Jayden picked up a bottle of the same wine Emma had brought to his house the night before. There was still half a bottle at his house, but bringing that would be tacky.
He almost grabbed his six-pack, too. Then didn’t.
Freshly showered and in blue shorts and a white polo shirt, with a pair of tennis shoes, he showed up at her door exactly on time. Six o’clock, just like she’d said.
Figured them for a nice dinner and bed by a little after seven. He wanted to take things nice and slow. Maybe snack in between sex sessions. She had a pool, he’d noticed the night before, and he had some ideas there, too. One thing he’d discovered about Emma Martin last night was that she’d walk on the wild side with him.
At least a little bit.
The thought had tantalized him on and off all day. At the most inappropriate times. It hadn’t interfered with his work, though. If that happened, this was done.
When he first walked into her home, he was certain something was wrong. She’d pulled open the door but left it hanging there, telling him to come on in, and all he saw was her back.
The place was darker than his own. Far darker than it had been when he’d left that morning. Every curtain and blind in the place was drawn.
He had kind of an emotional reaction to that. Moved past it.
She was at the stove, stirring something in one pan while another large skillet held about twelve slices of tenderloin. Had she invited others over?
He’d only brought one bottle of wine.
And conversation for an intimate twosome.
“That smells good,” he told her, refraining from a kiss on the back of her neck, but just barely. Her hair looked like she’d tried to contain it with a band, but a lot had sprung free. Her tight skirt was short, black, made out what looked like T-shirt material.
He reached out and touched her backside because...he just did.
She continued to cook. Her arms, slender and busy, lifted out over the pans in front of her. Pressing himself against her, he slid his hands around the white cotton hugging her torso to cup her breasts.
Her spoon slipped, but she recovered. Stirred.
“This has to reduce to half a cup in eleven minutes,” she said. Her nipples hardened beneath his fingers.
“How long has it been?” he asked, watching her cook from over her shoulder as he continued to gently tease her body.
“About nine.”
He had two minutes to play.
“The pork is four minutes on each side. We’re into two on the second side.”
Timed perfectly. He wasn’t surprised.
“It smells wonderful.” His nose was just above the mass of blond curls.
“Yes. Well, if you want to eat food, you better back away. Another second or two of that and the pork can burn.”
He was glad to hear it.
But went to find a corkscrew and tend to the wine.
She’d set the small table in her kitchen. It was just an eat-in alcove, and the table—a high-top—only sat four. But the walls were decorated with French cooking art and the alcove was cozy. This wasn’t dining room entertainment. They weren’t an item.
“I figured us for the table I saw this morning out by the pool,” he told her, bringing their glasses of wine to the table. She’d said she was fine, but the drapes were all drawn and...if she was scared, they should talk about it.
“Since this is personal and we’re not starting something, I’ll just tell you that I had an incident last night and would prefer to stay indoors.” She put the plate of pork in the middle of the brown wood high-top. Added a gravy boat of sauce. Pulled some little red potatoes and fresh green beans out of the oven.
“Let’s toast,” he said, holding up his glass before either of them sat. And when she lifted her glass to his, added, “To being friends with benefits.”
She hesitated, studying him, and then clicked.
He sat.
“I’m fine,” she said before he had a chance to figure out how to bring up the vandalism that had her hiding out behind closed blinds. “I just... Until...well... I felt like a sitting duck, being in here knowing someone could see in.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he told her. “You’re taking the threat seriously.”
“It’s my first,” she told him as if that was some big secret or something to be ashamed of. “Others in the office have had them, but always sent to the office. And, like, in the eight years I’ve been there, there’ve only been three.”
“Did they find out who sent them?”
“Nope. And nothing ever happened to the addressees, either.”
The threat against her had come to her home. “Is there anyone in your personal life—anyone who might think you could expose something?”
She’d said her ex-husband had been a high-powered attorney, not always working with the most law-abiding clients.
“What personal life?” she smirked. And then, “Seriously, I work all the time. I haven’t dated in over a year. This person just told me to ‘leave it alone.’ That’s not like someone who’s mad at me personally. Or jealous or anything. It’s someone who wants me to quit working on something I’m working on. It has to be. Work is all I do. Chantel is going through my current cases...”
He agreed with her.
“I’m sure it’s Bill.”
He’d visited with Bill that afternoon. And with a couple of his neighbors. “He was home all night. I’ve got a witness who saw him through his living room window, watching the game.”
“What time?”
“Around nine.”
“I was almost home by then.”
“I’ve verified that his truck was in his driveway at six. And again between seven thirty and eight.”
“The security camera showed Bill walking in the gate behind a car at just after seven. And even if he was home, he could have paid someone in the neighborhood, or elsewhere, to do it for him.”
She had an argument for everything—because, in her job, she’d seen just about everything.
He didn’t want to spend the evening arguing.
Emma didn’t really want to talk about this case any further. Or any of them. She wanted to forget, for a few minutes at least, that someone was going to be pissed when she didn’t “leave it alone.” Whatever that meant.
And that whoever it was was fairly certain she’d know who he was. The only defendant she knew who’d ever given her cause to fear for her life was Bill Heber. The way he’d looked at her in the courtroom...there was no way she’d imagined the anger simmering beneath his surface. The only thing standing between him and his wife had been Emma and he wasn’t going to have that.
In the end, he’d been right. She hadn’t been able to stand between him and Suzie.
There was a new end in sight now. And she wasn’t backing down.
“Did you have a chance to check any of the drugstores for lipstick purchases?” she asked because they had to talk and she didn’t dare venture into conversation that would make her like Jayden Powell any more than she already did.
She wasn’t going to satisfy her curiosity where his life was concerned. Only his body.
Take it or leave it. That last was for her shadow side. The demon side that had been tempting her to throw all her lessons to the wind and hook up with the parole officer. If he’d have her.
One of her safety nets was that he didn’t want a relationship any more than she did. Even if she lost her mind and begged, he’d say no...right?
“Two of the three places that sell lipstick within the vicinity of Bill’s phone app activity have already been crossed off,” he said. “The third said that the clerk who’d been on all week would be in on Monday. I’ll check back then. And no, no one recognized him, or remembered any man buying lipstick.”
He could have picked it up at the big-box store at the edge of town, she thought to herself.
“What’s that?” Jayden was looking at the calendar on the side of her refrigerator. She never sat in that seat. Never noticed the calendar in view from there.
“A calendar.”
“It’s got X’s on most of the days. You counting down for something?”
So, this was embarrassing.
“It’s my cycle. So I’ll know when I’m ovulating.” Just one of those personal things that had nothing to do with him.
His face lost all expression. It was like he was there with her and then he wasn’t.
“You’re trying to have a baby?” She was pretty sure a guy couldn’t look more horrified.
“No!” Standing, she carried her plate to the sink. Poured a tad bit more wine. “Well...yes, but not right now,” she corrected herself, rinsing her plate and then moving back to get his. “I’m not using you for your sperm, if that’s what you’re afraid of. As a matter of fact, I’m making certain that we aren’t...satisfying this thing between us...when I’m ovulating.”
He stood, too, helping to clear the rest of the table. “Glad to have that cleared up.”
With the water running, she stopped to stare at him. “You actually think I’d do that?” What did it matter what he thought? They weren’t going to be together.
“I don’t. But it’s a bit of a shock to be having sex with a woman who announces that she’s tracking when she ovulates.”
He was looking more like himself. Topped off his glass of wine, though he’d only taken a few sips of what he’d had to begin with. He really should have brought some beer.
Or she should have picked up some. She’d seen the six-pack in his refrigerator the night before. She knew what he liked.
“It’s all part of my life plan,” she said. “I know I’m never going to marry again. Or be in a long-term committed relationship. I’m not looking for a man to father a child. But I want a family. I’ve had a child growing inside me. I’ve never gotten over losing it. That alone tells me how badly I need to be a parent. I’ve already got an anonymous donor picked out.”
“You need to be a parent.”
Leaning against the cupboard, he watched while she finished rinsing the sink, wiping down the faucet. “Don’t you?” she asked. “Someday?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You sound pretty sure about that.”
“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”
Okay then, that was clear.
“I’ve been seeing a fertility specialist,” she told him, taking her wine into the living room. Heading back to bed didn’t seem like such a fine idea at the moment. It wasn’t even dark outside. Maybe a movie would be good. Something a bit raunchy. “My first attempt to conceive was this past month. That’s what the calendar was for. I was inseminated a little over two weeks ago and found out on Wednesday that the attempt was unsuccessful.” And if the news scared him off, so be it. They weren’t starting a relationship. They were having sex. And it was going to end sometime.
He sat on the couch, so close their thighs were touching.
“I’m sorry.” His gaze was warm again. Sincere.
“For what?”
“I’m sorry you had bad news. And sorry that I overreacted like a first-rate jackass.”
She thought for a second. Nodded. “I’d say, given the circumstances, some bit of unease was natural.”
Mostly what she thought was that the man got more incredible every time she was with him. He’d apologized. Acknowledged that he’d been a bit harsh there for a second. No one was perfect, but when you were with someone who was willing to take honest looks, to admit to mistakes...
Keith had never done that. Drake, either. Never. Ever. Both of them. Like it was in the wild man’s genes to believe they were invincible. Never wrong.
Like Jayden believed himself about Bill Heber.
Still, he’d admitted he could be wrong. He’d see reason about Bill, too, once they had enough proof. And in the meantime, he was keeping close tabs on the guy so she knew Suzie would be safe.
“So why such a strong reaction?” she asked him.
“You know the reason. I’m on my second chance. What’s left of my life is about serving others. About making them feel good. Not about me.”
“So...you don’t think you could be a great dad someday? Not now. Now with me. But someday? You’re loyal. Hardworking. You give people the benefit of the doubt. And believe in forgiveness...some child could benefit from that.”
He took another sip of wine. Not looking at her anymore.
“I’m not going to have what I took from someone else.” He’d said something similar the other day. When they’d agreed to have a fling. Rather than a relationship.
“You took someone’s ability to be a father?”
“Not directly, but yes.”
“How?”
“You’re breaking the rules now.”
She supposed she was. “I told you about my past.”
“I’m sorry, Emma. I’m not going to tell you about mine. Take it or leave it.” His head turned sideways, their shoulders and thighs touching. He gave her such a serious look, she had to take a moment to absorb it.
Whatever had happened to him went deep. Too deep.
“Okay,” she said, still holding his gaze, as serious as he was.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I am.”