Double Dare (17 page)

“You didn’t answer my question,” Tobias said without much urgency. Not like he’d done the day before. “What makes you happy?”

“The predictability in quiet, for one. When I sit out here, when no one is home.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is a rare moment we have.” She shifted. “Usually, either Sasha or Abigail is here, if not both of them.”

“You prefer your solitude?”

“All solitude all the time would drive me nuts. So, when there are quiet moments, I cherish them. It makes me happy to know I can be content within them.”

“Like this morning?” He pushed a third dish toward the rejected pile to the left of him.

“Yes,” she said, irritated.

“Lie.”

She snatched her gaze from the pile. “How is that a lie?”

“Being snappish puts you into a frenzy of baking.” He leaned back for a moment. “From having a human moment, you bake.” He pffted. “That doesn’t speak of contentment.”

She huffed. “It could mean being considerate bothers me.”

He shook his head. “If you yelled at someone, I bet I’d find you buried in flour and cherry syrup. What do you have against confrontation?”

“I don’t have anything against it.” She straightened in her chair. “I just don’t find any use for it.”

“So, you’ll let anyone run over you because you don’t have a use for it?”

“That’s not what I said,” she countered.

Another plate went to the rejected pile, leaving the keepers at four. She shifted in the chair, frowning at the plates. Knowing too much sugar could make a good experience turn into a bathroom nightmare, she’d made sure the
tastes
were small but big enough to consider all facets of the dessert. He’d taken no more than one bite of each and savored the flavors before making his final decision. His
tastes
of her dishes had started to feel like one big resounding
no
.

“Like I told you before,” Tobias said, “actions are what tell you the truth. Yours tell me that you’d rather let someone walk all over you than to stand up for yourself. If you do, you’re racked with guilt.” He gestured to the plates that were giving her fits at the moment. “It changes the way your food tastes. There is a difference in making things out of worry and making things because you love doing it.”

“For a man so practical you have a poetic streak. The ingredients are the same.”

“Ah, but how did you make it? With a precise and steady hand? Beat at the eggs angrily? Impatient and ready for it to be over, did you take the pie or cookies out a moment too soon? Here.” He offered one of her cookies. “Tell me what’s missing?”

“I’m biased,” she said, and then bit into the chocolate chunk cookie. The nuggets of chocolate melted in her mouth like they were supposed to. “It’s ok.”

“Now compare how it tastes with the Late Night you fed me that first day.”

“Two different desserts. Of course, they won’t taste the same.”

“Indulge me.”

She took another begrudging bite though Emma knew it wouldn’t hold up. Not much held up to Late Night. Her scowl deepened when the cookie could barely stand up to itself.

“I would ask what your point is but that would be playing stupid for no reason. Other than pride,” she added.

“This will work to our advantage anyway. I won’t be picking desserts based solely on taste. I’m looking for practical too. Cookies and muffins are practical.”

Ego still a little bruised, it was hard to agree wholeheartedly. “Hmm.”

He laughed and the sound eased the tension in the air. “Tell me I’m being a pigheaded bastard. It’ll make you feel better.”

She pursed her lips to keep the smile from showing. “You’re a pigheaded,
tasteless
bastard.”

His eyes glittered with humor. “See. You feel better already. I can tell.”

“I have more but I think we have enough to start. A suggestion box might also be a good idea. I’m willing if the clientele becomes so.”

He shook his head. “Four isn’t enough.”

“You’re right about the muffins and the cookies. They’re a millions of ways you can bake them. Those will sell better with the college crowd. Something on-the-go and in the mornings I can make sure they’re hot, especially since I’m not selling the traditional doughnuts or fast breakfast foods. Pretty much do the same I’ll be doing for your store across the street.”

She tilted her head, finally catching on the thing missing from today. There wasn’t an abyss on the horizon, but exhaustion. As though he fought the hard fight the day before and lost. He was still giving her grief, but out of habit more than getting a kick out of burrowing down into the mud with her just to get dirty. Less than three feet away and she missed him. The hard-won smiles, the heated glances and the matter of fact way he said her ridiculous nickname.

“You’re right though,” she said. “Someone like you wouldn’t understand passion. Much less how it ebbs and flows, but I guess you could taste the difference.”

“Passion is fleeting.”

“For some,” she said evenly but punctuated it with a sigh.

He looked affronted. “I am passionate.”

“If you say so,” she said.

He leaned back into the chair and settled into the argument. She hadn’t realized how lackluster his mood was until he turned toward her with a spark in his eyes. “Apparently, calling me a pigheaded, tasteless bastard wasn’t enough. You have to insult me.”

“Being passionless is an insult for you. Why?”

“Passionless is as close to saying dead as one can get. I feel, Emmaline. More than you can imagine.”

When he came into her home he hadn’t been feeling much, but the implied insult put a fire in his belly now. “I do wonder, Third Button,” she said.

“What do you wonder, Mallow?” The words came out low and dangerous.

The lowered octave sent a shiver down her spine. “What makes you feel alive? Maybe it’s all the coffee you drink that gives you the…” Emma moved her hands in a circular motion to act as if she couldn’t find the word. “Jolt. I was dropped into your lap, bare, your reaction was lacking.”

His brow lifted. “I didn’t molest you, so that’s an indication I’m lacking?”

She forced her lips again into a purse to keep a smile from giving her away. “You don’t mention it. You run cold more then you run hot for me. You,” she pointed at him, “are a man who doesn’t know passion. So, how you are able to taste it in food is beyond me.”

“I don’t know passion?”

“You don’t know passion, sir.”

“Right,” he said.

She worried at the levelheaded way he agreed. The worry moved into the danger zone when she caught the ghost of a smile before he swiped caramel from one of the rejected desserts.

“Tell me,” Tobias demanded. Like he should be trusted with that degree of lust in his voice. “What do you taste?” He cleaned the caramel from his finger, his tongue not missing a beat.

Taking up the challenge, because it took the defeat out of his shoulders, she leaned into his space, flicking caramel onto her finger. Emma gave herself a moment before saying, “That doesn’t taste passionless. I don’t know what your problem is.”

“Really?”

She lapped at the caramel and watched his eyes go dark. “Really.”

The word brought him closer into her space. It wasn’t breaking a rule if he needed it broken, especially if every inch gave him that light back into his gaze and the abyss receded even more. Another swipe and the last of the caramel topping disappeared into his mouth.

He gave it second. “It’s completely without heart.”

“You,” Emma moved closer as she knew he wanted her to, so the space between them disappeared, “wouldn’t know heart if one was put in your chest beating.”

“Low blow,” he said, and she was practically in his lap now.

Head tilted, waiting for the kiss, she spoke quietly, “You wish.”

His caramel-drenched mouth crushed hers. She expected the kiss to be rough and demanding, instead it slowly stoked the sizzle into a fire. Tobias knew passion. If not in words, in a tongue sliding over hers, testing, tasting and tantalizing. She sighed when his free hand cupped the back of her head, bringing her closer and deepening the kiss.

She showed him the depths he questioned only days before. She exhibited it to him in the way she accepted and then pushed at the limits of what he conveyed with his mouth. He wasn’t asking if she wanted him, but if she could handle his passion unleashed.

In answer Emma let her lips ask of him the things she couldn’t fathom letting slip from her mouth in words. He met and exceeded every expectation, making her head reel with the possibilities. What could this man give her? The silent question rocked her and left her breathless. Emma could only moan in reply.

She didn’t know how much time passed before she pulled back and said, “I didn’t give you permission.”

His lips met hers again and the urgency was there now as he dragged her deeper into his abyss. It washed over her in waves. Emma lost the ability of speech. She wanted to crawl into his lap and forget that he wasn’t the fun guy.
And who was Prince Charming, again?
How could she even think that kind of man could titillate or even bring her this riptide of passion, forcing her to find a way back to the surface.

No, that kind of man would save her from it. That man would protect her from this sinking and all-consuming pleasure with the belief the full brunt of emotions would kill her under the weight of it. Instead she felt more alive than she’d ever been.

He sat back in the plaid-draped wicker chair. “Feeding me desserts is implied permission.”

There was no abyss lurking in the shadows of his eyes, but a promise he’d keep breaking the first rule as long as they drew breath. It was hard for her to draw one at the silent assurance of more.

“Lie,” she said.

“You’re catching on. I have no doubt you won’t let this mishap happen again.” He gestured to the desserts on the table, but she knew he meant calling him passionless.

“If I do, you’ll let me know, I’m sure.”

“Bet on it.”

Goodness, he was right. She was impervious to the danger that lurked in those midnight eyes, and Emma didn’t care.

Chapter Fourteen

Tobias punched the buttons on the treadmill, kicking it up to a run. Running hot and then cold was a sin in the dating world, but he didn’t feel the need to ask for forgiveness. He assumed he made up for it when they kissed the day before. Unspent energy had nowhere else to go, for now, he thought and a smile spread over his face.

“I would ask, but I think I know,” Josh said. “How are you and Emma?”

“Miss Sharp,” Tobias corrected.

“My boss,” Josh said, and Tobias could hear the smile in his brother’s voice without looking, “told me I could call her Emma.”

He snorted. “Amazing that as your brother I’m the one who can drop kick you into next week.”

“Miss Sharp makes her feel old.”

Tobias chanced a glance at his brother on the squat machine. He was smiling, too. “We’re fine. As friends.”

“Kevin doesn’t put a smile like that on my face.”

“Shut up,” he said.

Tobias pushed another button, picking up the pace on the run. Josh wasn’t a sixteen-year-old boy anymore. Hell, when he was sixteen Josh had known more about the worse side of humanity than most adults. Tobias hadn’t brought his job home purposely, but some things couldn’t be helped.

“Nothing has happened, but it’s inappropriate to talk to you about it,” Tobias said.

“That smile was inappropriate.”

If any of his thoughts has spilled into the grin then his brother was absolutely right. “How are things going with the job?”

Josh sighed. “With this event coming up, she has me doing all sorts of things. Said she might need new tables and chairs after all. And, you say nothing happened?” Josh moved over to the bench and started on his flies.

“Nothing.”

“Were you home, after the date?”

No, he hadn’t been here. Not really. Tobias had been lost to Gabriella, their time together, her death and her funeral. He hadn’t been able to stop the replay or to dig his way out. “Yeah.”

“Did you, uh, were you sleep?”

Not quite understanding where the questions were coming from, Tobias answered with hesitation, and with a lie. “Yeah.”

His brother stopped mid-pump. Something passed behind his gaze. His brother put down the barbell and stood there not saying anything. A tremble of anger vibrated the lithe form.

When he did speak it was sharp and curt. “I’m heading to Kevin’s.”

The quick shut down was so unlike his brother. Tobias replayed the last part of the conversation where it seemed things went off track. The truth of the situation hit Tobias and he completely lost his stride. Automatically his hands thrust forward, out to the rests, keeping him from face planting, or worse. Josh kept going.

Tobias slapped the machine off and closed his eyes. Young didn’t mean blind or dumb. His brother knew about his…condition. His problem wasn’t exactly something you could hide. No telling how often he trailed off after getting left-hooked by a memory of Gabriella.

He cursed in the quiet room and then cursed again louder. Anger drowned out the grief. All he ever wanted to do was protect his brother. Their parents’ death had cut Josh off at the knees. It had taken the breath out of him too, but he’d had Gabriella. She’d been there to guide him through it. She’d been patient when he put a halt to their relationship so he could take care of Josh.

He cursed again. His parents’ death had taught him nothing about living. Neither had Gabriella’s because apparently he was making the same damn mistake. He still hadn’t learned that putting a problem off didn’t deal with it. There was no right time. Get through and past one mess, only to step into a new one. And, he failed to take care of his brother. Josh kept him tethered when the past beckoned.

“Shit,” he said a final time, heading out to talk to his brother.

*****

Three hours later, Tobias’ panic banged out a drumbeat in his chest. His heart hadn’t slowed since leaving the house as if he was still running on the treadmill. He parked his car haphazardly in front of Emmaline’s house, bounded up to her door and knocked calmly despite the terror lurking beneath the surface.