“No.” I cut him off before he can say anything. Before his sexy drawl makes me forget myself all over again. “Don’t come here, I won’t see you. You can’t.”
“I’m on my way.”
“No!” I cry, loud enough for people nearby to look over. He can’t come here, it would ruin everything! “Please, Emerson,” I beg, “promise me you won’t. If you care about me at all, you won’t come here.”
“Jules…”
“Promise me!” I demand fiercely.
“Only if you promise me you’ll come back.” Emerson challenges.
I hesitate.
“Just to talk. You can’t just disappear on me again,” he says, voice rough with emotion and old memories. “Not after what happened. You owe me that much, at least.”
I gulp. He’s right. And if the last twenty four hours have taught me anything, it’s that running away doesn’t solve any of my problems, it just leaves them, boiling away, ready to erupt at the slightest chance.
“Fine,” I whisper, with a wash of defeat. “I’ll come back. To talk. But not right now. I have stuff to do here, and, I need time to think.”
“How much time?” Emerson demands.
“A few days, a week.” I offer helplessly. I could use a whole year to pull myself together, but hell, I tried four years, and that didn’t work either.
“One week. Then I’m coming for you,” Emerson promises, and I can hear the deadly intent in his tone. He’s not f**king around. He would march right up the steps of campus and into a lecture, and carry me out over his shoulder if he wanted.
It’s pathetic, but that thought makes something twist low in my belly, a hot flicker of desire just imagining it.
I’m so f**king screwed.
“A week.” I finally echo. “But you can’t come here. I have a life, OK? You can’t come barging in just when you feel like it.”
“Why not?” Emerson’s voice is clipped. “You did.”
There’s a long pause. All I can hear is the shallow sound of his breath on the other end of the line, but suddenly, it’s like I can feel it, hot against the hollow of my neck.
“Jules…” He says it low, a rough growl, and I shiver, just at the sound. It’s like everyone around me falls away, and there’s nothing but the sound of his voice
I close my eyes and lean back against the wall, imagining he’s there, right beside me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, helpless. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I thought… I figured I could just pack up the house and be gone, and you wouldn’t even know I was there.”
“I would know.”
The rasp of his words shudders through me. Possessive. Erotic. They wrap around my body like his hands tracing over my tender skin…
A door slams down the hall, and my eyes fly open. I’m shocked to see the stream of students walking past. Suddenly, the rest of the world floods back in: bright sunshine through the windows, and a loud chatter of conversations passing me by.
What the hell am I doing?”
“A week.” I say again, my voice stronger. “Don’t call me again.”
I hang up before he can argue. I’m not dumb enough to think that a week will make a difference to this strange hold he has over me, but if stalling tactics are all I’ve got, I’m sure as hell going to use them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
My sister, Carina, lives on the outskirts of the city in a posh suburb that couldn’t be further away from the scruffy neighborhood we grew up in. It’s full of mock-Tudor, and mock-Colonial homes, whole blocks of houses pretending to be something they’re not. Hers is one of the biggest on the street, of course: flanked with columns, and an elaborate rose garden out front that I know she’s never so much as glanced at since she moved in. Technically, the house belongs to her new fiancé, Alexander: he bought it last year after he proposed, but he keeps an apartment in the city, and I’d bet good money he’s spent maybe every other weekend here at the most.
“You OK, babe?” Daniel asks, as we pull into the driveway.
“Fine.” I reply quickly.
He mistakes my reluctance. “Look, I know you and your sister have never been close, but she’s the one who invited you. Give her a chance. Maybe she’s ready to reach out and build bridges.”
I look at his expression, so full of hope and optimism. It never even occurs to him that some bridges are burned for a reason. Better to let them lie in ashes than revisit the past.
“You’re right,” I lie. “Maybe.”
Carina greets us at the door in a spotless pastel blue fitted dress and gold jewelry that probably costs more than my entire academic scholarship. Her dyed blonde hair is perfectly blown out, and she’s wearing strappy designer sandals. “Hi!” She coos at me, landing air-kisses on my cheeks before turning to Daniel. “Don’t you look handsome?”
“Thanks so much for having us over,” Daniel presents her with the wine and flowers we picked up on our way.
“Aren’t you sweet?” Carina replies, turning the bottle to check the label. It must meet with her approval, because her smile widens. “Come on in! Alexander’s just on a call in the study, but he’ll be down soon.”
We step inside. Although I saw Carina at Christmas, that was in a restaurant in the city. I’ve never actually been inside her house before. I follow them through to the huge, open-plan kitchen/dining area, looking around to take in the magazine-perfect décor. The place has been done in a modern, minimalist style—all low white couches and weird chrome end-tables. It looks sterile and spotless, like nobody actually lives here, but I’m not surprised. Carina has always cared more about what’s on the surface than anything going on underneath.
“I’m on my way.”
“No!” I cry, loud enough for people nearby to look over. He can’t come here, it would ruin everything! “Please, Emerson,” I beg, “promise me you won’t. If you care about me at all, you won’t come here.”
“Jules…”
“Promise me!” I demand fiercely.
“Only if you promise me you’ll come back.” Emerson challenges.
I hesitate.
“Just to talk. You can’t just disappear on me again,” he says, voice rough with emotion and old memories. “Not after what happened. You owe me that much, at least.”
I gulp. He’s right. And if the last twenty four hours have taught me anything, it’s that running away doesn’t solve any of my problems, it just leaves them, boiling away, ready to erupt at the slightest chance.
“Fine,” I whisper, with a wash of defeat. “I’ll come back. To talk. But not right now. I have stuff to do here, and, I need time to think.”
“How much time?” Emerson demands.
“A few days, a week.” I offer helplessly. I could use a whole year to pull myself together, but hell, I tried four years, and that didn’t work either.
“One week. Then I’m coming for you,” Emerson promises, and I can hear the deadly intent in his tone. He’s not f**king around. He would march right up the steps of campus and into a lecture, and carry me out over his shoulder if he wanted.
It’s pathetic, but that thought makes something twist low in my belly, a hot flicker of desire just imagining it.
I’m so f**king screwed.
“A week.” I finally echo. “But you can’t come here. I have a life, OK? You can’t come barging in just when you feel like it.”
“Why not?” Emerson’s voice is clipped. “You did.”
There’s a long pause. All I can hear is the shallow sound of his breath on the other end of the line, but suddenly, it’s like I can feel it, hot against the hollow of my neck.
“Jules…” He says it low, a rough growl, and I shiver, just at the sound. It’s like everyone around me falls away, and there’s nothing but the sound of his voice
I close my eyes and lean back against the wall, imagining he’s there, right beside me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, helpless. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I thought… I figured I could just pack up the house and be gone, and you wouldn’t even know I was there.”
“I would know.”
The rasp of his words shudders through me. Possessive. Erotic. They wrap around my body like his hands tracing over my tender skin…
A door slams down the hall, and my eyes fly open. I’m shocked to see the stream of students walking past. Suddenly, the rest of the world floods back in: bright sunshine through the windows, and a loud chatter of conversations passing me by.
What the hell am I doing?”
“A week.” I say again, my voice stronger. “Don’t call me again.”
I hang up before he can argue. I’m not dumb enough to think that a week will make a difference to this strange hold he has over me, but if stalling tactics are all I’ve got, I’m sure as hell going to use them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
My sister, Carina, lives on the outskirts of the city in a posh suburb that couldn’t be further away from the scruffy neighborhood we grew up in. It’s full of mock-Tudor, and mock-Colonial homes, whole blocks of houses pretending to be something they’re not. Hers is one of the biggest on the street, of course: flanked with columns, and an elaborate rose garden out front that I know she’s never so much as glanced at since she moved in. Technically, the house belongs to her new fiancé, Alexander: he bought it last year after he proposed, but he keeps an apartment in the city, and I’d bet good money he’s spent maybe every other weekend here at the most.
“You OK, babe?” Daniel asks, as we pull into the driveway.
“Fine.” I reply quickly.
He mistakes my reluctance. “Look, I know you and your sister have never been close, but she’s the one who invited you. Give her a chance. Maybe she’s ready to reach out and build bridges.”
I look at his expression, so full of hope and optimism. It never even occurs to him that some bridges are burned for a reason. Better to let them lie in ashes than revisit the past.
“You’re right,” I lie. “Maybe.”
Carina greets us at the door in a spotless pastel blue fitted dress and gold jewelry that probably costs more than my entire academic scholarship. Her dyed blonde hair is perfectly blown out, and she’s wearing strappy designer sandals. “Hi!” She coos at me, landing air-kisses on my cheeks before turning to Daniel. “Don’t you look handsome?”
“Thanks so much for having us over,” Daniel presents her with the wine and flowers we picked up on our way.
“Aren’t you sweet?” Carina replies, turning the bottle to check the label. It must meet with her approval, because her smile widens. “Come on in! Alexander’s just on a call in the study, but he’ll be down soon.”
We step inside. Although I saw Carina at Christmas, that was in a restaurant in the city. I’ve never actually been inside her house before. I follow them through to the huge, open-plan kitchen/dining area, looking around to take in the magazine-perfect décor. The place has been done in a modern, minimalist style—all low white couches and weird chrome end-tables. It looks sterile and spotless, like nobody actually lives here, but I’m not surprised. Carina has always cared more about what’s on the surface than anything going on underneath.
