Written on Her Heart (14 page)

One stride put him in her personal space. He considered this her chance to flee. She didn’t. Her eyes didn’t lift to his. Mere inches separated them. He looked down at the top of her hair. “Emma?” His voice came low and gravelly.

He felt her warm breath through the cotton of his shirt. An antagonizing minute later, she lifted her eyes to his. This was her chance to protest, or make a polite change of subject. She didn’t. Her eyes darkened to a sultry shade he couldn’t ignore, and her small pink tongue slid over her tiny lips. The muscles in his chest tightened. If she didn’t want him, she’d missed her chance at escape.

Nicholas touched her cheek lightly, testing her. Her rigid frame seemed to stop breathing all together. He ran a thumb across her bottom lip in warning. Last chance. A trickle of warmth touched the skin of his fingers. Good. She was still breathing. Sliding his free hand behind her, he caught the small of her back and tugged her closer. She arched in response. Her ribs pressed into his stomach, and he felt her rapid heartbeat.

When her head fell back to look him full in the face, he replaced the thumb that lingered on her lips with a kiss. Careful at first, still giving her every opportunity to scream and run, he gently dusted his mouth against hers. Her lips parted and it undid him. Nicholas pressed his lips to hers more firmly, enjoying the soft sound he inspired from her. Her hands explored the curve of his shoulder and the shape of his back until her fingers landed in his hair.

Emma tilted her head further, allowing him to deepen the kiss, and Nicholas hungrily accepted. Her fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck, and he moaned. Before he had time to be self-conscious, she removed her hands from his hair and curled her fingertips in the fabric of his shirt instead. She caught his bottom lip in hers and a dozen images passed through him. He never wanted to let this woman go. He ran his hands up her sides beneath the flimsy button-down shirt. The soft satin of her tank slid against her skin under his palms. His fingers smoothed up and over her collarbone, catching at the base of her neck, clutching the wild red locks in his fingers, and she froze again.

Nicholas inched his face from hers to assess the problem. He hadn’t crossed a line. She’d shivered when his hands trailed up her sides, but now they were safely against her neck. He looked back and forth between her eyes, seeking, begging answers. Did she regret the kiss while they were still kissing? Something shocked her out of the moment. “What?” His mind raced. Did he hurt her? He freed his fingers from her hair.

She stood there, motionless, arms at her sides, and a tear slid over one cheek. What the hell? “Emma? What happened? Did I hurt you?”

Her eyes pressed shut, and she waved her head. No. Not that. Then what? He examined her quivering lips and fought the urge to toss her over one shoulder and run somewhere safe. Except that was nonsense. They were safe. He went too fast. He knew that. A tremor slid over her small frame. Nicholas watched her shoulders twitch and then he saw. He understood. Perfectly.

“Emma,” he breathed.

She continued to shake her head.

He raised a hand to her throat and touched lightly at the hollow of her collarbone. She pressed her lips together and waited. What happened to her? A scar ran from below his finger and disappeared under the smooth blue satin tank. Unable to separate what he saw from all he had seen, images of the desert jumped into the forefront of his mind. Sand burst around him. Bombs exploded, his ears popped from the depth of the base in the echo. The world shook, and fear caught in his throat. He hadn’t had a flashback in over a year. Not even at the sight of his own wounds.

“Go.”

Emma’s timid voice brought him back to the present.

“Go.”

“No.” He knew. He understood. Emotion thickened his throat and burned his eyes. Somehow she’d been hurt, and for all the ignorant ridiculous reasons in the world, he hated himself for not being there to protect her from whatever happened, or comfort her as she healed.

“Yes.” Louder now, she shoved against his chest. “Go. Now.” Emma ran the sleeve of her shirt over her eyes. “Get out! Go!”

“No.” He planted his feet. “Why are you doing this?” He knew why. He didn’t know why him. He could be trusted. He
knew
.

Still she shoved. Uselessly. He let her push and shove him until she exhausted herself.

“I understand,” he whispered to the top of her head when she refused to look at him. Something in the words ignited her. The little redhead went from hurt to hell’s fire in less time than it took Nicholas to catch up.

“What?” she growled. “You understand?” The words dripped with sarcasm and detest. “What do you understand? Huh? Tell me?” She stamped her foot, demanding. “You understand what it’s like to face death when you should be at a
kegger
? You understand what it’s like to miss out on your life because you’re too afraid to face it? You understand what it’s like to watch your friends move on with their lives while you waste yours away, trying to find a replacement for the dreams you used to have? The ones that are now impossible?” Her eyes bulged with indignation.

Nicholas burned at her resentment. Yes, actually. Yes to all her questions. He did know. How did she do this to him? He didn’t know if he should hold her, kiss her or walk out. His fingers rolled into fists at his side. Tension filled every pore of his skin. Damn it!

The hate in her eyes scorched him to the core. “Yes.” In the next beat, he reached to the hem of his shirt and yanked it up over his head, then dropped it on the floor beside him. He waited while she took in his chest. His side. His scars.

Then he walked away.

“I understand plenty.”

Chapter Twelve

Nicholas dragged down the front steps hating himself. Hurt and angry, all he wanted to do was sweep back into the house and scoop Emma off her feet. He wanted to feel her curl up against his chest until she worked out whatever had upset her. Ease her pain and rejuvenate her beautiful smile. Impossible. Even if he put his pride aside and marched back in there, it wouldn’t matter. She’d made it clear. She wanted rid of him.

He rolled his swollen lips in over his teeth, tasting the strawberry wine where it lingered from her lips. She might be mad now, but she kissed him back. No doubt about that. He glanced over his shoulder to the door behind him. Visions of her scarred skin ran through his mind. The way the curve of her porcelain neck dropped into a plunge of angry pink and white skin infuriated him. Puckered and pulled, it looked so out of place there, like he could rub it away with his thumb if he tried. Who would hurt her? How had it happened?

His heart ached for her, and his fingers tingled at the thought another person could’ve been responsible for her pain. Something serious enough to cause scars like that should’ve lit up the town grapevine for months. He never heard a word about it. If he was on active duty at the time, he might’ve missed it, but no one here mentioned it when he asked about her. Jackson was new to town, but his mom and Mack weren’t. They would know, wouldn’t they?

Mitchell. He would know. Nicholas made a mental note to bribe the reverend for information next time they went fishing. It wouldn’t work, but he was desperate. If he found out someone had hurt her… He pulled in a deep breath. They might get a few new scars of their own the way he felt.

Despite the darkness of the new moon, he sensed someone nearby. Before his feet hit the final step, he recognized Heather’s silhouette seated on the hood of her Jeep.

“My.” She appraised him head to toe, eyes lingering over his chest and stomach in the dim light. “Looks like that went well.”

Half a smile lifted one cheek despite his sour disposition. Appearances were deceiving.
That
was a total train wreck, aside from the kiss. The kiss felt more like an out of control steamer. A ride he’d gladly take again. Without intent this time, his lips pressed together.

“She kicked me out.” He stopped a few feet from her, hands in pockets, wondering what she’d make of it. If anyone knew Emma, Heather did.

“Before or after you took off your shirt?”

“Before.”

Heather thought that over a minute and shook her head. Blond locks danced over her narrow shoulders. Her sun freckled nose wrinkled up and she laughed. She looked like the girls who stretched out on car magazine covers dressed in Chevy logos or the American flag. Her tanned skin didn’t contrast her eyes the way Emma’s did. Heather’s long limbs gave her a statuesque appearance, not remotely similar to the petite, sexy shape Emma owned. The song and dance from her staircase came back to mind, and his heart broke. She was so happy when he found her. He hated to leave her crying.

“She’s upset. She won’t tell me why, and she told me to get out. You should go to her. I don’t know what I did, but please tell her I’m sorry and I’ll be back. I need to apologize properly as soon as she’ll let me. Emma should never feel like that.” He motioned to the house.

Heather crossed and uncrossed her legs. She sighed, torn it seemed in a dilemma he didn’t understand. The crickets chirped in the night. “Don’t worry too much about Emma. She’s tougher than she looks. If she’s crying again, she won’t want me to see her either. It’s not in her nature to let someone comfort her, and I already had the privilege once today.” Another sigh.

“What the heck happened earlier?” Panic thread through his chest.

“It’s fine. I’ll go home and give her a call.”

“You’re not going back in?” He looked at the house, uncertain he could leave if she did. He turned back on instinct, only to stand frozen. He couldn’t leave her that way. Maybe he’d go back and check on her if Heather wouldn’t. The idea of Emma alone and heartbroken killed him. But she didn’t want him. She left no room for debate there. He groaned. His shoulders rolled forward.

“Nope. She’s not like that. Emma’s tough and stubborn. Tomorrow she won’t want to talk about it either.” Heather slid off her Jeep and looked up at him. “You’re the first person she’s let in since…I met her. She doesn’t date and she keeps to herself. Aside from me and her mom, she’s pretty self-contained.”

“What about her date with the new school teacher?” Remembering his gel sculpted head sitting across the table from her irritated him. He snuck another look at the house. His body twisted between Heather and the place he wanted to be. No sign of Emma listening in or watching from the windows.

“James isn’t her type. I think she was being more polite than anything.” Her eyes roamed over the house and then Nicholas. “She’s acting crazy lately. Not in a bad way. She’s coming out of her shell, I think. I’m not sure how to describe it.” She squeezed her lips between her fingers, thinking.

“What changed?” He hoped she’d say something monumental, something only a girlfriend would know. What did she think of him? How did she know James wasn’t her type? What was her type? Weren’t women supposed to talk all the time? The women in his life didn’t seem to say enough.

“She’s reading this j…” she stuttered and restarted, “book, a memoir.” She raked her fingers through her hair and pulled on her lips some more. “It’s about this guy.” Her eyes darted between the house and Nicholas. “And she got really into him, and he got her started thinking about dating again. I think. She didn’t read anything else for days, and she’d be all loopy and wonky after she put it down. I could tell when we talked if she’d been reading about him.”

“What’s the title of the book?” He needed to get his hands on it. Who captured Emma’s attention enough to make her wonky? He smiled and immediately regretted it. Fictional character or not, he wanted to be the one making her wonky. A ridiculous twinge of jealousy tightened his chest. “Who says
wonky
?” He snorted.

“Me. I also like
hinky
.”

“I like
hinky
.” He paused. “That’s
hinky
.” He tried it out and kicked loose gravel in the driveway.
Hinky
. Heather might not look approachable, but she was nice. He approved of her as a friend to Emma. As if she cared what he thought.

“I guess her soldier got her where it counted.” She rubbed a circle on her chest and smiled.

“Soldier?”