Chapter Sixteen
The next evening, Juliette pulled the car into the community center parking lot and turned off the engine. Loud, thumping music boomed from the double doors of the building. The Spring Fling party was well underway. “We’re so late, and this time it’s your fault.”
“I know,” Emma sighed. “Sorry.”
She had visited her cousin earlier so they could both get ready for the party together. The decision of what to wear had been long and arduous, with Juliette eyeing Emma’s choices like a small child eyeing a plate of boiled vegetables.
“You aren’t wearing this,” Juliette had announced, picking up one of Emma’s dresses between her thumb and forefinger. “This is a peach floral. It looks like something you’d wear to a picnic.” She tossed it onto the growing pile on her bed. “If you were twelve.”
After a long lecture on why Emma needed to look hot, Juliette finally convinced her to wear a simple red sheath dress. It was fitted, but not too low-cut, which seemed to satisfy Juliette’s need to make her look sexy, and Emma’s need to not feel like she was interviewing for a job at Hooters. The compromise had been hard won.
Now Emma checked her reflection in the passenger-side mirror of Juliette’s car. The balayage treatment Gertie did had been a genius idea. Her hair still looked the same, but sections seemed more luminescent than before, falling around her face in loose waves. She touched up her lipstick and then got out of the car, repeating the silent mantra she’d been saying for the past twenty-four hours: Nothing happened with Hunter. It was no big deal.
Ever since their almost-kiss in the woods yesterday, she had been schooling herself on how to behave when she saw him again. It had all just been a silly fluke. The incident had been a direct result of Juliette’s jasmine potion, and it was most likely faded by now anyway. Still, it was impossible not to think about the way he had pulled her against his hard body, and the warmth of his lips brushing against hers. The desire that flared between them felt so real, she had to keep reminding herself it was nothing. The sooner she forgot about it, the better. The only problem was, she’d been “forgetting” about it all day and it wasn’t easy.
The party was already in full swing when they entered, and in spite of her mantra, Emma couldn’t escape the nervous fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Hunter was going to be there. He was probably there already. Deep breaths, Holloway. Nothing happened with Hunter. It was no big deal.
“I bet Hunter is already slipping in a puddle of Bethany’s drool right now,” Juliette said, snapping Emma’s attention, mid-mantra.
A shriek of laughter pierced the air and Juliette groaned. “There she is. Madame Boobs-a-Lot.” Another ear-piercing shriek. “Singing the song of her people.”
Bethany Andrews was chatting with Hunter near the bar. She wore a lime green wrap dress that showcased her impressive cleavage and perfect tan. Surrounding them were a few of Bethany’s minions, every one of them glued to whatever Hunter was saying. Bethany shrieked again, and Emma thought she saw Hunter wince a little. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.
“Let’s get a drink,” she said to Juliette. She was going to need it. More than anything, she wanted to block all thoughts of Hunter from her mind, but that was like trying to block the sun from shining. Sometime later, Emma was on her third glass of wine. The girls had gone to dance but Emma had declined, preferring to stay on the sidelines.
Her body was like a Hunter Kane divining rod; she was aware of his location at all times. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop sneaking peeks at him from across the crowded dance floor. It would take a superhuman effort for any woman to ignore him. In dark slacks and a cobalt shirt open at the neck, he looked like the love child of GQ magazine and Versace.
She deliberately turned her back on him and his gaggle of admirers, concentrating on the buffet table instead. Oh look, baklava. She took one and bit into it. Nice. See? She could focus on something else besides Hunter Kane. Easy peasy.
“Hey, Angel.”
All of Emma’s reflexes seized at once. The bite of pastry in her mouth crumbled to sawdust as she turned.
Rodney Winters grinned down at her, his eyes already glassy from whatever he was drinking. His blond hair was artfully tousled, and while he may have still been handsome, Emma no longer felt that giddy pull that used to be there when she was younger. It dawned on her that Rodney had no idea his charm had faded around the edges, like a plastic toy left too long in the sun. He had peaked in high school and was still riding that high.
She gripped her wineglass tighter. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “I ran into Bethany this morning and she insisted I come. Drove me here herself so I wouldn’t get away.”
Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was so typical of Bethany. That woman couldn’t miss an opportunity to create drama. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
He shrugged, eyeing her up and down. “I never did like these parties, but I’m glad I made the exception.”
Emma hugged herself, wishing she hadn’t worn the fitted red dress. Under Rodney’s scrutiny, she felt self-conscious and lacking. It was like the high school prom all over again. Emma remembered when he came to her door to pick her up, their senior year. The front door had stuck, thanks to the house, and it had taken Emma a good five minutes just to pry it open. She had been so nervous, standing in front of him in the blue dress her grandmother had made for her. It had a sweetheart neckline and spaghetti straps, with a softly flowing skirt that ended right at her knees. Juliette had even talked her into wearing heels. Emma had felt like a princess.
Rodney was charming, but once they got to the prom, he sauntered off to talk to his football buddies, leaving Emma to hold her own against the scrutiny of the mean girls who hung around his crowd. Their dresses were store-bought, and they had professional updos from a salon. They whispered and giggled to themselves, ignoring her for so long that by the time they left the prom, Emma felt like a wilted flower.
She was convinced Rodney would never stay with her. Why would he? She was poor and quiet and boring compared to those girls. And on top of all that, she was a Holloway. As much as Rodney told her it didn’t matter, Emma knew on some level, it did. Rodney never liked visiting her house, and he never seemed comfortable talking to her grandmother. Back then, Emma had wished with all her heart that she was just a normal girl like all the others. The kind with normal houses and normal parents who went to PTA meetings and threw neighborhood barbecues and went on camping trips. She wanted so badly to fit in; to truly belong. It was the main reason why, later that night, parked in Rodney’s car overlooking the ocean, she had given in to him. Deep down, Emma hadn’t felt ready to have sex, but she wanted so desperately to hold on to him. He had even said he loved her, and that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?
But it hadn’t been real love. Rodney had chosen poor Emma Holloway because she believed he hung the moon. And that was very attractive to him, since he rather agreed. Anyone could see just by looking at them that Emma had worshipped him, and Rodney needed to be worshipped. In his mind, he deserved nothing less.
Now Emma set the pastry back on the table. She had to concentrate not to snap her wineglass.
Rodney took a sip of his drink. “I was hoping I’d see you here.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying very hard not to slap that smug half smile off his face. It was the same smile he used when he wanted to charm his way back into her good graces. But Emma wasn’t that gullible girl anymore. Part of her died the day he betrayed her. The words on his “good-bye” note were etched into her memory like cut glass.
“I don’t want to talk to you, Rodney,” she said. “Stay away from me.”
She pushed those painful memories aside and searched the hall, spotting Juliette near the bar. Emma lurched forward and elbowed her way across the room, ducking to steer clear of a couples’ flailing arms as they danced to some song about busting a move.
At the bar, an overweight man draped an arm over the back of his chair and leered as Emma tried to squeeze past his giant belly. “Works for me,” he said with a hiccup.
“Everything works for you, Lester,” James Sullivan said dryly. He nodded to Emma from behind the counter as he filled a beer glass.
“Not true,” the man insisted, sloshing some of his drink down the front of his shirt. He smelled like stale sweat and bourbon with a shot of Drakkar Noir. Emma breathed through her mouth and stood on her tiptoes, straining to see over people’s heads. Where the heck was Juliette?
The man leaned closer, his belly filling the space between them like an airbag during a collision. “Girl, you must be a parking ticket because you got ‘fine’ written all over you.” He cracked himself up.
Emma blinked through the fumes. “Clever.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “My wit pops up at random.”
“Like bubbles from a swamp,” she murmured underneath her breath, scanning the crowd. There! She pushed past him. Juliette was standing with Molly and Gertie near Tommy Jenkins’s beer table.
Emma rushed over to her. “Jules, I have to get out of here.”
Juliette spun around, her face red with suppressed laughter as she gripped a small cup of beer. “Emma, you have to taste this. Wait! On second thought, no you don’t. I’m not that mean.”
“What do you girls think?” Tommy Jenkins shouted above the music. A huge grin split his freckled face, and his red hair had been smooshed down around the edges with some kind of pomade. In his early thirties, Tommy still had a baby face. He looked like an evil Chucky doll, but he was one of the nicest guys they knew.
Molly made a strangled noise that turned into a cough. She set her cup down and excused herself, mumbling something about the bathroom.
“I’m just going to go make sure she’s okay,” Gertie said, backpedaling.
Tommy glanced hopefully at Juliette. “You like it?”
“Well. It’s just . . . it’s remarkable, Tommy,” Juliette said. “What is that odd texture?”
“Chia seeds,” he said proudly. “They’re great for digestion and they go well with the kale puree I added during the fermentation process.”
Juliette coughed. “You are so”—cough—“so creative. Emma, you should really try one of Tommy’s ales.”
“Wow. Thanks so much, Jules.” Emma glared, holding up her wine. “Let me just finish this first.” She grabbed Juliette’s elbow and hissed into her ear. “I have to go. Rodney’s here.”
Juliette’s eyes sprang wide. “What? Where?”
Emma jerked her thumb over her shoulder.
Scowling, Juliette searched the crowd behind her. “How did he get here?” she asked grimly. “Wait! Let me guess. A puff of black smoke?”
“No.”
“A crack in the earth opened up and he crawled out?”
Emma took a gulp of wine. “Getting warmer.”
“Fine, I give up. Just tell me.”
“Bethany brought him.”
Juliette let out a huff of disgust. “I knew it had something to do with hell.” She stiffened and narrowed her eyes over Emma’s shoulder.
Emma glanced behind her to see Rodney weaving toward them.
“Hey, Juliette,” he drawled. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah, it’s been great. Too bad you had to ruin the streak.”
“Still a witch, I see.”
Juliette wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Still a total assho—”
“—Okay, you guys.” Emma threw up her hands. “We are done here.” She glared at Rodney. “I said I didn’t want to talk, Rodney. I meant it.”
“Give me a chance to change your mind.” He winked and reached for her hand.
She yanked it away.
“Oh my God, hi,” Bethany said in a voice high enough to shatter glass. “I see you found Emma, Rodney. I told you she would be here.” Bethany swayed up to Rodney and laid her hand on his shoulder, grinning up at him like a shark. She turned to Emma and Juliette. “He was asking about you and I knew you’d have a lot to talk about, so I convinced him to come tonight.” The malicious glint in her eyes accented her green eyeshadow to perfection. Leave it to Bethany to accessorize like a pro.
Juliette stepped closer to Emma. “So thoughtful of you, Bethy.”
Bethany narrowed her eyes at the familiar nickname, her red fingernails tightening on Rodney’s arm.
“But what you may not know is that Emma isn’t interested in Rodney. She wants nothing to do with him anymore. So there’s one man you can put back on your list of prey. How is that list, anyway? Must be dwindling pretty low by now, considering the way you mow through them.”
Bethany shot Juliette an evil glare, which quickly melted into a plastic smile. She tossed her hair and turned her attention to the person at Emma’s shoulder. “Hi,” she breathed.
“Emma.” Hunter’s quiet voice near her shoulder was like a lifeline. She grabbed on.
“Hunter! Hi. How are you?” Emma reached mechanically for the small cup of ale Tommy held out for her. Now she had a glass of wine in one hand, and beer in the other. Nothing like double fistfuls of liquid courage.
Hunter glanced at her drinks, then at Rodney and Bethany. “Having fun?”
Hell to the no. “Oh, you know. Just hanging out.” She could feel Rodney’s indignation, and his cool assessment of Hunter. Emma faked a smile and took a sip of her wine.
Gak! She choked down crunchy bits of disaster. Wrong drink. So much wrong.
“Want some?” Tommy held a cup out to Hunter, beaming.
“No!” Juliette cried. “He’s, um, didn’t you say you were allergic to hops?”
“I . . .” Hunter caught Emma’s wide-eyed warning. “I am. Yes, it’s a problem for me. Thanks anyway.”
Rodney stuck his hand out toward Hunter. “We haven’t met. I’m Rodney Winters.”
“Hunter Kane.” They shook hands, and Emma would bet money that Rodney was giving Hunter the old death-grip shake. Trying to prove he was the stronger man.
“That’s quite a grip you have there,” Hunter said.
Nailed it.
Rodney eyed Hunter. “So who are you, now?”
Juliette shot daggers at Rodney. “He’s a friend of Emma’s.”
Rodney gave an unpleasant laugh. “Is that right?” A muscle ticked in his jaw and he squared his shoulders. “And how friendly would that be?”
“Stop it, Rodney,” Emma said sharply. This was too annoying to bear.
He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay.” Then he turned to Hunter as if they shared an inside joke. “She gets feisty sometimes. But I kind of like a woman with some fire in her, you know what I mean? Did she tell you we—”
“—Excuse me,” Hunter cut Rodney off. “I just came over to see if Emma wanted to dance.” He turned to her. “Do you?”
“She does.” Juliette gave Emma a little shove.
Bethany sputtered something unintelligible.
Emma set her drinks on the table. “Fine.” She needed to get away, even if it meant she had to dance with the devil himself. Although Hunter didn’t feel like the devil at the moment. Compared to Rodney and Bethany, Hunter was a saint at the pearly gates.
She marched out onto the dance floor, passing Molly Owens and some guy who was staring into her cleavage as if it held all the secrets to the universe.
Hunter came up behind her. He slid his arm easily around her waist as they began to sway to the music. “Who was that?”
“An old mistake. A dodged bullet.” Her emotions were all over the place. She couldn’t believe Rodney. What the hell was he trying to do? It was so over between them. “I have to get out of here,” she declared hotly.
“Now?” Hunter asked.
“Yes. No.” She let out a frustrated breath. “Right after this song.”
“All right.”
“I mean it.”
“I see that.”
“In fact, can you dance us closer to the front door?”
In a few moments, he had maneuvered them to the far end of the building. She half danced, half pulled him even farther toward the doors.
“Are we still dodging bullets?” he asked in amusement.
“Yes.”
Hunter placed his hand on the small of her back and spun her in a circle. With the other hand, he somehow opened the door and before Emma realized it, they were standing outside. He held her lightly, but she was suddenly aware of how close they were. How alone.
“Better?” he murmured.
She nodded, speechless. She had been so preoccupied with her resentment over Rodney that she hadn’t realized she was standing in Hunter’s arms for the second time in the past twenty-four hours. To say it was disconcerting was the understatement of the century. Head spinning from all the wine and commotion, she searched for an anchor. She tried to remember her mantra. Something about No big deal. But that was a lie, because this felt like a very big deal.
Hunter drew her closer. They swayed to the muted music until little by little, Emma began to relax. All her frustration funneled into something much different. In Hunter’s arms, it was impossible to think about anything except how deliciously warm he was. He was like her own personal furnace.
An old song from the eighties wafted through double doors, surrounding them. Something about being forever young. She had a sudden memory of her mother playing that song when she was a little girl. They swayed together to the music until all her earlier tension eased. Emma felt warm and safe and protected.
When the song ended, he stepped away, taking all the warmth with him. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
Crap. She didn’t have her car. “You can’t. I didn’t drive here. I have to get Juliette to take me home.”
“I’ll take you. I’m leaving anyway.”
Five minutes later, they were on the highway heading toward her house. Emma called Juliette to let her know she was heading home, then stole a glance at Hunter from beneath her lashes. He seemed completely at ease in the black sports car. It smelled like leather and something spicy and elusive, and very male. It was probably just him.
“Sorry about all that back there. Rodney’s my ex. I haven’t seen him in a long time, and he just showed up in town again. It’s been over for a while, but he’s not making it easy.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
She shifted in her seat, feeling like she needed to give him an explanation. “We were together in high school. And then on and off for a few years after that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And then my grandmother got sick and he asked me to marry him, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. I needed help and I thought he’d be supportive.” She needed to shut up. Why wasn’t she shutting up? “How was I supposed to know he’d steal all my savings and leave town with another woman? I mean, who does that? Just people on TV, I thought. Or I don’t know, maybe it happens all the time. You just never think it will happen to you, you know what I mean?” Okay, now she was babbling. Damn those glasses of wine.
Hunter was quiet. She wished he would say something.
“Anyway, it’s totally over.” She ran her hands through her hair and smoothed her red dress over her thighs. “I have no idea what he wants.”
Hunter turned, piercing her with his emerald gaze. “Don’t you?”
Emma felt light-headed, and it had nothing to do with the wine. The air seemed to spark between them and the temperature in the car went up a few degrees. She licked her suddenly dry lips. It had to be her imagination.
She tore her gaze away and stared out at the highway, grateful when her driveway appeared around the bend.
“That’s me, right there.” She pointed to the gravel road and he pulled the car to a stop in front of her house.
The porch light was on, illuminating the peeling yellow paint and sagging front step. Even in the dark, it was obvious the house needed work, but Emma didn’t care. To her it was the most beautiful place in the world, with its Queen Anne turret and “good bones,” as her grandmother used to say.
“Thanks for driving me home,” she said with a hiccup. “And for, you know. Helping me dodge bullets.”
He nodded once, studying her.
Emma bit her bottom lip. Was he going to kiss her, finally? Ridiculous! Of course not. It was the wine. It made her think stupid things. Did she want him to kiss her? Of course . . . not.
The silence stretched out between them. He leaned just a fraction of an inch closer. She hiccupped.
He blinked as if coming out of a fog, then turned and stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “Good night, Emma.” His voice sounded strained.
Back to reality. “Yeah. G’night.” She jumped out and ran up the steps, careful to skip the broken one. She could feel him watching her.
When he drove away, she let out the breath she had been holding. Jeez. Maybe Juliette was right. Maybe that stupid jasmine fiasco had something to do with her annoying, but persistently growing infatuation with the man. No big deal. Yeah, right.
Emma set her purse on the entry table and walked into the kitchen. Buddy ran circles around her ankles, trembling in pure joy at her existence. She took him to the backyard to do his business, then opened a new bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. Why not? She was heading to bed, anyway. And if she dreamed about Hunter’s full lips on her skin, his warm hands roaming over her, the delicious scent of him, who cared? No one ever had to know.
“They’re just dreams,” she said out loud, staring into her wineglass.
Bottoms up.