Connecting Strangers (Discovering Emily) Read online

  Adam raises his head, and the grin is back. “No?” He twines a strand of my hair around two fingers. “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t think when you’re this close.” I can’t think when he’s in the same room. Or the same building.

  His hands settle on my hips. “Then how about tonight we go somewhere we don’t have to think?”

  Heat pools between my thighs. “Tonight. Yes.”

  “I’ll pick you up right after your shift.”

  “No. I’ll need time to go home and change.” I didn’t add I wanted to wash the scent of grease and fries off of me.

  “Just grab a change of clothes. You won’t need them until tomorrow morning anyway.”

  The man’s going to be the death of me. “Will you go now, please?”

  His hands frame my face, and he takes another long, forceful sip of my lips. When he tries to pull back, I tow him in, nibble at his lower lip, then sweep my tongue across the faux wound.

  “Shit. Now you need to stop.” He presses me back against the wall, his erection thick and hard against my thigh.

  I cup him through his khakis. “I wish I could go with you right now.”

  He jerks his head back over his shoulder. “My car has tinted windows. You’re probably due for your union fifteen, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not in a union.” Though I protest, I allow him to pull me toward his black, unmarked sedan. We climb into the front seat, and he starts the engine to heat up the interior.

  But I’m not thinking about the cold when his hands curl around my hips and lift me onto his lap. There’s no room or time for anything but fast, hard sex. I hold onto his shoulders and lift my hips, giving him enough space to lower my pants and panties.

  “I want to rip these things off of you.” He settles for pushing them down to my ankles.

  I kick off my shoes to free my legs and unzip his pants. He groans when I take him in my hand and guide him to me. When I sink down onto him, the groan changes to a growl.

  “Not much time,” I whisper, reminding him I’m supposed to be back in the kitchen any moment.

  He scoots down in the seat, digs his fingers into my hips. I arch, bracing my hands on his knees. The ride is quick, furious. Explosive. Over in a matter of minutes, but we’re both sweating and breathless.

  I’m too weak to move and wonder if I’m going to be able to stand. My head drops to his chest. It’s still covered by his shirt which annoys me. The night can’t come soon enough.

  Francine gives me a knowing grin when I return and instructs me to make a pit stop by the bathroom before I go back out onto the floor. I’m not surprised at the mess my hair is in, and I can’t stop smiling as I restore it to some semblance of order. I’ve never had sex in a car before. But I can see what all the hoopla was about.

  Then phone is ringing when I get back to the galley. “Baby’s Diner.” I can’t keep the smile out of my voice when I answer it.

  The line goes dead.

  “Who is it?” Francine asks over my shoulder.

  “I don’t know; they hung up.” As I replace the receiver, the phone rings again. I bring it to my ear once more. “Baby’s Diner.” The dial tone sounds again. Ignoring my goose bumps, I hang up again.

  Francine is now glowering at the phone as though it’s personally responsible for the prankster on the other end. “I’ll bet it’s one of those Ryder boys. Their momma can’t keep them in school, and they’re always doing stupid shit like that.”

  “Aww, Franny, they’re just kids.” Art pokes his head through the opening separating the kitchen from the coffee area. “You might not remember it, but you used to do stupid stuff, too.”

  “I remember, but I also remember momma always caught me.” She turns her back on her brother just as the phone rings again. As I reach for it, she bats my hand away. “No, I’ve got this one.” She yanks the phone off the hook. “Baby’s Diner. Who? I’m sorry. You’ve got the wrong number.”

  “Who did they want?” Art is now hanging halfway out the opening.

  “Someone named Priscilla.” She retrieves a carafe of decaffeinated coffee. “Emily, you want to check to see if that back table needs some more orange juice? I need to refill Buster McMann’s pitcher-sized coffee cup. He brings his own from home. Cheap bastard.”

  I watch her walk away then glance at the phone. Something doesn’t feel right. Francine seems frazzled. Like maybe the call shook her. I put the orange juice refill on hold and head into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Art, you think that phone call was more than a wrong number?” I lean against the stainless steel cooking counter and fold my arms.

  Art places another slab of crisp bacon atop a platter of eggs then peers at me over rimmed bifocals. “What do you mean?”

  “Francine’s acting weird.”

  His brows furrow. “I didn’t see it.” He dusts off the edge of the plate with a napkin. “Take this out to table five.”

  I accept the plate but don’t immediately move. “She just started talking louder than normal and wouldn’t look at me.” I’m not yet ready to give up on the conversation.

  “That’s Franny sometimes. She can blow from hot to cold in seconds. And speaking of cold, get those eggs out there before they’re returned.”

  “Right.” I start walking then stop. “Do you have call return?”

  He’s busy pouring batter on the griddle. It pops and sizzles while he looks at me. “What?”

  “On the phone. Do you have call return?”

  “Damned if I know. Ask Franny. But serve those eggs first.”

  I follow his command, stopping long enough to grab the pitcher of orange juice. The diner wants to chat so I oblige him, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Francine head into the kitchen. That’s not unusual, but when I turn, she’s saying something to Art, and she’s way more animated than I’ve ever seen. Something is definitely wrong, and whatever it is, has to do with that phone call.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re distracted.” Adam pours more wine into my glass and plunks the bottle down atop the heavy wooden coffee table in his living room. We ate dinner on the floor in front of the fireplace which should have been romantic and cozy. But I can’t stop thinking about Francine.

  She avoided me for the rest of my shift and barked responses at Art. Even her customers noticed her change in demeanor, several of them complaining. Her replies sent them scurrying on their way, and I was relieved when I could hang up my apron and retreat.

  “So what’s going on?” Adam prods.

  I tell him about the phone call and Francine’s response. “Art didn’t seem too concerned at first, but she got worse as the morning went on.”

  “Did you ask her about it?”

  “She just told me there was nothing wrong and to pay attention to my job. I had intended to try to return the call, but Francine was never very far away from that phone.” An idea lights me up, and I scoot my knees around so I can face Adam fully. “Can you dump the phone?”

  He sits up straighter. “What?”

  “You know, run a trace, whatever you call it. You could find out who called her.”

  “Not without a warrant or reasonable cause.” He sets his wine glass down next to mine. “Could it be that, maybe, Francine was having a bad day?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know her that well. Have you ever seen her have a bad day?”

  A grimace crosses his face. “More than once, but it never lasts long.” He covers my hand with one of his. “Look, I know Francine. Nothing keeps her down. By the time you see her tomorrow, she’ll be back to her old self.”

  He said tomorrow. The word resonates in my head. He’s sure I’m not going home tonight. “Tomorrow? You got that all planned out, do you?”

  His hand slides up my arm. “Actually, I was hoping that was your idea, too.” His fingers dance to my collarbone, inch up my neck to trail behind my ear.

  I shiver and move in closer to him. “I have an early shift tomorr
ow morning.” It’s a token protest.

  “I can give you a police escort.” Lips replacing his fingers, he pushes up to get closer to me. “I want to wake up next to you again. Feel your body close to mine all night long. That memory has played out in my mind all day, and,” he nimbly begins unbuttoning my shirt, “I don’t want it to be the only one. So what do you think?”

  He’s washing away all of my inhibitions, my doubts. I know I’ll stay. Because he wants me to. Because I want to. More than anything. My fingers start to unbutton his shirt, too, and I’m disappointed to feel the t-shirt beneath. “I think that once upon a time, it was the woman wearing too many clothes.”

  A low, sexy laugh is his response. Then he’s helping me, pulling the shirt down his arms and rolling the t-shirt up his chest. My hands quickly follow the path of the white cotton, smoothing across planes of muscle and skin so taut I’m salivating.

  How can the hunger still be so demanding after this morning? He’s all I think about now, and each time with him only makes me look forward to the next. I push him backwards and straddle his hips. Our breaths become faster, our hands busier. Adam slings my shirt across the coffee table, and his warm palms on my spine are like a hot blanket on a cold night.

  I fist my hands in his hair and raise up to nestle his head against my breasts. He releases the catch on my bra and yanks it forward, skimming it down my arms before throwing it to the side. Then he cups me, his large, calloused hands holding each breast while his gaze connects with mine.

  I moisten my lips and watch him, impatiently waiting for the touch of his lips against my skin. His thumbs roll across my nipples, and I close my eyes. Tiny pin-pricks of pleasure dance up my spine, and I hold onto his biceps, digging my nails into muscle.

  Just when I expect to feel the pull of his mouth, he flips me, lowering my back to the rug. Shocked into silence, I hold onto his bicep and watch him gliding up my body, our gazes never breaking contact.

  The firelight flickers across his face, showcasing hard planes and full lips while I stare at him and wonder if this is real. How is it possible I’m with this man? Whatever the reason, I can only be thankful. For when he touches me, I’m airborne. Weightless.

  He skims my jeans down my hips, and I’m lying naked beneath his gaze. Without touching me, he strokes me, his gaze a long, wet tongue that has me squirming. I lower my hands to cover myself, but Adam catches my wrists.

  “Don’t.” His voice is deep, almost guttural. Warm kisses heat up my abdomen, and my muscles refuse to move. The pads of his fingers glide over my skin like he’s polishing fine china. Then his tongue follows the same path.

  My heart pounds loudly in my ears. All I can do is watch, caught up in the magical sensations. When his mouth grows closer to my core, my muscles tense. Anticipation makes me whisper his name, and I thread my fingers through his hair, a silent form of encouragement.

  Lifting my legs over his shoulders, he lowers his head and kisses me in the most intimate of places. With the blood humming through my veins like the vibrations of a well-played guitar, I relax against the carpet, my hands going limp at my sides.

  The soft, sweet touch of his tongue is gentle, perfectly smooth. The muscles in my thighs quiver. He slides his hands up under me to draw me closer to his mouth, and he sends me spinning. In my mind I’m a thousand feet above my body, suspended in the air while Adam teases me into a gasping, desperate need.

  Just when I’m ready to beg for release, he kisses his way back up my stomach. On fire and crying out for release, I watch him get to his knees and unzip his jeans. His erection is straining against his boxers, and I desperately want to help him. But I’m weak with an almost animalistic craving. The rustle of denim over his thighs causes my heart to jump frantically, beating against my rib cage like a trapped bird.

  I can’t take my eyes off of him as he removes a condom from his pocket. The wrapper crinkles when he tears it, and the sound is loud in the silence. With a broken voice, I urge him to hurry. He slides his hands between my thighs, palms pressing against my sensitive skin as he lowers his body to mine.

  We cling to one another, the scent of sex and burning wood dancing in the air. He holds my gaze and my hands then slides into me in. I catch my breath, and he smiles with pure, animal satisfaction. He knows how he turns my body inside out. And he relishes it.

  When he moves his hips, my vision clouds. The fire hisses and pops, and sweat glistens on his skin. His fingers bite into my hips. The pressure will leave an imprint tomorrow, a private mark that will remind me of this. Of him.

  He takes his time, stroking me slowly, and I hold on to him like he’s my lifeline amidst a swirl of rushing water. Maybe he is. Whatever has brought us together, I won’t question it. Not tonight. And maybe not even tomorrow. However long I have with Adam, I’m going to enjoy.

  Being with him is like waking up in a new world. Everything is fresh and new, and there are no mistakes or regrets. There’s just now, and it’s perfect.

  “You feeling good about yourself, Sunshine? You leave me to die and crawl into bed with the first man you see. I ain’t surprised. I always thought you had a bit of a whore in you.”

  My lips numb, I stare down into the barrel of the gun Mark is holding. It’s huge. Black, and he’s got the hammer cocked. “It didn’t happen that way.” I don’t know why I’m trying to explain. He’s going to kill me. After seeing me with another man, he doesn’t want me back. He only wants me dead.

  “I don’t care how it happened, Sunshine. You’re in another man’s bed. Now how am I supposed to respect myself if I don’t make this right?” He points the gun toward Adam who’s lying face down on the bed, still sleeping.

  Even if I scream, Adam won’t get to his gun fast enough to stop the bullet coming from Mark’s.

  “This isn’t about him.” I throw myself over Adam’s body. He grunts but doesn’t stir. “You’ve already got it in your mind to kill me, but he didn’t know I had a boyfriend. He doesn’t deserve to die over this.”

  “I’ll decide who lives or dies.” Mark’s voice gets louder. He approaches the bed, and cold steel presses against my forehead. “And if you think I’m gonna let him live, well, you’re stupider than you look.” He sucks his teeth, and all I can think about is how much that used to irritate me. Now, it doesn’t matter. “Maybe I’ll just let you watch me put a bullet through his head first.” The gun barrel moves to the back of Adam’s head.

  “No!” I put my hand over the opening and try to wrest it away. “You can’t do this, Mark. Please.”

  “So now you’re going to plead for your lover’s life. You think that’s supposed to help your cause?” Lips curling, he shoves me back against the headboard, points the gun at Adam again, and pulls the trigger.

  Blood spurts from his head like a geyser, and Adam’s body jerks once then goes still. I scream and try to reach him, but Mark has me by the hair, and he’s pulling me away. Off the bed. Down the hallway. And into the darkness. I don’t know where we’re going, and I can’t fight him.

  Tears stream down my cheeks. He stops. Drops the gun. Lifts me from the ground with his hands on my shoulders and begins to shake me so hard my teeth rattle. I can’t look away from his eyes. So filled with hatred and rage.

  “Emily,” he whispers my name. “Emily.”

  “Emily!” Adam says my name a little louder this time, pulling me out of the nightmare. When my eyes open and connect with his, I reach for him, to run my hands over his face and through his hair.

  “You’re all right.” The air cools the wetness on my cheeks, and I drag him close to me. “I thought he killed you.”

  He cradles me in his arms. “Who killed me?”

  “Mark. He was here. In this room. He killed you.”

  Hands stroking my back, Adam offers words of reassurance. “He was never here, Emily. It was just a nightmare.”

  Logic says he’s right, but my common sense is shaky. I hold onto him because I can’t stomach the idea of bein
g separated. “I saw him. So clearly. You were lying face down, and he put a gun to your head and—”

  “Stop. Just stop.” His voice has an edge to it. “It’s not so easy to get the drop on me, Emily. Your ex might be a bad-ass in his town, but here, he’s nothing but another lowlife who thinks abusing women is his God-given right. Maybe I’ll get the chance to prove him wrong one day, but until that day comes, you don’t have to worry about me.” He shifts so I can see his face. “And you sure as hell don’t have to worry about what he might do to you. I can keep you safe, Emily. I promise.”

  “But why would you?” I have to know. “Why would you risk your life?”

  “Because it’s what I do.”

  The answer is supposed to reassure me, but the words stick in my heart. Protecting me is just a job to Adam. I shouldn’t be surprised. He hasn’t promised me anything, and I’m not ready for any promises anyway. To him, we’re just two people enjoying one another’s company.

  A little angry at myself for getting in this far, I scoot out of his arms and retreat to the opposite side of the bed. “I think I can sleep now.” I won’t let him know he’s hurt me. It’s not his fault, and it’s certainly not rational. It might seem like we’ve known each other longer, but it’s only been five days. Certainly not long enough to develop any kind of feelings.

  As I turn my back to Adam and draw my knees closer to my chest, I ignore the tiny voice calling me a liar.

  I wake to sunshine blinding me. With a muffled curse, I roll to my side and sling an arm across my eyes. A low, rumbling chuckle only makes me groan. Whatever time it is, it’s too early for laughter. A cool breeze ghosts over my legs, and I shift them back beneath the blankets.

  Warm lips touch my cheek, and I murmur something unintelligible. Adam strokes my back and whispers in my ear, telling me it’s time to wake up.

  “Why?” My voice is husky from sleep.

  “It’s close to ten.”

  Ten? The number means something, doesn’t it? My eyes pop open, and I push myself up. “Ten? I was supposed to be at the diner at seven!” Scrambling from the bed, I begin a frantic search for my clothes. They’re nowhere in sight then I remember we left them in the living room. “Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have spent the night.” I pin him with an accusatory glare as though he handcuffed me to the bed.