Chapter Thirteen
Gemma woke to the smell of coffee and surroundings she didn't recognize.
It took her a minute of blinking the sleep from her eyes to realize that she was in Saxon's house.
Outside, faint sunlight beckoned, birds chirped and dogs barked somewhere nearby.
She'd spent the night here. All night.
Panic drove the remainder of sleep fog from her head.
What the hell had she done?
A quick glance down told her she was still dressed. That was a good sign. A brief check of her memory told her that there had been no alcohol involved. Just exhaustion—both emotional and physical.
His warm, solid presence had somehow summoned the sleep she'd been unable to find on her own.
Then she remembered. She'd told him things last night that no one but her and Aunt Beth knew. She let him see the pitiful girl she'd been, all desperate and needy for affection.
Unwanted.
Humiliation washed over her, followed by a chaser of regret.
Gemma was never going to be able to look him in the eye again. Her only choice now was to sneak away before he knew she was awake.
She'd made it to her feet when the sound of his sleep-rough voice came from the kitchen.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."
She could feel her crooked ponytail lolling to one side in what had to be a spectacular display of bedhead. A crust of dried drool tightened one corner of her mouth. As she tried—and failed—to wipe it away without the aid of water, she felt the woven pattern of his couch imprinted in her cheek.
Sleeping? Definitely. Beauty? Not so much.
"Good morning," she said in a fast rush, keeping her back to him. "Sorry I bothered you last night. It won't happen again."
She was almost to his front door when she felt his hot, rough fingers wrap around her upper arm.
The touch of his hand on her bare skin sent exquisite delight winging through her. Even in her rattled, pre-caffeinated state, she knew this attraction she had to him was different. Special.
Too bad it didn't matter.
"You're not even going to stay for coffee?" he asked.
"Busy day. Gotta run." She wanted to pull away from his grip and charge out through the door, but she couldn't seem to find the strength to walk away from his touch.
"Gemma." His tone was one reserved for naughty toddlers caught doing something wrong, but cute. "There's no need to run away. Stay. Have some coffee."
She was tempted. The desire to be near him warred with her hope that she was able to sneak out before he saw what a wreck she was first thing in the morning.
But if you aren't going to date him, then what does it matter if he thinks you're a hot mess? a little voice whispered.
That voice was right. Saxon's opinion of her appearance didn't matter. It couldn't. Because if it did, then that meant she was having romantic feelings for a man she couldn't alienate at any cost. Aunt Beth needed him too much.
Gemma turned around, her body tense, as if expecting a blow. Instead, all she got was the sight of his handsome face shadowed with beard stubble, and a steaming cup of coffee in his big hand. His green eyes were crinkled with amusement as they took in her tousled appearance.
"You are so damn cute I don't even know how to handle it."
Her shock at his unexpected statement must have shown on her face, because he let out a bark of laughter that slipped through her tense muscles, loosening them.
He extended the coffee. "I don't know how you like it, but there's milk and sugar in the kitchen. Come on."
He turned his back on her, the picture of complete confidence. She'd tried to sneak out before, but he didn't seem worried that she'd do so again.
She debated leaving for about half a second before she realized that if she did, she'd never be able to face him again. She'd spend the rest of her time here dodging him, and that really wasn't going to work out well at all—not when he was the one repairing Aunt Beth's bakery, and she was the one feeding him.
"I'll be right there." She shuffled to the bathroom, took care of business, washed her hands and face and rinsed out her mouth. She was halfway to the kitchen when she belatedly realized that her feet were bare. She'd had shoes on when she'd come over last night, but had no idea what had happened to them.
When she joined Saxon, he had dished up two giant slices of the pie she'd brought over last night as an excuse to show up at his door.
Just remembering how needy she'd been for his company last night made her feel childish, desperate and humiliated, like a girl who couldn't get a date to prom.
"Apple pie counts as a breakfast food, right?" he asked as he set the slice in front of the spot he wanted her to take. "Fruit, grains and other mystical ingredients I don't dare guess."
She sat, still feeling an odd sense that this was all too surreal, that she couldn't possibly be in Saxon Grace's kitchen, having pie for breakfast with him.
"You're a grown man," she said. "You can have whatever you want for breakfast."
His gaze turned hot and roamed up and down her body. "Not anything. If that were the case, we'd both be wearing a lot fewer clothes and breathing a lot harder."
Her cheeks heated, and she suddenly found the ripples in her coffee the only place she could look without blushing harder. "Saxon—"
He held up his hand, stopping her. "I know. Too soon. Sorry. I'll watch my mouth."
Too soon? Not he shouldn't be thinking that at all, but he was thinking it too soon, like it was inevitable that the two of them would find their way into bed if they just gave it enough time.
Gemma wasn't sure what to think about that, but before she could figure it out, he continued on as if he hadn't just told her he wanted to have sex with her.
"The coffee is safe," he said, pointing to the counter by the sink where a single cup pod-style coffee maker sat. "I have a robot."
She sipped, and sure enough, the brew was good. Hot, dark liquid slid down her throat, easing away the remainder of her morning grogginess. "Thank you. For everything."
"It's just coffee," he said. "You made the pie."
She ate a bite of pie, decided it did indeed make a good breakfast. Maybe not the healthiest, but definitely tasty.
"No. I mean for last night. I was a wreck. I know I shouldn't have come here, but I didn't know what else to do. Aunt Beth needs her sleep, and I was dealing with some stress…badly. I shouldn't—"
He covered her hand with his, so warm and strong she wondered what it would be like to have that kind of support at her fingertips all the time.
"I'm glad you came," he said, totally serious. "But there's something I should have told you last night."
Red flags waved in her head. Warning sirens blared.
As the list of things he might say flickered through her mind, there was one that made a lot more sense than any other.
He had a girlfriend. Or a fiancée. She was sure that was what he was going to say, and the idea made her sick.
She'd spent the night with a man who was tied to someone else. How could she have done that?
She bolted up from the table, tipping her chair over in the process. "I'm so sorry. If I'd known…. Nothing happened. There's a chance no one even knows I'm here. I know it's a small town, but it was so late when I came over. I can sneak back home. No one will see me. We will never speak of this again. We don't have to tell anyone I was here because nothing happened."
He frowned at her like she'd grown a second nose. "What are you talking about, Gemma?"
"Your girlfriend. Or fiancée." And then she remembered how he'd been flirting with her a second ago, and that made her even sicker. And mad.
How dare he involve Gemma in his cheating? Even though they hadn't done anything, it was clear to her that he wanted to.
Hell, she wanted to.
She'd backed up two steps by the time he caught up with her and took her by the arms. His grip was tight, like he was resisting the urge to give her a shake. "Whoa. Stop. There is no girlfriend. Do you really think I would have been flirting with you like that if I was committed to someone?"
Her world—so recently set spinning in a wild direction—righted itself and slowed its crazy whirl.
"You don't have a girlfriend?" she asked, her voice small and faint.
"No. And if I did, I wouldn't be sharing coffee with you, thinking about how many other things I'd enjoy doing to you right now instead of just having breakfast."
"Oh," was all she could think to say.
He wanted her. He didn't have a girlfriend and he wanted her, Gemma Fortier.
"Oh," she said again, and it was even lamer the second time.
His thumbs stroked her bare arms, sending ripples of goosebumps across her skin.
"Gemma, you really need to stop running from me. I'm not going to hurt you."
Maybe he wouldn't intend to, but that didn't mean it wouldn't happen. Every relationship she'd ever had had ended with someone getting hurt. Usually her, because she was so emotional—so desperate to feel wanted and loved.
You're just too damn needy, her last boyfriend had told her.
Rick was right. She was needy, and until she figured out how to get rid of the fatal flaw, she had no business getting into a relationship with anyone—especially not the man who made sure her aunt's house wasn't falling down around her ears and that her lawn didn't turn into a weedy jungle.
Gemma took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked Saxon right in the eye. "I think I should leave now. Thanks for breakfast, and last night. I really am sorry I bothered you. It won't happen again."
She slipped out the door, giving him no time to respond. She didn't even stop to find her shoes before she hurried across the street, toward the safe confines of her aunt's house.
***
Saxon watched Gemma leave, hating every barefoot step she took across the street.
She'd come over last night because she needed comfort, and this morning she was sorry she'd done it.
Well, he wasn't sorry. In fact, he'd never felt more useful and content than he had knowing she was warm and safe, sleeping on his couch because he made her feel better.
It was like he was some kind of superhero, but only for her.
And she hated it.
A bitter taste of defeat clung to the back of his tongue. He felt like he'd almost had something precious, then lost it on an errant wind he couldn't see or feel. It had simply been swept away, leaving him floundering to figure out what had happened.
Women were complicated. That's what Grandad had always said, adding, "Some are more complicated than others, and those are the good ones. A simple woman will give you a boring life and stupid babies. Just keep on looking."
Grandad was always trying to impart his relationship wisdom on his grandkids, and while Saxon had rolled his eyes at those lessons as a child, they made more and more sense the older he got.
He was just about to pick up the phone and call his grandad when it rang, displaying a number Saxon didn't recognize.
"It's Conlan," his cousin announced in his Official Sheriff's Business tone. "I've got Mason in custody. I need you to come get him."