Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) (65 page)

“And yet you don’t seem to be the least bit upset by that.”

He grinned. “After today, I’m definitely seeing the up side, especially if I can convince Nell to move forward with that kissing booth and the whole dance thing.”

“If she goes along with you, I’ll be sure to point out some of the available women in town,” she offered, even though her stomach knotted at the thought.

“No suggestions necessary. There’s only one woman I’m interested in,” he said, his gaze steady.

Emma held his gaze, then finally shook her head in exasperation. “What am I going to do with you? You don’t give up,” she murmured.

“Definitely something you should keep in mind,” he said as they pulled up in front of his house. He got out of the car without assistance, then stuck his head back in. “Pleasant dreams, Emma. See you Friday night.”

Coming from anyone else the comment would have meant nothing more than a casual reminder, but somehow coming from Jaime, it was filled with innuendo. Emma wasn’t sure which was more disturbing, the likelihood that he’d be sneaking into her dreams tonight or that Friday night was going to feel an awful lot like a date, even if they would have a couple of chaperones and a whole slew of curious onlookers.

Chapter Five

There was already a large, noisy crowd at O’Brien’s by the time Emma and Jaime arrived on Friday night at seven. Jaime noticed that Nell had managed to snag a great table by the window for the four of them. It was far enough away from the bandstand that they’d be able to hear each other and, thanks to some shifting around of chairs, there was room for Jaime to prop up his leg without it being in the way of the wait staff. He noticed Emma glancing around with a surprised expression.

“What’s that look about?” he asked as they settled in to await Nell and Dillon’s return. Dillon was getting ales and soft drinks at the bar and Nell was apparently in the kitchen telling the chef what to do. Jaime had heard all the stories about Nell taking a proprietary interest in the pub’s Irish menu.

“I’ve never seen it this crowded in here before,” Emma confessed.

“You haven’t come to hear the music?” Jaime asked. “I know Luke has bands playing pretty regularly. I’ve even managed to come a couple of times. It’s always packed.”

Emma shook her head. “This is a first for me.”

Jaime considered the implications of that. “Surely there are men who’ve asked you out since you arrived in town. It’s been at least a couple of years, right?”

“A few, actually. And I have been asked out.”

“But you’ve turned them all down,” he concluded.

“I don’t really have time for a social life. My best writing time is at night.”

Ah, there was the opening he’d been waiting for, a chance to explore the career she hadn’t even mentioned to date.

“Writing time?” he inquired carefully. Clearly it was a touchy subject, so best to satisfy his curiosity slowly.

She looked away, clearly regretting the slip of the tongue.

He refused to let it pass. “What do you write, Emma?”

“I wrote a book. I’ve been working on another for a while now.” Her gaze narrowed. “But you knew that, didn’t you? And you’ve heard about the writer’s block?”

“It’s been mentioned. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t fill me in yourself. Clearly that’s where your heart lies. You’ve said yourself that working at the library is just a job.”

“It’s hard to explain to someone that I wrote this book that had a moderate amount of success, but have nothing to show for all the hours I’ve spent in front of the computer since then,” she said, clearly embarrassed. “I haven’t written anything worth reading for a couple of years now, not even a discarded manuscript I can point to and claim I’m still a writer.”

“But if I were to pin you down and ask what you care most about in terms of a career, writing would be it for you, no question about it?”

She nodded. “Unfortunately what I am at the moment is a part-time library employee living off my savings from my one big bestseller.”

Jaime understood what it was like to be filled with frustration and uncertainty when the ideas wouldn’t flow. Clearly, though, he was more patient with himself than she was with herself.

“Why do you sound so mad at yourself? It’s a creative endeavor.”

“It’s my job, or at least that’s what I intended it to be. I diligently sit down in front of my computer every day and wait for the words to pour out of me,” she said with a touch of defiance.

“Admittedly I don’t know a thing about the writing process, but does the command performance thing work?”

Her expression turned rueful. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“Then maybe you need to change things up, get some new experiences under your belt, meet some new people.”

She seemed startled by the suggestion. “You could be right,” she conceded. “My first book was heavily based on my experiences in my marriage. That well has definitely run dry. I’m sick of even thinking about it.”

“But not sick of letting it dictate your future,” he observed, deciding he needed to get a copy of that best-selling book of hers to see exactly what it might reveal.

She frowned at his words, but he let them hang in the air. Finally she met his gaze.

“You’re really annoying, you know that. We’ve barely even met and you seem to know me better than I know myself.”

“Outsider’s perspective, that’s all,” he said. “And a sincere interest in the subject.”

Before she could respond to that, Dillon and Nell had joined them and it put an end to any sort of personal conversation. It was just as well, Jaime thought. Let his words and his insights sink in. Emma might be exasperated by them, but that didn’t make them any less accurate. Perhaps his view of her would prove inspiring, not in terms of her writing, but in terms of opening her heart and convincing her to start living again.

More and more, he was hoping that if she did that, he’d be around to be the man she let into her life.

***

Though Jaime’s insights had thrown her more than a little, Emma found herself relaxing as the evening wore on. Nell and Dillon were great company and the music was even better than Nell had promised. While the band relied heavily on the expected Irish songs, they played a few familiar pop tunes as well. She found herself tapping her foot, regretting that she couldn’t join those who’d moved to the small dance floor that had been cleared right in front of the bandstand.

Jaime leaned in close. “You should dance. I know you’re dying to. Your foot’s been tapping to the music for the past hour.”

“No partner,” she said. “And I don’t know the Irish dance moves the way those couple on the floor seem to.”

Dillon apparently overheard them. “I might have a solution for that, if you don’t mind having an old man teach you a thing or two. Nell, love, would you mind?”

“Absolutely not,” Nell said at once, then gave Emma a sharp look. “Just don’t go getting any ideas, young lady. He’s only on loan to you.”

Emma laughed. “Everybody in town knows Dillon’s heart belongs to you, but if you don’t mind, I would love to learn a few steps.”

“Then come with me,” Dillon said happily.

Emma followed him onto the dance floor, where he showed her a series of steps so intricate and so fast, it was a wonder she didn’t get her feet completely tangled and land in a heap.

“How do you do that?” she asked breathlessly when the song ended.

“Years and years of practice. It’s second nature to me now. You’ll catch on. I imagine when Jaime’s back on his feet, he’ll be eager to give you a few lessons. He’s surprisingly good. Must be all the years he’s hung out around Mick. The Irish traditions have rubbed off on him.”

“Mick dances an Irish jig?”

Dillon chuckled. “With Nell as his mother, do you imagine her letting him or his brothers off the hook? They might have grumbled mightily, but when they came to Ireland, you couldn’t tell them from the locals on the dance floor.”

Back at the table, Emma regarded Jaime curiously. “Is Dillon right? Can you do all those dances?”

“All those and a mean tango and salsa, too,” he said with a wink. “I’m very diversified. Just wait till the fall festival. If we hire a couple of bands, I’ll show you all my moves.”

“What do the two of you think of this band?” Nell asked. “Would they be a good choice for the festival?”

“Absolutely,” Emma said at once. “Their music really does make you want to get up and dance.”

“I agree,” Jaime said. “I think their mix of selections would be perfect for a community event.”

Nell nodded. “Then I’ll go and speak to Luke. Dillon, you coming?”

“Yes, love,” he said and dutifully followed her to the bar, where Luke was pouring ales and chatting with customers.

“You look like you’re having fun,” Jaime said.

“I am,” Emma said, a little surprised by the admission. It had been a long time since she’d done anything just for the sheer pleasure of it. And here in one week she’d joined a book club and gone to the pub for an evening of music and dancing. Perhaps her horizons were finally expanding a bit. Was that due to Jaime or had it simply been time? She couldn’t be sure, but it did seem he was at the center of the changes she could feel taking place in her life.

What she didn’t know was how she felt about that.

***

After she’d dropped off Jaime, Emma felt so exhilarated, her flagging energy of late restored, she went home and sat down in front of her computer. For the first time in months, the words seemed to flow easily. As they flooded out, page after page of a new story inspired by an image of a sexy Latino, she was almost scared to stop. What if she did and the words were gone by tomorrow? What if her imagination failed her yet again?

Even as her doubts crowded in, the flow of words seemed to slow to a trickle, then stopped altogether. She stared at the computer screen, dismayed. Had just thinking about her writer’s block brought it back?

She stood up and began to pace, but her small office wasn’t big enough to contain her level of frustration. Despite the lateness of the hour -- well, after midnight -- she grabbed her keys and left the house.

Carefully avoiding the route past Bayside Retreat, she went around the block in the opposite direction, walking for perhaps a mile before her steps slowed and brought her back to Wisteria Lane. In front of Jaime’s she noticed the lights were still on in the living room.

She stopped and stared, indecisive. She knew if she crossed the street and knocked on his door, things between them would change. That kiss she’d banned would happen. Maybe even more than a kiss.

In her present mood, though, filled with a conflicting mix of heady exhilaration and frustrating defeat, she was ready to risk anything…maybe even her heart.

She crossed the street, stepped onto the porch and knocked. Through windows left open to the cool night breeze, she heard a loud thump, a mild curse and then the slow, but steady rhythm of crutches tapping on the wood floors.

There was time to turn and run. Jaime might even chalk up the knock to kids playing a prank, but Emma told herself that for once she shouldn’t be a coward. Jaime had brought something unexpected into her life and she needed to know where it might lead. Even nowhere would be okay, as long as the experience broke up the tedium she’d come to accept as the norm for her future.

The door swung open and then it was too late to run.

Jaime’s expression registered only mild surprise. “Emma! Is everything okay?”

She swallowed hard. She looked away for a heartbeat to gather her composure, then looked into his eyes. “I’d like to try that kiss, if you haven’t changed your mind,” she said boldly.

Heat turned his eyes dark and his hand reached out to caress her cheek. “You sure about that?”

“No,” she admitted. “But yes.”

He chuckled. “Now there’s a decisive answer if ever I’ve heard one. A wise man would exercise caution before moving forward. Want to come in and talk about it?”

“I want to come in,” she said. “But not to talk. I mean not about the kiss or whether or not it’s a good idea. I just want to do that, then talk about other things.” She took a deep breath. “Or not.”

He stepped aside. “Come in, then. Can I get you something to drink? A midnight snack?”

She shook her head.

“Then have a seat.”

She noted that the Patterson book he’d apparently been reading had fallen on the floor. That must have been the thump she’d heard right after she knocked. A glass of water was on the table beside his chair, along with the remains of what must have been his own late snack -- some cheese and crackers, a few grapes, a perfectly respectable snack for a health-conscious man.

Then Emma spotted a few graham cracker crumbs in an aluminum pan and knew he’d thrown caution to the wind and finished that key lime pie from their recent lunch together. That made her smile, at least till she thought about why she’d come by.

Scared out of her wits by the implications of her impulsive decision, Emma sat on the sofa and waited to see what Jaime would do. He sat next to her and put his crutches aside.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

She glanced into his eyes, noted the concern, then looked away.

“Emma?”

She sighed and held his gaze.

“What’s going on?”

“A willing woman shows up on your doorstep in the middle of the night and you really want to dissect it?”

“I think we probably should. I don’t want to take advantage when you’re feeling vulnerable.”

“Maybe I’m just coming to my senses,” she replied. “You did say I needed to open myself up to new experiences.”

“Ah, so I planted this notion in your head. Good to know you were listening and taking my advice seriously.”

“It sort of worked,” she told him. “I went home tonight and wrote for a couple of hours. I won’t know till I look at it tomorrow if it’s good or if it’s garbage, but the words did flow.”

“Then why aren’t you happier about that?”

“They stopped almost as fast as they’d started.”

“So you’re here for more inspiration?”