Heatwave (15 page)

The velvet-smooth quality of his deep voice awoke
every cell in her body. She’d managed to take a few giant steps since she’d last seen him—her life, her career were on a steady path and gaining ground daily. The sight of him, even through the screen, reminded her that her heart hadn’t gained so much as a single baby step toward healing.

Wasn’t it enough that she thought about him constantly? Did he have to show up on her doorstep and remind her of what they could never have together?

“What is it?” her grandmother asked from the sofa, now fully awake. “Who’s there?”

“It’s okay, Grandy,” she said, keeping the flimsy barrier of the screen door between her and Drew. “I was startled by a rat lurking at the door.”

Under the buttery glow of the porch light, Drew winced. “You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that question?”

“Because you’re habitually contrary,” her grandmother muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

“What if I don’t want to talk to you?”

“Then don’t. You can listen while I talk.” He opened the door, snagged her hand and tugged her out onto the porch with him.

His touch set off a series of sparks zipping over her skin in all directions. What had she been thinking? Baby steps? Crawling would be a vast improvement, and he’d just set her progress back with one rather impersonal touch.

To maintain her tenuous grip on her sanity and to
keep her hormones from zinging off the charts, she tugged her hand free of his and moved to the far edge of the porch. With her backside parked against the railing, she crossed her arms and refused to look at him. “Fine,” she said, “Talk. But if you’ve come here to put a matching Nike imprint on my other cheek, forget it.”

“What are you talking about?” He sounded thoroughly confused.

She let out a sigh, not bothering to explain. “You had something to say?”

Say you’ve been a big, stupid jerk and that you’re not good enough for me to love. Say your life is empty without me
.

And then what? Was she supposed to forgive him for breaking her heart? Surely he didn’t expect her to run back into his arms, thanking the deity in charge of love for such a gracious gift, as if he hadn’t trampled her heart.

Was she supposed to trust him not to hurt her again?

I don’t think so
.

Say it, you big stupid jerk, and I’ll think about it
.

Her ire died when he closed the distance between them and she had her first good look at him.
Haggard
barely scratched the surface. The dancing light in his incredible green eyes had vanished. No sign of the playful smile usually curving his kissable mouth existed, reminding her of what he must be feeling at the loss of his friend.

“I heard about Fitz,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looked down at the ground between their feet. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s been a rough day.”

He told her about the fire and the accident that had taken Fitz, about the heartbreaking visit he and Ben had made to tell Krista her husband wouldn’t be coming home tonight. She listened, heard the pain in his voice, saw the emotion brightening his eyes and the final barricade surrounding her battered heart and supporting her wounded pride crumbled into a pile of rubble.

He held her gaze. “I was wrong, Emily.”

“About?”

“Everything,” he admitted.

“Oh really?” she said, determined to protect herself from more pain now that he’d managed to strip away the last of her defenses. “And what brings you to such an unprecedented conclusion?”

He reached for her, and cupped her cheek in the warmth of his palm. “I’ve missed you.”

Ditto. Ditto. Ditto
, her conscience screamed. “I hear cats are great company. You might consider getting one for yourself.”

The barest hint of a smile touched his mouth. “You were right,” he said, smoothing his thumb along her jaw.

She rolled her eyes. “About?”

“Everything.”

She was getting a little tired of his one-word replies. “Specifics, please.” Her grandmother was right. She
was
habitually contrary.

“About me being afraid.” He dropped his hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I was afraid. I still am because I love you so much it hurts. Here,” he said, lifting
their joined hands and placing them over his heart. “Loving you scares the hell out of me, but if the alternative is to spend the rest of my life without you, I don’t think I can live with that, either.”

“You hurt me,” she said, reluctant to let him off the hook so easily. He
had
hurt her, but she couldn’t deny she loved him with every ounce of her soul. No matter how much she’d wanted to steal it back, she couldn’t, because every part of her truly belonged to Drew, a sexy charmer who’d sweet-talked his way past her defenses, made a mockery of her common sense and headed straight for her heart as if it were his right, his own claim to Manifest Destiny.

“I know and I’m sorry.” His mouth brushed hers, sweet, kind and so tender she nearly wept.

“Forgive me, Emily, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I promise.”

Her vocal cords refused to cooperate.

“Say something, sweetheart.”

Too choked with emotion to speak, she showed him instead by wrapping her arms around his neck, plastering her body against his and kissing him with all the love in her heart.

“Emily?” Suzette’s tentative voice penetrated the heat already simmering inside her. “Velma wants to know if you’ve forgiven him or if you need Herb’s old varmint gun?”

Emily giggled. It’d been a long time since she’d been busted necking with some guy on the porch. But this wasn’t just some guy. This was Drew, who made her
hotter than a heatwave and filled her soul with exquisite joy.

“Tell her the varmint’s been caged,” he called. “And he couldn’t be happier,” he finished saying on a whisper for her ears only.

“She’s forgiven him,” they heard Suzette say as she closed the front door and turned off the porch light to give them privacy.

“Now,” she said, snuggling closer, “about this making it up to me part…”

He chuckled and zeroed in on the spot just below her ear. A flash of heat raced down her spine and spread with languid warmth throughout her body. Her sweet-talking charmer was definitely off to a very good start.

ISBN: 978-1-4603-7196-1

HEATWAVE

Copyright © 2003 by Jamie Ann Denton.

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