Heatwave (12 page)

“Good morning.”

The sleep-husky sound of Emily’s sweet voice startled him, then filled him with more dread. He knew he’d end up hurting her, but consoled himself with the belief that a little hurt now was better than a whole lot of pain later.

With his hands still braced on the counter, he turned his head in her direction. She looked rumpled and way too sensual for his peace of mind. A sexy smile curved her lips, still swollen from his kisses. He recalled some of the most intimate things she’d done with those lips and his lower body flexed with recognition.

Sunshine from the east windows poured into the kitchen, rendering the white button-down shirt she’d liberated from his closet a useless shield to cover her lush curves. The sight of her body outlined beneath the cotton was way too tempting, so he averted his gaze. Unfortunately, his body hardened in a flash from the imprint on his mind, resurrecting memories of the night. Irritation fed his sour mood, probably fueled by his frustrated desire to take advantage of the sight of her long, shapely legs beneath the tail of his shirt.

He straightened and pulled a big black mug from the cabinet. “You should get home. Your grandmother’s probably worried.” He hadn’t meant for the words to come out quite so brusquely, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. In the long run, it was better this way. Cut their losses now and move on instead of encouraging emotions he could never accept.

Instead of serving himself a cup of the steaming brew, he foolishly glanced at her in time to see her
shock at his harsh words fade into hurt, piercing his heart with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

“Drew?” The caution in her voice finished off what little the sledgehammer left behind. “What’s going on?”

He poured himself some coffee. “I need to be at my aunt’s soon for brunch. Cale and Amanda are opening their wedding gifts, then leaving for their honeymoon. I promised I’d be there.” Actually, he’d promised he
and
Emily would be there.

Not going to happen
.

She crossed her arms, hiking his shirt up to reveal more of her luscious legs. “As a liar, you suck.”

“Come again?” He sipped his coffee, in case his first stall tactic failed. What was so hard about telling the first woman he’d ever really let his guard down enough to actually care about that they wouldn’t be seeing each other again? No reason at all he should be avoiding telling her he was about to stomp all over her heart.

His imaginary white charger returned, only to buck him off—in less than eight seconds.

“You’re not a very good liar.” She lowered her arms and tilted her hip to the side before resting her hand on the counter. Her gaze filled with suspicion. “I don’t think you rushing me out of here has anything to do with my grandmother worrying about me or brunch with your family.”

Okay, so he possessed all the subtly of a sledgehammer, as well. He let out a weighty sigh and set his mug on the counter. The morning had started out bad and
was about to get worse, but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to change it.

“Look, Emily—”

“No,” she interrupted him hotly, her eyes filling with fire and suspicion. “You look. Everything was fine between us last night. What? Did you finally remember that I told you I loved you? Is that why you’re pulling away from me so fast I’m choking on the vapor trail?”

The shrill ring of the phone stilled the denial—or the truth—on his tongue. He considered answering, if only to give himself more time to summon the right words, but skirting the issue wouldn’t benefit either of them. Better to get the deed done and move on with their lives.

Alone.

The ringing stopped, and she glanced down at the red digital display. The indicator showed seven waiting messages. When she looked his way again, her distaste mocked him. The anger simmering in her gaze left his conscience scorched.

“You’re so terrified of some woman putting a noose around your neck, I bet all those waiting messages are from poor unsuspecting fools suffering with rope burn.”

“You’re wrong,” he argued, but the staunch ring of truth in her statement took the heat out of his words. She’d nailed it, hard. He’d studiously avoided anything that remotely resembled a serious relationship for years.

In an angry gesture, she shoved a wavy lock of her
blond hair from her face. “Is that why you’re giving me the cold shoulder? You’re afraid I’ve got a noose hidden in my purse? Because unless I’m really reading you all wrong, I know you care about me, too.”

“It’s not…”
that I don’t care about you
. The words froze in his throat, then spread with icy fingers to circle his heart. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her, because he did. A great deal. If he didn’t, then they wouldn’t be having this conversation.

“Did I ask you to burn your little black book?” She pushed off the counter and advanced on him until they were red-painted toenails to casual sneakers. “Did I ever once
hint
that I’m looking for marriage or forever?”

If he wasn’t fighting for his survival, and hers, he just might have enjoyed all her spit and fire. “No,” he admitted.

“Then
what
—” she emphasized the word by nearly drilling a hole in his chest with her index finger “—is going on inside that head of yours?”

He let out another sigh, and said the words he knew would drive her away. “I don’t want your love, Emily.”

E
MILY COULDN’T
have been more stunned if Drew had slapped her. At least emotionally. A hard sucker punch right to her heart, because she’d swear it had physically shattered into a trillion fragments at his softly spoken words.

I don’t want your love, Emily
.

She backed away from him, her leaden feet moving slowly until her backside came in contact with the cabinets behind her. Those awful words reverberated through her soul. The distance did nothing to create the blessed numbness she craved to protect what was left of her heart, or to ease the chill creeping over her flesh. How could she have been so wrong—again?

“Then there’s nothing left for me to say.” Much to her surprise, her voice didn’t tremble. She couldn’t say the same for her limbs. “I’ll just get my things.”

She walked away, but she really wanted to sit down and weep. The need to get as far away from Drew, to put as much distance as humanly possible from the pain of his rejection kept her moving. Escaping the deep ache in her chest wouldn’t be quite so simple.

She made it as far as the living room before his voice stopped her. “Emily, wait.”

“Don’t say anything else. Please.” She wouldn’t look
at him. To do so would only remind her of how stupid she’d been to think for a minute he’d been different. “My ego has had enough bruises lately.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words failed to placate, angering her instead. She laughed, but the sound was as cold as the deep freeze already settling around her. “Yeah, me, too.”

Before she did something really dumb, like cry in front of him, she took off for the bedroom. By the time she hit the door, her entire body trembled. She was a powder keg of hurt and indignation, embarrassment and frustration, ready to blow at the first strike.

Her hands shook so hard, she had trouble with the buttons of his shirt. With a frustrated hiss, she gave up, pulled the shirt over her head and threw it on the bed. The rumpled, tangled sheets mocked her.

“Dammit,” she muttered to herself. Once again, she’d made the wrong choice. With her history, she shouldn’t be surprised or even upset. Except this time was different. This time the ramifications would be long-lasting. Unlike her previous relationships,
this time
, she’d actually fallen in love.

After plucking her bra from the floor near the dresser, she padded naked to the other side of the room for her dress, stepping over Drew’s clothes along the way. Clothes she’d practically torn from his body. She might not be able to close her eyes and imagine her life without him, but what choice did she have?

He’d made his choice perfectly clear. He didn’t want her love.

He didn’t want
her
.

Whether more angry with him or herself, she wasn’t certain, but she aimed her ire at them both. Her, for being foolish enough to fall in love. Him, for leaving the imprint of his Nikes on her backside as he booted her out the door.

She stepped into her dress and hauled it past her hips before she sat on the edge of the bed to fasten her bra.

“Emily?”

The black lace demi bra dangled from her fingertips. With her dress still hanging loose around her waist, she glanced up as he walked into the room. She should have found at least a modicum of comfort in seeing the misery etched on his handsome face, only she couldn’t. Instead, the ache in her chest intensified, making her angry enough to want to throw something at him, preferably a sharp object. Several sharp objects.

He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his navy trousers. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Why couldn’t he just leave her be? He’d made his position crystal clear. He didn’t want her. Fine. She got the message.

She hooked her bra, then set the half cups in place. “Oh?” She yanked the straps over her shoulders. “And what am I thinking?”

“That I’m an inconsiderate ass.”

She wasn’t about to argue with him. “Add a few more choice words to that description, and you just might be the first man in history to be right about something.”

He winced at her sharp words.

“I’m not exactly in the mood for a relationship postmortem right now.” She’d reserve that privilege for later, like when she was alone with a box of tissues and a truckload of self-pity for company.

She stood and shoved her arms into the sleeves of her dress. If she didn’t get away from him—and fast, she might just give in to the fantasy of doing him bodily harm.

The deep frown creasing his brow indicated his lack of appreciation for her sarcasm. “I do care about you.” He let out a harsh breath, then shoved his hand roughly through his thick, rich hair. “Hell, I might even be in love with you. I don’t know. I’ve never loved someone who wasn’t a member of my family.”

“Oh, lucky me. I fall in love with a guy who says he loves me, but doesn’t want my love. Jeez, Drew. You’re making more and more sense by the second.” She zipped up her dress, then looked around the room for her shoes. Wasn’t there a rule somewhere that stated hurt wasn’t supposed to accompany a declaration of love? Apparently the rule book required an addendum.

“You’re not helping matters,” he complained.

Aha
. The toe of one shoe peeked out from beneath the bed. From
his
side of the bed. “Help isn’t exactly what I’m aiming for here.” She dropped to her knees to ferret out its mate, tossing aside the sheet dangling over the side, only to be overwhelmed by the musky scent of their lovemaking.

“Would you stop for a minute and let me explain?”

She snagged her shoes and stood so fast to escape the
memories of their glorious, passionate night together, the room spun momentarily. “I don’t think so,” she said, then promptly walked out of the bedroom.

The memories, and Drew, followed.

She found her hairpins scattered over the sofa and floor, then scooped her evening bag from the sofa table to tuck the pins inside the now condomless interior compartment. His big hand settled on her shoulder, urging her to turn around. She did, but refused to look at him. If she did, she feared she’d start sobbing and wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Look at me, Emily.”

Don’t do it. Don’t you dare look into those incredible green eyes
.

He tucked his finger beneath her chin and gently eased her head upward. Against her will, she stared anyway, stunned into temporary silence by the pain in his eyes, the ache banked there mirroring her own. How could he do this to them? How could he hurt them both this way?

“My dad loved my mom.” His velvety-smooth voice, tinged with emotion, diffused her anger—a little. Very little.

“She was everything to him,” he continued, lowering his hands to his side. “When she died, so did he. Not physically right away, but he died inside. I might not be the guy on the scene fighting the fires any longer, but there’s still an element of danger to my job, Emily. I enter buildings to determine the cause of a burn. There are OSHA restrictions and certain steps
taken to ensure my safety, but accidents can still happen.”

She didn’t understand. “What does that have to do with how we feel about each other?”

“What if something happened? What if we did move in together, or married and started a family? What about the baby you’re carrying? I’m not going to do to you and your kid what my mom’s death did to my family.”

Her jaw dropped. Literally. Her purse and strappy heels slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor in a series of dull thuds, underscoring her stunned disbelief.

He couldn’t possibly be serious.

Could he?

Rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers did nothing to lessen her confusion. Slowly, she sat down on the edge of the sofa, shaking her head, positively flabbergasted by his revelation.

“Let me get this straight,” she said when she recovered enough from her shock to speak again. “You don’t want me to love
you
because you think
I’d
fall apart if something happened to you?”

His body visibly tensed. “Something like that.”

He was putting her through the emotional wringer for that? “That has to be the most twisted logic in support of commitment atheism I’ve ever heard.”

“I lived through it, remember?” His voice rose. Obviously, she’d offended him. “I’ve seen for myself what happens because you love someone too much.”

“What you lived through was miserable, yes. You
lost your mother, then witnessed the deterioration of your father. A childhood like that would leave scars on anyone. I get it. But, Drew, did you ever stop to think that some people are emotionally stronger than others?”

He turned his back on her and walked across the room to stand before the empty fireplace. With his hands tucked in his pockets again, his shoulders slumped forward.

“Death is a part of life, and you go on,” she told him. She stood and moved toward him, wondering if she had the power to change twenty-some-odd years of a belief system she barely understood. “Yes, we mourn the loss of a loved one, but what your father did was wallow in his own self-pity. Instead of honoring your mother’s memory, he destroyed it.”

He glanced down when she reached his side. Coldness emanated from him in icy waves. She resisted the urge to shiver.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spoke quietly, deliberately. “You weren’t there.”

“No, I wasn’t, but you said it yourself—he gave up. And what’s worse, he gave up on his sons when they needed him the most. When
you
needed him the most.”

“That’s right,” he shot at her suddenly. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to go through…going to cause someone that kind of suffering because they loved me.”

His slip couldn’t have been any more Freudian, or revealing. Like a surge of electricity, realization jolted
her understanding of his reasoning for giving her the boot.

“Oh, you are so full of it!” She ignored his ferocious frown. She had to, she was fighting for her life, her life with him. “What has you running scared is that you’re afraid you’ll end up just like him. Even though you think you might be in love with me, it’s still easier for you to let me walk away than to admit the truth. There’s no risk involved that way, is there?”

A flash of panic passed through his eyes before the stone-cold hardness returned, shoving aside the brief glimpse of vulnerability. “That’s bull.”

“Oh really?” she argued. “You are terrified you’ll self-destruct, just like your dad did, and it’s crippling you. Well, I have news for you, Drew. If you don’t smarten up, you’re going to end up a very lonely old man.”

“I think you’d better leave now.”

The icy threat in his voice sent a warning signal to her brain that she’d pushed him too far, poking and prodding at a still-tender open wound. Well, tough, she thought childishly. She really didn’t give a damn. Not because she wanted to hurt him, but unless she managed somehow to evaporate the mist clouding his judgment, he’d never see reality.

The thunderous expression on his face should have had her scooting out the door. Instead, she planted her hands on her hips and returned his glare with one of her own. “Why? So you don’t have to face the truth? Or so you don’t have to see what you’re throwing away because of one man’s unhealthy, selfish destruction?”

He uttered a ripe curse, then reached for his beeper vibrating at his side. He muttered more curses before walking away from her. While he picked up the phone and punched numbers into the keypad, she slipped into her shoes and picked up her bag. Unless Drew came to his senses, there really wasn’t anything she could do except leave.

“I’m on my way,” he said, then hung up the phone.

Nothing subtle about
that
, she thought. Lucky him, he’d been saved from being forced into further introspection. Unlucky her, she’d be nursing a broken heart for the next…oh, fifty, sixty years.

He came back into the living room. “I’m not sure I know how to say this.”

“Goodbye.” She let out a defeated sigh. Even she could recognize a losing battle when she saw one. “One word. Real easy.”

Time
. Another word. One she’d apparently exhausted.

He took hold of her hand before she could turn to leave. “No. Emily, wait.”

The quiet, calm of his voice alerted her, followed by an unmistakable sense of foreboding that had nothing to do with their future, or lack of one. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“That was Ben. Your grandmother and her nurse are safe, but the school is on fire.” He tugged her hand and pulled her close. Blessed numbness finally settled over her, accompanied by a dull buzzing in her ears.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s no saving it this time.”

D
REW SLOWLY DROVE
his SUV toward the parking lot across the street from what had once been the Norris Culinary Academy. Huge red trucks lined the boulevard amid trails of snaking hose as firefighters waged a determined battle against the beast.

“Oh my God.” Emily’s strained whisper pretty much summed up his own feelings.

Thick black smoke billowed from the structure, now completely consumed by flames. The building would be a total loss. All anyone could hope for at this point was to prevent the fire from spreading to neighboring structures.

“How could someone do something like this intentionally?” she asked him. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“An arsonist operates under his own logic. In revenge fires, he twists the truth to suit his own ends to justify his actions.” Drew parked at the far end of the lot, away from the hot zone, and killed the engine. “In his mind, he’s righting a perceived wrong. An eye for an eye.”

Emily unbuckled her seatbelt, then turned to face him. Disbelief added to the worry in her eyes. “Revenge? Are you sure?”

He didn’t know why she was surprised when they’d discussed the possibility of revenge previously. “These fires have been intentional and specific,” he said. “Like your grandmother said, someone has a match to strike.”

Her hands trembled as she opened the door and slid
from the vehicle. “I’m taking my grandmother to a hotel.”