Four
Emma went to breakfast the next morning, dragging her feet. She was going to put in her notice. It made her sick to think of leaving him. It was the last thing she wanted to do. But she was susceptible to him. Vulnerable, and he was used to women who thought nothing of climbing into bed with him. She couldn’t do that. It wasn’t who she was.
She walked into the dining room, head high, determined. And...he wasn’t there!
Confused, she sat down. There was only one place setting, for her.
Marie came in with a platter of eggs and sausage. She knew that Emma loved sausage best of all the breakfast foods. She added buttered biscuits to the platter and pushed a jar of homemade blackberry preserves toward Emma.
“My favorite foods,” she exclaimed. “Wow! Thanks, Marie.”
“You’re very welcome,” the older woman said gently.
“Where’s Mr. Sinclair?” she asked with her eyes lowered.
“He actually went to a conference.” She laughed. “It’s the first time since he was, well, you know, that he’s left the house at all. He said it was time he got back into the swing of things and took care of business. He took his attorney with him. You’d like him. Alistair Sims. He’s British.”
“Oh, my,” Emma exclaimed. “This is a small mountain community. He’s British and he wanted to live here? Well, Bear Lake, where we are, is a small town. But we’re near Gainesville, which has over fifty thousand people.”
“Closer to thirty-five thousand.” Marie laughed again. “Yes, Alistair married an American woman and moved here years ago. She died, but he never went home. He said he felt closer to her here, where she’s buried.”
“What a sweet man he must be,” she replied.
“He’s very kind. He can keep secrets, too. That’s important to a man like Mr. Sinclair. You wouldn’t believe the problems money can make for someone who’s wealthy.”
“I can’t, and I don’t mind it at all.” Emma beamed. “I’m happy with my life.”
Marie stared at her. “You make people around you happy, too, Miss Emma,” she said softly. “Mr. Sinclair actually laughs now. He never did before, even when he could see. He was always somber and cold. You’d never know he had a sense of humor. Not until you came along.”
“That makes me feel very good,” Emma confessed. Inside, the guilt was still eating her up, though. Not even what Marie was saying made a lot of difference.
“Well, I’ll get back to work. Call me if you need anything, Miss Copeland.”
“Just Emma,” she corrected, smiling.
“All right, then. Just Emma.” Marie smiled back.
* * *
The house was suddenly empty. Cold. Haunted by memories. Emma walked into the study that Connor used for an office and felt the emptiness like a living thing. When Connor was here, his very presence filled the world. He brought color and life to the house. He seemed larger than life.
Now, without him for the first time since she’d accepted the job, Emma began to realize just how much the big man meant to her. It was dangerous, those feelings. For one thing, she couldn’t afford to become involved with him, in any way. She lived in fear that she’d slip up, and then he’d finally realize who she was. Even though nobody had seen her in the boat the morning of the accident, he was rich. If he wanted to, he could afford plenty of detectives to seek her out.
But he didn’t remember how he’d been hurt. That was her only solace. It gave her the opportunity to look after him, take care of him, make up a little for what she’d done. But if he ever found out...
She shivered, even in the warm room, thinking about how vindictive he was. Mamie’s words rang in her ears. Connor always got even with anyone who crossed him. His vengeance, if he realized that the same woman who’d blinded him was working for him, would be absolute. He might even think she’d done it for another reason, that she was playing him, trying to get money out of him. She knew already that he’d give her anything she asked for, because he was fond of her.
But she hadn’t asked for anything. She never would. She worked for what she got. It would never occur to her to be like the women he knew, greedy, grasping women who only wanted what he had.
She wondered why he liked that sort of woman, like that brunette who made soufflés, or so he said. He knew them to their bones. Perhaps that was why he never got attached to them, because he knew what they were about.
She recalled what he’d told her, about his late wife, and the way she’d died in childbirth. It helped her to understand him, just a little. He blamed the baby for killing her. But that was just God’s will, she thought, and was saddened that he didn’t share her belief system. She smiled. His wasn’t a unique viewpoint. In today’s world, many people thought that God was just a myth.
She recalled things she’d read about in history books, about other periods of time when men had become fixated on their own power—only to have some natural disaster remind them that men were less powerful than they believed.
In the winter of 1811–1812, there had been a devastating earthquake on the New Madrid fault in Missouri (which was pronounced New Mádrid, not New Madríd). It had caused damage in many surrounding states, including Georgia. Part of the Mississippi River had run backward. Sand blows—areas that liquefied and sand rushed to the surface in huge circles—had been everywhere in the impact zone. There were a few eyewitness accounts. Not so many people had died, because in those days the area wasn’t as populated as it was today. But after the earthquakes, the churches were full. It just went to show, Emma thought, that people sometimes got reminded that they weren’t all-powerful.
She sat down in the big chair behind Connor’s desk, her fingers caressing the armrests. She missed him. It was insane to let these feelings get a grip on her heart, because inevitably she was going to have to leave. Her great plan to gain his confidence and then tell him what she’d done had gone to pieces. She realized now that she could never do it. She didn’t want to leave. She couldn’t bear the thought of his outrage, his disgust, if he knew who’d blinded him. He would hate her...
She got up from the chair as if it had turned red hot, and walked out of the room. She closed the door behind her, almost overcome with silent fear. She had no one to blame but herself. She’d parked herself in the lion’s den and now she was waiting to be devoured.
In a panic, she went to her room and got out her suitcase. She could run. She could go home to Jacobsville. Not to her father’s ranch; she never wanted to go back there. But the Griers would certainly take her in again. Cash and Tippy had given her the affection she’d never gotten from her father. It was just that she felt she’d imposed on them too much. She had a cousin in Victoria, near Jacobsville, where she could live until she got a new job. Cousin Ella would let her share the big house she’d just inherited, and there was always work at the big ranches nearby; or maybe get a job cooking in a restaurant somewhere.
Even as she thought about it, as her fingers touched the cold vinyl of the hard-shelled suitcase, she realized that she couldn’t do it. She thought of Connor here with nobody to help him with the tangle of daily email, or with routine things like where food was on his plate, how many steps he had to walk down to go to the shore of the lake, where Emma led him almost every evening when he was home. Who would sit with him when he had the horrible migraines that plagued him? Who’d tease him and wipe away the broodiness that hallmarked his personality?
She moved her suitcase back into the closet and slowly closed the door. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she cared for him. That had been a huge mistake. But he was the sort of man who attracted women. Not only for his amorous technique—which was formidable—but also for his wit and courtesy and the soft heart he hid from most people.
He cared about the people who worked for him. Marie told her how much he’d done for her family and Barnes’s. He’d done that for other people, as well. He was generous to a fault. He was that way with Emma, too. He’d wanted to buy her things, but she’d refused every attempt. There would inevitably come a time when he’d find her out—hopefully, long after she left him. She didn’t want him to remember that she’d accepted expensive presents from him. It would look as if she had ulterior motives for coming to work for him. Her only motive had been to try and make up just a little for the horrible thing she’d done.
She had nightmares about the boat hitting him. Now that she knew him, had feelings for him, she was tormented by the memories. She should have stopped the boat, gotten out, helped him, apologized, tried to explain. Even if he’d sent the sheriff’s department after her, which he would have had to do since the lake house wasn’t within the city limits, she’d have dealt with the consequences, whatever they were, bravely.
Instead, she’d let him give her a job that she never should have taken under false pretenses.
But look what she’d have missed, she told herself. Quiet evenings by the lake. Breakfast with him every morning. Working together in the office, listening to his deep, velvety voice while he dictated. Easing his headaches with medicine and companionship until he fell asleep. Just being with him. Looking at him. Loving the handsome face and muscular physique that defined the man he was. She never saw the millionaire. She saw the man.
She wandered out to the deck overlooking the lake. There was a flat area between this lake house and Mamie’s place, right on the shore. There was a log there where Emma liked to sit. It was where she’d been sitting that first time, when Connor had found her and railed her out about trespassing. It was near where he’d offered her breakfast later, when he lost his vision. She’d teased him and he’d laughed.
Marie said he hardly ever laughed before Emma came to work for him. It made her proud that she could give him a few light moments in his darkness. She wished she could go back and undo what she’d done.
He’d gone away so suddenly. Was it because of last night? Had it meant something to him, beyond just the physical attraction that was so evident to both of them? Did he regret his behavior because she worked for him? Was he embarrassed? Ashamed?
She laughed. He was never embarrassed, and he would hardly be ashamed. Nothing much had happened. She’d struggled away from him before anything could. But she recalled the sudden hardness of his body. He’d wanted her, badly. Did he think she’d let him touch her for ulterior motives, that she wanted something for being with him? She was horrified that he might think she was pretending to be clueless. She’d told him she was engaged once. Did he think she’d slept with her fiancé as many women did before the wedding?
Her mind flew ahead to his return. How would he act when he came back? She hoped he wouldn’t pursue her, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist him. She loved being in his big arms, she loved kissing him. That was unwise for many reasons. She hoped she could get her hormones under control before he came back. Because she absolutely could not let him get close to her. The thought depressed her so much that she skipped lunch and went to wander the lakeshore like a lost soul.
* * *
There were a few emails left that he’d wanted sent, so she took care of those. After that, there wasn’t much to do. She helped Marie in the kitchen. The older woman liked to make exotic dishes and freeze them, for when company came.
Not that there’d been many visitors lately. Connor had been famous for his lake parties when he was sighted, Marie commented a few days later. The house had been alive with light and music and the sound of conversation.
“I guess he knows a lot of important people,” Emma said as she chopped fresh herbs for the omelet Marie was making them for supper. They had light meals since Connor wasn’t in residence. Marie did the cooking, a chore she’d shared with Connor’s chef, Edward, who stayed in France at Connor’s other home on the Riviera. Emma loved omelets, for any meal. This one had lots of herbs, with tiny muffins to accompany it.
Marie heard the wistful note in her voice and glanced at her. “Too many, it seems sometimes. You know, I always felt that he hid in people, in droves of people, to keep from facing his personal demons. The house was full, but he was alone, even then.”
“He told me about his wife,” she confessed.
Marie’s eyebrows lifted. “He did? My goodness, he never speaks of her to anyone, that I know.”
Emma laughed softly. “People tend to confide in me. It’s always been that way.”
“It’s because you listen. You really listen,” Marie emphasized. “Most people want to talk about themselves. They aren’t quiet enough to listen to what other people say to them, they’re thinking ahead to what they want to say next.”
Emma grinned. “I never thought of it that way.”
Marie laughed softly. “Mr. Sinclair’s women don’t listen, they talk,” she said.
Emma groaned inwardly at the reminder of his women. Of course he had women. She’d seen the glittery woman who made soufflés. She’d almost blurted that out to Marie. It would be fatal, if she ever said such a thing to Connor and he made the connection. He’d remember that the woman who’d blinded him had seen the woman at the lake house. She’d almost let that slip to him, the night before he’d left the lake house.
In a way, she was sorry that she’d taken this job so impulsively. Her motives had been noble, at the time, but they would lead her to tragedy if she wasn’t careful. Mamie had told her how dangerous Connor was, how vindictive. Mamie wasn’t the only person he’d hounded relentlessly for crossing him. If even the memory upset Mamie, it must have been very bad.
“All right, dump them in,” Marie cut into her thoughts.
It took Emma a moment before she remembered that she was helping with supper. She tossed the herbs into the bowl where Marie was whisking the eggs.
“How did you come to work for Mr. Sinclair?” Emma asked.
Marie smiled. “My husband died and I had nowhere to go. We’d lived on a poultry farm for years, ever since we first married. When he died, I didn’t want to do the job alone, so the company he worked for wanted to move another family in. I came here, to the lake house, on a whim, because a friend said there was an eccentric millionaire who needed a local cook. I was scared to death of him. You know, I have a thick Southern accent, I’m a countrywoman, all that. He didn’t mind at all, despite his very French and very elegant chef, Edward. Barnes is sort of like me, too—he’s local, so you could never say that the boss was biased toward people who don’t have money.”
Emma laughed as she pictured poor Marie on her first interview. “I was scared of him, too, when I first came here,” she confessed.
“It was only supposed to be for a few months a year, while he was here. But he liked me, so I stay year-round. Usually by myself—” she grinned “—since he takes Barnes with him when he goes overseas. We have temporary people come in to help out when he throws parties, but there’s just me and Barnes when he’s alone. When he leaves, it’s just me and the telephone, really. It rings constantly when he’s not here. Reporters looking for a confidential story, rivals tracking his movements overseas, business associates trying to track him down. And women.” She groaned. “I didn’t understand why he lived on the Riviera for several months a year. Now I do,” she added wryly.
“What does he do there?” Emma wondered.
“He swims. He sunbathes. He has house parties. Or he did,” she added quietly. “Now—well, I’m not sure.” She turned up the heat on the front ceramic burner of the stove and placed the pan to warm before she added the eggs. “You know, I often thought that he needed people the way some people need alcohol.” Emma knew all too well some people’s need for alcohol. “He doesn’t like his own company.”
“He hasn’t had people here since I came to work for him.”
Marie added eggs to the pan and began to move the mixture to the center as the edges bubbled. “He doesn’t seem to need other people when you’re around, Emma,” came the soft reply. “He’s like a different person with you, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. He’s at peace. Yes,” she added, turning the eggs. “That’s the word I wanted. He’s at peace.”
Emma didn’t say another word. She felt a kind of quiet pride. At least she was of some worth to Connor, even if she was a dead loss as an amorous substitute.
Perhaps that was why he’d gone away. To find a woman who’d do for him what Emma wouldn’t. The thought depressed her beyond words. She finished her supper, made some excuse about a book she wanted to read and went to bed early.
* * *
Emma wandered the shoreline, tapping tall autumn weeds lightly with a twig she’d found. It had been a whole week since Connor had left. She’d done what little work he left her, helped Marie, brooded in his office, haunted the lakeshore where she’d spent so much time with him when they weren’t working. Nothing helped. It was like being separated from an arm or a leg. Funny, how much he’d come to mean to her in the short time she’d worked here.
She wondered if he missed her, then laughed out loud. Sure he missed her. He was probably drowning in attractive brunettes, helping him enjoy whatever casino was nearby wherever he’d gone. He liked glitz and glamour. And she’d heard that conventions were breeding grounds for all sorts of wild behavior.
The thought of that big, muscular body with a woman in a bed drove her crazy. She hated the thought of him with other women.
She told herself for the hundredth time that she was never going to have any permanent place in his life. She worked for him. Yes, he’d kissed her, but he was only curious. He’d said so. He wanted to see how she tasted, and she’d better hope that she tasted like bad medicine, or she was going to be in big trouble very soon.
She stared across the lake, enjoying the cool breeze that ruffled her hair, the nip of autumn giving it a flavor all its own. She closed her eyes and smiled. Such a simple thing, to bring such pleasure.
“Emma! Where the hell are you?”
Her heart jumped. Connor was home! She turned back toward the lake house, running in her joy. “I’m here!” she called back, laughter in her voice.
The man standing on the deck didn’t smile. He stiffened as if a bullet had hit him. He’d gone away to forget that she went to his head like alcohol, that he wanted her with an obsession he’d never felt in his life. And here she was, laughter in her voice, excitement in her steps he could hear clearly as she approached.
She stopped in front of him to catch her breath. But the joy she felt at his return wasn’t shared. He was as cold and unreachable as he’d been the first day she’d talked to him, when he’d chewed her out about speeding in Mamie’s boat. This wasn’t the kind, mischievous, teasing companion of recent weeks.
“Come with me. We have work to do,” he said coldly, and turned back toward the door.
He reached toward a chair that had been moved and almost lost his balance. “Who moved my chair?” he demanded as he stopped in his tracks.
“We have a woman who comes in to do the heavy cleaning—”
“Hell, I know that! I want to know why it wasn’t moved back!” he said curtly.
She drew in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He breathed slowly, deliberately, while he got his temper under control. “Get Barnes,” he said shortly. “I’ll need help to get to the office.”
“Sir, I don’t mind...” she began, putting a soft hand on his arm.
He shook it off violently. Pale eyes looked in her general direction. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped. “Get Barnes! Now!”
She took a deep breath to steady herself. She was shaking from the aggression in his voice. “Yes, sir,” she said. Her voice shook, too. She hated that.
He heard it and his body tensed. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was getting too close. He couldn’t let her. He had nothing left to give.
* * *
Barnes led Connor to his office. Emma, her face flushed with embarrassment and grief, followed slowly along behind, because he hadn’t told her what to do, now that he was home.
“Thanks,” he told the other man.
“Anytime, sir,” Barnes said politely. He looked at Emma’s disturbed face and grimaced, then tried to smile.
She nodded and didn’t meet his eyes. He went out, closing the door.
“Are you in here, Emma?” Connor snapped as he sat down behind his desk.
“Yes, sir.” She sounded calm again, thank goodness, even though she wasn’t.
“Good. Let’s get to work.”
She might have mentioned that he was just home from a business trip, and wouldn’t he like to get out of the very becoming charcoal pin-striped suit he was wearing with a white shirt and blue tie, and change into something comfortable? But that grizzly bear wouldn’t take kindly to any such personal remark; she knew it at once. She wasn’t risking his temper again.
He dictated letters to two congressmen and a senator. They concerned some upcoming legislation that would, apparently, impact aviation. She didn’t ask questions. She just took dictation.
“I’ll want those printed out on paper for my signature,” he added when he finished. “Half the time they do the same thing I do with email—they just ignore it. It’s harder to ignore a registered letter. That’s how you’ll send them, too. Registered mail. I’ll have Barnes drive them to the post office in town.”
“Yes, sir.”
He got up, drawing in another breath. “Call Mrs. Harris at Bear Lake Florist. I want flowers sent to Ariel Delong in Atlanta.” He gave her the address and the telephone number. “Have them put ‘I have sweet memories’ on the card. Got that?”
Her heart was dying. “Yes, sir.”
“Send her two dozen red roses,” he added.
“Yes, sir.”
He smiled sarcastically. “Had you forgotten that I have women, Emma?” he chided. “The rest of the world moves on, while you sit in your room at night and dream about white picket fences and happily-ever-after.”
She didn’t comment. She thought she might choke on her own words. Besides that, she wasn’t trying to justify her ideals to a man who only ridiculed them.
“Nothing to say?” he persisted.
“Not a thing, sir.”
“I’m taking her nightclubbing tonight,” he added with a sensuous smile. “It’s her birthday. We’ll do the town and then I’ll take her home. Barnes will go with me. I won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, so get those letters done ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.” She was a parrot. She needed to make a recording of her voice saying that, so she could just hit Play when he asked a question or made a statement.
“She likes to dance,” he said. “So do I.” His face hardened. “It’s hard to do anything more than a lazy two-step now, of course. I can’t see! I can’t see a damned thing!”
She bit her lip. He wasn’t accusing her; he didn’t know who she was. But the pain was like a knife in her heart. She’d done that to him!
He struggled for composure. “I love Viennese waltzes,” he said. “I danced with a countess in Vienna once, at a ball given by the American consulate. I danced the tango in Argentina with the daughter of a titled count. And now I can’t walk if someone moves a damned chair into a position I don’t remember!” His fist hit the desk so hard that Emma jumped. “I hate being blind! I hate it!”
She swallowed. “Mr. Sinclair,” she said softly, “I’m more sorry than you know, for what happened to you. But you have to go forward. Life doesn’t have a rewind button.”
He leaned heavily on the desk for a minute, a caged lion roaring at his fate. After a minute, he moved away from the desk and slid his hand along the back of a leather chair. “Tell that cleaning woman that if she moves another piece of furniture in this house, and doesn’t move it back, she’s fired.”
“Yes, sir.”
He got almost to the door. “Tell the florist to add a box of chocolates to that order,” he said. “She likes sweets.”
“I will.” The “yes, sir” was wearing thin.
“You don’t dance, do you, Emma?” he chided, turning his head back toward her. “God forbid you should have to get that close to a man! Dancing is sinful, isn’t it? Anything that gives people pleasure is forbidden!”
Actually, she danced quite well. There had been a party that she’d gone to before she took the job with Mamie. Cash Grier, Jacobsville’s police chief, had heard from his wife, Tippy, that Emma couldn’t dance. He took it upon himself to teach her, and he was great at it. Tippy had grinned at her with the new baby boy in her arms, laughing when Emma tripped and said she was going to kill him with her two left feet and go to jail. They’d all laughed. Emma had gone to a party soon afterward, and she’d been the belle of the ball.
So Emma could dance. But she wasn’t giving the big man any more chances to taunt her. She just remained silent.
He cursed under his breath and left the room.
Emma didn’t understand his changed attitude. Or maybe she did. He blamed her because he’d gotten out of hand. He wouldn’t remember that he’d pulled her into bed with him, that he’d been the pursuer. He was angry because he’d given in to a hunger he should never have entertained for a young woman who worked for him. But he didn’t make mistakes like that, so naturally it was Emma’s fault. She’d tempted him.
Or maybe it was just that the new woman in his life had made him realize that he was desperate for sex. Emma had been handy and he’d been hungry. As simple as that.
Either way, the joy was gone from the lake house. Emma knew in her heart that it was better this way. She didn’t dare get involved with him. But she’d had dreams. Stupid dreams. Why would a man like that, urbane and rich and sophisticated, want anything to do with a countrywoman who bought clothes off the sale rack and valued morality above fun?
* * *
She finished his letters. She’d had some idea that he’d have her help him sign them. It was dangerous to be that hungry for contact with him. She remembered too well how it felt to be held close to that muscular body.
But he brought Barnes into the office with him and had the other man help with the signature.
“They have electronic signatures now,” Emma ventured, braving his temper. “You sign up with the service, and then you just push a button on the screen to make legal signatures on documents.”
“That’s something we’ll look into later,” Connor replied. There wasn’t an edge in his voice this time. He sounded worn-out.
She wanted to say that, to say a lot more. He shouldn’t try to go nightclubbing when he was so obviously fatigued. She knew, because of Mamie, that too much excitement, along with any number of other triggers, could bring on a migraine. She remembered how bad the last headache had been. She hated seeing him suffer.
But it would be worth her job to say so.
“What time is it?”
Barnes looked at his watch. “Just going on four thirty, sir.”
“Take those letters to the post office as soon as Emma finishes with them. Then come back and help me dress,” he said, and smiled. “I’ve got a hot date.”
He ignored Emma completely as Barnes opened the door for him and he found his way down the hall to his own room.
Emma watched him go. Then she went back to the mail, carefully folding and inserting the letters in addressed envelopes. She stamped them. When Barnes stuck his head in the door, she had them ready to go.
He gave her a sad smile. “It looks like you’ll have the night off, Miss Emma,” he said. “You should go see a movie with Marie. She likes movies. It would do you both good. Go talk to her.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Barnes,” she added softly.
He just nodded. He was mentally comparing sweet, kind Emma with the sort of women Connor brought home. What a shame that the boss was even blinder than he looked. Emma cared very much for Mr. Sinclair. He imagined it cut the heart out of her to hear him boast about his date. But there was nothing he could do to help her.
* * *
Connor wore a dinner jacket with a white shirt and black tie, immaculate slacks and polished black shoes. He had a Rolex watch on one wrist, and a ruby ring on his pinky finger that probably cost as much as the lake house.
Emma had to bite her tongue not to tell him how devastating he looked.
“I won’t be back until late tomorrow,” he repeated. “That doesn’t let you off work in the morning, Emma,” he added curtly. “There will be emails to delete and some to answer. Set aside the ones I need to address and we’ll see to them when I get back.”
“Yes, sir.” She really did sound like a parrot. But her voice was light and breezy. She did that deliberately. He couldn’t see the pain in her soft brown eyes, and that was just as well.
Marie saw it and grimaced. She didn’t understand what was going on. The Ariel that Connor was going nightclubbing with was the same brunette he’d sent packing because he’d gotten tired of bouncing soufflés. Now he was dating her again, and he was really rubbing it in. Did he know that he was hurting Emma with just the mention of the woman?
She studied his hard face as he looked toward Emma’s voice. Yes, he knew it, she realized suddenly. He was doing it deliberately. He wanted to hurt her. But why? She’d been kinder than any woman Marie could ever remember seeing with Mr. Sinclair. What reason would he have to grind into Emma like that?
There was one pretty obvious one. He liked variety and he had no religious leanings, while Emma was conservative and religious. Perhaps she’d said something to him about his lifestyle and he hadn’t liked it. He was getting even. No. It had to be more than that. He was taunting her with another woman. Had he been too forward with Emma and she’d knocked him back? That would certainly explain what was going on. Marie thought privately that he’d do far better with Emma than with all the glittery women, as Emma called them, he was used to. Emma would love him. She’d take care of him. Even if he lost everything, which was unlikely, Emma would never leave him.
But he was going out with a woman he could buy. It was such a shame. Not her business, she told herself.
“You’ve got the night off,” Connor told Emma. “I guess you can read one of your romance novels and dream about Prince Charming, can’t you?” he taunted.
“I’m going to see a movie with Marie,” she replied quietly.
“Better than books, I guess, as romance goes.”
“It’s about a group of commandos rescuing a hostage,” Marie said coolly.
He registered her disapproving tone. He thought about Emma in the city at night. Most of the theaters were in areas that could be dangerous in the dark. “Marie, call the limo service I use and get a car to take you to and from the movie,” he said curtly.
Marie’s eyebrows arched. He’d never done that before. “I can drive us,” she began.
“Do what I tell you,” he returned. “Barnes, let’s go.” He hesitated at the door. “Be careful of your surroundings,” he added to the women.
“Mr. Sinclair...” Marie began.
“I can’t cook,” he said, as if by way of explanation. “And I sure as hell can’t type.”
Marie laughed. “Yes, sir.”
Emma didn’t say anything. It made her feel warm inside, that even in his ill mood he cared about her welfare. Well, about Marie’s, too. Apparently even grizzly bears had hearts, she thought with faint amusement.