Freedom (6 page)

Sometimes, I worry my gaze may appear as a leer, so I avert my eyes before I get sucked into her vortex.
Too late, buddy.

I pull open the fridge. “What are you going to make me for dinner? Because there’s no food in here.”

“I have food,” she scoffs and joins me, ducking her head under my arm to peer into her pint-sized fridge. “Pickles, cheddar, water and yogurt. That’s dinner.”

Her self-assuredness makes me smile.

“You’re kidding.”

She steps back and puts her hands on her hips. “I didn’t have time to go to the store, and I definitely didn’t know that you’d be inviting yourself over for dinner. So pickles and cheese it is.”

I slam the fridge door. “New plan. You come to my house, and I’ll make dinner for you.”

As I quickly think of vegetarian dishes I could drum up on short notice, Emma’s face contorts as she stares at the refrigerator door. She doesn’t even hear what I am proposing.

“Oh, my God,” she whispers as she removes a magnet and pulls a note off the fridge door. It’s a white napkin like the ones stacked in a basket on her kitchen counter.

“What’s wrong?” I step closer to her and instinctively put my arm on her shoulder.

“He found me. Oh, my God. He already found me.” She bites her lip and begins to tear up a little.

Six

Emma

“Who, Emma?” Dylan demands as he holds my shoulders firmly.

“My ex,” I whisper. I can barely see through my watery eyes.

“You have an ex-husband?” Dylan asks, astounded.

“My ex-boyfriend, Robert.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe he was here. The door was locked when we got here, but somehow he got inside.”

Dylan takes the napkin and mumbles the brief message to himself:

Missed you, babe. See you soon.

Love, Robert

“Are you saying he doesn’t have a key? He broke in here?” he questions angrily. “Who is this guy and when did you last see him?”

“I broke up with him last summer. We dated for two years, and we’ve known each other for longer. It’s a long story.”

“Did he hurt you? Is that why you’re scared?”

Dylan’s bellow startles me, and I pull back from his hands.

“No. He didn’t hurt me. The last time I saw him was around Christmas time at a bar. It was at my father’s holiday office party. Robert showed up because no one, not even my father, has the authority to make Robert leave. His family… they have a lot of power. We spoke for a long time and he said he’d let me go, like it was his decision. I haven’t seen him since. And no one, not even my parents, have my new address here. They call my cell phone when they need me.”

“Carson mentioned something about your dad having issues with some mob guy. Are you telling me this guy is one of them?”

“I wouldn’t say Robert is one of them. He was born into the business. His father is
the guy
.”

“Business,” Dylan scoffs at my delicate term for an organized crime syndicate. “That explains why it was so easy for him to find you. He probably has a network to track you. Hera is a small town. If he found out you were hired by Blackard Designs, then finding your home would be as easy as walking into Bonnie’s Diner and asking anyone there if they know where Emma lives.”

I gulp down the fear and anger lodged in my throat and dry my tears with a paper towel. I’ve never been afraid of Robert. It’s the thought of him coming back into my life that scares me. All the drama he creates, his persistent need to be with me all the time, and the smarmy people that come attached to him.

“Emma,” Dylan pulls me towards him, “we have to get you out of here. You can’t stay here.”

“What? No. Robert would never hurt me. This is my home. I’m not going on the run like some crazy
Bourne Identity
movie.” I laugh nervously.

“You’re crying and you’re scared. I don’t know shit about this guy, but Carson told me a little about your dad’s situation with them. You moved here to get away from those people, so you’re not staying in this house.” Dylan’s deep timbre is so soothing that falling into his arms would be incredibly easy. Melting into him, a regular small town guy, sounds like heaven compared to what I’ve had with Robert.

“I was crying because I thought I was done with Robert and all his possessive, controlling behavior. I thought he moved on, and I assumed I was free.”

“So you’re going to call the police and get protection from this stalker guy who leaves love napkins?” Dylan says sarcastically.

“No. They can’t touch Robert. They could easily say it was forged. Robert knows how to break and enter without leaving evidence.”

“That’s my point, Emma.” Dylan has me in a partial embrace and presses his hands into my back.

“I’m not afraid of Robert; I’m tired of him. All of them. Even my own family. I came here so I could be done with every last one of them.”

Dylan’s serious blue eyes capture me in a hypnotic vise.
This is a good place,
I tell myself, staring up at his demanding yet thoughtful expression. I want to reach up and touch his cheek and the light brown scruff that runs down to his chin. I want to run a finger along one of his white scars that snake around his scalp. I want to stay in this spot with him holding me. I should be thinking of how to deal with Robert, but I’m not.

I have spent the last week blissfully entertained in my new job, including being around Dylan’s intensity. If he has the past that Lauren claims—a revolving door of women—I wonder how he would respond if I inched my hand down his chest to his rock hard groin pushing into me now.

I can’t believe I am having sexual thoughts about him when I have this new nightmare with Robert to deal with, however I
am
thinking about Dylan. Maybe it is the way he looks at me and avoids me at the same time—all week! Maybe it’s because he’s very attractive and I’m listening to my lonely, stupid hormones.

I am not normally the type of woman to make the first move. I used to let Robert and others before him woo me like a silly schoolgirl because I was too chicken to take the lead, but in this second, I am so tempted to make a move on Dylan. He’s hot, sexy and tough all wrapped up in one very fine package.

He hisses, and as if he can read my mind, he moves back a few inches. It doesn’t sway my desire; if anything, I am more attracted to him and his action hero side. I have to get my stupid thinking cap on now.

Don’t screw someone you work with, Emma.

Dylan moves back farther from me.

“Even if Robert does return, he’s not dangerous. He’s always been good to me. I gave you the wrong impression about him.”

“Really?” he asks in angry disbelief. “Let’s see. One, he’s part of a mob family. Two, you said he was possessive and controlling—that’s a bully. Three, he broke into your home. Four, his note is a reminder that he’s watching you—a subtle threat. And you don’t have a deadbolt, Emma. It’s a little push button lock that anyone can open with a paper clip. Even if you did have one, the door is a piece of thin plywood that I could kick down with no effort, and don’t get me started on the cheap windows. So, no, you can’t stay here.”

“I was upset because I was surprised, that’s all. Stop blowing this out of proportion.”

“This guy could come back while you’re sleeping and stand at the end of your bed. What would you say then?”

“Hi?” I shrug and bite my lip, suppressing the urge to laugh.

“This isn’t funny,” he responds, and I’m rather surprised at how invested he is in my welfare. He is doing a damn good job of making me swoon a little.

“No, it’s not funny. I’m pretty ticked off that he came here, looking for me.”

“Good, then let’s grab a few things and leave. We can get the rest of your stuff tomorrow when I can come back with my Jeep.” He sounds so sure of his plan.

“Where am I going? The Red Roof Inn out on the interstate is the cheapest hotel in the area and even that is too steep for my budget.”

“You’re coming to my house. Well, actually it’s Leo’s, but he stays at Lauren’s place.”

“I can’t stay with you; I work with you.” I can’t believe my own ridiculous statement. I have spent the last five days inhaling his scent like a wolf in heat when he swooshes by me, and now I’m turning down his invitation? What is wrong with me? Not that I am scared of Robert, however the image Dylan has given me of Robert standing at the foot of my bed, watching over me while I sleep, does make me uncomfortable.

“The house has three bedrooms. You can have the guest room. It’s an old house and a little shabby, but it’s safer than this place.” Dylan’s right hand squeezes my shoulder.

“And it has you, right?” I ask, wondering if he is really trying to protect me or if he’s making a play to get in my pants. At this point, I’m not sure that I care what his strategy is—I am all for it.

There’s a moment of silence between us while Dylan contemplates my meaning. “Right. I’ll be there, so I can make sure you’re safe if this guido comes around.”

“He’s not a guido. Trust me. If you saw him…” I decide it’s best not to qualify Robert’s incredible good looks. He’s handsome with endless buckets of charm. I was one of the many women that worshipped Robert’s Italian gorgeousness before tiring of everything that came along with the pretty package.

“If I saw him… what? You still hold a torch for this guy?” Dylan removes his hand from my shoulder.

“No, not at all,” I muse. “You must get all your ideas of organized crime families from TV and old movies. If you saw Robert’s family, you’d think they are a nice, suburban family. He doesn’t look like a guido.”

“You were the one who called them goombas.”

“Yeah, some of the guys on the bottom rungs, the ones I consider the street thugs, look like goombas. Not the guys at the top.”

“Fuck. If the guys at the top are paying the guys at the bottom to be thugs, then they’re all goombas, guidos or thugs.” Dylan is getting more than a little riled over this Robert business and I kind of like it.

I chuckle. “Okay, you’re right. They’re all thugs.”

“You laugh, but I can’t believe you would get mixed up with someone like that. I can understand your dad being coerced, but why you’d date a guy like that—”

“Okay!” I snap. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Robert was my mistake. Don’t you have anyone you think of as a mistake?”

Dylan pauses and averts his eyes from me with obvious shame. “I was a mistake for a few women,” he mumbles and then turns away to pick up his jacket from a chair.

“Huh. Not the question I asked, but very interesting.” I follow his movements, willing him to look at me so I can decide if he is bullshitting me with this sudden
I’m-an-unlovable-sad-mercenary
act. “Fine, if we’re going to your house, I’ll go pack a bag with some necessities for tonight.”

“Oh, we’re going. You are not staying here.”

And Mr. Action Hero is back.

I throw some clothes and toiletries into a tote bag and grab my satchel with my company laptop, and then Dylan and I hop back on his bike. He’s wearing his leather jacket, and I have on a wool pea coat and the black helmet. I sling the satchel across my body and tuck it behind my back while Dylan crams the tote in front of him.

This time he doesn’t tell me to hold on; he grabs my arms roughly and pulls them around his torso. I am more than happy to hug him tightly with my hands clasped under his jacket, pressing against his hard abdomen. As his t-shirt inches up and I feel his warm flesh, I turn my head and rest it against his back for the ride to his house.

Over the last five days, this guy has been mostly standoffish with me, and now I am falling into a vat of marshmallow fluff over him. Yes, I feel all fluffy inside. Dylan may not be aware that I am developing some kind of crush on him, however I’m either suffering from a serious medical condition, or my organs—especially the big one in my head—are turning into mush.

Contentment is easily defined when you are holding onto a big, warm, sexy male body, which is making me reconsider my rule about not fooling around with this particular man.

Seven

Dylan

Having her wrapped around me on my bike makes me want to ride all night long. Her warmth triggers all kinds of crazy ideas and emotions. I’m not the kind of patient that makes an emergency phone call to his shrink—especially to inquire about whether or not it is safe for me to get involved with a woman—however Emma has my neurons going haywire, firing mixed signals at me.

You like her, go for it.

Retreat before you put yourself and everyone around you in another tailspin to hell.

I must be a walking medical miracle with all the third party conversations going on in my head at this point.

We lean into a left turn, and Emma’s hands tighten and push into my stomach, so I place my right hand over her hands and give a gentle, reassuring squeeze. It’s one of those moments when you recognize that someone trusts you. It may be a singularly brief point in time, yet it’s important to me. There are very few people that have trust or faith in me. No, I get nice little well-meaning pep talks from people close to me like Carson.

Speaking of Carson, I have no idea how he is going to react when he finds out I’ve brought Emma to my house. Not only have I just met this woman, I am putting her under my roof, and I also have to work with her.

If this is fucked up, then why does it seem like the right thing to do? And why do I feel alive for the first time in months? I mean, really alive and invigorated. Every part of my being is strumming along with a great buzz. My meds don’t make me high, so it has to be her.

That’s still no reason for her to trust me.

My house is dark when we pull up in front and I park my bike next to my Jeep. Emma gets off the bike, and it gives me a twinge of anxiety at losing her touch when she lets go of me. I am also getting a little too optimistic about what could happen next.

As Emma stands in front of the house and looks up at it, I wish Leo and I would have spent more time last summer working on his house and filling it with new furniture. Instead, I put most of my effort in with Carson, working on Jessica’s Victorian she has inherited from her aunt.