“You’re handling it pretty well,” I offer. “You have a house with the best view in town.”
Emily laughs. She sounds tired. “What’s the use in having a great view if you can’t open the curtains?”
With every second that goes by, Emily relaxes a little more into the hug. She puts her arms around my waist and holds me back. It shouldn’t feel this good to hold her. Even exercising patience for her feels good. I wish to hell she wasn’t so shaken up. I wish to hell that prick hadn’t come into her backyard. But when Emily rests her head on my chest and sighs, I stop wishing for anything but this moment.
“Better?” I ask.
“Better than what?”
“Better than before.”
Emily thinks about it. “You stopped rubbing my back.”
“You didn’t say that you liked it,” I point out, but it’s true, I did stop. I had been running my hands up and down her back. Not sure when I stopped, or why, but I start again. “You have spectacular shoulders, too.” I trace a fingertip over the line of her shoulder. Trace the side of her neck.
Emily huffs. Another laugh. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Why? Do you bite?”
She tips her face up toward mine.
I should not kiss Emily Rochester. I don’t care about Emily Rochester, except in that she and Paige are important to Beau. But, hell, I want to kiss her. Something about being this close feels right. Suspiciously, strangely right. Is it just that I’m keeping her safe? Is that all it is? Is all this trouble making me get attached?
It doesn’t matter.
I take her face in my hands and kiss her.
Emily lets me in. It wasn’t very long ago that we were circling each other like two rival wolves. I didn’t want her to fuck up Beau’s life again, and she didn’t want me to interfere with getting Paige back. Her soft lips on mine are an outcome I couldn’t have guessed if I spent my life trying. Emily puts her arms around my neck, her body pressing against mine, and tastes me like I’m trying to taste her.
“Why are you so good at this?” Emily whispers against my lips.
“Practice,” I whisper back.
I feel her frown. “Do you kiss everyone like this when you’re acting?”
“Hell, no. They get my stage kiss.”
“Show me your stage kiss, then.” I don’t know whether she’s being bold like this to distract from how she can’t seem to let go of me, or whether she truly possesses a playful side.
I keep my hands where they are and kiss her the way I’d do it in a local theater production. Glancing. Unsexy. It’s meant to be seen from the back row, not to be enjoyed.
“And when I’m in the movies, I count to five.”
“What?” Emily’s bewildered, but it’s better than watching her pace the room, scared out of her mind.
“I count to five. They don’t usually use more than a few seconds of any given kiss, so I count to five. Some actresses are decent kissers, but if it goes on for too long, it starts to become unbearably strange.”
“Stranger than pretending to be another person for a job?”
“Yes. Much.”
Emily looks into my eyes. The lamplight in her living room illuminates the wariness in her eyes. This isn’t how her life is, in general. She doesn’t let me stand in her living room and hug her. She doesn’t let me protect her. She doesn’t let anyone do anything, since Rhys.
A minute or two of silence passes.
“Show me the real version again,” she demands. I’ve accepted the sensation of holding her. Accepted how it feels when she breathes. I know those patterns. It’s the rhythm of a person who has recently been afraid, and who’s not anymore.
Don’t catch feelings for Emily Rochester, a voice in my head warns. She should be equally wary. It’s not good to get attached to a movie star.
We’re not bad people, but we can’t stay in one place too long. Production happens all over the world. The schedule is hell, if you’re good enough. You have to be willing to risk your family to succeed.
That’s not an exaggeration. I’ve seen more than one marriage crumble under the stress of a demanding shooting schedule. I don’t want that for Emily.
What I do want is to make her wish come true. I pull her in again and kiss her like she’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Beau Rochester
Sunlight breaks across a large clock tower.
It dominates the campus, overlooking miles of buildings, libraries, and dorms.
Students mill around, carrying backpacks and joking with friends. The sound of laughter fills the large, stately courtyard. It’s a busy day here. The campus tours have drawn a large crowd.
They’re not only recruiting prospective students to the college. There are also booths set up for sororities and fraternities, for clubs, and even for specific majors. All of them vying for the attention of excited young minds. It’s a stark reminder of just how much older I am than Jane.
She belongs here.
I don’t. If anything, I could be a guest lecturer in the Business Department.
Guilt gnaws at my stomach. Guilt that I’m taking advantage of a woman too young for me, that I’m drawing her into my life instead of letting her be a carefree college student. I know she wants to be with me. She wants to stay near Paige, but what if she didn’t? What if I’d never hired her to be my nanny? If I’d never told her to rub herself off against my shoe? If I’d never defiled her? She’d be like these laughing girls, gathered on stairs and around picnic tables, walking in groups.
Friends. They have friends here. And even if they don’t, they’re standing at the booths, making friends. Jane isn’t doing that. She didn’t even want to come. She didn’t even tell me about the campus tours. I found out when I saw a flyer in the mail.
“Why wouldn’t you go?” I asked her.
“Because it doesn’t matter,” she’d answered. “Whether the campus is nice or not. I’m sure it is nice, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going for the degree. For what I’ll learn and for what I’ll be able to do with that information. It doesn’t matter what the food hall looks like, because I’m never going to go.” But that’s only because of me. She would have gone to in-person classes. She probably would have stayed in a dorm with a bunch of other teenage kids just like her. I’m the one keeping her from that life. I’m the one holding her back.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out. It’s Mateo. He sent me a video. I hit play and it opens up to a news channel.
“Good evening. Channel Nine’s Nightly News is pleased to present an exclusive interview with former detective, Joe Causey, who stands accused of murder. We are going to bring an exclusive interview from the Maine County Jail tonight at nine p.m.” The clip ends with footage of him walking into one of his trial sessions, wearing a suit and looking… well, official. I know what a snake he is, but then I’ve always known what a snake he is, even back when I dated his sister. The truth is, he cleans up nice. There’s a reason why he got away with being a dirty cop for so long.
Anger runs through my veins. I’m sure they’re paying him a pretty penny for this interview, which is much needed, since he’s got a fancy defense lawyer and his funds are frozen.