She Drives Me Crazy (13 page)

Johnny had intended to get Emma out of the dirty jail cell as soon as possible, and bring her into the sheriff's office to get to the bottom of the whole ridiculous assault charge. But no sooner had he disentangled them from their completely unexpected embrace than they'd been interrupted by Deputy Fred.

The charges had been dropped. The construction foreman out at the Joyful Interludes site had decided the whole thing had been a misunderstanding, after all. And that the cane incident had been a complete accident. Meaning Emma was free to go.

Emma hadn't looked relieved when she found out she wasn't facing charges. In fact, she'd barely seemed to hear Willis, who'd entered from the front of the jail only a few seconds after Johnny had released Emma so she could wipe away her tears.

Then again, maybe it wasn't so surprising that she'd been a little…distracted. They'd both been slightly uncomfortable after their unexpected closeness, with him rubbing her back, whispering softly against her hair, and her clinging to him like he'd rescued her from a burning building.

If someone had asked him twenty-four hours ago if he'd even consider holding Emma Jean Frasier in his arms so she could cry her eyes out, he'd have replied that he'd rather eat one of Virg's mayonnaise-and-onion hot dogs.

But the embrace had happened. She'd been in need, and his arms had opened to her before his brain had given it any conscious thought.

She'd felt good. Too good, dammit. Sweet and curvy and vulnerable and soft. And he'd started to fall again, into the crazy place he always went when Emma Jean was close enough to touch, to taste, to smell.

It'd taken the moisture of her tears on his neck to remind him they weren't sharing the kind of embrace they'd experienced in her kitchen this morning. Yeah, there'd been attraction. As always. But also kindness, a sweetness he hadn't wanted to explore with anyone in a long, long time. If ever.

Her. Why is it always her?

Maybe it wasn't. Em had reminded him of an abandoned puppy. Johnny had a long track record of being the stand-up guy who helped out anybody in need. He'd have done the same for any woman who looked like Emma had and would be feeling exactly the same way about it.

Made sense. But deep in his own mind, he called himself a liar.

In spite of being out of the jail, Emma still looked dejected. Exhausted. Not to mention completely awful. "You know you have a fat lip?" he asked as he drove her back to her place. He hadn't bothered asking if she needed the ride. He'd just led her to his SUV as soon as they'd left the jail.

She nodded.

"Want to explain it?"

'The foreman bent over to yell at Eve for trying to kick him. I saw Claire winding up to swing, so I grabbed Eve to get her out of the way. Her head kind of bumped against my mouth."

Tsking, he shook his head. "Claire took a swing?"

"Yes, but I deflected it."

"With your cheek?"

"Uh-huh."

That explained the redness, which he'd wanted to kiss away earlier when she was crying in his arms.

He shook off the thought. Those kind of impulses needed to get the hell out of his head.

"Where did 'the foreman getting whacked with a cane' come in?"

She blew out an exasperated breath. "Between my cheek and my lip and a squirming four-year-old, I lost my balance. The cane really
was
an accident." Then, with heat in her voice, she added, "If I'd wanted to hit that awful man, I wouldn't have aimed for one of his legs, I'd have aimed
between
them."

"I don't think he'd have dropped the charges if you had," Johnny replied dryly.

"I don't think I'd have cared." She straightened in her seat, her spine growing stiffer as some of her spirit began to return.

He was glad to see it. Emma Jean had never been the type to let anybody keep her down for long. "Bloodthirsty, aren't you?" Speaking of blood…her clothes were sprinkled with a few drops. Probably from the fat lip. She was quite a sight. "What'd you do, take off the minute I left your house this morning?"

"Almost. Claire told me what was going on out at Grandma Emmajean's pecan grove and I talked her into driving me out there."

He figured as much. "You mean the construction site."

"Yes. How could this have happened? The land is decimated."

He shrugged, turning the SUV down an all-too-familiar street.
Hers
. "What'd you think the new owners were going to do with the place after you sold it? Have picnics in the summer?"

The smack of her hand against his dashboard startled him so much he almost swerved off the road. "I did
not
sell the place."

The fury in her tone told him the sad, beaten-down Emma was long gone. In her place was one enraged, raggedy-looking blonde with fire in her stare and a curl on her lips.

He pulled into her driveway, cut the engine and turned to face her. "I figured you must have sold it after your grandmother died."

She gave a fierce shake of her head, which sent those wild, untamed curls of hers rioting onto her forehead, almost covering her eyes. Unable to resist, Johnny reached over and brushed them back, fingering the silkiness for a brief second before letting the curl go. "Did you even brush your hair today?"

"No, I didn't," she snapped, not looking like she cared one bit. "And I did not sell the lot, either. I inherited it, along with the house."

Interesting. She sounded completely sincere. But there had to be some explanation. Maybe Emma's parents had dealt with it, sold the land themselves…wanting to "help." Or maybe her grandmother had unloaded it.

Something
had happened back when Emma was recovering from her accident. She just didn't know, or didn't remember. But he wasn't about to tell her that. He had the feeling if he did she'd slug him. She was too riled up, full of righteous indignation to listen to reason right now.

"I believe you," he murmured. "But charging out there probably wasn't the best way to handle it."

"What would you suggest?"

"Maybe just calmly calling the construction company?"

"I didn't have their number," she replied with a lofty little shrug.

He chuckled. "Well, sugar, they now appear to have yours."

"As in one angry wronged party?"

"More along the lines of crazy lady with a cane and a dark-haired little pit bull named Eve."

Emma snorted a laugh. 'That apple didn't fall far from Claire's tree, that's for sure."

Suspecting she was right, he began to feel sorry for Tim Deveaux, who had yet to see his angel for the hell-on-wheels kid she'd someday become. Kinda like her mama had been, as he recalled.

"Are you the only attorney in town now?" she asked, her voice growing serious again.

He shook his head.

"Because I think I need one."

"Charges were dropped."

"I mean a property attorney," she said. "I'm going to call one right away. And Jimbo Boyd, because he was supposed to be looking after my interests."

"I'll write down a couple of names for you," he said, glad she hadn't asked him for his help. He didn't want to get involved with her any more than he had to. He'd already broken his silent promise to stop being Emma Jean's savior.

Not when he'd long ago wanted to be
so
much more.

Emma let him help her into the house. She didn't have much choice since she could hardly walk. Her entire body was tense against his, though, he had to admit, she still felt good. Soft and curvy and welcoming. Which sent his thoughts where they had no business going. South.

Shit.

Emma always had fit him better than any woman he'd ever known, and he'd known more than a few in his day. Not recently, though. He'd been going through a dry spell in his personal life. Not to mention his sexual one.

For some reason, he just hadn't been able to muster much interest in any of the women he knew. Nor had he much cared to get to know any new ones. In the year and a half since he'd moved back to Joyful, he'd dated a handful of women—none from here in town, of course, he wasn't that stupid. The Joyful gossip lines had quite enough to talk about without adding this Walker's sex life to it. But he hadn't gone much beyond dating.

Apparently his dry spell had ended. Because if putting his arm around the waist of a bedraggled, bloodied, un-showered, unbrushed blonde was getting under his skin like an itch that needed scratching before it drove him stark-raving nuts, he definitely needed to get laid. By just about anyone but her.

Too bad she was the only one he wanted.

Emma continued to mutter under her breath, not noticing the way he'd stiffened against her…not to mention his zipper.

He needed to think of something else, something quick to kill his out-of-control libido.
Control. Think of old lady Dillon. Castration. Having to ride the Small World ride at Disney World for twenty-four hours straight
.

Anything except backing her up into the porch swing and taking them both for one wild ride.

Once inside, she slammed the front door shut, pulling away from him to lean on the inside wall. "I can't believe they wouldn't give me the cane back."

"I'll get it for you," he muttered, his throat tight. But not as tight as his pants.

"After I no longer need it?"

"What happened to the silver lining girl?"

"She's pissed off," Emma shot back. "Tired and grungy and sore and ready to fight."

"So you're done crying?"

"You would have to remind me of that." She clumped into her grandmother's front room and dropped to a chair. "You caught me at a weak moment. It won't happen again."

"Lots of those weak moments going around," he murmured, remembering the one in her kitchen that morning.

She met his even stare and her face flushed pink. The heat of anger slipped away, replaced by hot memory. What a double-edged sword, bringing up that intense outbreak of passion they'd shared. Because just thinking about it affected him every bit as deeply. So much for gaining control—his had taken a big flying leap. His heart rate kicked up and his stomach rolled over as he thought of how crazy they'd gotten on her kitchen table.

Now he began to suspect why it was he hadn't had much interest in other women lately. Because never, not once with any other woman, had he ever felt as sexually hungry as he did whenever Emma Jean Frasier was within a hundred yards.

They were alone again, staring at each other with awareness and intensity, their eyes locked together. Hers were molten gold, full of fire. He felt the same way. On edge. Ready. Waiting for a spark to set them both ablaze.

As if not even aware she was doing it, Emma slipped her tongue out to moisten her lips. His whole body clenched. The lip-licking move could've been the spark. It sure had been this morning in the kitchen when she'd been kissing him like she needed his breath to survive.

But it was also accompanied by a slight wince when her tongue brushed against the lump on her bottom lip. So, as much as he wanted to haul her up outta that chair for another brain-zapping kiss, he was able to resist.

Kissing the taste out of her mouth would hurt her. Not to mention further rip his guts out when she did her pretty little song-and-dance as far away from him as she could get once their lips were unlocked and her defenses firmly back in place.

"I'll be right back," he muttered, needing to get away. He headed for the kitchen, to get her some ice. Maybe he could throw some down the front of his shorts while he was at it.

The kitchen was a mess. Lumps of powdered sugar doughnuts were strewn like little mummies across the table, and white powdery fingerprints all over the fridge and pantry door. Tiny fingerprints. He chuckled, thinking the construction foreman had been lucky Eve's kick had missed its target. The kid was a terror.

While in the kitchen, Johnny grabbed a pen and paper and wrote down the names and numbers of a couple of good attorneys in Joyful and Bradenton, the next nearest town. Then he filled a bag with ice and wrapped it in a towel. Returning to the other room, he held it out to her. "Here. It'll help the swelling."

She took it gratefully and brought it to her mouth, hissing when the coldness touched her skin. But her hiss quickly turned into an appreciative sigh. When she rubbed the moist bag back and forth over her lips, the condensation made them slick and shiny.

Johnny closed his eyes against the sight, fighting the urge to kiss her again. She was hurting; it would be downright ungentlemanly to kiss her. Not that he was a frigging gentleman. No one had ever accused him of that, any more than they had any other Walker.

Still, he was decent enough to see when a woman was in pain. Physically as well as emotionally. And Emma seemed overloaded on both. So he stepped a few feet away, maintaining a careful distance.

The space between them didn't stop him from idly trying to remember whether or not she was wearing a bra under the loose T-shirt she wore. His hands remembered better than his brain.
Nope
.

She looked up, curious, obviously not noticing the testosterone level in the room had gone way, way up.