ocean on a stormy day. She'd only seen him in lights from cars and streetlights. He was almost a stranger.
I want you. She'd dreamed his words again and again. She had refused every date Paul asked her on since the end of September, hadn't gone out with anyone at all, waiting.
"Emma."
That was all he said, standing among the Christmas shoppers with his hands locked on her arms. She saw herself in his eyes, not really a reflection, but she stared into them and knew he was aware of all the feelings she'd been trying to deny.
When he released her, she stumbled a bit.
"I—are you busy?" she whispered. "Tonight?"
"Are you asking for a date?" His eyes dropped to her lips. "Your father wouldn't approve."
"I won't tell him." Her throat felt as if she'd been fighting a cold and everything inside were scratchy. "If you go out with me, I won't tell him."
Someone pushed past. Christmas shoppers. Gray put out a hand to steady her. She'd forgotten the store, the people. His eyes were the only reality.
"What will you do when he finds out, Emma?"
Graham MacKenzie was a dangerous boy.
She went out with him anyway.
* * *
Emma woke suddenly to dark all around and the echo of Gray's voice on the surface of her mind, as if she couldn't keep him out. All these years, and he'd been the one she dreamed about.
She lay on her stomach, the pillow crammed between her face and her arm. She turned her head and the darkness seemed complete, just a faint difference where the window looked out on blackness.
A light knock on her bedroom door.
"Emma?" Gray's voice.
Would he open the door and come in? Had he dreamed of her? Would he come to this bed where she lay tousled with memories, his hand settling on her shoulder, his eyes on her lips?
She'd come apart the first time he kissed her. She'd lost herself, hadn't even struggled to stay afloat.
"Emma?"
She must get clothes on and starve her imagination. The last thing she wanted or needed in her life was a wild man like Gray MacKenzie.
"Yes? What?"
"Five o'clock," he said. "Time to get up."
"I'm awake. I'll be down in a minute."
His footsteps receded—the sound of shoes, not bare feet. He was dressed, armored, but he hadn't needed to open the door to send her imagination reeling. She had always needed more of him than he needed or wanted of her. He might have said he wanted her that first night, but she'd been the one who had asked him out, desperate for him in the middle of Christmas shoppers and perfumes.
She had to remember who she was and where she was, had to remember she was a woman of thirty-seven, engaged to marry a man she liked and respected. Had to remember that Gray was a teenage fantasy, not reality.
She was here for Chris. Grey was simply the tool she needed to find her son.
She switched on the bedside light and sat up.
Sounds downstairs. Gray and Chico.
He lived alone here. She supposed that was how he wanted his life. He'd never wanted to need anyone. She wondered if he ever felt lonely.
She had to get dressed, get out to the plane with Gray.
If they started flying at first light, how long would it take to find Chris?
She rummaged in her bag for jeans and the sweatshirt she'd brought. It had been hot yesterday, then unexpectedly chilly as the sun set. Today was likely to be the same. She dressed in a light blouse and pulled the sweatshirt over it. Then socks and track shoes. Last night she'd been wearing a tailored business suit. She hoped she would feel less vulnerable today in denim and sneakers.
She went into the big bathroom to brush her teeth and put her contact lenses in. She looked at the empty whirlpool bathtub regretfully. Too bad she hadn't thought to ask if he minded her having a bath last night, but there wasn't time now.
Afterward—after they found Chris—they might come back here and maybe she'd have a long soak in that tub before she headed home. She'd always wanted one herself, hadn't dreamed that her first chance at a private whirlpool bath
I want you. She'd dreamed his words again and again. She had refused every date Paul asked her on since the end of September, hadn't gone out with anyone at all, waiting.
"Emma."
That was all he said, standing among the Christmas shoppers with his hands locked on her arms. She saw herself in his eyes, not really a reflection, but she stared into them and knew he was aware of all the feelings she'd been trying to deny.
When he released her, she stumbled a bit.
"I—are you busy?" she whispered. "Tonight?"
"Are you asking for a date?" His eyes dropped to her lips. "Your father wouldn't approve."
"I won't tell him." Her throat felt as if she'd been fighting a cold and everything inside were scratchy. "If you go out with me, I won't tell him."
Someone pushed past. Christmas shoppers. Gray put out a hand to steady her. She'd forgotten the store, the people. His eyes were the only reality.
"What will you do when he finds out, Emma?"
Graham MacKenzie was a dangerous boy.
She went out with him anyway.
* * *
Emma woke suddenly to dark all around and the echo of Gray's voice on the surface of her mind, as if she couldn't keep him out. All these years, and he'd been the one she dreamed about.
She lay on her stomach, the pillow crammed between her face and her arm. She turned her head and the darkness seemed complete, just a faint difference where the window looked out on blackness.
A light knock on her bedroom door.
"Emma?" Gray's voice.
Would he open the door and come in? Had he dreamed of her? Would he come to this bed where she lay tousled with memories, his hand settling on her shoulder, his eyes on her lips?
She'd come apart the first time he kissed her. She'd lost herself, hadn't even struggled to stay afloat.
"Emma?"
She must get clothes on and starve her imagination. The last thing she wanted or needed in her life was a wild man like Gray MacKenzie.
"Yes? What?"
"Five o'clock," he said. "Time to get up."
"I'm awake. I'll be down in a minute."
His footsteps receded—the sound of shoes, not bare feet. He was dressed, armored, but he hadn't needed to open the door to send her imagination reeling. She had always needed more of him than he needed or wanted of her. He might have said he wanted her that first night, but she'd been the one who had asked him out, desperate for him in the middle of Christmas shoppers and perfumes.
She had to remember who she was and where she was, had to remember she was a woman of thirty-seven, engaged to marry a man she liked and respected. Had to remember that Gray was a teenage fantasy, not reality.
She was here for Chris. Grey was simply the tool she needed to find her son.
She switched on the bedside light and sat up.
Sounds downstairs. Gray and Chico.
He lived alone here. She supposed that was how he wanted his life. He'd never wanted to need anyone. She wondered if he ever felt lonely.
She had to get dressed, get out to the plane with Gray.
If they started flying at first light, how long would it take to find Chris?
She rummaged in her bag for jeans and the sweatshirt she'd brought. It had been hot yesterday, then unexpectedly chilly as the sun set. Today was likely to be the same. She dressed in a light blouse and pulled the sweatshirt over it. Then socks and track shoes. Last night she'd been wearing a tailored business suit. She hoped she would feel less vulnerable today in denim and sneakers.
She went into the big bathroom to brush her teeth and put her contact lenses in. She looked at the empty whirlpool bathtub regretfully. Too bad she hadn't thought to ask if he minded her having a bath last night, but there wasn't time now.
Afterward—after they found Chris—they might come back here and maybe she'd have a long soak in that tub before she headed home. She'd always wanted one herself, hadn't dreamed that her first chance at a private whirlpool bath
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