What The Heart Knows (19 page)

Sixteen

No.
That was all she could think of. Just... no. She couldn't handle him
right then. She had too much else to stress about. But there he was.
Standing there barefoot, shirtless, his abdominal muscles as firm as
she remembered them. Hell, she could still remember every nook and
cranny of them, what they felt like under her hungry hands... under
her lips.

He
was hands down, next to the O'reilly brothers, the most gorgeous
thing to look at in Stars Landing. He was tall. Six and a half feet
of delicious manliness. There were the coiled, perfect muscles thanks
to his rigorous exercise routine he had taken up when he was fifteen
and fat and picked on mercilessly. He had a sleeve on his right arm.
Wrist to collarbone, gorgeous red and black tattoos he spent years
acquiring. His hair was dark, hinting at black without crossing that
line. He kept it somewhat long and shaggy, a mess of waves that never
quite got long enough to brush his shoulders.

But
it was the face that did you in. All hard lines and angles. He had a
firm, low brow which made him seem intimidating even when he smiled,
a strong jaw with a hint of a cleft in his chin. His cheeks had
hollows you could sink your fingers into when his face was still.
Hollows that disarmingly disappeared when he occasionally smiled. His
eyes were bright. A color she could never explain correctly because,
apparently, gold was not a natural color for human eyes to be. But
that was what they were. They were a painfully bright light shade of
brown that could only be described as golden, framed with thick black
lashes.

Her
shoulders pressed back into the door like she needed help standing.

He
stood there still as she inspected him. Like he had expected it. Like
it was the most normal thing in the world. But as the silence drew
on, his brows drew together, a curious smile toying with his lips.

It
was the smile that snapped her out of it. She remembered that fucking
smile. That same smile she had seen on his face the last time she had
seen him. Six months before. When he told her he was heading out of
Stars Landing for a while.

“What
the hell are you doing here?” she asked, forcing her eyes back
to his.

The
smile spread out then, making the edges of his eyes crinkle, making
hi face seem less dangerous. “Awe, Emmy, is that any way to
greet your man?”

“You're
not my man,” she countered, already feeling the anger build.
There was no one in the world who could get her riled as quickly.
“You haven't been my man since you came in and told me, not
asked, not discussed with me, told me that you were heading out of
town for a while.”

She
paused, the memory of that goodbye coming back fresh. It reminded her
a lot of this homecoming and she wondered if he had planned it that
way. She had gotten back to her room after a late night, finding two
bags packed by the foot of her bed. Dane had been standing there
wearing some ridiculous rope sandals in a pair of black bathing suit
shorts. He had been holding a t-shirt in his hand. Like he fully
intended to be wearing it, but wanted to grace her with one last look
at his glorious body.

There
had been shock in that moment. Followed slowly by a sadness she
hadn't wanted to acknowledge. “What's up, Dane?”

He
had titled his head to the side, offering her a small smile. “I
am heading to the west coast for a while. I need a change in
scenery.” Words she took as meaning he needed a break from
whatever the hell situation they had going on for the better part of
a year. On again, off again. No titles. No love words. Just
seat-filling at events, sex when they were alone, shared meals.
Everything a couple does. Without the talk about commitment.

A
year of feeling like she didn't know where she stood. So she always
had one foot planted firmly out the door. Just in case.

But
then he was there... ending it.

And
there had been grief.

“What
the hell are you doing here, Dane?”

“I
got back this morning,” he said, sitting down on the edge of
her bed. Like it was natural. And it was. Because he had done it a
hundred times before.

“That's
not what I asked,” she shot back, crossing her arms over her
chest. “What are you doing here? As in in my room?”

He
looked up at her from under her lashes and she swore she felt her
knees get wobbly for the barest of seconds. “Come on, baby,”
he said, his voice deep, velvety. Which would normally turn her
insides to putty. But she felt nothing but rising agitation. “you
know you missed me.”

Emily
narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, sure,” she admitted,
feeling detached from those feelings of wretched insecurity and
longing. “I missed you. For the first week. And then the first
month. And then after that, well, it became a lot easier to not miss
you.”

“Why's
that?”

“Because
you're a fucking asshole.”

Dane's
smile spread out slowly, making his startling eyes seem warm. Like
she could just sink into them. “But I'm your fucking asshole,”
he countered.

Emily
closed her eyes, tilting her head up toward the ceiling.

He
wasn't wrong. Even before they had gotten physical, they had been
friends. Easy, uncomplicated. They got each other. They were the only
people in the town capable of overlooking the others damage, the
sharp edges that would have bloodied anyone else who wasn't wearing
coats of impenetrable armor like they did.

“Where
were you for half a year?” she asked, still looking at the
ceiling.

“California,”
Dane said, watching her.

“Doing?”

“Women,”
he said, smiling a devilish smile she missed because she still
refused to look at him.

Emily
closed her eyes, shaking her head, willing herself to get some
patience. When she looked over at him again though, it all flew away.
“You're thirty-four years old, Dane. You're too old for...
sowing your wild oats. Grow up.”

“Yeah
see,” he said, getting up from the bed and starting toward her.
“that's what I figured out.”

“After
how many women?” Emily asked, just to be snippy. Not out of
jealousy. It didn't really even matter.

He
had the good sense to look sheepish, reaching out to grab the string
for her hood and toying with it. “Twenty. Give or take.”
At her eye roll, he chuckled, a deep rumbling sound in his chest.
“Not one of them was as sexy as you, Red,” he said,
dipping his head to look her in the eye.

“Oh,
my life goal: being a sex standard you hold other women to,”
she said, trying not to be the first to break the eye contact.

“It'
wasn't just about the sex,” he said, looking frustrated. At her
curious look, he went on. “Leaving. It wasn't just because I
wanted to fuck any pretty thing with long legs, Em.”

“Then
what was it?”

His
hand dropped from her and he turned away, moving toward the window
and looking out. “This town. I had never seen anywhere else.
I... I was worried everything important was happening someplace
else.”

“Was
it?”

He
looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes twinkling, but he was not
smiling. “Not gonna lie... there was a lot of stuff out there
that I'm glad I got to experience. Surfing. Public transportation. A
huge variety of people to cross paths with everyday. It was full of
limitless possibilities.”

“But...”

“But
it was empty,” he said, shrugging. “I think when you grow
up here, seeing the same faces
everyday...
knowing they actually give a shit about your existence... it changes
how you look at the world. It felt cold out there. My neighbors never
even bothered to wave to me. And all everyone was concerned with who
you are. Not as a person. I mean like... they wanted to know if
you're someone important. Someone that mattered. Because the only
thing they give a shit about is themselves.”

“What's
the matter?” she asked, feeling malicious. “Mad that they
stole your thing?” At his blank look, she went on. “Your
selfish, self-serving thing?” she clarified.

“Jesus
Christ, Em,” he said, turning back to face her. “I'm
here. I'm back. I fucked up. I get it. But I'm here.”

Why
was she fighting it so hard? True, there was resentment. Perhaps more
of it than she had been willing to acknowledge before. Wrapped up in
the insecurity his departure had left. Because she had known he was
out there whoring it up. Which was something that before they
started... doing whatever it was they they did for that year... they
had talked openly about their sex lives. Their mutual appreciation
for variety. Their healthy attraction to the opposite sex. Neither
had been a saint. And they had taken pride in that.

It
was ego that had her feeling like he should have stayed. Ego that
whispered at her that she was worth a hundred skanky west coast
chicks. Her ego that wanted him to come crawling back to her.

And
yet... there he was. As close to crawling as his huge ego would let
him get. This was what she thought she had wanted. All that time...
for him to come back and admit he screwed up. Ask for another chance.

So
why was she throwing it back in his face?

An
image of James popped unexpected into her mind, making her curse
quietly under her breath. That was ridiculous. They'd had sex twice.
And she promised herself that it was over. It was over. No matter
what James had growled at her as they had gotten out of the car. It
was her decision and it was done. She wasn't going to put her
professional life at risk for a stupid fling with her new boss. It
wasn't worth it and she wasn't going to put herself into that
situation.

So
he absolutely could not be the reason she was being a total bitch to
Dane.

Dane's
head turned to the side, considering her. “Another guy, huh?”
At her wide eyes, he sent her a sad smile, shaking his head. “Is
he good enough?”

“There
isn't anyone else,” she said. Technically it was true. At his
patient look, she sighed. “It's a long story, Dane.”

“I
have time.”

“The
inn got bought,” she started. That's how far behind on news he
was. He had left soon after Marion had died thinking, just as she
had, that the inn was all hers.

“What
the fuck do you mean it got bought?” he asked, starting toward
her.

Emily
held up her hands. “Marion didn't leave a will. It went up for
sale.” Dane opened his mouth to speak and she pushed on.
“Hannah's husband bought it.”

Dane
stopped walking, looking at her through confused eyes. “EM Corp
guy?”

“Yeah.
He bought it because he knew it would mean a lot to her. And then
Hannah made him send his brother down here to fuck with me.”

“Seems
to have accomplished that,” he said, looking at her with an
unnervingly understanding look. “I've known you for a long
time, Emmy. You're all in knots.”

“It's
nothing,” she said, waving a hand. “We got stuck up at
the lodge in this ridiculous snowstorm. And it was all sexy and
romantic. We had sex twice. That's it. It's over.”

“Prove
it,” Dane said, his eyes looking deeper, heavy lidded as he
stepped closer to her, pushing her back against the door with his
body and leaning down toward her face. Waiting.

She
could do it. She had done it thousands of times before. That mouth
held the knowledge of hers. That tongue had been between her legs,
drawing screaming orgasms out of her. That chest had been a place she
had rested and fought tears when Marion had died. Those arms had held
her.

She
could do it. Fall right back into Dane. Find something there.
Something lasting. Now that
he
had decided to put down roots. He wouldn't run away again. They had
history. Hundreds of nights sharing secrets, creating inside jokes,
teasing. They could be happy. In their own odd way, loving.

It
wouldn't be perfect. They both had hot tempers and clumsy, careless
tongues too prone toward name calling and harsh words. They both
pulled into themselves when they should have reached out toward the
other. They took pride in their defenses.

It
wouldn't be perfect. But it would be familiar. Comfortable. Easy.