Page 52 of Her Loving Hero

She touched his chest then stroked them upwards until she touched his collarbone, her thumbs rubbing circles into them. “How old were you when you gave it to him?”

He looked sideways at the blanket. Anywhere but into her eyes.

“How old?”

“I don’t know, maybe eleven.”

She rose up on her toes and kissed his jaw. Then backed away and went to her dresser to get some clothes. He covered the spot where her lips had touched him. She was a miracle.

* * *

Emily trembledas she thought about the kiss she had given Wyatt. Would he now be expecting things from her? Things she couldn’t deliver on? She squeezed her eyes tight and sank down on the bed in Wyatt’s spare bedroom.

She felt her fingernails biting into her palms because she had her hands balled up into fists. Should she tell him that was the first time she’d ever kissed a man outside of the pecks on the cheek she’d given her father? How lame was that? She hadn’t even dated. She was pathetic. Ice slithered down her back and clammy heat bathed her forehead.

She took a deep breath and concentrated on one thing. Just one thing. The most beautiful color in the world. Gold. No green. No brown.

She took another deep breath and saw Wyatt’s stunned hazel eyes as he had looked down at her. Not just stunned, there had been joy. Please God, let there have been more. All she had ever wanted in her life was to be like her grandmother. She just wanted to live in a little house on a pretty street and have a husband who loved her. Then one day, a baby. Maybe more.

Lilliana had looked down on her mother. Emily remembered the day that she’d heard her mother talk about the shabby home she’d lived in as a child. Emily had been appalled. Grandma and Grandpa’s home and been filled with love. There’d been a Live Oak tree in the backyard and cookies in the cookie jar and lots and lots of books, and they would talk to you for hours. What was shabby about that?

There’d even been a swing in that oak tree. Emily thought back to when her grandmother had taught her how to crochet, and when Grandpop had taught her how to dip net for crayfish in his little boat. She’d loved going to visit them at Lake Elsinore. That’s what she’d wanted. A small and bountiful life, but instead she got pushed into working for a Saudi prince. When she’d dreamt of meeting a prince one day, that wasn’t what she’d had in mind. She wanted someone like Grandpop, someone like Wyatt.

“Can I come in?” Wyatt asked at the open door of the bedroom. She blushed. Did he realize how often she thought about him?

“Sure.”

“I see you changed the sheets and made my bed while I was gone, I wanted to thank you.”

“You left in such a hurry, it was the least I could do,” Emily blushed. “I would have watered your plants too.” She stood up and gave him her best cheeky grin. “Oh yeah, you don’t have any.”

“Well, Miss Hoag, I didn’t see any at your place either.”

“I’m renting furniture, of course there aren’t any plants. When I move into a real place, I’ll have all of my own stuff.” She smelled something. “Wait a minute, are you cooking?”

“Sure am. Well, I’m warming up stuff from the freezer. You didn’t dip into anything in there, why not?”

He opened the door of the bedroom wider so she could go out into the hall. She hesitated. He noticed and went first. She hated that. Not that he noticed, but that she still felt more comfortable not being followed. She needed to get over that.

“Em, I can feel you chewing on your lip,” Wyatt said teasingly as he went to stir the pot on the stove. He looked over his shoulder and caught her. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to get over my phobias.”

His gaze heated. “It seems to me you’re doing great,” he drawled slowly.

Emily’s eyes widened and whatever lingering ice that might have coated her spine melted. Wyatt was powerful.

He held out his hand. “Seriously, tell me what’s wrong,” he said gently.

“When am I going to get over this phobia about not having someone follow me?” Emily asked as she laced her fingers with his.

“To tell you the truth, most SEALs don’t like being followed either. We don’t like having our backs to an entrance. If you notice, I’ll take the seat against the wall in a restaurant.”

She’d never noticed that. “You do,” she grinned. “It makes me feel better to realize I’m not the only paranoid one in this relationship.”

"No, you’re not Honey. We’re in this together. All the way, to the moon and back.” He took their clasped hands and brought them up to his mouth, then turned their hands over. She felt his warm lips on the inside of her wrist. She whimpered with pleasure.

She heard the click of the gas being turned off, right before he pulled her into his arms. His big hands traced a delicate pattern down her back, and she arched toward him. Almost touching. She stared into her friend’s eyes, taking comfort from him, reveling in the safety of his arms. It felt good. It felt right.