It took Caine less than a minute to let Emma into her house. She gawped as he pushed the door open and gestured for her to go in. Chewy raced ahead, his nails clicking against the hard woods.
Emma cleared her throat. “That was impressive. And kinda scary. Are you that good or is my lock that weak?”
“Both,” he said, pocketing the key ring that held the little wire devices he’d used.
“Well, that’s, er, not really…” She swallowed the words, not wanting to criticize him again.
But he apparently heard it anyway. “I suck at reassuring, remember?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s just that… I don’t know, maybe it’s better not to hide from the truth anyway?”
His gaze collided with hers, and there was an intensity there she didn’t understand. One that made her pulse race with a new dose of that fascination. “Always.”
Nodding, she stepped into her entryway and peered at Caine. She wanted to thank him—again—but didn’t think he’d appreciate it given their earlier conversation. So instead she smiled and said, “You were my hero tonight, Caine.”
“Never call me that,” he bit out, those icy blue eyes narrowed to slits.
Emma’s heart tripped over itself and her tongue got tangled. And then it didn’t matter that she didn’t know how to respond because he was off her stoop in a flash. Back into the shadows and on his bike.
Er, that…had not gone the way she intended.
Stomach falling, Emma debated, but this time she erred on the side of leaving him alone. On a tired exhale, she closed her front door and nearly moaned from how good it felt to be inside where it was warm. She shrugged out of her coat and hung it in the front closet, and then leaned against the door jamb to her living room and admired the colorful glow of the lights on her tree—the only lights she had on.
She adored sitting in a room lit only by her Christmas tree. It was something she’d picked up from her grandmother, who used to spread a blanket out on this very floor in front of the tree and tell Emma stories—made-up stories about fantastical worlds, or real-life stories about when Emma’s mother had been young. Stories her mother hadn’t been around long enough to tell herself because a pulmonary embolism had taken her away when Emma had been just nine.
Still, Emma didn’t associate the warm, almost magical glow of the lights with sadness. Instead, they made her feel closer to the women she’d loved and lost—which was why she was firmly part of the camp that put up decorations the day after Thanksgiving—tree, lights, and her grandmother’s Santa collection, too—and didn’t feel the slightest bit self-conscious if they stayed up well into the latter part of January.
Heck, she’d been the proud owner of a Valentine’s tree or two.
She grinned at where Chewy had curled up in his plush dog bed, his well-groomed little head resting on a stuffed Chewbacca. His namesake. As a girl, Emma had thought the expressive sounds that the Star Wars character made were the cutest things she’d ever heard. And when she’d adopted the little guy the summer before she started her job at Frederick Elementary, she’d still remembered that. “You have a hard life, you know that?”
In answer, the dog gave a big sigh and burrowed in deeper.
And the sigh made her realize…she hadn’t heard a motorcycle engine start up.
Frowning, she went to her front window and peered around the tree. Sure enough, Caine’s dark silhouette remained. Part man, part motorcycle. As if he were some sort of mythical creature from her grandmother’s stories.
Why hadn’t he left…?
Her gut gave her the answer that, holy crap, he was waiting. Because even though he’d gotten her inside out of the cold and made sure she had medicine, her locks weren’t yet changed and her keys were still out there somewhere…which meant Caine wasn’t going to leave.
A tingle ran down her spine.
“This isn’t right,” she said. The man had saved her. Taken care of her. The least she could do was invite him in to wait. Determined, she marched to her door and went back out onto the stoop. “You’re still waiting.” He didn’t answer. “Obviously, you’re still waiting. So, come in.”
That got a reply. “What?”
“Come in already. It’s cold out here.” She hugged herself.
“Good night, Emma.”
She made for his bike. “This is ridiculous. If you’re going to insist on waiting, which is very much above and beyond, then I have to insist on you doing it inside my house where it’s not freezing.”
Arms crossed, his voice was a low rumble. “You have to insist?”
Two could play the stubborn game. And she dealt with five-year-olds for a living, so he didn’t know who he was dealing with. She crossed her arms, too. “I do.”
He tilted his face toward her, allowing her to just make out the stern set of his features. And it was the first time that all that edgy intensity, all that darkness, and all that gruffness tripped the switch in her brain that registered sex appeal. Registered it hard.
This guy was nothing like the men she occasionally dated—other young professionals she met at her gym or through friends. But, man, there was something about this dark knight thing Caine had going on that was suddenly—and epically—hot. Maybe it was the way his long legs stretched out from the bike. Or the way his crossed arms emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. Or the way seeing him in shadow emphasized the strong angles of his face.
“What happened to my being a stranger and having a knife and breaking into your house?” he asked.
She almost laughed because he was so obvious in his attempt to be not-reassuring now. Which, go figure, actually was reassuring. “Well, in the time since you used your knife to protect me, we’ve gotten on a first-name basis, you had someone bring me medicine, and you used your powers for good. Plus Chewy wagged his tail at you and he’s a very good judge of character. So…” She gestured toward her house and grinned. “Won’t you please come in?”
* * * *
This is not a good fucking idea.
That was Caine’s thought as he dismounted the bike.
So then why was he doing it?
It had better not be because the blonde was cute as fuck. Though she was. And not just because she was pretty. She was also playful and talkative, earnest and funny. And she didn’t seem put off by him, even when he tried to put her off. All of that reminded him of someone he once knew. Someone who’d once been stuck to him like glue no matter what he’d said. Someone who’d once called him her hero.
Someone he didn’t want to be reminded of.
So, yeah, it had better not be because of any of that.
As he climbed the steps to her row house, he felt like he was headed to the goddamned gallows. Which just proved how big of a fucking misfit he was.
“If they’re true to their estimate, it should only be another thirty minutes,” she said as she led him into the living room.
A place where, apparently, Santa Claus knickknacks went to die judging by the sheer number of them. Jesus. He peered around. Big, little, glass, wooden…Santas appeared on every surface. The mantle. The end tables. The built-in bookcase. Behind him, a big tree blocked most of the front windows, its branches laden with colored lights and ornaments. But even if Christmas hadn’t thrown up all over her living room, the place would’ve appeared feminine, what with the overstuffed white furniture, baby blue pillows, and frilly lamps and floral curtains.
“Go ahead, make your comment,” she said from behind him.
He turned to find her in the doorway that led to the dining room and kitchen beyond. The light of which backlit her hair, making it glow in a halo around her face.
Like he needed the reminder of her sweetness and decency. She was a kindergarten teacher, for God’s sake, which nearly made her the poster child for wholesome innocence. And he’d had a threesome with strangers earlier tonight. Caine shook his head. What the hell was he doing in her house again? “Nothing to say.”
She arched a brow, seemingly unaware of how out of place he felt. He was the guy best left in the shadows to rain down justice when it needed to be dispensed—the ache in his not fully healed hand was just the most recent reminder of that. He wasn’t the guy you made nice with and invited inside. And never had been.
“Really?” she teased.
“A wise man knows when to keep silent.”
She laughed. “Does a wise man also like coffee? Soda?”
“I don’t need anything.” Standing in the middle of the living room, he literally itched to leave. “In fact, I’m just gonna—”
“Oh, come on. Don’t make me eat Christmas cookies at midnight by myself.” She waved for him to follow as she turned toward the back of the house.
His stomach clenched, cementing his feet in place. When had he last eaten? The apple at breakfast?
Emma stopped in her kitchen doorway. “You coming?”
Without the bulk of the winter coat surrounding her, the slight build of her frame was more visible, even in the jeans and oversized sweatshirt she wore. He’d thought her features delicate, but in truth, all of her appeared that way, and it soured his gut to remember how she’d been struggling with her mugger when he’d first come upon them.
Warily, he followed her into the kitchen, a small but bright room with yellow walls, white cabinets, and a two-seater table. Besides two Christmas placemats on the table, the holiday hadn’t vomited in here, and it made Caine feel slightly less on edge. He didn’t hold anyone’s love of the season against them, but for him the day had only ever represented disappointment and all the things he didn’t have. And never would.
Arms crossed, Caine stood near the doorway and watched Emma as she washed her hands and retrieved a canister and napkins.
“Okay, coffee or soda? Or water? Or tea?” She smiled. “Basically anything except alcohol which I sadly have none of at the moment.”
“Water’s fine,” he said, not at all surprised she didn’t have alcohol in her house. Not that he cared. He drank only infrequently, not liking the feeling of his senses being dulled, or his reaction time being delayed. But it was just another little confirmation of her wholesomeness that was so unlike himself.
“You sure?” She opened her refrigerator door covered in kids’ stick-figure drawings and peered in. “I have milk, too.”
Shaking his head, he was about to reiterate his choice when his gaze landed on something in her fridge and his eyes went wide. “Is that orange soda?”
She grabbed two and grinned. “It is orange soda. You like?”
He shrugged with one shoulder. He hadn’t had an orange soda in years, but once upon a time it’d been a childhood favorite. One of the few treats the home offered the kids.
Emma put ice in glasses and placed the drinks on the table. “Sit down. I’ll bring the cookies over.”
“Mind if I wash my hands first?” he asked. The longer he spent in Emma’s presence, the more he felt the ménage clinging to his skin, and it was nauseating. Or maybe that was a side effect of his hunger.
“Of course.”
When he was done, he sat on the edge of the closest seat and popped open his can. Bubbles fizzed over his fingers, and the sweetness of orange hit his nose as he poured.
“Okay, there’s snickerdoodles, chocolate chip, molasses, peanut butter, and sugar cookies. I can take credit for everything except the peanut butter,” Emma said. “They always turn out too dry when I make them. And then I discovered the ones at Dutch’s and they’re amazing, so those I bought. I think they got a new baker in there because they’ve seriously upped their dessert game. Do you know that place?” Emma brought a heaping plate of cookies to the table and slid into the other chair.
Small talk normally wasn’t his strong suit—he never saw the point. But this was actually a topic he knew something about. “Yeah, the club hangs at Dutch’s,” he said, referring to a nearby diner whose owner had always been friendly to the Ravens. “And her name’s Haven.”
Pouring her drink, Emma placed three cookies onto a napkin in front of her. “Who?”
He took an iced snow man. “Dutch’s new baker. She’s the club president’s girlfriend.” Well, fiancée now. Caine had been present with the rest of the club when Dare Kenyon had gotten down on one knee and proposed to Haven at Thanksgiving dinner. He wasn’t the only one who’d paired off during the last year, but he was the one who surprised Caine the most. He’d always thought Dare too married to the club to ever make room for anything more than hook-ups. Caine definitely felt that way. Which was convenient since he never let himself get close enough to anyone to chance feeling or wanting more.
He’d learned the hard way that it was a chance not worth taking.
People couldn’t hurt you as much if you didn’t care about them.
“No way! You know her?” Emma’s eyes went wide, her gaze full of what looked like awe and delight. Two emotions rarely directed at him, that was for fucking sure.
And it hit him funny, almost like the scary thrill of nearly taking a turn too fast and too tight on his bike.
Caine nodded as he finished the first cookie. And it was like that first one emphasized how empty his stomach was, because he was suddenly ravenous. “That was good. You mind?” He gestured toward the plate.
“No, of course not. Have as many as you want.”
He took a chocolate chip and then glanced up at Emma again.
To find her eyeballing his Ravens cut. “What’s it like to be in a motorcycle club?” Her eyes went wide. “Is that too personal to ask?”
Maybe? Eyeballing her right back, he chewed and swallowed. Debated. And then settled on the most important thing, to him. “It’s like having a big family. One you can actually count on.” Unlike the one he’d been born into.
“A big family that brings you medicine to give to a strange lady just because you ask?”
His gaze dropped as he finished his cookie. After Emma had left him standing on the street, Caine had searched the alley down which her mugger had escaped, and then looped around the block to his bike—which was when he’d seen Emma sitting on her stoop and made up his mind to hang until she was safe. He’d called the Ravens’ newest prospective member to run the meds errand for him. Because that was the shit that Prospects did. And because Caine hadn’t liked seeing Emma curled up on the sidewalk in pain.
Not that he really wanted to revisit any of that with her.
“Pretty much. Not what you expected?” he asked, ready to hear the judgment or see the wariness or disapproval he so often encountered among strangers when it came to the club. He didn’t give it any weight anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see it happening around him.
Her expression went thoughtful. “I’m not sure what I expected. But what you described sounds awesome.”
Her honesty impressed him, and so did the way she’d listened to him and seemed to consider what he had to say. His brothers gave him that kind of respect, but it wasn’t something he’d found a lot of in his life. And though he appreciated it from her, it also left him feeling strangely…vulnerable. As if her sincerity and open-mindedness were picks that might open the locks inside him. So he changed the subject—and the tenor of the conversation. “Anyway, I thought you weren’t old enough to be called lady?”
She laughed, and it made those sky blues shine with amusement. Also not something usually directed his way. Shit, he’d known Haven for seven months—and he liked her as well as he liked anyone—and she still approached him like he was a stray dog who might take her hand off. And that was no shade on Haven, either. Caine absolutely had the disposition of a distrusting stray who’d been abused enough to bite even the kindest hands.
“Touché,” she said, brushing cookie crumbs off her fingers onto a napkin. “These cookies are making me realize I never ate dinner. Was too nauseous earlier.”
“But you’re not now?” he asked, taking a third cookie. A peanut butter, this time, because Dare always hoarded all the PBs when Haven made them for the club, meaning no one else ever got any. And, weirdly, eating was making him realize how hungry he was, too.
“No, the pills and the caffeine helped. I’d thank you again except I don’t think you’d want me to.” She arched a brow. Caine wasn’t sure which gave him more satisfaction—that he’d helped her or that she seemed to be flirting with him.
He just looked at her, amused by the way she tried to get under his skin but unwilling to show it. And also not willing to examine too closely the fact that she was successful.
A slow smile grew on her pretty face, but she switched topics. “You want a sandwich?”
Caine blinked. His gut growled. Out loud. “No.”
She laughed at him. “I think your stomach disagrees.” She crossed to her fridge again, and the mass of kids’ drawings fluttered as she opened the door. “I have ham and a couple kinds of cheese, which I could do cold or grilled. And I have a rotisserie chicken I could cut up.”
“Emma—”
“What?” She peered over her shoulder.
The dog came trotting into the room and sat down close to the fridge.
“This is because I said ‘cheese’ out loud.” She smiled down at the puff ball. “Isn’t it, Chewy? You’re crazy for cheese, aren’t you?”
“Chewy?”
“Short for Chewbacca.”
Caine frowned, unsure why he kept asking for these little details about her life but seemingly unable to stop himself. “The giant Star Wars character?”
“Yup.” She crouched down to pet the little round head. “Because Wookiees are awesome. Now, sandwich?”
Knock, knock, knock.
Chewy took off at a tear, barking his not-at-all threatening head off.
“Aw, well, I guess we’ll hold that thought for now,” Emma said, her tone disappointed.
But the weirdest thing was that Caine was disappointed, too. Because once her locks had been replaced, he’d have absolutely no reason to stay.