CHAPTER Eleven

 

 

“Where?” Nate felt the dull pain above his eye beginning to throb again. He wanted to find the eccentric engineer, and take him and his handful of a sister both to a safe house while he dealt with Barcuda.

Tension resonated off the woman beside him, her slim hands gripping the cloth edge of the seat. She was nearing the capacity of her nerves. Last night it had become evident how much pain she withheld, but in the dark—in furtive whispers and lingering caresses, he had come to know this woman. And he wanted to know so much more.

God help him, he wanted to keep Emily safe.

“He told me.”

Nate narrowed his eyes. “When?” he barked more harshly than intended.

“On the cell—last night.” The only indication that his tone had affected her was the furtive nibble on the edge of a pale fingernail.

He took a deep breath and watched the windshield fog up. “And you didn’t tell me, because—?”

“Because I didn’t figure it out at first.”

“Emily, please, no riddles.”

Soft brown eyebrows knitted into a frown. “But that’s just what it was—a riddle. Here I thought Colin was rambling on and on, when all along he was letting me know exactly where he was.”

Troubled eyes met his, and Nate surrendered to the need to touch her. He reached out and grazed her heart-shaped jaw with the tip of his thumb. That caress extended to a light brush just below her lip, where warm breath dusted his finger as she continued earnestly.

“He said he was going underground. So deep that even the Devil had to look down at him.”

Realization dawned a second before she voiced the inevitable. Nate beat her to it. “NMD.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’ll be damned.”

“Not before me.”

He checked to see if she was joking, but her soft lashes feathered down introspectively.

“Hey.”

Emily looked up, and Nate felt that glance like a fist. It hit him hard. Those wide insightful eyes, her soft glossy lips—the memory of their taste, and the way her body felt plied against his.

She was a strong woman—hell, and stubborn. But in his arms, Emily was sensual.

“Hey,” he repeated, waiting for her to blink. “We’ll find him, and we’ll get you both somewhere safe until Barcuda is accounted for.”

Emily’s eyes were vacant. They escaped his by sliding towards the window. He gave her that respite, using the moment to coax the Impala onto the street. The motor whirred sickly, as if it were trying to idle down a canal where the water level exceeded the hood. He couldn’t complain about the engine. At least the vehicle was anonymous.

“Just yesterday you couldn’t wait for the opportunity to be done with us.”

Curse the damn engine. He could barely hear her soft whisper over the din. “

“What?”

Emily’s finger traced an imaginary pattern on her thigh.

“Why would you worry about putting Colin and me up somewhere safe? Why wouldn’t you just turn us in and be done with it? To hell with NMD. You are warranted in handing us over to the authorities. I wouldn’t blame you.”

He stared at the rearview mirror. A blinking yellow light marked an intersection. There were no other cars. No one trailing after them.

“Just yesterday,” Emily continued. “You sang a different tune, and I want to know what changed it, because—” Her shoulders lifted and dropped in a rushed breath. “Because if it’s about last night, well—that wasn’t, I wasn’t looking for—”

“Neither was I.” He cut her off. He took the turn sharp enough to make her lean in his direction. A breathy whiff of Edelweiss’ floral shampoo flooded his senses.

“Look Em, you’re a beautiful woman. Who am I kidding, you’re hot as hell, and I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the night of the accident.”

He had her attention now. Emily was watching him and he had to force his gaze back to the rear-view mirror.

“But,” he finally managed in a clipped voice. “I’m not so weak that I would succumb to a woman’s charm to let her get her way. I know what’s right here. You have to understand—I’ve been at a disadvantage with that whole night erased from my memory. Facts are just slowly trickling in, and you’ve been very little help there. I mean hell,” he ground out. “It’s like pulling teeth−and actually the more you tell me, the more I’m realizing what a mess you two have gotten yourselves into. So if I’m a little late in coming around to helping you, well you have only yourself to blame.”

It didn’t matter that his gaze was trained on the road, he could sense her agitation.

“Facts?” Emily turned away. “Where would I begin? Maybe my docile job, the one I felt was a secure place to bring my brother. An environment where he could thrive and showcase his natural talents without having much interaction with people. He doesn’t really get along with people. It’s not that he doesn’t like them, it’s just—just—” Her hand waved to substitute her failing words.

But Nate knew that Emily was just getting started. Go on, Angel. Don’t stop.

“Only a few days ago my life was mundane. Maybe I don’t interact with people too well either. Maybe I enjoyed working in that dungeon, doing my job, and going home at night to light my candles and read a book.”

An image of Emily in a robe, basked in the glow of candlelight toyed with his mind. If he had known her—if he had known that she sat home alone—he would have been there. And yes, there would be candles, but there would be no books—they’d write their own romance.

“But one night Colin comes over and tells me this ridiculous tale about someone tampering with his brakes. He said that someone from work was trying to steal his blueprint, that—that the submersible he designed was only a rough draft. He said it was a toy and that if it was ever truly manufactured in the crude form he laid out that it would kill anyone who commandeered it.”

Emily’s voice grew raw. “I didn’t want to believe it. For ten years now I’ve been listening to his tales, bailing him out of jams, and pacifying offended employers. I don’t know how Mom and Dad did it. They had such patience, and I don’t. And that makes me feel miserable,” her voice trembled, “because Colin is really so sweet in his heart.”

With her head tipped back on the headrest, Emily tried for a laugh but the sound came out strangled. “The reality of it is that I think Colin has actually taken care of me. In his splendidly manipulative way, he has made me feel like I’ve been in charge, but—”

Her profile revealed a bittersweet smile as she fell into silence. On the side of the road, a billboard proclaimed the benefits of the mineral springs two miles ahead.

“What happened to your parents, Em?”

Only the synchronous rumble of tires slapping wet pavement filled the car. Emily’s hand splayed across her thigh, her fingers tapping nervously.

“A plane crash,” she whispered. “On the night of my graduation. We had a fight—” The last sentence was choked off and she cleared her throat.

Her quick cough told him there would be no more on that subject. It was enough of a disclosure for him to realize the source of the turmoil he first detected in Emily’s eyes in the hospital.

“So anyway,” she continued with vigor−phantom energy whose supply would soon tap out. “Just after Colin made these claims, I was called into George Barcuda’s office. Alone.”

Nate’s spine stiffened. The mere mention of the man set him on edge, but to insert an image of Emily alone with the vile creature stilted his breath. “Go on,” he prompted.

“He wanted me to talk to my brother. He wanted me to coax the designs away from him. Of course it was all for the good of NMD, he claimed. It would only prove to benefit us. I would get promoted and Colin would advance, etc., etc.”

Her chin tucked in as a veil of shiny hair fell forward to conceal her. “If I helped Barcuda,” a shudder racked her frame. “He would be grateful, he would show me—”

“Enough.” Nate envisioned the steering wheel as Barcuda’s neck, and squeezed.

George Barcuda’s less than savory practices with women were a source of bodacious chatter at NMD. He dared not imagine how grateful George would have been with Emily. God, he was getting pissed just thinking about it. Fortunately his strongest impulse was to protect her at all costs. The next strongest impulse was to make love to her. And if he had the ability to maintain an impulse after that, it would be to make the man pay for every revolting injustice he bestowed on his angel and her brother.

***

Enough. That had been the primary thought inside her head as Emily stood in George Barcuda’s cavernous office, feeling defiled as he undressed her from behind his eyeglasses.

She had been called in when Colin was cornered by Barcuda’s underlings, their request for the Hyperion drawings now evolving into a physical demand. Colin automatically turned to Benjamin to avoid the confrontation, and that was when Emily was brought in to calm him down. She did just that, but was startled when Barcuda requested a private meeting.

From the moment she entered that dark office−which felt more like a lair with its phosphorescent undersea images and dusky lighting−Emily had a sense that she was in way over her head. Imposing in an Italian black suit, George Barcuda sat behind his wide mahogany desk, thin fingers steepled in silent authority.

Something about the skeletal long nose and high white forehead beneath wisps of black hair made him appear ghoulish. He looked like a staple in a vampire movie−one from the era when vampires were not attractive, but rather bald, crippled characters with gnarled fingers and evil eyes.

“Miss Brennan?” His frank stare made her feel that the white lab coat over her slacks and turtleneck was insufficient.

“Was it necessary to harass my brother?” she challenged with false bravado. Inside her pockets, damp palms were fisted tight enough to cause pain.

“Harassment?” Barcuda swayed his pointer finger in denial. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? Your brother is a very confrontational man.”

“You were trying to take away something that belongs to him. Of course he was confrontational.” Emily wished her voice didn’t curl up into an anxious peal at the end of each sentence. She also wanted to swipe that staid smile off Barcuda’s narrow lips.

“That design, Miss Brennan, is an example of the talent we hoped to procure from your brother. I am willing to overlook the obvious issues the young man has in return for the plans that were designed on NMD property.”

Emily’s fist emerged from her pocket, and to her horror she thrust it forward in defiance. “He worked on that at home, too. He doesn’t ever sleep−maybe a nap here and there, but things, things like that design, that’s how he occupies himself through the down times.”

Barcuda’s leer grew and his hand curled around the edge of the desk. “Maybe he should find himself a woman then.”

The way he said that gave Emily a sick feeling in her stomach. She took a step backwards when he rose. Perhaps it was a reflection of the luminous aquarium against his glasses, but George Barcuda’s eyes looked like the lethal black orbs of a shark. She expected them to flip back up into his head just before he moved in for the kill.

“Again,” Emily cleared her throat and held her ground. “What my brother does in his free time is his personal business. If he designs the next galaxy shuttle on his lunch break, then that is his concern.”

“But, Miss Brennan, that’s exactly what he has done. He has shown the inadequacies of our present technology. His simple ‘doodles’ have crafted a vessel that can operate under miles of ice. His design picks up where predecessors have failed. When NASA scrapped the project to explore the ocean of Jupiter’s moon, we picked up the assignment. We were rejected as not being able to handle the amount of energy required to melt such an abundance of ice. We also failed because of the likelihood of corrosion, not knowing how much salt existed in Europa’s crust. But there are private ventures out there that have determined there is life on Europa—private ventures with a lot of money to invest. They heard of your brother’s vessel and are willing to pay exorbitantly for its construction.”

Perspiration beaded on his high forehead. “How could you withhold that knowledge from the world?”

“Easily.”

Only briefly had she reviewed the CAD drawings on Colin’s computer, and her field of expertise did not extend to propulsion systems or hull tolerance, but Colin explained in his analytical tone the exact faults in his hypothetical design.

Looking into eyes brimming with avarice, would Barcuda have been dissuaded if he had proof that this vessel would fail?

“Because it’s not real,” she explained. “Maybe the pictures look convincing enough to you, perhaps they can even fool a few engineers, but if a craft like that were ever structured it would fail in the field for some of the same reasons you have just pointed out.”

“Oh, I have no doubt it needs some tweaking. That’s what I explained to your brother when he stubbornly refused to let me have the mechanical drawings.” A scowl drew the black hairline down closer to his eyes. “Miss Brennan, let’s skirt around all this, for lack of a better word, bullshit, and get to the point. I really don’t give a damn where he designed it or if it’s structurally sound or not. I want it. Do you understand?”

Oh, she understood all right. Up until this moment she had been able to handle any of the quandaries Colin had gotten himself into.

There didn’t seem to be a negotiable vein throbbing in Barcuda’s pale head.

“I understand that we have nothing further to talk about Mr. Barcuda,” she answered coolly.

As was the case throughout life, when her back hit the wall, this poised creature took over. Maybe her insides were quivering, but the look she cast conveyed that she was superior to him in every respect.

Barcuda regarded her with a bemused expression. His finger tapped the surface of the desk, and her conviction waned as he rounded the bulky wood frame. As much as she wanted to recoil, she held her ground as he stepped close enough for her to smell the slick gel that greased his hair back.

“Well, well,” he hummed. “How did I miss you? Right here under my eye all this time?” His skeletal hand lifted and brushed the air just beside Emily’s cheek. There was no way to conceal the revolting tremor that coursed through her. Barcuda smiled at the gesture.

“You have one chance, Miss Brennan. One chance to convince your brother to give me that material. If you succeed I will show you my gratitude.” This time that finger skimmed her jaw, and she jerked back. “If you fail—well, let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Emily.”

Emily jumped in her seat and nearly smacked her head against the window. She latched onto the door handle while her eyes flicked about until they collided with Nate’s and stayed there.

Autumn. She thought of the beautiful shades of autumn when she looked in his eyes. Granted, his forehead was dented with an intimidating frown, and his jaw was a slash of tension, but his eyes soothed her.

“What?”

“For Christ’s sake, what happened? Why didn’t you tell me about Barcuda?”

“Tell you what?” Emily pressed the button for the window, opening it an inch to suck in some of the frigid air. Pelts of rain and snow lashed her face, but she welcomed nature’s gentle slap.

“Why didn’t you tell me from the start about Barcuda? You know, it didn’t take me long to catch on to his intentions, but you could have let me know that you were only protecting yourself and your brother and saved us both a lot of heartache.”

“Because I didn’t know you. I still don’t know you,” she cried. “You, you’re the man I found on the road that night. The man I couldn’t leave. In the middle of all that chaos, when I sat beside you, I felt safe, Nate. You are the only man who has made me falter through this whole ordeal.”

Nate was not even looking at her. His profile was rigid, his chin an inflexible chunk of granite. Had her words angered him?

Recklessly she continued.

“Now you know why I had to leave you at that hospital. If that accident had happened under any other circumstance, I would still be by your side. There was something there—the need to ensure that you were safe— an attraction—surely you felt it—” Her shoulders sagged as she resisted tears. “I touched your hand. It was so unlike me, to just reach out and touch a stranger—and yet it felt natural.” She shook her head. “Imagine my surprise when you showed up at the cabin.” There was no awe in her tone, only the bitter tang of disillusionment. “The man that I—I—”

How could she possibly finish that sentence? How could she possibly put into words how she felt nestled in his arms those few brief moments this morning? How his kiss had ignited a spark she thought she was incapable of feeling. Nate Morrison made her want to forget the rest of the world.

“Imagine my surprise,” she proceeded in a bleak voice, “when the man from the hospital showed up at my cabin to arrest me? And that the same man was after my brother, who I will go to my grave protecting.”

Her voice caught. “I have so many mixed emotions about you, Nate. So forgive my confusion−about you—and about what you want from me.”

Above the steady drizzle, the windshield wipers fanned each cycle with a dull screech. Emily concentrated on that motion in an effort to shut her mind down.

From that unyielding silence emerged words that shocked her.

“I’m the man you almost made love to this morning.”

She turned to look at him, but found only that same implacable expression. Had he really spoken? And if so, why did his choice of words play havoc on her stomach? Why didn’t he say, I’m the man you almost had sex with instead?

“That was—I thought we agreed that that was just a matter of circumstances.”

To add to her shock, Nate swerved off the highway into a small rest stop that was simply an elbow-shaped driveway with a few neglected picnic benches dotting its path. He switched off the ignition, and all that could be heard were the fine ice pelts pattering against the roof.

“And I thought,” He turned and draped his arm across the back of the seat, but didn’t continue. He just watched her until finally he raised his hand to cup her cheek. In a husky voice he asked, “You felt it?”

“What?” Emily was breathless.

“In the hospital, when you touched my hand—you felt it too?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

If only she could identify his emotions. His expression revealed nothing.

“Okay—” Nate dipped his head and brought his mouth in close to hers, hovering over her lips so that she could feel the warmth of his breath.

“Now you’re going to listen to me.”

***

Granted, this rest stop was not where he wanted to enact this confrontation, but Nate was determined to have it out with his angel.  It didn’t matter that her lips tempted him with their proximity.  He even tried to ignore her admission that there was more than a casual attraction between them.  That was a piece of information he was going to store away and analyze later.  Right now, he needed to concentrate on keeping Emily safe, and to do so meant there could be no more secrets.

“You want to know who I am, Emily?”  He should really pull back. His mouth was way too close to hers.  “I am your judge and jury.  This was an internal matter for NMD.  Barcuda sure as hell won’t go to the cops, and I’ve taken your sentencing out of his hands.  I will not let you anywhere near that man.  So if there is someone to pass judgment on you, it’s going to be me.”

Emily crossed her arms, the challenge in her eyes not abating.  “And what is your judgment?”

He sat back, the tempting whiff of shampoo and woman too much for him. His glance hefted to the rearview mirror, but the rest stop was empty, with the echoes of the highway a distant sound now.

“Would you trust me enough to give me those drawings?”

Breath hissed through Emily’s clenched teeth.  Her mouth opened, snapped shut and then reluctantly she managed, “Nate, please, I feel like they’re all I’ve got to keep myself safe right now.”

He studied the gutsy woman, her light auburn hair cascading in waves around her face, her eyes a sea full of torment and resolve.

“Dammit Em, I’m all you have to keep you safe.”

She avoided looking at him.  “If I let myself believe that, I would become sloppy.”

It was a good thing she wasn’t looking or she would have caught his quick grin. For an angel, she was a real ball-buster.  She wouldn’t accept the help that was staring straight at her. Trust was not a frivolous commodity for her, and given her position, he would have reacted the same way.

“You know,” he began.  “You’re responsible to the point of being obsessive.”

Blue eyes narrowed. “I have to be.”

“You do good by him, Em.”

A weary smile made her silhouette all the more striking.  “Maybe you’re right about my obsession,” she said. “I feel responsible.  I was so angry with my parents.  So angry that they left my graduation to go see Colin.  For that one moment of selfishness, I’ve vowed to do everything in my power to take care of him.”

Nate grabbed the steering wheel, if only to keep his hands off her. Her heartache was a blanket that suffocated the woman.

“Even if it means killing yourself in the process?  How does that benefit your brother if he’s left with no one?”

Genuine horror darkened her gaze.  “What am I supposed to do?”

“Trust me.”

Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes, but did not leak any further. Her countenance conveyed a silent plea, but her chin remained high. Emily’s greatest battle was with herself.

“I do.  I have already.  I wouldn’t be in this car right now if I didn’t trust you.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Really?  Where would you have gone?”

“I could have gotten away from you numerous times.”

“It wouldn’t have been that easy, Emily.”

Her chin tilted further and those tears abated.  “No, I don’t imagine it would have.”  She reached up to draw cinnamon strands behind her ear, her fingers steadier now.  “Look, let’s get going.  We’ll get back to Groton, to NMD, and—and then we’ll talk about the designs.”

The battle not to touch her had grown futile. Nate reached up to stroke that shiny hair, his hand cupping her cheek.  “Okay, but do me a favor first.”

Emily looked baffled.  “What?”

“Kiss me.”

Her lower lip dropped.

“I—I don’t think now is the appropriate time for that.” Her poise crumbled.

“You’re probably right,” he uttered gruffly. 

He was leaning in now and could not manage another word.  Her lips were there and he touched them with his own, tasting her trepidation and erasing it with gentle friction. Against them he whispered, “Now does seem like the right time.”

“Nate,” A hand came up to arrest him, but it lacked conviction, and with one more kiss her fingers slipped up to his neck and curled there, drawing him closer.

 And there it was again. All that passion rushed back in a surge that stunned him.  So much so that his arm snaked around her, needing to feel that soft body, pliant against him—needing Emily more than he wanted to admit.  This woman, this kiss, felt like a dance with destiny.  It felt too right.

For the life of him, he wasn’t about to stop it.

***

Nate’s athletic frame filled the car−a steamroller pinning her in place. Who am I kidding?  Wasn’t her arm linked around his neck, drawing his mouth closer? Wasn’t it she who locked him there, trying to ensure that this never ended?

This kiss started out tender, but spiraled out of control as soon as their mouths opened.  Nate’s grip drew her so close she spilled across his lap where she felt solid muscles converge around her, a fortress that made her feel small and protected.  Her head tilted back against his arm as she felt his lips dust across her throat, caressing the life thumping erratically there.

“Emily,” he rasped against that skin.  “I want you.” He rubbed the corner of her mouth, “but you’re right.” He kissed her again.  “Now is not the time.”  One more lingering swipe, and he looked deep into her eyes and declared, “But the time is coming.”

There was every intention to answer him, but he slipped inside her with his tongue.  She wanted him to go on kissing her and keep all the demons at bay.  She wanted this man, and the need nearly made her cry. She had never felt anything so overwhelming. So out of control.

Emily’s fingers slipped up into his hair, curling there and holding him to her mouth, as if she could kiss away all doubt, but that was impossible. Reality raised its nagging head.  Her thigh slipped off of his and her hand dropped to his chest.  With an anguished sob, she drew back from the lure of his touch.

Locked to his eyes, she detected his smile only by the fine wrinkles that appeared at each corner.

“Okay,” he exhaled.  “I’m not going to regret having done that.”  He withdrew to his side of the seat, and brushed a hand over his mouth.  “As a matter of fact, that may happen again.”

“Oh?” She tugged on her sweatshirt, which had somehow bunched up high on her abdomen.

The ignition turned, and the Impala rattled to life.  “Without a doubt.”

Why did that declaration make her heart stumble?  She watched Nate, the fluid movement of his muscles as he reached for the steering wheel and shifted his powerful thigh into position.  Every move he made was a choreographed display of athleticism.  She could only imagine what a skillful lover he would be—

“I—I’m going to try and call Colin’s phone again.” She fumbled in her purse, feeling his eyes on her.

“Good idea.”

The Impala maneuvered back onto the thruway and the anonymity of traffic was a camouflage that comforted her.  

But how long could it last?