The Reckoning (7 page)

That day on the mat, she'd offered herself to him, too. Okay, so she'd expressed a few doubts about it, as well, but she'd expected—no, wanted—him to ignore those and then show her exactly what their mutual desire could do to them both. But Emmett had been too much of the gentleman—no, protector—to take the lead when she'd shown uncertainty.

Which meant she was going to have to be a grown-up and reach out herself if that was what she desired.

Slowly, she lifted her hands to meet his. At the contact, a rubber-band snap of awareness pinged through her system. He twined their fingers, and the hard maleness of his hands separating hers made her spine shiver and her stomach shimmy. His eyes were a darker green than the grass, and she remembered again how the emerald color could hold the yellow heat of a flame.

Ricky's team was still shaking hands with the opposing players. She glanced over at them, then back to Emmett. She licked her suddenly dry lips.

His fingers tightened on hers.

“Uh, great game, right?” she said.

“Once we made it through all the heavy breathing.”

She frowned. “Heavy breathing?”

“You're pretty competitive, do you know that? I thought you were going to rush the ref at that offside call.”

The heavy breathing comment had distracted her. “Huh? What?” She flushed again, realizing she was now staring at his wide chest, trying to determine if his breathing was in any way affected by their shared touch. Enough air wasn't getting to
her
lungs. “I don't even know what offside means,” she confessed. “I was just being loyal to the team.”

“Offsides is all about positioning. And who gets to be ahead of whom on the way to the goal.”

Was there a double entendre to that? She studied his face, trying to figure it out. What was the goal? Who was ahead? His non-committal expression didn't provide any clues. But something about his chiseled features and those dark whiskers just starting to shadow his jaw made her go all shivery again.

She drew in a breath of the warm air and experienced another giddy rush of well-being that made her feel as if she could soar like the birds flying through the brilliant sky. Maybe her spring fever was sparking a hormone surge. That was only natural, right? And it would explain her overwhelming attraction to this man. Think about it—ten years of dormant sexuality coming alive all at once!

His hands squeezed hers. “Linda?”

She was going to have to tell him. She was going to have to ask for what she wanted from him…and hopefully get it. “Emmett—”

But the moment and her words were lost as Ricky's soccer team ran screaming through the tunnel of arms and bodies.

The moment was lost…but not her desire for Emmett.

It simmered away as he drove them back to the guest house, first dropping Lily off at a friend's, and then stopping to pick up Ricky's favorite ham-and-pineapple pizza. It wasn't yet dark when the three of them were gathered around the small kitchen table. There were streaks of dirt on Ricky's cheeks and the tips of his hair were stuck together with sweat.

“Maybe we should have you shower before eating,” she said.

“My hands are clean, I washed them. See?” Ricky held them out. They did look clean, until you looked two inches beyond his wrists.

“Your elbows are grimy and you have dirt on your neck.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don't eat pizza with my elbows or my neck, do I?”

“Ricky.”

Just his name in Emmett's low, calm voice sent Ricky's shoulders into a slump. “Sorry,” he said. “Is that what you want me to do? Shower?”

With his stomach rumbling and his favorite pizza fresh, she found she couldn't toe that maternal line. “No.” Wouldn't a real mother sacrifice hot pizza for cleanliness? Her happy mood deflated. “I suppose you don't eat pizza with your elbows or your neck, do you?”

“Nope.” He dug into the box and pulled out a cheesy slice. “I'll shower after dinner. Then you can quiz me on my spelling words.”

Spelling she should be able to do, but her mood stayed glum. “Sure.”

Emmett leaned close to pour some iced tea into Linda's glass. “Good call,” he said, the words just a whisper against her ear.

Her temperature jacked high. Goose bumps skittered low.
She darted a glance his way, but couldn't figure out if he knew his hot breath affected her or if he even cared.

What if the spring fever and hormone surge were all one-sided? What if the reason he'd left her on the mat that day wasn't because he was a gentleman but because he was too much a gentleman to out-and-out reject her? If her brain had been scrambled for so long, didn't it stand to reason that her signals were crossed as well?

She wasn't any better at men than she was at mothering, she thought morosely, and bit into her pizza.

Then Emmett touched her cheek with one fingertip. “Why so ferocious?”

Her head turned toward him, and his thumb went to the corner of her mouth. “You're oozing pizza sauce.”

Oozing.
Apt word, she thought, and watched him lick the dab of tomato from his thumb. Scrambled brains or not, desire was oozing out of her pores, radiating from her like heat from the summer sidewalk. “I want—” She stopped herself just short, remembering it was dinner, and still light out, and most of all, that her son shared the table with them.

One of Emmett's dark eyebrows flew up. “You want what?”

It took all she had to look away. “I'll…let you know,” she said, applying herself to her pizza slice. She would. She had to, or else go crazy wondering what he wanted, what could be, what it would be like between them, if he was suffering the same symptoms she was.

After pizza, quizzing Ricky for the spelling test served as only more nerve-racking postponement. Though Linda was hyperaware of Emmett reading the newspaper at the kitchen table just a knee away, she cleared her throat and looked over the words. Ricky had his pencil poised over paper.

“How do I do this?”

The boy gave her one of his patented Don't-you-know-anything looks but answered pleasantly enough, “Say the word. Use it in a sentence, then say the word again.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ten years in a coma, plus another ten since she'd taken a spelling test, and apparently there had not been an evolution in spelling education. “That's just how it was for me.”

“I'm good at spelling,” Ricky said.

She smiled at him. “I was, too.”

With tacit agreement, they both looked at Emmett. His gaze lifted, flickered from one face to the other, then back. “I take the fifth.”

Ricky grinned. “You can take it, but I betcha can't spell it.”

Linda had to laugh, even as Emmett sent her a pained look. “Control your kid,” he said. “I take that back, control
yourself
and your kid.”

Oh, but she wasn't going to do either. Ricky was laughing, she was laughing, there was a light in Emmett's eyes that she'd never seen before and she suspected it was suppressed laughter. They all needed that.

“Okay,” she finally said, lifting her palm to glance at the list on the table. “First word.
Queen.
I am the queen bee.
Queen.
”

Ricky groaned, but bent his head over his page. “Next one.”

“Quilt.”
For a second, the word looked odd to her.
Quilt?
Then an image popped into her mind. “There is a pretty quilt on my bed.
Quilt.
”

Emmett rustled the newspaper. Maybe it was the sound, or maybe the mention of bed, but he drew her gaze again. She looked up from the spelling list and found that he was looking at her. Their gazes held.

“What's the next one?” Ricky prodded. “I don't want this to take all night.”

“Me, either,” Emmett said softly. “You need to get back to the house and we need to—”

Linda dropped her gaze, her heart beating wildly.
“Relax,”
she read aloud. “It's hard to relax when…”

“The room is so warm.” Emmett finished for her.

“That doesn't make any sense,” Ricky complained.

It did to Linda. She licked her lips and tried to focus on the words on the page but they were jumping like her pulse. She closed her eyes, opened them.
“Liquid,”
she said. “I feel liquid when—”

“Nobody
feels
liquid,” Ricky corrected.

“Right, right. Sorry. Ice turns into a liquid when it, uh…uh…”

“Melts,” Emmett supplied.

Oooh. She was melting, and her concentration was shot. Looking down at the spelling list, none of the jumble of letters was making any sense to her. The only thing that made sense was that expectant pounding of her heart. That fizz of anticipation in her blood.

She shoved the list toward Emmett. “I need a drink of water.”

“Excellent,”
she heard him say as she strode toward the sink. “The man thought he had an excellent chance with the woman.
Excellent.
”

Ricky was making choking sounds. “No love sentences! Yuck!”

Her eyes closed and holding the cool glass against her cheek, Linda lingered near the sink as the two went through the words.
Quart. Change. Pledge.

“
Quick.
The kid needed to get to sleep quick.
Quick.
”

“Why?” Ricky asked, writing down the word. “Maybe I should stay up late tonight.”

“No. No way does the boy get to stay up late. No.”

“That's not on the list,” Ricky said, grinning.

“But the answer's true all the same.” Emmett glanced over at Linda and she clutched her glass so she wouldn't shiver. “Only two more words and then it's bedtime at the big house for you.”

“Go ahead,” Ricky grumbled.

“
Excited.
He could tell that she was excited.
Excited.
”

“About what?” the little boy asked as he wrote down the word. “What's she excited about?”

Emmett glanced down at the list, then glanced over at Linda, a very male, almost smug half smile curving the corners of his usually hard mouth. “The upcoming
explosion,
” he answered.
“Explosion.”

At that, she almost ended up a liquid, melted puddle on the floor. But she held it together enough to wish Ricky goodnight. Then, as Emmett escorted him back to Nan and Dean's, she ran for the bathroom. The bright light bouncing off the white walls hurt her eyes, but she squinted at the glare and managed to fumble her way through brushing her teeth. Twice.

She didn't have her signals crossed this time. Emmett wanted her just as much as she wanted him. For the first time in more than ten years, she was going to know what it was like to be in a man's arms.

The overhead light seemed to pulse as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Don't mess this up, Linda,
she told herself.
Don't mess this up.

E
mmett lectured himself all the way to the big house and back. His conversation with Lily at the soccer game had let a little light into his soul and the look in Linda's eyes at the kitchen table had shed a little light onto what she was looking for with him. Lily had assured him that Linda wasn't necessarily interested in his ability to stick around, and that crackle in the atmosphere between them tonight seemed to prove what she
was
interested in.

But, Jamison,
he reminded himself,
you will keep a lid on things. You will move slow and you will let this go as far as Linda wants it and no further. You will be sure that as physical as it might between us, that you won't let it be
intimate.

When he entered the guest house, he heard her in the bathroom and leaned his shoulders against the wall outside to wait for her. She pulled open the door, turning off the light at the
same time, and gave a little start of surprise at finding him there.

“You,” she said.

“You were expecting someone else?”

She slowly shook her head, even as a flush brushed across her beautiful cheekbones. “I only want you.” Her face flushed darker.

He wouldn't let her be embarrassed by the admission. “That sounds good to me.” Pushing away from the wall, he stepped toward her.

She looked as if she might flee, but then she smiled at him and took her own step. They were toe-to-toe. “Don't forget that I told you I was out of practice,” she warned.

He didn't twitch a muscle, but he was aware of the heat of his body reaching toward hers and the mingling of their warm breaths. “It's like riding a bicycle.”

Her pretty mouth pursed. “I haven't done that in more than ten years, either.”

“Then that's for another day.” His hands caught hers and he lightly twined their fingers, then brushed his thumbs across her knuckles. “Tonight is for us.”

She shivered.

“Cold?” he whispered.

Her laugh sounded shaky, as her fingers clenched his. “Easy, I think. Your touch affects me in a pretty powerful way, Mr. Jamison.”

He smiled. “In case you've forgotten, Ms. Faraday, that's exactly the way it's supposed to work.” With a little tug, he pulled her nearer so that their hips were close and their lips even closer.

She looked up at him and winced.

“What is it?”

“The hall light. It's so bright.”

“No problem.” He reached out and flicked the switch. It wasn't completely dark now; illumination from the kitchen enabled him to discern the gold glint of her hair and the pretty shape of her mouth. But it was dim enough that his other senses started to work a little harder. He heard the ragged sound of her breath, and when he cupped her cheek, the pulse in her neck thrummed against the outside of his hand.

Don't let it get too intimate,
he reminded himself as he felt another of her little shivers. “I promise you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“I know. I'm not afraid of you.” She went on tiptoe and her warm breath bathed his lips.

His own shiver rolled down his spine, and he forgot all about promises and concerns and the past and the future.

But he remembered slow. So he fitted his mouth to hers with tender care. He pressed against her soft lips and then traced their curves with the tip of his tongue. Under his hands, he felt her body quiver and he traced her lips again, feeling a little purr starting deep in her chest.

His hand moved to cup the back of her head and he slanted his mouth. She drew in a breath and his tongue found entry. He was slow and tender with that, too, gentle strokes and little laps along the insides of her lips.

Against his body, beneath his hands, her skin went hot, but he didn't allow himself to move them. Instead, he focused on her mouth, the silky heat inside, the velvety texture of her tongue. When she pressed closer and twisted against his chest, he could feel the hard nubs of her nipples pushing against him. He wanted to draw up her shirt, draw away her bra, draw those hard points into his mouth and suck and lave and bite….

But he didn't.

He kept up the slow rhythm of the kiss, the sure penetration and retreat of his tongue, even as he felt her muscles
humming beneath his hands. The first time her tongue ventured into his mouth and touched the point of his, his half-hard erection leapt to full attention.

He groaned as her pelvis crowded his and she pressed against the long ache. His fingers dropped hers and he slid his hand beneath her shirt. He felt her goose bumps against his fingertips, and he smiled against her mouth. “Ticklish?” he whispered, lifting his head.

Her eyes tightly closed, she shook her head. “Sensitive.”

Oh, yeah. That sounded good. It felt even better as he put both hands on her slender rib cage, then moved up his palms to cup her breasts. He groaned. “You're braless. I didn't know you weren't wearing a bra today.”

Her nipples were already tight, hard buds. She pressed them against him and pressed her mouth once more to his.

The invitation was clear. He thrust into her mouth again with his tongue, harder, surer, more intent on tasting her. His fingertips circled her sweet little nipples, then moved in to pluck at them with gentle pinches. She made soft sounds from deep in her throat and pressed her hips harder against his body.

Without thinking first, he grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head. The move broke their kiss. One look at her surprised face and he thought he'd broken the mood.

Damn it, Jamison. It was supposed to be as far as Linda wants it and no further.

He stepped away. “I'm sorry. I…” His words died off as she stepped closer. She yanked the T-shirt from him and dropped it to the floor, then she lifted his hands toward her nakedness. “Cover me, Emmett.”

Oh, God. He wanted to, he had to, he did, whirling her so that her back was to the wall and he could lean against her, his hips flush to hers, his palms cupping her warm breasts, his mouth covering hers, too, making it his.

He plucked her nipples into tight knots and then left her mouth to lean down and taste them, too, sucking them into his mouth with a soft rhythm that made her breathing more ragged. Her fingers slid into his hair, holding him to her.

She tasted so good. He drew his nose against her smooth skin on the way to her other breast, breathing her into his body. Sunshine and flowers and now that creamy sweet smell of her arousal. With his teeth, he tugged lightly on her nipple, distracting her from the direction of his hands as they moved into new territory.

But still, her stomach sucked deep as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her shorts. “Emmett,” she said, her voice breaking a little. “Oh, Emmett.”

It wasn't an oh-Emmett-stop “Oh, Emmett,” he was certain of that, and he returned to kissing her mouth as he went back to touching the hot, satiny skin of her belly and then the soft curls below. She moaned when his fingertips neared the petals of her sex, and he slid them right into the wet heat waiting for him there.

They both froze, Emmett groaning at the absolute, sweet, sublime pleasure he found in that evidence of her arousal. It turned him on so fast, with so much power, that he thought he might lose it right then and there. She breathed against his ear, hot and heavy, and when he moved his fingers deeper he thought she didn't breathe at all.

His hand flexed, snapping the button at her waist, which eased his access. “I have to touch more of you,” he murmured. Pressing his cheek hard against hers, he inserted another finger inside the tight sheath of her body.

She shuddered. “Please, Emmett.” Her body was trembling, quivers racking her as he gently withdrew and pushed inside her again. “Please.”

Heat was rolling up the back of his thighs, heat was rolling
from his neck to his spine, ready to converge between his thighs. He didn't think he could put a lid on the upcoming explosion.

And he didn't care.

“It's time for bed, sweetheart,” he said. “It's time to get you naked and get you to a bed.”

She nodded. “Yes. Please.” But she tightened on his finger as he tried to draw it away.

Which only ratcheted his own desire higher. “Sweetheart, let go. Just for a moment or two. Then I promise I'll fill you with everything I have.”

Her eyes were dark, dark pools, the pupils almost as wide as the irises. “And I want everything you have,” she said.
“Everything.”

It should have scared him. “I promise.” That should have scared him more. But he was too busy turning her toward the bedrooms. His? Hers?

Hers was closer. He put his arm around her shoulders to direct her there, but then remembered.
Condoms, idiot. You can't be inside her without a condom.

“Hang on,” he muttered, turning back toward the bathroom. He had some in the shaving kit he'd stashed in one of the cabinets.

But she wouldn't let him go. Instead, she caught her fingers in the belt loop at the back of his jeans. He glanced back.

“Hanging on,” she said.

It made him grin, and he towed her the few feet necessary to the bathroom. He flipped on the light, blinking against the harsh fluorescence. It took only a moment to locate a handful of foil-wrapped packets, then he turned toward Linda. “All—” His voice died.

She was pale, her eyes tightly closed.

“Linda?” he said.

A tear leaked from between a set of brown lashes.

He swallowed. “Linda? What's wrong?” How had he screwed up? What had happened to give her that expression of acute pain? “What have I done wrong?”

Another tear rolled down her cheek. “Not you. Not you.” It seemed even hard for her to speak. “Headache. Bad headache.”

The knot in his stomach eased.
He
hadn't hurt her. With gentle hands, he brushed her hair away from her face. “What can I do?”

She made a vague gesture. “The light. Help me get away from the light.”

He flipped it off immediately, but could see that it didn't mean an instant end to her pain. She swayed on her feet, and he lifted her into his arms.

Secret agent accountant, tough girl Linda Faraday didn't balk. Instead, she whimpered.

That empty place in Emmett's chest ached like hell. He strode into her bedroom to place her gently between the sheets, then stripped her of her sandals and shorts and drew the sheet over her panty-clad body. She clutched at his hand and whispered something.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He leaned close enough to her mouth to smell the toothpaste on her breath. She'd tasted like that, too—minty and so damn sweet.

“Pills,” she mumbled. “In the medicine cabinet.”

He was back with them and a glass of water before another tear had escaped her. With his arm around her back, he shook one out of the bottle and placed it between her lips. She sipped at the water with her eyes closed.

“The light,” she whispered again.

“It's off in here, sweetheart. The room is nice and dark.”

“It was the light…not you.” Her eyes half opened. “You didn't hurt me.”

“I know. And I won't.” He eased her back onto the pillow.

She reached out for him again. “Emmett!”

He met her seeking fingers with his. “I'm right here. Right here.”

“Stay with me, Emmett.”

He didn't hesitate. He couldn't. Not when she was still leaking those silent tears. Not when she looked so fragile and defenseless. It was the FBI agent in him, the protector who couldn't walk away from any defenseless creature.

It was impersonal, really. Not intimate.

She insisted he get beneath the sheets with her. That meant he had to slip out of shoes and jeans and slide in wearing only his boxers and his T-shirt. Linda turned on her side and tucked her cute little butt into the cradle of his hips.

She didn't seem to notice the hardness already waiting there.

It noticed
her,
all right, but he ignored the aching inconvenience and curled his arm around her waist. She let out a sound, half whimper, half sigh.

That damn emptiness in his chest ached harder than his erection.

But he ignored that, too, and stared into the darkness, strands of her flower-fragrant hair beneath his cheek. He hadn't made it into her body, but something about being curved around it was almost more…

No, God, no. It wasn't
intimate.

Her breathing settled into the rhythm of sleep. His shoulders relaxed. Good, he thought, her pain was lessening.

But he had a feeling that his was just beginning. His erection twitched against her rounded backside.

It was going to be a long night, but he knew he wouldn't leave her.

At least, not tonight.

 

Emmett couldn't see clearly. He didn't wear glasses, but it was as if he did and he'd lost them. The light was dim as well, and he squinted as he felt his way along the maze of corridors. The sound of his heart was thumping in his ears and his mouth was dry. He was that afraid.

Not afraid for himself. He had his gun in his hand and he could fire it if he had to. Emmett was afraid he'd find no one to fire at.

He was afraid he was going to be too late.

For what? He couldn't quite remember but the anxiety of it was pressing on him, constricting his lungs so that he couldn't take in enough air. The ragged sound of his shallow breaths joined the pound of his heartbeat, a syncopated rhythm of dark, oppressive dread.

Where was she?

The thought slithered through his brain like a snake.
Where was she?

Around the next corner, he smelled it. Terror and death and blood. Stale blood.

Oh, God. Oh, God, he was too late.

He broke into a run, lurching from side to side against the walls that he couldn't see. His shoulder slammed one side, his gun hand the other, as he rushed closer to the sickening smells that most people would flee from instinctively. Emmett, though, was forced to go forward because that was what he did, that was his job.