What He Didn't Say (3 page)

The moment his father had hung up, Holt was texting his assistant. He prayed Ted wouldn't pick this inopportune moment to emerge from the restaurant. Instructions delivered, Holt clipped the phone to his belt and moved on a diagonal to intercept Emma-Lee. As he rounded the last group of people separating them, she saw him and a smile lit up her face.

There. Holt experienced the same kick of anticipation he had whenever he jumped from a plane or raced a bike or had a breakthrough on a computer program. This was what he had been waiting for all morning.

Never before had a woman been the source of such an acute rush.

That realization alone should have given him pause, but Holt never backed down from a challenge. He closed the last few feet as Emma-Lee pulled a ringing cell phone from her purse.

H
OLT WAS HERE.

An awareness so intense that it bordered on pain jolted Emma-Lee's nerve endings. He moved toward her with easy masculine grace. Today his hazel eyes took on the cast of the dark gold shirt he wore along with jeans hugging his lean form and a bomber jacket.

Those serious eyes held her own almost against her will as he drew closer.

Phone. It was ringing in the tone that signaled her mother was calling. She wrenched her gaze away, set down her bag and answered the cell.

“Hi, Mom. Happy Sunday.”

“Hi, honey. Are you all right? I know you were doing that insane jump yesterday. When you didn't call, your father was practically frantic with worry.”

Oops. While she had called her friend Sandy last night to regale her with details of the day and the fascinating man she had met, she had forgotten to call her parents. Guilt pricked her. That was so unlike her not to call. She knew her parents were concerned about her riskier leisure activities.

In the background on Shirley Dalton's end of the line, her father's muffled voice protested. “Oh, hush, Buddy,” her mother ordered. “You, too, were worried about her.”

“Mom, I'm fine. I just forgot to call you. I'm sorry.”

“Nothing broken? No cuts or bruises?”

Emma-Lee laughed. “I'm fine. Not even a scratch.” She
wouldn't mention the near miss with the river boulders. “I'm one hundred percent intact.”

Glancing at Holt, she stilled. His gaze lazily drifted down the length of her and back up again. A shiver raced through her when he gave her a wicked smile along with a thumbs-up. She glared at him before turning away so she could concentrate.

“Look, Mom. I'm checking out. I'll call you and Dad tonight and give you all the details.”

“All right, dear. Drive safe. Stop a few times to stretch your legs. You're too much like your father. Once you get in a car, all you want to do is drive until you reach your destination. It's not good for you.”

Emma-Lee rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom. Bye.” She hung up and turned back to Holt.

As she pocketed the phone, she gave him an apologetic smile. “My folks were worried. You know how parents like to fuss.”

He gave her a strange, questioning look. “If you say so.”

Over his shoulder she saw a banner hanging over the entrance: The Amanda Forrester Jump for Cancer. Horror rushed through her as she realized the connection.

All she had seen when Holt's donation query came in to Double S was that his event was for cancer. Not the actual name. With visions of bridge jumping when she had checked in and images of the intriguing man himself dancing in her head afterward, she had been oblivious to any sign.

“Ohmigod.” She lifted her hands and covered her face. “Amanda Forrester, the woman this event is for. Is she your mother?”

“Was.” A cool, shuttered expression appeared in his eyes. “She's dead.”

“Oh, Holt. I'm so sorry.” She reached and rested her hand on his forearm. Beneath her fingers the tendons were as taut as steel. She could feel the tension humming through him.

He slid his hands into his jean pockets, so she was forced to let go. “That's okay. She died from cancer a long time ago.”

“How old were you when you lost her?”

“Twelve.”

She couldn't imagine losing a parent at that age—or any age for that matter. Her parents were her rock and foundation.

“How awful for you and your father!” Emma-Lee hesitated. “Your father is…”

“Still alive, yes.” He nodded. “We muddled through mother's death, but I had always wanted to do something in her memory.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “And you pulled it off. This was a truly memorable weekend, Holt, for all of us who got to participate. An honor, in fact. Thank you.”

Surprise flickered across his face. “I should thank you for all the help you gave me.” He glanced at her suitcase. “Are you checking out?”

She nodded. “Yes. I need to get going. I want to visit with a friend in Charlotte before I head home.”

“Really, Charlotte?” Holt narrowed his eyes. “Can I be this lucky? Ted left with the car to take care of an urgent matter this morning, and I need to get to Charlotte to meet with a programmer. I was waiting down here while they located another rental car for me. I wonder if I could…”

Her sympathy propelled by manners caused her to respond without thinking. “Of course, I'm happy to give you a lift.”

“Perfect.” He reached out and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. “Let's get you checked out.” He turned toward the reception desk but not before she caught a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

Any lingering trace of compassion vanished. What had she gotten herself into? Several hours of driving with a man she still didn't know well?

Oh, boy. Another thing not to mention to her parents tonight. However…

Emma-Lee pulled out her phone, snapped a picture of Holt as he approached a clerk and e-mailed it to Sandy along with a note of what time she would be arriving as a precaution.

When Holt glanced back, she dropped the phone into her purse and hurried forward. She noted the clerk's name tag as she slid her key card across the counter. “Good morning, Trevor. I'm all set.” Within short order she completed the check-out process.

Holt gestured toward the door. “I need to pick up my bag from the bell captain and we can be on our way.”

She nodded and threaded her way through the growing crowd checking out. After only a few moments' delay Holt had his duffel bag and they went outside. She inhaled a deep breath of the crisp spring air. Only a few wisps of clouds drifted across the blue sky. What a glorious day for driving. She led the way to the parking lot.

“You didn't valet?” Holt asked as he walked beside her.

“Not when I can avoid it. A good car deserves respect that many kids don't have.” She halted by the vintage, fire-engine-red Mustang and ran a loving hand over the fender. “This is Baby. The first car I bought with my own money.”

Holt cocked an eyebrow. “You named your car?”

“Of course.” She popped the trunk and he placed their bags inside. After she closed the lid, she turned. Holt stood with his hand out.

“What?”

“Can I drive?”

In mock horror she clutched them close to her chest. “Oh, no. I don't know you well enough to allow that familiarity.”

He grinned and leaned against the car. He didn't budge when she glared at him. “So who's allowed to drive Baby?”

She strode past him and opened the driver's door. “My
parents, my sisters and my best friend.” She wanted to feel the wind in her hair, so she rolled the window down. When it was time to retire Baby…not that that would be for a long time, she patted the dashboard in reassurance…her next car would be a convertible.

Holt caught the door handle and shut it for her. He rounded the front and got in the passenger side. After buckling his belt, he studied her. “What about boyfriends? Any of them ever drive her?”

“Nope.”

“Good.” Holt adjusted the seat, settled back and actually closed his eyes.

Men. She placed her phone beside her, started the engine, smiled with pleasure at the smooth purr of the engine, and eased out of the space. She carefully drove along the narrow graveled road from the hotel and only relaxed when she pulled onto the paved highway.

Quickly the miles peeled away as they rode in silence. Occasionally, she stole a look at Holt. Although he appeared to be dozing, she was acutely aware of his presence in the cramped space. Despite the open windows, the warm musk of his scent toyed with her nose.

“So who's this friend you're going to see in Charlotte?” When she glanced over, his head was turned and he was watching her intently.

She cleared her throat. “My best friend, Sandy. She's the one I jumped for yesterday.”

“She has cancer?”

“Yes. The first time she was diagnosed was when we were in college. She kept up with her classes despite the chemotherapy. We thought she had beaten it, but she recently had a relapse.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

Sorry didn't begin to cover Emma-Lee's reaction when
Sandy had told her the heartbreaking news. She balled her right hand in her lap. “She'll beat it again, she's strong.”

Holt reached out and squeezed her hand. “They've come a long way with the research, Emma-Lee.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “I know.”

The phone beside her erupted in a song heavy with bass and drum. She smiled. “Speak of the devil.” She reached for it, but Holt grabbed the phone first.

“Hey!”

“You're driving,” he chided, opening the phone. Her face turned warm as he stared at his photo on the screen. Slowly his mouth curved with satisfaction.

“Don't let your ego get the wrong idea,” she snapped.

“I sent Sandy your photo in case something happened to me.”

 

E
MMA
-L
EE'S BALD
statement landed a solid punch to Holt's solar plexus. He sucked in a deep breath as he battled the strange sting of hurt and struggled to assimilate the thought that she could be afraid of him. Her phone fell silent.

When he thought he could speak calmly, he said in a quiet voice, “Emma-Lee, I thought we had hit it off and were getting to know each other. Why did you let me ride with you if you're worried about me?”

A deep pink flush crept over her face and when she glanced at him, remorse welled in the deep blue pools of her eyes. “Oh, Holt. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way.”

The phone erupted again in the same throbbing song. “Why don't you pull over. I have a feeling your friend is going to keep calling until you answer.”

She nodded, signaled and carefully drove onto the side of the highway. Holt answered the phone, “Sandy? This is Holt Forrester.”

“Where's Emma-Lee? Is she all right?” Concern was sharp
in the woman's voice. “If anything's happened to her, so help me, I will track you down and—”

“Hold on. Do you have videoconferencing?”

“Yes.”

“Then turn it on.” He pressed a button and turned the screen toward Emma-Lee, who gave a weak smile.

“Hi, Sandy, I'm fine. Truly. I was driving and needed to pull over.”

“I want to see Holt.”

“Demanding, isn't she?” he murmured before turning the phone back to him. Although the resolution wasn't state-of-the-art, Sandy's visage showed a pretty woman with fine-boned features, although a tad too thin. She wore a bright scarf tied around her head.

Holt's stomach twisted. His mother had born the same too-gaunt look during her chemotherapy sessions. Back then, though, the fashion had been wigs rather than the more defiant scarves women wore today. Amanda Forrester had made a game of it, wearing different-colored wigs to emulate women actors.

He shook off the memory and smiled. “Sandy, nice to meet you.”

The woman stared at him so intensely he wondered if she was trying to see to his soul. Good luck with that.

Then, as if she had come to a decision, she gave a brisk nod. “You're the Mr. Amazing who came to Emma-Lee's rescue yesterday?”

The tension he'd been experiencing since Emma-Lee's comment about the photo began to ease. He'd never been anybody's “amazing.”

“I helped. I'm not sure Emma-Lee ever needs rescuing.”

Sandy snorted. “You got that right. She's too busy helping others to ask for it herself. However, thank you. I don't
think even she could have come out unscathed from a close encounter with boulders.”

“You're welcome.”

“Give me that.” Emma-Lee snatched the phone, opened the door and got out. He watched her pace back and forth as she spoke with her friend. Apparently, the only time she was at rest was when she was driving.

Several minutes later his door opened. Biting her lip, Emma-Lee tapped the phone against the palm of her hand. “Would you mind driving for a while? I'm suddenly tired.”

She was allowing him to drive her precious car. Her peace offering of trust shook him to his core. He unbuckled his belt and got out of the car. When he stood, he was within a kiss's breath of her. The spring breeze swept honey tendrils of hair across her face that she pushed back impatiently.

He curved his hands around her shoulders and watched with delight as nerves darted into her eyes, darkening them. Her lips parted, and he desired nothing more than to taste them. However, he didn't want to ruin her gesture of faith, so instead he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you. I promise that I will take good care of Baby.”

She swallowed and stepped away from him. “You'd better.”

He held the door and she slid inside. A minute later he turned the engine, appreciating its well-tuned power. The rest of the trip to Charlotte was spent with surprisingly easy small talk. At the exit for the airport, Holt turned.

Emma-Lee sat up. “Aren't we going to Sandy's house?”

Seeing cancer-ravaged Sandy's image had stirred enough ghosts that haunted him. He didn't think he could handle meeting her in person.

He said easily, “The programmer I told you about is flying in, so I'll meet with him here. That way I can catch the first
flight to Atlanta once we're done. I'll pull up to the curb and you can be on your way to Sandy's.”

“I see.” She linked her fingers in her lap and stared out the window.

He pulled up in front of the terminal, got out and retrieved his bag from the trunk. As Emma-Lee passed him to go to the driver's side, he caught her elbow.

“Emma-Lee. I look forward to seeing you at Richmond.”

She nodded, took a step away, and then swung back. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Before he could react, she darted to the driver's side and got inside, shutting the door. Then the car roared off, leaving him standing bemused.