please,” may have worked—and a festering pique set her back on her heels. She was angry about him appearing without forewarning, for following and scaring the daylights out of her, and she was more furious with herself for reacting as always—same old want, same old need.
“You’re getting wet.” Curt, impatient.
“I did notice that, actually.” She lifted her face, and a score of heavy raindrops spattered her heated skin. “But I don’t have far to go and I would rather walk.”
She didn’t run, she walked, and when his truck door slammed, she barely flinched. When he grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him, she did flinch. His gaze narrowed but he didn’t let her go, and she was mad enough to lift her chin and glare right back at him. “What do you want, Mitch?”
“To get you out of this rain,” Mitch fired back, burning from the way she’d refused his lift and jumped from his touch.
“Then perhaps you had best let go of my arm.”
He lost all patience. Tightening his hold, he ushered her the last thirty yards, through her front gate and onto the sheltering verandah. When he tipped her face to catch the glow of a nearby streetlight, a raw tightness gripped his gut. Her skin felt as baby soft as he remembered, but her face looked strained with a new weariness. And her eyes…still deep, warm, mellow, but no longer trusting. They shifted under his scrutiny, her expression edged with a wariness he’d seen only once before.
That morning in his bed. Damn.
“You’ve been working too hard,” he muttered, stroking the dark circle under one eye with the pad of his thumb. Wishing he could erase it along with that leap of reaction in her wide eyes. Fear?
When he let her go, she backed up so quickly she almost tripped over her feet. Mitch’s gut twisted with consternation. “What’s the matter, Emily? Why are you so jumpy?”
That chased the wariness from her eyes. “You drove up behind me and scared me half to death. You manhandled me into my own yard. Do you really have to ask?”
Put like that… “I’m sorry for frightening you. I meant to catch you before you left the pub.”
Distrust darkened her gaze but she didn’t look away. “Why? What do you want, Mitch?”
The directness of her question swept all contrition aside, leaving only the hot, churning frustration born of seeing her again. “Why did you run away, Emily?”
“I left a note—”
“That said absolutely nothing except sorry. What was that supposed to mean? Sorry, Joshua, for leaving and breaking your heart?”
She flinched as if he’d grabbed her again, as if he’d struck her, and stared at him with wide, stunned eyes. Hell. He hadn’t meant such a low blow. Undeserved, given her reason for running. He raked a hand through his hair, scraping the wet strands back from his face and wishing he could tidy up his rampant emotions as easily.
“I’m sorry, Em.” He closed his eyes a moment. “That was uncalled for.”
When she didn’t answer, he looked back to find she’d sat. On top of a packing box. Distracted, he gestured at its many mates sitting higgledy-piggledy along the porch. “Are you moving?”
“Yes.” Her reply sounded as much like a weary sigh as a word.
Mitch frowned. Chantal hadn’t mentioned this in her update. “Because of your grandfather’s will?”
“Stepgrandfather.”
“Semantics. Every man and his dog knows you did more for Owen in his last years than all his blood relatives lumped together. You shouldn’t have given up fighting, Emily.”
“I didn’t give up, I lost,” she fired back. Defiance lent color to her cheeks; her eyes sparked fiercely. She no longer looked stunned, no longer sounded defeated. If he touched her now, she wouldn’t jump and tremble. If he touched her now… Don’t go there, Mitch.
He blew out a long, serrated breath and hitched his chin toward the boxes. “When are you moving?”
“This weekend.”
“To?”
“I have a room at the Lion.” She stood up and straightened defensively, as if in response to something she saw in his eyes. Possibly pure, hot exasperation. “It’s clean and it’s conveni—”
“It’s cold, and there’s nothing convenient about living on top of a bar. Hell, Emily. You about jumped out of your skin when I drove up beside you. How do you think you’re going to manage when a drunk knocks on your door?”
“I’ve taken self-defence classes,” she said, lifting her chin. But the words came out coated in hesitation rather than bravado. With a jolt of satisfaction Mitch sensed the shift, and started toward her. No way was she moving into any hotel room, and he intended to make that crystal clear.
“What did they teach you, Emily?” he asked softly, backing her up with slow, steady deliberation. “Did they teach you the three prime targets?”
“Yesss.”
Her husky whisper wouldn’t have scared a mouse. Disgusted, annoyed, he kept coming. “Which would you go for first?”
Her back hit the wall and her eyes widened, thick lashes fluttering. Her mouth opened, no words came out, but Mitch felt the touch of her exhalation against his skin. And knew he was much closer than he’d intended.
She shifted, drawing breath, and her jacket brushed against his, a soft shush of fabric against fabric, yet he felt it as intensely as if he’d leaned right into her body. An intense desire to do just that expanded in his blood, catching him completely unaware. Hands planted either side of her face, he felt the soft temptation of her body inches from his. Saw her lips, pink, moist, open.
You’re supposed to be talking her into coming back, he told himself, not reminding her why she left.
“What would you do, Emily?” he asked, irritated with himself, his body, his cursed male hormones. “If I were that intruder?”
Blinking, she stretched taller against the wall, and he wondered if she was trying to escape or trying to get closer. Mouth to mouth. And still she said nothing, did nothing but breathe fast and shallow, air sloughing against his throat until he could stand it no longer. With a muttered oath, he used his purchase on the wall to push himself away.
From the edge of the porch, he heard her sigh, the sound as soft as the slow fall of rain. “I guess you made your point.”
“Which point would that be?” he asked with rueful honesty. Something like—now I’ve seen you in my bed, I can’t think of anything else but getting you back there?
“The lessons were a big fat waste of money. I am a wimp and nothing will change that.” She tried to temper the words with a smile, but when Mitch didn’t return it, she looked away. “The room is only temporary. Until I find a better place.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said slowly. This was it—the opening he’d been waiting for. He paused,
