Emerald (Steele Investigations) (8 page)

“You look lovely,” Travis smiles as he leans in to kiss my
cheek

“So do you,” I grin.

“Come on then,” he says holding his hand out.  I take his
lead and we walk down to his Camaro.  Opening the door for me he says, “In.”  I
do as I’m bid and settle in to the leather seats. 

“Where are we going?” I ask

“My mother is having brunch at her place today.  Thought
we’d go there,” he states

Holy crap.
I can’t go to
his Mothers for
brunch!
What on Earth is he thinking.  Sensing my
nervousness, he reaches across and grabs my hand.  Giving it a reassuring
squeeze, he softly but firmly says, “It’ll be alright, Jemma.  Trust me.  It’s
just brunch with my mom and dad.  I think Elliott and Rae will be there. 
Possibly Kami and Will.  That’s it.  You don’t have to be worried.”

“Okay,” I reply.  The tone of his
voice is soothing. 
At least there will be others there.

******

“Mom, this is Jemma Calloway. 
Jemma, this is my Mom, Judy,” Travis introduces me.

“Jemma, lovely to meet you.  I’ve
heard so much about you from Kami, Judy says warmly.  Looking at her, you can
just tell that she is the type of mother who would do anything for her
children.  Go above and beyond. 
I wish I had that growing up.
 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Steele. 
I love working for your daughter and Rae,” I smile a genuine smile because I
really
do
love my job and my bosses.

“Please, call me Judy.  The
others are out the back.  It’s so lovely in the sun, we thought we’d eat out on
the deck.”  Judy says.

“Sure, mom,” Travis leads the way
as we make our way through their luxurious house towards a huge wall of windows
and glass doors at the back. 

“Hey, Jem,” Rae grins and waves
from across the super-sized table. 
Holy cow this thing must seat at least
15!

Elliott is sitting on one side of
Rae, Kami on the other and Will, her boyfriend who I’ve met a couple of times
is sitting beside her.  A tall, dark good looking man is grilling bacon on a
monstrous sized grill in the corner.  Travis tugs my hand and we make our way
over to him.

“Dad, I’d like you to meet,
Jemma.  Jemma, this is my father, Grant.”

He leans in and kisses me cheek,
surprising me.  “Jemma, lovely to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Steele,” I reply.

“None of that nonsense, call me
Grant.  Now, how do you like working for my daughter?  I hope she and Rae
aren’t being too hard on you,” his eyes narrow in mock concern.  After all, he
surely knows his daughter is not the type to be an irate, demanding and
demeaning boss.

“No, sir.  They’re a pleasure to
work for,” I reply, smiling big.

“Good.” He states with a nod of
his head, “I wouldn’t expect anything less from those two.”

Clearly a proud father.
It
makes me wonder what it would have been like to grow up with parents like Judy
and Grant.  They
know
their children and their personalities. 
Not
like my father.  He doesn’t know me at all.

“Son, good to see you.  How’s
things at work.  Elliott said you cracked a big case last week. 
Congratulations,” Pride clear is clear in his voice.

“Yeah.  He proved elusive for a
while there, but I got him in the end,” Travis replies.

“Jemma,” Kami calls out.

I look over and Rae is waving her
hand, motioning for me to join them at the table.

“Go on,” Travis says as he bends
down to kiss my hair.  I tense, hoping he doesn’t put pressure on my bruising.

He feels me tense and turns me so
I am facing him.  Leaning down he looks into my eyes, questioningly.  “What’s
wrong?” He asks.

“Nothing,”
besides the fact
that my Father paid me a visit last night and clocked me twice on the head and
I don’t want you to touch me there because it hurts like Holy Hell,
“I’m
fine,” I give what I hope is a convincing smile.  His eyes narrow and he
searches my face. 
Please don’t notice the bruising.  Please don’t notice
the bruising.  Oh, and don’t move my hair, or touch my head.

“Right.” He says curtly, “We’ll
talk about this later.”

“Really, Travis, I’m fine,” I
boldly reach out and give his waist a squeeze. 

He leans down and touches his
lips to mine.  “Later,” he says and his tone is clearly not to be argued with. 

“Okay,” I mutter.

I walk over and take a seat
opposite Kami, just as Will and Elliott stand.

“Don’t leave on my account,” I
laugh.

“You women talk too much shit,”
Elliott replies

“Really,” Rae asks, her eyes
narrowing and lips pursed. 
Oh Lord.  Just walk away Elliott
.

“Babe,” is his answer.  I watch
as he drops his head and tenderly kisses her mouth.  You can see the passion
and the love radiating between them.  I dart my eyes away from their PDA and my
eyes find Kami and Will.  He’s standing beside her, rubbing her shoulder
softly.  It’s almost like he needs to constantly touch her if she’s in touching
distance.  It’s very sweet.  He leans down and kisses her forehead, murmuring
something I can’t hear.  Then he and Elliott make their way over to the grill
with Grant and Travis.

“So, spill,” Kami fires at me immediately.

“Uh … about what?” I ask, even
though I know full well what she wants to know, but still doing my best to
delay her inquisition.

“Don’t be coy.  You and Travis. 
What’s going on?”

“Not a lot.  He took me out for
dinner last night.  It was really nice.  He told me he was taking me to brunch
this morning and here we are.”

So, you’re together?” Rae asks

“Um, no.  I don’t think so. 
We’ve had one date and to be honest, I’m not really a dating person,” I mumble
quietly. 
Crap! How can I steer this conversation away from myself?

“Kami, you and Will look really
happy together,” I add quickly, hoping it will derail her train of thought. 
Phew!
 
My diversion tactic works when her face lights up and she launches into a tale
about how wonderful he is.

Judy joins us not long after with
a pitcher of Sweet Tea and some glasses.  We chatter idly for a few minutes
until Grant, Elliott, Will and Travis bring over trays of bacon, eggs, sausage
and cooked tomato from the grill.  Judy leaves and returns a minute later with
two fresh homemade loaves of bread.  My mother was not one to bake, so I have
never eaten homemade bread before.  It is simply delicious.  Soft, white,
fluffy, crusty, warm, and with melted butter.  Divine.

“Judy, this bread is amazing.  I
must get your recipe from you.  I’d love to try it at home.”

“Of course, Jemma.  It’s quiet
simple to make, even easier if you have a bread maker, but if you don’t you can
use your oven, or I’d be happy to lend you my maker,” her tone is warm and
sincere.

“Okay, thank you.  I’ll try it
out using my oven first.”

“Jemma, darling,” Judy calls just
as Travis and I are about to leave.

“Yes?”

“Here’s the recipe for the
bread.”  She hands me a piece of paper with the details on it.  “There are lots
of alternatives you can make – Zucchini, Chocolate, Brown, Grain, Sourdough –
lots of them.  But I thought for your first attempt, you could just try a basic
white loaf.”

I glance at the paper in front of
me; water, flour, yeast, salt.  “It looks simple enough.  I hope mine tastes as
delicious as yours.”

“Just remember to let the dough
rise properly.  The instructions are simple, darling, you’ll do fine.”

Her words hit me somewhere deep
in my gut.  I’m taken aback by her belief in me.  Of course, I know that it’s
only a loaf of bread that she’s referring to. 
One time.  There has only
been one time that my father has said words to make me think he believed in
me.  It was the night he –

“Ready?”  Travis’s rough voice
pulls me from darkest thoughts.

“Sure,” I smile up at him.

We say bye to everyone and I
thank Judy and Grant for a lovely brunch.  They graciously ask me to come again
and tell me they hope to see me soon.  A sharp pang hits my gut as I realize
this will be the first and last time that I will be here with Travis.  
Brunch
with the lovable, joyous, compassionate, supportive Steele family
.  I vow
to commit every second of today to my memory bank for future reference.  It
hurts.  It hurts because I wish I could have this every week.  It hurts because
I know that’s not in my future.  It hurts most because deep down, it’s all I’ve
ever wanted:  A family like the Steele’s. 

At least you have the memories.
Ration Jemma tries to placate me. 

We could have this all the
time.  Fuck you parents.  Travis can handle it.  He can handle anything you put
on his shoulders; they’re big, strong and solid.  Just imagine - we could feel
this happy every day.  And for real; not just when we’re daydreaming. 
Selfish
Jemma has a snarl on her face as she glances around my back to poke her tongue
out at Rational Jemma, who rolls her eyes and gives a disconsolate shake of her
head.

******

“You have any plans for the rest of the day?” Travis asks as
we leave his parents’ house.

“Not really.  Just the usual – getting my clothes sorted for
work tomorrow, housework – that sort of thing.”

“In that case, I’ve got a surprise for you.” He’s giving me
a no-holds-barred-all-American-bad-boy smile.

“Okay,” I can’t help but smile back.

Fifteen minutes later, Travis pulls into an underground car
park.  Pulling the car expertly into a space, he cuts the engine and turns in
his seat towards me.

“Fuck you are one beautiful woman, Jemma,” the reverence in
his voice, clear.

I feel my face flush and I look down to my knotted fingers. 
God I want him
, Selfish Jemma whines. I’m pretty sure Rational Jemma has
fainted because her corner is silent.

I feel his fingers at my chin and they gently lift upwards
until my eyes meet his.  “You are beautiful, Jemma.  Most gorgeous woman I’ve
ever seen.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Steele,” I say softly, my
nervousness evident in my tone.

His hand leaves my chin and glides along my jaw and around
to cup the back of my head. 
Thank god he’s not touching the other side
,
I exhale in relief.  His fingers gently apply pressure at the back of my skull
and I lean toward him.  Meeting me halfway, his lips tenderly brush across
mine.  Softly, coaxingly and sweetly his mouth moves against mine.  His tongue
snakes out and touches mine, but it disappears almost as quickly as it appeared. 
He nips my bottom lip, causing me to suck in a sharp breath, before he releases
me.

I resist the urge to moan in frustration when he pulls
back. 
You shouldn’t be leading him on, Jemma.  That’s not fair.
Rational Jemma has obviously recovered from her earlier reticence.

Oh, fair, schmair.  Travis is H.O.T. Hot.
Selfish
Jemma - never one to miss an opportunity to voice her opinion.

“Where are we?” I ask when the Travis Trance clears

“My place,” he says nonchalantly as he knifes out of the car
leaving me reeling.  He opens my door and I look up at him, shocked.

“Come on.  Wanna show you somethin’”

I take his proffered hand and he leads me the elevator.  He
swipes a piece of plastic similar to a credit card, the doors close and we
climb at a rapid pace before coasting to a smooth halt.  The doors open and I’m
stunned to find we’re in the entry way of an apartment. 
His
apartment
(I hope, otherwise we might be spending the afternoon at the local Police
station).  Sweeping his hand around in a gesture to the space he tells me, “My
place.”

“Wow.  It’s huge.”

“You haven’t seen the half of it, babe,” he says sweetly. 
“Tour?”

“Yes,” I agree readily.

He guides me through, showing me his living room, kitchen,
dining room, office, a games room, three spare rooms and finally his room,
which includes a closet the size of my apartment and monstrosity of a
bathroom.  All his furniture is utilitarian and very manly.  Most of the
furnishings are black or white, he has a massive television hanging on the wall
in the living room, an even bigger one in the games room and a smaller one in
the kitchen (and by small I mean fifty inches).  The kitchen is stunning –
sleek black countertops with smooth white cupboards and what is clearly a state
of the art fridge.  I
love
his fridge!  It is shiny and black, and has a
myriad of buttons on the front.  I’m not sure what they do, but it looks as
though it could fly us to the moon, detour to Jupiter and bring us home safely
before dinner.

His walls are covered in candid photographs of him and his
family and detailed artworks.

“The art is from a local Artist, Claude De Plume.  He’s an
old friend.”  He says by way of explanation when I can’t seem to tear my eyes
away from the pieces.  He’s clearly very talented.

“He’s very gifted; your friend,” I murmur, still engrossed
in the paintings.

“Babe?” he says, snapping me out of my perusal, “Got
somethin’ to show ya.”  He grabs my hand and leads back down the hall.

Mmm yeah I bet he does.  He’s so yummy. 
Selfish
Jemma is blotting her harlot red lipstick on a tissue and practicing her
eyelash flutter and hair toss. 

Jemma, you should just tell him something came up.  That
you need to be somewhere.  What if the surprise is in his bedroom?  What if the
surprise is him – naked – in his bedroom?  How are you going to get out of
that?
Rational Jemma is panicky and nervous and totally the voice of
reason.

If he wants to fuck us, we’re gonna let him
. Selfish
Jemma retorts in a tone one would use when they say “duh”.

Both of you just shut up!  We won’t be doing anything
with Travis, so you
,
stop being a little slut, and you, stop being so
anxious.
  I should just leave.  This is wrong on so many levels.  My just
being here is putting Travis in danger.  The last thing I want is for my father
to get the wrong impression and think that I have blabbed to Travis.  Of
course, I know that my father won’t fulfill the threats he made when I was
child, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt Travis is another way.  The
thought of Travis being hurt, in any way, but especially because of me, hurts
my heart.  No, I definitely have to go.