-tempting, Luke Nolan was a billion light years out of her league. She’d known it the moment she laid eyes on his too-beautiful face a year ago. Pleasant to look at, but not for her.
Okay, pleasant was a bit of an understatement. Seriously, who looked like that? So perfectly perfect and symmetrical? She should’ve known not to dally with him. He shone bright like the sun, and lingering too long in his presence only guaranteed a blistering sunburn.
With a hearty kick, she thrashed onto her other side.
The most troubling part? She didn’t care that he regretted it, she didn’t. She couldn’t regret the white-hot anarchy rioting through her veins with his touch, or the way he watched her when she came, with naked, unrepentant hunger.
He’d stolen her peace, and her sleep. Near dawn, she gave up and, throwing back the covers, climbed from bed. When she sat at the island stirring a heap of sugar into her mug, a noise at the door tipped her off to his arrival a moment before he burst back into her life.
Her heart hummed, the stupid thing, and so the words dropped out of her mouth unfiltered. “You’re back.”
His gaze didn’t quite manage to connect with hers. “Good news. Ms. Beardsley had a friend visiting.”
She blinked with bafflement, finding it difficult to think clearly with his presence suddenly filling the room.
A humorous tilt curved his mouth. “Her friend brought her grandson with her.”
“Grandson?” A surge of hope stirred in Emily. “A ten-year-old?”
“Eleven.” The tension in his shoulders eased a bit. “But he’s our culprit. Confessed to the whole sordid affair.”
Relief swept away her nervous tension.
Until green eyes locked on her face, his symmetrical features carefully blanked.
Dread prickled up her spine.
With the appearance of a man sentenced to a life term, he crossed to the counter opposite where she sat on the edge of her barstool, laid his palms flat on the countertop, and captured her gaze with his. “We need to talk about what happened.”
Oh, no. Please, no.
“Emily, I’m sor—”
“Don’t.” The gash on her heart might never heal from all he’d said already.
He held her gaze while the moment stretched out, growing tight and thin.
Until she snapped. “It’s m-my fault, really. I thought you were ready for an advanced lesson, but clearly I misjudged.”
Relief swept over his face. “Em—”
“I forgot how inexperienced y-y-you are. I should’ve been upfront about what’s going on between us.”
A slow grin thawed the last of his cool expression. “What’s going on between us?”
“We’re just having fun.” She meant for the ruse to deflect his apologies and regrets, but it twisted back around instead and pierced her heart with a poison-tipped reality dagger. She scowled. “Well, w-we were having fun, until you r-ruined it.”
In truth, she had no clue what was going on between them, but she’d have taken as much or as little as he was willing to give her. She wasn’t proud of the fact that, if given the choice between nothing or a kiss, or a touch, or one of those warm, lingering looks from him, she’d have chosen the latter without hesitation. No silly schoolgirl notion of promises and futures required.
If given a choice, she’d have chosen him.
If he’d only asked.
Which he didn’t.
Instead, he lanced her with a look. “We need to talk about what happened.”
The rush of heat burned her cheeks. “It’s okay.” She swallowed the tightening lump in her throat. “It’s n-n-not the right time for me.”
That was if, based on last night’s panicky Internet research, she’d calculated her monthly cycle correctly, but the deep lines bracketing his eyes and mouth had eased with her words, so she buried her doubts.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
His gentle tone tugged at her insides, though she had no idea what he was really asking.
She changed the subject. “You don’t need to cook breakfast. The muffins from yesterday are still good.”
One of his dark eyebrows lifted. “Are you firing me?”
“Giving you the day off.”
He pushed away from the counter and went to the refrigerator. “I’m already here.”
She gritted her teeth. “He doesn’t even eat your food.”
“Yeah, but you do.”
“Don’t you have a real job terrorizing innocent people?”
“I’m on the night shift this week.”
He’d been there by 7:00 a.m. the past two days. “Don’t you sleep?”
He cracked open an egg and the runny guts dribbled into a bowl. “Not so much.”
A weary pall stole over him while he stared into the bowl, lightly whipping the eggs.
“Wh-why not?”
A shadow seemed to settle around him. “Did you buy milk?’
She went to the fridge and retrieved the gallon. Handing it to him, she reached for the bread loaf and started to work the twist-tie. Two slices toasting, her mind poked at the fact he hadn’t answered her.
At the stove, he poured the egg mixture into a skillet and raised the heat by turning the knob a notch higher.
“How long have y-you been a cop?”
He sliced an onion in half. “Ten years.”
Nearly the same amount of time she’d been her mom’s full-time caretaker. She wondered if his last ten years had been as trying as hers.
“Do y-you like it?”
“Parts of it.” His knife hit the wooden cutting board with neat ticks.
“What parts?”
His mouth quirked. “The power.”
She snorted. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth while he made more cuts through the heap of diced onion.
“You know, you’re kind of a big deal around here.”
“Am I?” A dangerous edge crept into his tone.
“Y-you know you are. They say you’re a hero.”
Lethal green eyes crashed into her. “The parents of a dead
fifteen-year-old might disagree with you.”
The words, delivered like ice, froze her heart, but the wounded anguish that slashed across his face devastated her. Like a lifetime of torment had piled into that singular, brief moment. With her words, she’d brought that moment to him, and she’d regret it until the end of her days.
Then, as quickly as it came, the pain evaporated. He tried to pull the charmer’s mask back into place, but only managed a scowl.
The ticking of the toaster’s timer filled the silence until, without a word or even a spare glance in her direction, he set the knife aside, turned his back and walked out of the house, letting the door bang shut behind him.
She stared after him while her heart constricted in her chest and her mind raced to puzzle out what she had done to cause his reaction. His discomfort with the topic was evident, yet she’d pushed on, and had hurt him with her careless words.
Her stomach gave a sickening wrench.
Though she’d been doing it all her life, she despised disappointing people. Her dad. Her teachers. Her mom’s doctors. In the end, she’d even let her mom down. She should be used to it by now.
The toast popped and she startled.
She scraped butter over the bread and laid it on a tray with a banana, a muffin, and a glass of orange juice.
At the top of the stairs, as she contemplated whether she should knock or leave the tray in the hall, Max’s bedroom door swung open.
He strode into the hallway wearing jeans and the T-shirt of a rock band Emily didn’t recognize.
She pulled up short. “Good m-m-morning…”
The greeting died on her lips when she saw the backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Y-you’re leaving?”
He shoved a hand through his brown-blond hair. “Yeah, I gotta go. We’re all set for next month?”
She nodded. “November second.”
“Great.” He moved past her.
She retreated down the steps behind him, but he’d reached the front door before she achieved the bottom step.
His hand on the doorknob, he twisted toward her. “Uh, thanks.”
“Sure,” she muttered as he disappeared into a ray of sunlight.
Suddenly alone, again, in the cavernous estate, the quiet menaced. In the living room, the antique clock’s pendulum swing resonated with thunderous noise. She plopped down hard on a step and stared at the tray of food in her lap. With a heavy sigh, she picked up a slice of toast and bit into it.
She was wondering if Luke was okay and how her world had flipped on end so quickly, when an odd scent tickled her nose.
The eggs!
The screech of the smoke alarm punctured the air.
Labor Day came and went, marking the official end of summer and, thus, tourist season. It also concluded Emily’s first full month living on the island. Two weeks had passed since Luke walked out on her, and the image of his face, twisted with agony, haunted her still.
She’d had the window fixed only days before a cool north wind blew over the island. Nonetheless, that morning, she awoke with an ominous scratchiness at the back of her throat.
Still snuggled beneath the covers in bed, she sipped on ice water, the frigid liquid soothing her sore throat, and peered at the laptop balanced across her thighs. The inn’s webpage was displayed on the screen and she fiddled with the positioning of the logo she’d created.
On the nightstand, her cell phone jingled with an incoming text. She opened the message from Mina.
Meet you out front in an hour?
Emily suppressed a groan. Over a week ago, she and Mina arranged to go to the bridal shop in town and pick out dresses for Mina’s wedding next month. It was the last thing Emily wanted to do at that moment, but according to her Internet research, it was her job to make sure the bride was happy, even if that meant she must lie, cheat, or kill to achieve the feat.
An hour later, she met Mina in the driveway, a smile plastered on her face.
Tucked among the row of brick and mortar buildings lining Main Street, the bridal store boasted turn-of-the-century charm and connected to the chic clothing boutique next door.
A tinkling bell sounded when they passed through the entry. A pretty, dark-haired woman Mina appeared to know greeted them and showed them to a cream-colored room at the back of the store decorated with plush carpeting and brocade satin wallpaper.
The woman, Isobel, had smooth mocha skin, wide gray eyes, and a soft smile that put Emily at ease.
“I’ve pulled some gowns for you both to take a look at. Let me know what you like and what you don’t like.” She motioned to the white and ivory gowns on a rollaway rack.
Mina went in the other direction, to the rack with a rainbow array of dresses.
“I love this color.” She held up the skirts of an emerald gown that reminded Emily of Luke’s eyes. “What do you think?”
Emily offered her cousin a weak smile and nodded.
Mina selected several gowns and Isobel herded Emily behind the dressing curtain.
The first dress, a navy taffeta sheath, wouldn’t fit over Emily’s ample hips, and the second, in a deep burgundy silk, clashed with her bright hair. Isobel helped Emily into the emerald gown, a strapless A-line silhouette, and threw back the curtain.
Emily made her way in front of the mirrors. Beneath the store’s harsh lighting, her skin appeared pale, pasty even, and dark shadows dwelled beneath her eyes. The dress, made of a soft crepe fabric, seemed to cling to her imperfections, and even brought to light a few she didn’t know she had.
Just then, a petite brunette with a straight nose and catlike eyes swept into the room.
The air squeezed from Emily’s lungs while she gaped at her aunt, Vivian. Her resemblance to Audrey was so strong that for just the briefest moment, Emily thought her mom had walked into that bridal shop.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Mina spoke through clenched teeth. “All the way from Traverse City?”
Vivian blinked at her daughter. “When you told me you were coming, I had to be here. This is the biggest decision of your life.”
“It’s really not,” Mina said. “Not even close.”
Vivian’s gaze turned to Emily.
“Mom, you remember Emily, don’t you? We started with her dress.”
Vivian’s green-gold gaze lingered over Emily’s face a moment, and then traveled lower. Her nose wrinkled. “That dress does nothing for you, dear.”
She turned to the rack of dresses and in one brutal sweep, rejected half the gowns outright, and sent Emily to the dressing room with three more to try on. The first gown she declared gaudy, and the second she deemed too tawdry. Emily wasn’t sure what the difference was between gaudy and tawdry, and in her opinion both gowns were pretty, but the last thing she wanted to do was engage with Mina’s mom.
So she slunk behind the curtain to change into the next dress. Tension built between her temples and her head started to ache by the time she stood in front of the trio in a dusty-purple ball gown with a fitted bodice.
Vivian tipped her head to one side and studied her. “The color is flattering to your skin tone, but you look like a cupcake. I’m afraid this one won’t work either.”
Indeed, the puffy tulle skirt overwhelmed Emily’s short frame. Disappointment twisted her face into a frown. She’d hoped this one might meet Vivian’s approval, as the boning in the bodice pushed her boobs high and made her adequate cleavage appear downright abundant.
Isobel chewed her lip and pondered Emily’s reflection in the mirror. “I wonder if we remove some of the layers of tulle, maybe you won’t look so much like a cupcake.”
She stuck her hands beneath the skirts and started to pull fabric toward the back of the gown. As Emily watched in the mirror, Isobel changed the shape of the dress from a bulbous ball gown to an elegant A-line.
“Oh, that’s pretty.” Mina fingered the tulle. “Do you like it?”
Emily considered her reflection. “I do.”
With a firm nod, she approved the selection. “Now, let’s make sure she doesn’t overpower the bride.”
Mina paled while Emily darted toward the curtain wall and out from under their scrutinizing gazes.
Vivian issued her directives to Isobel. “No mermaids and no ball gowns. They’ll only make her look wider than she is. Lace or beading in small doses only, and under no circumstances should she wear anything strapless. She needs more support, and a sleeve will help conceal that little extra under the arms.”
“This one’s pretty.” Dread filled Mina’s voice.
“Oh, darling, no. You’ll look like one of Rose’s doilies. Besides, that shade of white washes you out.”
When Emily emerged from behind the curtain, the trio was clustered around the rack, discussing the merits and drawbacks of each gown. Her limbs heavy with exhaustion, she sank into an armchair to wait.
She found her gaze drawn repeatedly to Vivian, so similar to her mom in appearance. So opposite her in personality. Sorrow squeezed like a painful knot inside her chest.
Only two gowns passed Vivian’s inspection and Isobel quickly herded an increasingly dejected-looking Mina behind the curtain.
Vivian perched on the edge of an armchair next to Emily. “I’m not sure about this plan of yours to have dinner at the house,” she called to Mina. “Shouldn’t we find something nicer?”
“Noah and I are together because of the house.” Mina’s voice carried through the curtain. “We want to celebrate there.”
Vivian heaved a martyred sigh into the air. “Maybe I’d better have a look. See if I can make it work.”
A sneeze tickled the back of Emily’s nose and erupted.
“Emily’s taking care of everything,” Mina called. “She planned the grand opening, and it was perfect.”
Vivian’s critical gaze swung to Emily.
Amidst a honking blow into a Kleenex, Emily froze.
Vivian turned her head back in the direction of the curtain. “What are you doing about flowers?”