Prince Charming Can Wait (Ever After) (24 page)

She smiled faintly and curled her fingers around his, holding on. "Have you ever hit anyone in anger?"

"Yeah." He thought back to the incident that had prompted him to leave town almost a year ago. "When I heard that Jason had gotten my sister pregnant, I walked over to his store, and the minute he opened the door, I laid him out." He rubbed his knuckles, as if he could still feel Jason's jaw against them.

Emma laughed softly. "Any good brother would do that, Harlan. As far as we knew, Jason had abandoned her. Clare and I were actually debating ways to sabotage the opening of his store, and Eppie actually did it. None of us are saints, Harlan. We will all protect those we care about."

"It's not the same thing." He looked at her. "When I lost it with Jason, I realized I was caring too much about Astrid. I got scared of what I might do to keep her safe, and I left before I could turn into my dad." He met her gaze. "And you," he said softly, almost desperate to touch her cheek, to feel her beneath his tainted hand. "You already suffered with Preston. You don't need the shit that I bring, and I won't do it to you."

But still, the stubborn woman would not look away, and would not accept his refusal. "Have you ever hurt a woman? Even by accident? Even on all those rescue missions?"

Harlan's answer was instant. "No, but that was business. I wasn't invested emotionally. It's different with Astrid." He met her gaze. "And with you. When I saw Preston's hand on your shoulder, and the expression on your face, I finally understood the power of emotions, how they could drive my father to such extremes. I truly believe he loved my stepmother, but his love for her is what made him so dangerous. I'm like him, Emma. I'm exactly like him. I'm not the good guy."

"No?" Emma's eyes were glistening, and the damn woman actually looked happy, like he'd said something beautiful. "Do you realize that good men don't always come in perfectly wrapped packages with beautiful bows? Sometimes, they are dirty and rough, and unable to survive polite company unscathed, while the beautiful, polished packages are the scum who really hurt people."

He swore under his breath, hating that she wouldn't believe his true nature, but at the same time, he clung to her every word, desperately needing the way she looked at him like he wasn't a monster. "Emma—"

"When I was ten years old, my parents took me to the town beach," she said quietly, absently stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. "They brought their wine and cocktails, and I went off with my friends. My friends went home at dinner, but my parents kept on with their drinking. I played by myself, and then I went swimming too far out. I couldn't make it back to shore, and I started to drown. It was so fast, so sudden, the way I went down. I didn't even have time to scream. I just started sinking down. I tried to get air, but sucked in water. I couldn't keep my head up. I knew I was drowning, but I couldn't even call for help. My parents didn't notice, but a fifteen-year-old summer boy saw me. He swam out and got me just as I went under for the last time. An ambulance came, and the whole beach converged. My parents were the last ones down to the shore. They hadn't even bothered to find out who had almost drowned until someone told them it was me. When we finally got home that night, my parents told me that I was rude and selfish to try to get their attention by pretending to drown, and that I was banned from the lake for the rest of the summer."

Harlan stared at her, trying to fathom a parent being angry at a child who had almost drowned. "Were they serious?"

"They didn't want me," she said. "They liked their life the way it was, and having me dragged them down. I did everything I could to get them to notice they had a daughter, and they never cared. When I was drowning, I remember thinking, 'well, at least I don't have to try to impress them anymore.'"

Harlan stared at her, stunned. A ten year old being relieved to die? His life had been shit with his father, but he'd never thought about giving up. He'd just wanted out. Dark anger swirled inside him, a fierce protectiveness for this woman before him, a need to keep her safe. She deserved to be honored and loved, to have someone who would walk ahead of her with a machete and kick the shit out of anything life tried to throw at her to hurt her.

"All I wanted, Harlan," she said, drawing his attention back to her, "the
only
thing that I wanted was to have someone actually notice me. I wanted someone to care when I drowned. To love me. I used to be so jealous of Clare and her mom, doing their stuff together, that it would actually make my chest hurt." She met his gaze. "Tonight, I was scared when Preston had me cornered. It was like I was drowning again, only this time, someone was there for me.
You
. When you went after Preston, I mattered to you. I saw it in your eyes.
I mattered.
"

Harlan's throat tightened. "Sweet Emma," he said softly, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "Of course you matter to me, but that's not enough. You need to raise your standards higher than what you got from me tonight. I saw your face when I went over the edge. You were terrified of me, and you were right to be scared. Your instincts know who I am." He thumbed the corner of her mouth, the tiny scar. "He hit you."

Emma made a noise of irritation. "On purpose, Harlan. He hit me
on purpose.
For God's sake, can't you understand the difference? Are you so determined to hate yourself that you can't even register basic facts?"

"He hit you." Harlan gritted his teeth as that same anger rose within him, that same need to destroy that bastard.

"Yes, he did, but you—" Her voice softened, and her fingers drifted gently across his skin. "You would never hurt me on purpose, would you?"

"Fuck no." He couldn't keep the shock out of his voice. "Jesus, Emma,
never
."

"See?" Triumph gleamed in her eyes. "You're different than he is."

"I'm not—"

"Stop it." She put her fingers over his lips. "I need you to be different." Her voice was strong, but her eyes were haunted with shadows. "I was so wrong about him, Harlan. I believed in love and magic and fairytales, but he was so evil. I see goodness in you, and I need to be right this time. I am well aware that you're not perfect. You did scare me for a minute, but I also know you would do everything in your power to protect me, even from yourself. That's the sign of a good man. I need you to let me see that side of you. I need to be right, that there is one person in this world with a good heart who cares." She gripped his hand. "I tried everything to win my parents over, and in the end, I meant nothing to them. They're in Italy and I haven't spoken to them in eleven years. I keep choosing the wrong people to believe in, and I have to be right for once. I need you to be the man I think you are."

Harlan's heart seemed to crack for her. "Your soul is so beautiful," he whispered. "Never stop believing that there is goodness in the world. It's a beautiful trait."

"Let me be right about you," she said again, ignoring his compliment.

Harlan closed his eyes against the urge to draw her into his arms and to bury himself in the fantasy that Emma held about him. He'd never cared that he was his father's son, not until this moment. Not until tonight. With Emma snuggled in her bed, her hand clenched in his, he suddenly wanted to be the guy who didn't sleep alone anymore. "Emma," he said in a strangled voice. "I'll hurt you."

"I already know you're going to leave me."

He opened his eyes. "Not that kind of hurt—"

She met his gaze, and there was a shrewd gleam in her eyes. "What if I told you that when Preston said he still loved me, I knew that on some naïve, foolish, desperate level, I still loved him? What if when he told me that he had changed and wanted another chance, that a part of me wanted to give it to him?"

Harlan felt like a hunting knife had been jammed into his chest. His breath seemed to slice through his chest, and his body went cold. He couldn't breathe, and his fingers seemed to go numb, slipping out of her grasp. "You...want...him?"

She met his gaze, a challenge in her voice. "What if I told you I would go back to him if he agreed to counseling, and I could make sure it was safe for me to go back to him?"

Harlan lurched to his feet, stumbling backwards, his mind reeling. A thousand thoughts were rushing through his mind, and the one most vivid, most clear was an image of Preston rearing back to hit her. "You'll get hurt," he managed to say. "Don't take me, but don't go to him. He'll hurt you." Searing pains seemed to cascade through his chest, as he went back on his knees before her. He grabbed her hand, barely able to find the words for his urgency. "Don't do it, Em. Just don't."

Through his desperate haze, a smile filled Emma's face, the most beautiful, most genuine smile he'd ever seen. She scooted over to the edge of the bed and kissed him lightly.

Stunned, Harlan pulled back. "What are you doing?"

"Jealousy is a terrible thing for a man," she said. "That was why Preston hit me, because one of his friends made a move on me. And yet, when I presented you with a reason to be jealous, your only thought was for my safety." She locked her arms behind his neck, smiling broadly.

He still didn't understand. "You aren't going back to him?"

"No." She ran her fingers through his hair, a touch so gentle and tender that it shook him right down to his core. "I just wanted to know who you really were. I offered you the worst scenario I could think of to expose the darkest side of you, and it simply wasn't there. I was right." She locked her fingers behind his neck, a satisfied look on her face. "Kiss me, Harlan. Kiss me as if you were going to stay with me forever."

He wasn't a good enough man to walk away from what Emma offered him. Not just the kiss, but her belief in who he was. She was wrong, he knew that, but right now, in that moment, he couldn't tear himself away from the feeling of having someone believe in him.

Maybe she needed to be right about him, but he was beginning to think that he needed her to be right about him even more.

"I'm still going to leave," he said gruffly as he slid his hand behind her neck.

She met his gaze. "I know you are. That's why tonight is okay, because it will just be for tonight. Kiss me, Harlan. Please."

He had no willpower left to resist. None at all. He did as she asked, and kissed her.

The moment he tasted Emma's lips, Harlan knew he was lost. There was no chance he could be the hero tonight and ride off alone to leave the fair maiden untouched. He wanted to be the good guy, the one who rose above temptation, but with Emma's mouth responding to his, and her fingers tangling in his hair, there was simply no way to pretend to be the man he wasn't.

He needed her tonight, on levels he couldn't even understand, and there was no chance he was walking away from his wife.

Not breaking the kiss, he rose from the floor and slid onto the bed, even as Emma's hands tightened around his neck, keeping him close, preventing him from leaving her. He chuckled as he settled on top of her, the softness of her body a precious treasure beneath his. "You don't know what's good for you, do you?"

"I know exactly what is good for me," she said as she tugged his shirt up.

"I married a crazy woman," he said, even as he helped her pull his shirt off. The minute his shirt was out of the way, she splayed her hands over his chest in a possessive move that made dark, dangerous desire begin to build inside him.

"Of course you did," she said. "I never claimed to be otherwise." She propped herself up on her elbows, and pressed a kiss to his left nipple.

He leaned his head back, bracing his hands on her headboard as she kissed her way across him, lightly nipping. His body tightened, and raw need pulsed through him. She was different than she'd been the first night they'd made love. That night, she had been desperate and vulnerable, but tonight was different. It was as if seeing Preston had changed her, given her strength. She wasn't afraid of him tonight...even after the flash of his true nature that she'd seen at the carnival.

Her fingers found the button on his jeans, and his stomach contracted as she unbuttoned them, the brush of her fingertips a decadent tease on his flesh. With a low growl of desire, he grasped her shirt and tugged it upward, breaking her grip on his jeans. She looked up at him as she raised her arms over her head, letting him slide the soft cotton over her wrists and off her hands. Her face was upturned toward his, her green eyes burning with desire...and trust, making something shift inside him.

"I don't get it." He leaned over her, using his body to direct her back down. "How can you look at me like you want me?"

She put a finger on his lips. "Stop," she said. "I don't want to hear any more arguments. I just want to be with you tonight."

And there it was in her voice, that same vulnerability that had been there before. She might be strong and tough, but there was a softness about her that broke through the shield he'd worked so hard to erect around himself. With a low groan, he kissed her again, deeper this time, unable to hold back. "I need you," he whispered between kisses.

"I need you, too." Her hands were roaming his back, his neck, his hair. She was touching him everywhere, as if trying to memorize his body, or to stake her claim to it. He didn't know why she welcomed him the way she did, but it felt incredible to be touched like that, in softness, in seduction, with honest desire.

He owed her. He had to be the man she wanted him to be. He had to find a way. She'd decided to trust him, and he couldn't let her be wrong. Protectiveness surged over him as he unhooked her bra and slid it down her arms, never breaking the kiss. This incredible woman had offered him such a gift by giving him her trust, and he wanted to cradle it in his palms, guarding it with his life.

He softened his kisses, turned them into a languorous seduction of sensual desire, kisses that took a lifetime to finish. Her body softened beneath his, and her hips shifted restlessly.