“I don’t have any, sorry. I never got used to the taste. It takes half a cup of milk and four or five teaspoons of sugar to make it palatable.”
Coffee was the only thing that kept him moving some days. For a fraction of a second, he debated wishing her good luck and then heading on his way out with a detour past the nearest coffee shop or convenience store. Anywhere to get his caffeine fix. But that would mean he wouldn’t see her again and that didn’t sit better with him than starting his day without the magical bean elixir that kept him going.
She smiled up at him—pretty and open, without any of the cynicism he carried around with him. The woman had been attacked less than forty-eight hours earlier and instead of wallowing in self pity or thoughts of revenge, she seemed ready to move on with her life. She wasn’t fragile or naïve exactly. It was more like she was somehow untouched. As if the things that had tarnished him with layer upon layer of cynicism hadn’t begun to patina her yet. Faced with her fresh faced innocence, he felt much older than his actual years, but he also found himself wanting to get closer to her, like a moth drawn to a flame the second before it burned to a crisp. He didn’t have a fucking clue what it meant, but he wasn’t ready to walk away yet.
“Grab your coat. I’m taking you out for breakfast.”
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SOPHIE HEAPED A dollopof whipped cream on her forkful of chocolate chip pancakes. She’d debated going the egg white omelet route, but how often did she get to justify having dessert for breakfast? Not often enough and since she never intended to be the victim of a robbery gone bad again, she was going to take her simple pleasures where she could get them.
Emerson had been less frivolous in his breakfast choices. In addition to the egg white omelet with steamed vegetables, he’d added whole wheat toast and turkey sausage. His breakfast was like a page out of Men’s Fitness magazine. She might have felt bad if her pancakes weren’t so good. While she drank a glass of ice-cold milk—because, hello, chocolate chips—he rounded out his meal with ice water and black coffee. He was on his second cup and showed no signs of slowing. Apparently the man had a thing for caffeine.
“So Southerland Security, huh?” Breakfast had been an unexpected surprise and now that they were sitting across the table from each other, Sophie was having a hard time figuring out what to talk about. How he got exactly the right amount of stubble on his jaw to look like a man who could handle things and not like a scruffy slob hardly seemed like an appropriate question. The last thing in the world she wanted was for him to realize how much time and attention she’d already spent on his face. On his chiseled lips and those eyes that made her feel like she couldn’t hide if she wanted to.
“Yes.” He quirked an eyebrow at her before taking another bite of his omelet.
She waited but he didn’t elaborate. He just went on eating his good-for-him breakfast. The only tip off that he was feeling anything was the speed he chewed. The man was going to be finished with his breakfast before she got halfway through with hers. She had a feeling it was as close as he got to a demonstration of nerves or discomfort or, well, anything he didn’t want someone else to see. Knowing she had at least some kind of impact on him was the only thing that kept her from devouring the rest of her breakfast in silence. It was like opening an oyster. Now that she’d found the seam, she was going to keep working at it until she got inside.
“You’ve owned it for twelve years. Your brother is your partner. You started with forensic accounting and branched out to become a full-service security firm.”
Surprise flickered on his face for a second, and she hit him with her most innocent smile. She could get a lot of pleasure out of surprising a man like Emerson. She didn’t want to think about what other kind of pleasure she could get from him.
“I can Google,” she said, taking a bite of her pancakes. The melted chocolate and cool whipped cream sent her taste buds into overload, and she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Emerson was watching her with the same expression she imagined had been on her face when their server brought her the pancakes. “You didn’t think I’d have let you take me home without at least checking you out?”
“My mistake,” he said, shaking himself free of whatever he’d been thinking.
He gave her another more appraising look and she wondered why he assumed she didn’t know anything. She knew she looked young—she was young—but it wasn’t like she’d been born yesterday. The only place she was inexperienced was in relationships, and as far as she could tell, that was a good thing not a bad one. The boys slash men she’d met in her life hammered that point home repeatedly. In other ways, she had more life experience than people twice her age.
“I started the business a couple of years after I graduated from college. I worked as a forensic accountant for a few years first.”
“Money matters for dead people?” she asked, playing with him.
“Never on purpose,” he said with enough edge in his voice to make her wonder how much he was teasing. “I started out digging through systems after a crime already occurred—the money was embezzled or the company secrets stolen. It didn’t take long for me to decide it made more sense to try to catch the thieves before they struck.”
“And that’s what you’re doing now? It’s a big step from accountant to bodyguard.” She liked the way his expression changed when he spoke about his work. He got serious, intense, like a person passionate about what they did. It was the way she felt about making jewelry and despite the vast differences in their fields, it felt like common ground.
He laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that tightened things low in her belly. Making him laugh was another thing she could get used to.
“I don’t usually pull bodyguard duty. We have a half dozen guys—ex-military mostly—all bigger, stronger, and with more dangerous skill sets than I have. I still handle some of the computer work, although we have guys who are better at that too, and the business. Account management and that kind of thing. The boring stuff.” He paused for a moment, watching her, and she felt her cheeks flush. There was something about the way the man looked at her. As if he could touch her with just his gaze. “I made a special exception for you.”
Her brain was still stuttering over the idea of a group of guys more muscled than Emerson and him describing his work as boring. It took a moment for the rest of his words to sink in. She set her fork down and watched him, considering. Was he flirting with her? There was this odd push-pull thing between them; she hadn’t figured out.
“I appreciate that, but you know I was never really in danger. I mean, beyond the initial getting hit on the head thing. That was bad.” She was babbling, but sitting across from him while he pinned her with his green-gold gaze made it hard to think clearly or concentrate on anything but him.
“I’d have called for backup if I thought you were still in danger. My guys went over the police report and everything we could get our hands on from your boss, Seaton, and the break-in. It looks like you got caught in the middle of something and were never the target.”
The words should have been reassuring but hearing him lay everything out so clearly brought all her emotions rushing back. The vulnerability, the fear, and the creepy feelings of violation at the idea of someone standing beside her unconscious body while they called the rescue squad.
“Hey,” Emerson said, reaching for her hand. “That was supposed to make you feel better, not worse.”
His hand dwarfed hers, wrapping her in his warmth and reassurance. His words might not have helped, but his touch did. Until she started thinking too much about how good her hand felt in his and then her nerves kicked up a notch, and she yanked her hand free. God, she was such a freak. They were holding hands, not playing tonsil tag. Even her analogies were old fashioned. At this rate, she was going to die a virgin.
“It’s not your fault. I guess hearing you say it all just made it real again. Not that the bruise on the back of my head isn’t real enough, but you know what I mean,” she said, praying he actually did.
“Yeah, I think I do. It’s easier to ignore things when someone isn’t holding them up in front of you.”
He eyed her half-eaten stack of pancakes and she wondered if he was talking about the robbery or her breakfast choice. She slid the plate across the table. He’d have to roll her out of the diner if she finished all of them, and if he ate her food on top of his egg whites and steamed veggies, she could feel a little better about her breakfast choice.
