Emerson put up a good tough-girl front, but he knew that she wasn’t as bulletproof as she pretended to be.
And that slayed him. Because Dax knew all too well what a bullet to the chest felt like. So he’d take that night-of-fun challenge and raise her a partner in the short term. She could use someone on her side, and he was already more invested than just fun. So when Ida came back over with a big box of door swag and a blue light, he said, “Where do you want me?”
And that was how Dax found himself, two hours later, standing in the cold, vetting real IDs from fake ones, and passing out ladies’ night swag bags that had been donated by the lingerie shop next door.
“What kind is this?” Mrs. Moberly, the town’s long-standing librarian asked, pulling the red vibrator from the bag. “Oh my, it’s a Go Big or Go Home.”
Dax rolled his neck from side to side and mumbled, “I believe so.”
Mrs. Moberly held up the device to inspect it. He could have told her that, according to the shop’s owner, Clovis, the Go Big or Go Home was the preferred personal pleasure device for two out of every three women in St. Helena—three years running. He could have, but he didn’t.
First, because that would be acknowledging that most of his female relatives had one or wanted one. Second, because what the hell? And third, because after repeating the scripted spiel to the head of the Daughters of the Prohibition board, who asked him why the overwhelming support for the device, she’d proceeded to turn it on. And watching that thing light up in the presence of someone who used to read him James and the Giant Peach wasn’t something he wanted to experience.
Ever.
“Why don’t you save this for the next person, dear?” Mrs. Moberly said, pushing her glasses farther up her nose and handing him the vibrator. Just like that, she placed a dick-shaped laser light show in his hand and smiled. “I already have one.” Then she patted his cheek and even gave it a little pinch. “It’s so good to see you home, Dax. Safe and in one piece. We’re all real proud of you.”
She said it as if he wasn’t standing on Main Street holding a rubber pleasure stick in his hand and she hadn’t caught him in the stacks, sneaking peeks at the boobs in National Geographic when he was twelve.
One last pat and she was gone, and Dax turned to the next customer.
Ah, shit. “What are you doing here?” Dax asked his brothers, only the question was rhetorical, because if one of them had been in his shoes, he’d come to laugh too.
“What did Dad tell you about standing in public with your dick in your hand?” Adam asked and Dax shoved the vibrator into one of the bags but managed to hit the on switch in the process.
A low hum shook the paper bag and vibrated off the cement and, before Dax could stop it, a bright red glow lit up the box and patriotic-themed strobe lights flickered into the inky night sky. Red, white, and blue, because when Clovis caught wind of a theme, she went all the way, which was why she hadn’t just donated the standard Go Big or Go Home, she’d donated the limited edition Let Freedom Ring series.
“Wow, that can’t be normal,” Adam said with mock concern. “You should have that checked out.”
Dax looked at Adam in his SHFD blues and hat and snorted. “Dude, you drive a red engine, play with your hose, and ring a bell for a living. And you’re giving me shit? I could maim you with nothing but that vibrator.”
Adam opened his mouth, most likely to say something equally as mature and constructive, when Jonah, peacemaker at his core, nudged him silent. “Giving a guy a hard time at his place of work? Grow up.”
Jonah turned to Dax. He didn’t laugh, didn’t make a further mockery of the moment, which he totally could have, and instead put a hand on Dax’s shoulder in a clear sign of support. “We just came by to check on you, see how your knee was holding up, and to ask if you were holding out on your answer about teaching the weapons class until I sweeten the deal. Because if so, I can see if the department will throw in one of those pink stocks for your rifle that all of the ladies down at the range are talking about. Maybe one that flashes lights.”
“Move along, old man,” Dax said, shoving his brother. “There is a strict no-asshole policy in effect tonight.”
“Seriously, have you thought about the job?” Jonah asked. “Because if it’s a go, then I need to process the paperwork by Wednesday.”
Dax had thought about the job. A lot. The logical part of him knew that getting out with a team of guys, experiencing the kind of camaraderie that came when hanging with people who were cut from his cloth, would be good for him. Maybe even stop some of that itching in his gut.
The other part that was still somewhere over in the Middle East was telling him it was too soon. That walking into that kind of brotherhood again would be a betrayal, because he’d been a part of the best kind of team, vowed with his life to make it to the end with them, and he’d let them down.
“What job?” A honeyed voice slid over Dax’s skin and settled right behind his button fly.
Trouble stood in the doorway, holding a tray of food and a cold beer, her auburn hair shimmering with fire from the twinkling lights of the awning above, well within touching distance.
“Just a temp position with the department,” Dax said.
“One you should consider,” Jonah added.
Adam was too busy staring at Emerson and her tray to say anything. He sniffed the air, then pulled out that easygoing smile that had gotten him laid a million times before. “Nice shoes. What’s that you got under the dish cover?”
He reached for it and Emerson pulled it away. “Hands off, this is for hired muscle only, sorry,” she said, not a hint of remorse in her voice. “And the shoes, they double as a weapon.”
Jonah and Dax burst out laughing. Adam only grinned.
She shrugged, then smiled up at Dax. It was a little shy, a little naughty, and cute as hell. “Ida wanted to say she caught three ‘illegals’ who all got in using a shared fake ID and to up your game.”
“Anything else?” he asked, wanting her to say why she was out here, checking on him.
“Uh-huh.” Amusement lit her eyes. “She also said to tell you that Uncle Sam is slipping if one of his finest can’t sniff out a soccer mom from a grandmom. Oh, and also if you could show a little more skin, she’d appreciate it.”
“Was that last part Ida’s request?”
She nodded at the window behind him—which had little granny faces peeking out. “Your fan club did. And they asked me to bring you a drink.”
The peanut gallery gave a heartfelt sigh. Dax ignored them.
“And the food?”
Emerson opened her mouth, then looked at his brothers and smiled. Which sucked because he saw the spark in her eye indicating she was about to make some smart-ass comment, which had become their way of flirting, but she held back because of Barney Fife and Smokey the Bear. “Ida thought you might be hungry.”
“Tell Ida thanks,” he said, even though they both knew it was total BS. Ida might have mentioned for her to check on Dax, but feeding him was all Emerson. She couldn’t help herself.
Before Dax could take the tray, Smokey slid up beside Emerson and slung his arm over her shoulder and visually perused the merchandise. “Beer and, hey, are those the famous tapas everyone’s been raving about?”
“No” was all Dax said, because the grin Adam was dishing up was playful and smug—and 100 percent stupid male at its finest. And Emerson had been dealing with stupid men all night, looking their fill, making wisecracks, all while the woman was hustling to do her job. She shouldn’t have to deal with SHFD’s number one player. “You can’t tap that or look at her tapas no matter how many times you tell yourself it sounds like topless. And stop breathing on my beer.”
He gave Adam a gentle shove, but just like he didn’t need to call Emerson on her BS, no one needed to call him on his. He wasn’t getting possessive over Adam sampling his tapas, he was ticked that Adam was sweet-talking his private chef.
“He ne
ver was good at sharing,” Adam said with a wink. “Cried when I borrowed his G.I. Joe doll.”
“G.I. Joe is an action figure,” Dax said slowly, “and I was five. And you lit him on fire with Grandpa’s blowtorch.”
“How else would I practice putting out a fire?” Adam said with so much duh in his tone Dax wanted to punch him. Then he turned to Emerson and cranked up the charm. “So rather than make him whine in front of a pretty girl, I’ll place my own order for a tray.”
“Too bad you don’t make the age cutoff,” Dax said, then held up a stamp of an anchor. “No stamp, no entry. Those are the rules.” He slid Emerson a secret look. “And the lady does like her rules.”
Emerson flushed, not enough that his brothers would notice, but he saw it. A faint pink tint crept up the tips of her ears. She opened her mouth to say something, something he knew by the playful spark in her eye was going to make him smile, when her phone pinged.
She set his tray on the little table he’d been using to hold the swag bags, fished her phone out of her bra, and looked at the screen. Her humor vanished—and so did the lightness she’d been carrying.
“Everything okay?” Dax asked, taking a step closer, because if he had learned anything about Emerson over the past few weeks, it was that nothing much rattled her. She took life head-on and never wavered. But she was wavering now.
“Yeah. It’s just my dad,” she said, and normally he would have let it go. Her smile was still there, fastened in place, right where it should be for everyone to see. But if he wasn’t mistaken, it was manufactured. Just like the tough-girl posture she wore. She was upset, and something about that drew out his need to comfort her.
“Is he all right?” he asked quietly, wondering if it was Pixie.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” she said, ignoring his question. “Enjoy your dinner.”
The three of them watched her go back into the bar, and the way she squared her shoulders brought out this crazy instinct to follow her inside.
“Shay said you hired Emerson to do some cooking for you,” Jonah said, and Dax tore his attention off Emerson and put it on his brother, whose expression was one big wagging finger. “So what the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, something to do with her family,” Dax said and both brothers looked at him weird. “What?”
“He meant that.” Adam pointed at the tray of food, then to the doorway where Emerson had disappeared. “And that.”
“Uh, my chef. Bringing me dinner.”
Adam made a coughing sound that sounded a lot like bullshit. “As the resident fire expert of the group, I’d like to point out that what just went down was not your standard cooking heat. That was more of a slow smoldering. Harder to fight and highly susceptible to combustion.”
It was also dangerous, Dax thought as he looked down at the tray. Not only had she brought him his favorite kind of beer, there wasn’t a speck of green on anything.
This was confirmed by the little note that read, No green. I promise.
Which meant that the meal, as well as that dress, had been specially ordered. Prepared well in advance. And served specifically with him in mind.
The only way her intentions could have been made clearer was if she had scribbled her number on his forehead.
Groaning, Emerson slipped off her heels as the last pair of swing dancers cleared the floor and the bar finally quieted down. She had banked on running out of food by ten, leaving her plenty of time to find Dax before Ida let him go home, to see if he wanted to cash in that rain check. Only Harper had made enough spinach and dill-infused feta phyllo bites to keep the party going until midnight. And now Dax was gone—Ida had let him go about an hour ago—and her plan, which had taken her all day to gather enough courage to see through, was a total bust.
No need for the pinup pumps.
The story of her life. She’d been seduced by the possibility of a night of freedom, a night to let go and lose herself, and maybe, just maybe, find something fun, exciting, invigorating—a real shot at being a part of something amazing. A heady thought, one she wanted to grab on to, but life had stepped in and given her a fat smack to the forehead.
Which sucked. Big-time. She really wanted tonight to work, wanted Dax to work, because she desperately needed to have something that was just hers—even if it was temporary. Especially after that call with her dad.
Determined not to mope, because that got her exactly nowhere, she grabbed her purse and walked out of the bar. She made her way down the alley and around the back of the building, heading toward her apartment. Only when she reached the stairwell off the back of the Boulder Holder, she noticed someone waiting.
Dax sat three-quarters up the flight of stairs in a pair of black jeans and a matching leather jacket that was all biker and bad boy wrapped in alpha swagger. His elbows rested on his bent knees, a paper bag dangled from his fingertips, and two paper coffee cups sat one step behind him. He looked dark, dangerous, and so delicious her body hummed to life.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, a little breathless at the sight of him. Or maybe that was the overdose of testosterone confusing her senses.
“Waiting for you.”
He stood and walked toward her, his riding boots echoing off the walkway, not letting up until he was standing close enough to touch. Close enough to smell—she sniffed again. “Is that bread pudding?” He opened the bag and held it under her nose. She breathed in the sweet almondy scent and groaned. “Not just any bread pudding. It’s from the Sweet and Savory.”
Only the best pastry and dessert stop in Napa Valley. And the bread pudding, made from homemade chocolate croissant bread with a heavenly amaretto sauce, was Emerson’s personal favorite.
“I wanted to take you to dinner, maybe grab something after you got off, but I forgot everything in this town closes when the sun goes down. So I figured maybe some dessert.”
Emerson’s knees wobbled as she remembered his words from the other night. This was her chance to do something reckless, something that would lead to a night of being bad.
With the town’s bad boy.
“Do you want to come up?” she asked. “To my apartment?”
Dax’s eyes ran the length of her dress, paying careful attention to her neckline, hips, and bare feet. By the time he made it back to her eyes all of the air seemed to disappear.
“Yes,” he said with conviction, his voice rough. “But I was given strict instructions from the chef that this dessert isn’t made to go. So I had to promise not to eat it at the counter or on the couch while watching television. It’s a dining experience that is deserving of the perfect setting.”
Emerson knew the perfect setting.
Her bed.
“Last time some guy bribed me with an experience that required a location change, I found myself in Derek Mather’s coat closet playing Seven Minutes in Heaven.”
Dax let out a low whistle. “Heaven is a pretty big promise when the dude only gave himself seven minutes.”
“Thirty seconds in, I figured out he thought the gateway was in his pants and I decked him.”
Dax laughed. It was a good laugh that was real and transformed his entire face. The stress lines bracketing his mouth softened and that shell-shocked expression disappeared. And a hum vibrated through her entire body.
“I hope your offer is better,” she said. She hoped his offer was for seven hours of heaven—or as many hours as they could fit in before dawn.
“How about we start with dessert?” When she lifted a questioning brow, he shook the bag. “A real dessert. With a view to die for.”
“You know Lexi’s bread pudding has raisins,” she pointed out and Dax looked at her like he could handle a few raisins—or at least pick them out. “Raisins made from green grapes.”
“I’m open to trying new things,” he said but she could tell green food wouldn’t have been his first choice. Fair, since it wouldn’t have been hers either. But he seemed to have a plan, which was great
since her plan hadn’t extended past the dress and shoes. “And I know a little spot that would pair perfectly with bread pudding and new adventures.”
That was all Emerson needed to hear.
She took in his jacket, which made her mouth water because it took him from dangerous to lethal. “Are you cleared to ride your bike?”
“Nope,” he said, sounding a little unsure.
“So you’re taking me to dessert, after sixteen hours on my feet, and I get to drive?” She snatched the bag. “Man, you know how to charm a girl.”
Truth was, he did. After an entire night of his eyes on her, hers on him, thinking over his promise, her body had gone into hyperdrive. But finding him on her stoop, holding her favorite dessert, had taken this to a totally different level—one she wasn’t quite sure how to interpret. A clear sign that she was out of her element.
“No ride. And I can’t promise heaven because there are green raisins involved. But I can promise you a little slice of it.” He closed the distance between them, his big body taking up all of her personal space, then took off his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders—his warmth surrounding her. “Come have a seat and I promise it will be exactly what you need after tonight.”
“Big words,” Emerson said, snuggling deeper into the leather. It was buttery soft, smelled like new car and wild nights. But felt like an invitation. Not an invitation to forever, but something sincere and honest.
Beneath all that flirting and swagger, Dax was struggling with demons of his own, a history of loss and guilt that kept him from what he desperately needed. Genuine connection.
“I’m a big guy.”
No kidding, she thought as he dropped his hands to her hips, spanning them around her back and making her feel petite and incredibly feminine. Then he flashed her one hell of a smile that let her know he came through on his promises.
No. Matter. What.
You were right,” Emerson said, polishing off the bread pudding and leaning back to rest her elbows on the steps behind them. “That was exactly what I needed.”
Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena) Page 13