might as well. At least you’re not lost,” she added.
He held out his hand.
Odd, how it felt to hold his hand, to feel the warm strength of that big, beautiful hand against her skin. She had to fight to keep her confusion from showing.
“Where do you live?” she asked, because she wasn’t supposed to know.
“Pine Cottage. There’s a sign.”
She let out a breath. “Oh, it’s there. I see it.”
He hesitated. She tugged, just gently.
“It’s this way,” she said softly, letting him catch up without making an issue of it. She walked very slowly, very carefully, so that he was on the path and didn’t walk into obstacles like rocks that could throw him off balance. “Three steps,” she said. “This is the first one.”
He went up them with no seeming difficulty and stopped. “You’re quite good at this.”
“I practice on little old ladies who can’t find their glasses,” she returned, tongue in cheek.
He smiled. It wasn’t a cold, formal or social smile, either. And he hadn’t let go of her hand.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“The Energizer Bunny?” she suggested.
“Try again.”
“I’m Emma,” she said, having fought the impulse not to lie to him. But there had to be a zillion women named Emma. He wouldn’t connect her. He probably didn’t even know her name. He’d have no reason to want to know it. He’d connected her with the near-miss on the Jet Ski before Mamie’s party, when she’d been driving the boat, but that was just physical recognition. Mamie had said that he didn’t know Emma except as her assistant. He hadn’t asked for her name.
“Emma what?” he asked.
“Copeland,” she replied.
His lips pursed. “Think you could find your way back here?”
She hesitated. “I found it because I was lost.”
“I’m having Barnes drive you home,” he said surprisingly. “He can pick you up where he drops you off, yes?”
Her heart was racing. “Why would I want to be picked up?”
“Breakfast,” he said simply.
“Breakfast?”
“Eggs, bacon, pancakes...strong black coffee,” he added.
“My friend has Pop-Tarts.” She groaned.
He grinned. “Eggs, bacon, pancakes—”
“Don’t! You’re torturing me! What time?”
“Eight a.m.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t sleep late?”
“I go to bed at nine,” she said. “Eight a.m. is late to me.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ll see you soon, Emma.”
“Who are you?” she asked, because she couldn’t give herself away. Not yet.
“Connor.”
“Connor. It’s nice.”
“I’m not,” he cautioned, his silver eyes flashing at her.
“Pop-Tarts might not be so bad...” she began.
He grinned. “I’ll try to be nice. Just for breakfast.”
“Okay.”
“Barnes!” he called.
A short, older man came in, smiling. “Yes, sir?”
“Take Emma back to her roommate,” he said, indicating Emma. “And make sure you remember where you drop her, so you can pick her up in the morning and bring her back for breakfast.”
“Yes, sir. Are you ready to go, Miss Emma?” he asked in his slow, sweet Georgia drawl.
“I am.”
“Good night, Emma,” Connor said with a smile.
“Good night.”
* * *
She had Barnes drop her off at the Frenchwoman’s house. She waved him off and then asked Jeanne Marie if it was all right that she pretended to live there. She couldn’t explain, she added, but she promised it was nothing illegal or immoral.
Jeanne laughed and said of course it was all right. When Emma told her about the next morning’s appointment, Jeanne said that was fine, as well. She was curious. Emma just blushed, and Jeanne asked no more questions.
* * *
All night, Emma agonized about going to breakfast at Connor’s. It seemed like a sound idea, to get to know him, just a little, and then confess what she’d done. If he knew her, he might not jump to conclusions that she’d hit him on purpose.
But it was risky, just the same. She couldn’t go back to her father. She couldn’t go to her friends in Jacobsville, either, without putting them in the line of fire. She knew they wouldn’t mind, but they’d already done enough for her.
At eight the next morning, she got into the expensive sedan with Barnes at the wheel and let him take her to Pine Cottage.
“Eggs, bacon, pancakes,” she enthused as she walked into the dining room and took a long sniff. “What a delicious smell!”
Connor was sitting there at the head of the table, his broad face smiling, his head cocked slightly to one side. He wore a green polo shirt with tan slacks and deck shoes. He looked expensive and so sexy that he made Emma’s toes curl.
But those thoughts were destructive. He was just a man she’d met on the lake. That was all he could ever be.
“It tastes as good as it smells,” he assured her. “Edward has cooked for me for over a decade, but he didn’t want to live on a lake in Georgia. So I left him at my house on the Riviera years ago and hired Marie,” he indicated an older woman with silver hair and a bright smile, “who has a way with herbs and spices.”
Emma started to pull out a chair for herself when Barnes came out of nowhere to do it for her. “Miss,” he said politely, bowing.
“Thanks,” she replied shyly.
“Barnes practically came with the property.” Connor chuckled. “His mother kept house for my father, on his rare visits here.” His face tautened, as if the memory wasn’t a pleasant one.
“It’s
