The Edge of Heaven (14 page)

Emma slept in his arms. They made out in front of the fire and slept and talked and then made out some more. It was an interesting way to spend the night.

At some point, they spread out on the floor beneath the afghan, Emma curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arms still around her. She woke to find the fire had died down and weak sunlight was shining through the front windows. His hair was all mussed, stubble dotted his jaw, and he looked like so much trouble and so much joy all rolled into one.

"Good morning." She eased back to get a better look at him.

"Good morning." He took his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sleep well?"

"Yes."

He grinned then. "Emma, do me a favor, okay?"

"Anything," she offered.

"Get upstairs before we end up rolling around on the floor this morning."

"Do I have to?" She reached for him. How could she help it?

He caught her hands and held them away. "I'm doing my best here."

"I know. I wish you weren't."

He got to his feet. She laughed and did the same. She was perfectly safe with him. He was only going to let things go so far, and while she hoped to change his mind about that in time, for now, she was enjoying every minute of it. He kissed like a man who had all the time in the world to savor the taste of her, to explore every nuance, every sensation, and he was wonderfully touchable.

"Last night was wonderful," she said.

He groaned. "God, don't say that. If you say that to anybody, they're going to think—"

"I won't tell anyone." She laughed, feeling on top of the world this morning, which was amazing after feeling so horrible the night before when...

When Mark showed up.

Rye touched her chin, then ran a finger over the tip of her nose. "Hey, don't go back there, okay? I worked hard to cheer you up, to make you forget."

"And I did," she said, the worst of what the day before had brought coming back to her in a rush. "It's just..."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, folding her into his arms once more. "And don't think you're fooling me. This is just some new bit to get your hands on me, right? Drum up a few tears and hang your head, and look what happens?"

She did manage to laugh then. "It worked, didn't it?"

"You are a shameless woman, Emma."

She lifted her head from his shoulders and stared up into his beautiful dark eyes. His mouth was right there, stretched into something of a smile now, and there were little laugh lines crinkling together at the corners of his mouth. She wanted his mouth, all of his heat, all the need.

"I'm only shameless where you're concerned," she said.

The smile disappeared. Heat flared in his eyes, and he went tense.

"You do want me," she said, because she needed to believe that.

"What man wouldn't want you?" he said. "Emma, you can't be that innocent. Please, tell me you're not."

"I'm not," she lied quickly and, she hoped, well. She couldn't let him guess how innocent she was. He'd back away for sure.

Truth was, she'd never quite managed to lose herself completely in a man. Sometimes she thought she was cautious, sometimes reserved. Sometimes she wondered if there were something wrong with her, that maybe she was waiting for something she'd never find.

Mark had...

Oh, she didn't want to think about Mark. But he'd never pushed for anything more than she was willing to give. He'd told her more than once that he was glad she was such an old-fashioned girl.

Emma shivered, coming back to the present, the good with the bad.

Deal with it, Emma.

"I'm just a little shaky right now and not trusting myself," she said. "But I trust you."

Emma eased up on her toes and tilted her face to his. He groaned and dipped his head again. It was a scathing kiss, a fire starter. The man certainly knew how to start a blaze. Maybe he truly had been holding back the entire time with her. Maybe he had the kind of control she'd never even guessed at, if this was how he'd really been wanting to kiss her.

She found herself plastered against him, his hands slipping down to cup her hips and pull her into the cradle of his thighs, hard, throbbing heat waiting for her there.

Oh, my.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on tight as he backed her up against the wall and leaned into her in a way that had her thinking about a scene in a movie that had made her blush.

She thought about hands sliding up her bare thighs, beneath her dress, if she'd been wearing a dress. About bare hands on her hips, sliding beneath her panties and lifting her into him. Hands working frantically to free her and him, and about him having her right here against the wall.

She made a little whimpering sound, and that was enough to break the spell. He lifted his head, his eyes darker and more dangerous than she'd ever seen him, and then he shuddered and backed carefully away. His hands came to rest against the wall on either side of her head, and he leaned into it, so that his face wasn't so far from hers but the rest of his body was.

"Good God," he muttered. "Emma..."

"It was my fault...." Oh, her cheeks were burning now. "I'm sorry."

He winced and threw his head back to groan. When he faced her again, it was with something of a smile. He touched her face so softly and said, "That takes two. And we really need to get the hell out of here. If you and I stay here together much longer... You know what's going to happen."

Did she? Emma leaned against the wall on trembling legs and tried to breathe. She supposed she did, and she didn't have any objections, but he would. He'd never take her to bed with him once he found out how old she was. Which was really a shame, because this was honestly the first time she'd ever really wanted to go to bed with a man out of anything other than curiosity.

This went way past that into honest, deep-down need and greed. Did good girls like her feel like this? Because if they did, how did they ever manage to stay good girls?

"Do not dare look at me like that," he growled.

"Sorry."

She couldn't quite look him in the eye then and made the mistake of letting her gaze drift lower and lower until she hit the waistband of his jeans and then went ever so slightly lower to...

Oh, my.

If she thought her face was red before, it was surely flaming now. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she couldn't quite look away from the unmistakable ridge straining against the fly of his jeans.

Her first thought was,
That has to hurt, doesn't it?

And then she wanted to touch it, to run her hands over it through the fabric of his jeans and then with nothing between them. She wanted to be pressed up against the wall again with him rubbing his hard body sensuously against her and then he could fill her with himself again.

Her
. Emma.
The good girl.

What would that be like?

"Emma, I swear to God..." He stood there, no doubt ready to growl some more, but before he could, the doorbell rang.

At first, they both froze.

"Oh, no. Not again." She scrambled to the front window to look out.

"Is it him?" Rye asked, following her.

She looked across the street, where Mark's car had been parked the day before. It wasn't there. She looked in the driveway, wondering if it was a neighbor or a relative. Which would be worse?

Both would be bad, she thought, until she saw the sheriff's car there.

"Oh, hell," Rye muttered behind her. "I really don't need this."

"It's just Joe. He's a friend of Sam's. He probably heard about the shouting match on the porch yesterday." He could have had better timing. She wasn't crazy about explaining this to anyone, but as choices went, the sheriff wasn't a bad one. She reminded Rye, "You wanted him to know what was going on."

"That's not why he's here, Emma." The doorbell rang again, and then Joe rapped on the door, calling Emma's name. "Go on. Let him in. You'll see."

"I'm telling you, Joe's a friend."

"Well, he's going to love this." Rye looked from her to the makeshift bed on the floor by the fire. "He's going to be on the phone to Sam so fast—"

"Emma!" Joe rapped on the door even harder.

"Let him in before he knocks down the door."

Rye brushed his hair down as best he could and grabbed the afghan and the pillows off the floor. Emma tried to smooth down her own hair and wished she didn't look and feel so rumpled.

She pulled open the front door and smiled up at Joe. "Hi."

He frowned. "You okay?"

Her cheeks were flushed, and she wondered how that might blend in with her bruise this morning. Hoping for the best, she angled her head to the right and didn't bother turning on the light in the hallway. It was light enough outside to make do.

"I'm fine," she said.

Joe looked around at what he could see of the room. "Sam still gone?"

"Yes."

"I need to come in, Emma."

"Oh, sure. Sorry. Please, come in."

She stepped back and gave him some room, then shut the door behind him. When she turned around, the sheriff was staring into the living room at Rye, who did indeed have that rumpled, straight-out-of-bed look to him. Oh, well. What did it matter? Nothing happened. She'd tell Sam, and he'd believe her. No big deal.

Except for the way Rye and Joe Mitchell were sizing each other up. She sensed trouble and hurried to get between them.

"Joe, this is Rye... John Ryan, actually. But he goes by Rye. Rye, this is Joe Mitchell, the sheriff."

They stood their ground, nodding in each other's direction.

"Sure you're all right?" Joe asked, as if he might need to rescue her from Rye.

"Yes."

"Someone came to see me about a problem here yesterday," he said, not taking his gaze off Rye. "You and I need to talk, Emma, and then I suspect I'll need to talk to your friend."

"Of course. Why don't we all go into the kitchen. I'll make some coffee."

"Okay," Joe agreed.

She went first, the men parading behind her, no letup that she could see in the open hostilities. She made Joe sit on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, Rye, too, and then dared turn her back to them to start a pot of coffee. She was going to have to tell Joe everything. She could see that from how worried he was and how suspicious he was of Rye.

"Which one of the neighbors called?" she asked, keeping her back to them as she filled the coffeepot with water. "Mrs. Wells?"

"The neighbors saw this?" Joe asked.

"Heard it, at least," Emma said. "I'm not sure if they actually saw it."

"Which ones? I might need to talk to them, too," Joe said.

Emma turned around, still not getting it. Rye looked just about as angry as he had been when Mark showed up. "What's going on?"

"Your ex filed a complaint," Rye said, then looked at Joe. "Right?"

Joe nodded. "He claims your friend tried to kill him."

"What?" Emma was so mad, she was sputtering.

"That's what he said."

"Are we going to talk about it first?" Rye said, in a voice she scarcely recognized. "Or do you want to go ahead and arrest me now?"

"I thought we'd talk first," Joe said.

Rye just nodded and eased back on his chair, looking not at all surprised.

Emma was outraged. "That snake! That dirty, rotten snake. I can't believe he'd do that."

"He claims he's your boyfriend," Joe said.

"Not anymore. Not since..." She faltered then. Damn.

"Emma," Rye said. "We talked about this. I'm sorry, but he's got to know, so he'll watch out for you."

"Know what?" Joe asked.

Emma sat down and closed her eyes. It was as hard as she'd imagined it would be. "He hit me."

"Your ex-boyfriend?" Joe asked.

"Yes. We met at school this fall, and we've been going out. As Christmas break started, we got into a fight. He hit me, and I came running back here."

"Hit you?" Joe asked. "How? I need to know, Emma. Tell me exactly what happened."

"He slapped me."

"He hit her hard enough to knock her down," Rye said. "Come over here in the light and show him the other side of your face, Emma."

She'd done her best to stay on Joe's right side, to hide the bruise from him. But she couldn't anymore. Rye flipped on the bright light that hung over the serving bar in the kitchen, and she showed off her bruise to Joe.

He swore and asked, "Anything else?"

"No," Emma said.

"Yes," Rye insisted at the same time. "I suspect there's some bruising on her arms where he grabbed her. And her ribs are sore. What did he do? Kick you while you were down, Em?"

Shame had her cheeks burning all the more. Oh, she hated this.