The Edge of Heaven (8 page)

She broke off, her cheeks flushed all the more, not looking at him now. He closed his eyes and bit back a curse. She was getting to him. That sweet, fresh-faced, innocent look of hers was killing him.

"I just want you to be safe, Emma, and I want both of us to be able to sleep tonight." Not that he had a prayer of that, not after smelling that Emma-after-her-bath smell and seeing her all flushed and fresh faced, her tight little jeans, and innocent eyes.

"And someone who was out to hurt me would say things like that?"

"He would if he was smart. It sure seems to be working for me. After all, I'm right here with you," he said, frustration getting the better of him.

"You think I'm an idiot, don't you?" She went from flattered to mad in about half a second.

"I think you can't be too careful. Look at what this jerk did to you."

"I know." She touched a hand to her bruised cheek, as if to test and see if it were still there, still as bad as she remembered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into my problems."

"You haven't dragged me anywhere, Emma," he admitted, taking those inevitable steps closer. He could rest his hands on her shoulders or maybe hold her hands. That seemed safe. He did that, just took both her hands in his. "I've come quite willingly. I'm afraid I'm just not that good at taking care of anyone. I've been on my own for a long time now."

"I think you're doing just fine at taking care of me. And... Well..."

She eased up on her tiptoes and placed a frustratingly brief, soft kiss on his lips this time.

"And I appreciate it. Thank you."

He just stood there. There was something so innocent about that little kiss. It might as well have been another peck on the cheek, like the one she'd given him earlier when she'd been so scared and he'd held her in his arms.

Except it rocked him all the way down to his toes again.

"Emma," he warned, holding himself absolutely still and straight.

"Hmm?" She brought her hands up to rest ever so lightly against his chest. The delicate touch burned right through the fabric of his shirt. She still smelled so good and the world was spinning oddly around him.

He hadn't had anyone to hang on to in so long, and how her mere presence could be so comforting and so unsettling at the same time, he could not understand. But he couldn't pry his hands off her.

"Things are crazy right now," he said.

"I know. For me, too."

And yet she stayed stubbornly right there, her face maybe an inch from his. He wanted to tell her she really shouldn't go around kissing men she barely knew, even those little pecks on the cheek. They gave a man ideas.

But this wasn't him getting ideas. She was inviting something entirely different now. A taste of her. All that sweetness, that innocence.

"I think I like you," she said. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"Yes. It's a very bad thing." A complicating thing. A pointless thing. Nothing could ever come of this.

He still stood here hanging on to her. Her eyes were a smoky green and there was a little gleam in them that told him she thought she was being quite forward and was delighted with herself for it. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were right in front of his.

In the end, it was the sweet softness of her that got to him. He hadn't held a woman like that in years. There hadn't been any like her, not where he'd been. Surely he could have a little bit of that. Just a taste.

He touched the tip of her nose with his, nuzzling closer. He heard her catch her breath and thought long and hard about the skin of her cheek, about her mouth, her neck. With her hair piled high, Emma had an absolutely delectable-looking neck.

Who's to say what he would have done in the end, given the chance. Probably gotten into the same kind of trouble she started. But she lifted her face that last fraction of an inch, and one more time, her lips settled against his.

They were so very soft. He teased at them with his tongue, at the opening there, thinking,
Let me in, Emma.
Just like this. It would be enough. He'd make it enough.

Her mouth opened to his. His entire body tensed at the possibilities. He gave himself up to the wonders of kissing Emma, put his hand to the back of her head, tangled within her hair, which he wanted down. Now.

His other hand went to the small of her back, arching her against him. Her breasts pressed against his chest. He let his hand slide down to her bottom, cupping it, pressing her against him.

He could devour her right here in the kitchen.

"Damn," he said, pulling back.

He had to remember who he was, what he'd done, what he was here for. This wasn't his place, just some side road he'd taken and found her. She was just a woman in trouble, and he would be moving on before too long.

"This is a bad idea, Emma."

She gazed up at him, looking dazed and confused. "What is?"

"You and me," he admitted. Might as well get it right out there in the open. This was impossible.

"How do you know?"

Because it felt too good, and since when did life get to feel this good to him? Since when did anything really good ever last for him?

"You don't know who I am. You don't know anything about me."

"So tell me. Tell me who you are and why you came here. Tell me why this is such a bad idea."

He was still trying to figure out what to say when the phone rang.

The blood drained from Emma's face at the sound. Poor Emma. She was so scared.

"I'll get that," he offered.

Even if it was Sam McRae. They'd settle this once and for all, and he could move on to the next name on his list.

"No," she said. "I will."

Chapter 4

Emma snatched it up and said, "Hello."

"Em? What's wrong?"

She let out the breath she'd been holding and said, "Sam. Hi."

Rye sat down in his chair, not exactly looking relieved.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked again. "You don't sound like yourself. Is it that boy? Rachel said the two of you broke up."

"We did."

"Is that all?" Sam asked.

"No." Emma hadn't meant to say that. It had just come tumbling out. She'd always told Sam everything. Well, practically everything.

"Tell me," he insisted.

"I didn't want to say anything. Not with everything that's going on with Ann and the baby, but..." Emma looked for some fine line she could walk here without spilling the whole thing. "He isn't taking this well, Sam. He's mad, and he's been calling here, even though I've asked him to stop."

"What happened between the two of you?" Sam asked, steel in his voice.

"I'll... Can we do this when you and Rachel get here, please? I'm fine, and I'll tell you everything. I promise. Just... not now. Not on the phone, okay?"

"You're fine?"

"I am. I promise."

"Okay, but what did he say?"

"I think I've embarrassed him, more than anything," she said, thinking how odd to find herself interested in one man while explaining to her father on the phone about the one she'd just left who was stalking her. Her humiliation just went on and on. "His parents were expecting to meet me, and I guess he doesn't want to tell them we broke up. So he's making excuses and waiting for me to get back there, even though I've made it clear I'm not coming."

Sam started firing off questions. "So he's not listening?"

"No."

"Has he threatened you?"

"No."

"I think you should come up here. Right now. You don't need to be in that house by yourself. Or you could go to Rachel's sister's or her brother's, her father's. Take your pick."

It made sense. She knew that, and it was so tempting.

But it felt like running away. It felt cowardly, and she already felt like such a coward. She already resented the way Mark seemed to have invaded her whole life, making her second-guess everything she'd ever believed about herself and her ability to take care of herself. She didn't want to be anyone's victim, not ever again, and running felt like admitting that she was.

"I really just want to stay here," Emma said.

"No," Sam said.

She frowned, knowing that tone well. Sam didn't use it often and certainly not arbitrarily. But he'd made up his mind. She'd never flat-out refused him anything, because she loved him and trusted him. She knew he loved her.

Emma looked across the room at Rye, who'd given her the same argument in much the same way. He'd even sounded like Sam when he did it.

"What did he say?" Rye asked.

Sam had just said the same thing. It echoed in her head.
What did he say?
Not just the words or the tone. The voice.

They
sounded
alike.

Looking up at Rye now, the color and shape of his eyes, that little notch in his chin, the way he simply held himself, he even looked like Sam.

And he'd come here looking for Sam....

Not about business, but something personal, and seemed oddly reluctant to even let Sam know it. Why in the world would he do that?

"Emma?"

They both said it at once, Sam's voice coming through the phone, Rye's from across the room. It was just the same. She forgot all about Mark and the phone calls, the threats, and the bruise on her face.

The voices were the same.

Could it be?

She thought... just maybe, she was standing here with Sam's long-lost brother.

It just hit her out of the blue.

Sam had a brother she'd never seen. One Sam hadn't seen himself in ages. For the longest time, she thought he didn't have anyone at all, and she'd wondered how he'd stood that. She couldn't imagine a world without her siblings, particularly after they'd lost their mother. She'd said something about that one day, and Sam had told her he had a brother but not much else. It had obviously been so hard for him to talk about.

But she'd always been curious. Where had his brother gone? What had happened to him? Why didn't Sam ever see him? Why did it still hurt Sam so much?

Emma stared up at Rye. Rye who'd looked so troubled and so reluctant all along. She thought of the way he was so reluctant for Sam to even know he was here, almost like he was testing the situation first, before deciding whether he was willing to reveal his true identity.

But why? If he really was Sam's brother...

Emma put her hand over the receiver and faced Rye. "Who are you?"

He stared for a second, then turned and looked away, up toward the ceiling and through the window and off the back porch, anywhere but at her.

Wow.

He looked so uncomfortable, she thought he might head for the door and not come back. She couldn't let that happen.

"Sam?" she said into the phone. "I'll do something tonight. I'll go somewhere or have someone come stay at the house. Promise."

"I wish you'd come here," he said.

"I know... I just... I have some things to figure out on my own. I'll talk to you, tomorrow, okay?"

"No, it's not okay."

"Sam—"

"I know. You're not a little girl anymore."

He sounded like such a father then, like such a great father. He was having a really hard time with the idea that she was growing up. Not that she seemed to be doing a good job of taking care of herself at the moment.

But if this was his brother...

She looked back at Rye, pacing the length of the kitchen. Sam would be so surprised. What a wonderful Christmas present that would be.

"I love you, Sam. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

She felt so much better, so excited, and she might just have to pull out her helpless female act again. Might as well have something good come from it. Because she had to get Rye to stay. Maybe between now and when Sam came home, she could figure out why he was so reluctant to tell anyone who he was.