What The Heart Knows (26 page)

She
had stepped back from the mirror to inspect herself, ending up
happier than she thought she would be. A teenage girl was washing her
hands in the sink and smiled at her reflection. “Whoever he
is,” she said. “he's going to be eating out of the palm
of your hand.”

That
was exactly the plan.

Emily
grabbed the gift bags out of her front seat: one for the baby, one
for the mommy, and the bottle of congratulatory scotch with a silver
bow on it for the daddy. She walked up the path and hit the bell,
waiting with a pounding heart for someone to answer.

The
door opened slowly to reveal a very tired looking Elliott Michaels,
his tie pulled low, his suit wrinkled. He looked surprised to see her
for a second and then let his eyes drop down, taking in her outfit,
moving very slowly back up to her face. A slow, knowledgeable smirk
toyed at his lips.

“Good
for you,” he said quietly.

Emily
smiled. “Congratulations, Daddy,” she said, holding out
the bottle of scotch for him to take.

“Thanks,”
he said, smiling warmly at her and for the first time, she saw the
softness that Hannah talked about. “Come on in, we're all in
the sitting room.”

Emily
followed him in, trying not to openly gawk at the house that Hannah
had been calling home for the past two years. To the right of the
door was an office, huge bookshelves lining the far wall behind a
desk. Elliott walked toward the right into a sitting room decorated
sparsely, for formality. For company.

Hannah
was sitting on a couch, a blanketed bundle in her arms. She looked as
gorgeous as ever, her waist length black hair falling down the sides
of her face with sharp cheekbones and lovely gray eyes. She was
dressed in a loose pink silk pajama set with a fluffy white robe on
over it.

“Hannah,”
Elliott said quietly, as if terrified he might scare the baby to
death with the full
timbre
of his voice. “Emily is here.”

It
was at that moment that she saw James. Sitting on another couch,
looking over at the baby. He had a pair of gray slacks on and a black
tucked-in dress shirt, the top button left open. He was way too good
looking. And then she saw that he wasn't alone on that couch. Next to
him, with her hand placed indiscreetly on his thigh, was another of
his women.

She
was as gorgeous as all the others. This one was blonde, her hair cut
in a long bob around her perfectly delicate heart-shaped face. She
had pouting small lips and big blue eyes. Everything about her was
petite. Thin shoulders, small waist, short. She wore a pair of black
skinny jeans and a simple cobalt blue sweater. Looking effortless.
But still breathtaking.

At
her name, James' face snapped up and she got to have a moment of
satisfaction of seeing his mouth fall slightly open while he looked
at her. It was brief, but she saw it. His mouth fell into a hard
line, reaching over and grabbing his date's hand, squeezing it in
his.

“Miss.
Brennan,” he said, nodding his head at her.

“Mr.
Michaels,” she responded, and it sounded less like his name and
more like a 'fuck you'. She turned deliberately from him, finding her
oldest friend, her face spreading into a genuinely happy smile.
“Hanny,” she said, walking quietly across the wood floor
to sit down carefully next to her on the couch.

“I'm
so happy
you're
here,” Hannah said, her tone having a deeper meaning that only
Emily could interpret as: can you believe he brought that random
skank to my house?

“You
look gorgeous, Mama,” Emily said, peeking down into the
blankets, seeing a squishy peach face with a white hat and white
clothes. Hannah had been one of those moms. One of the ones who
wouldn't tell you the sex or the name or anything until it was born.
Though she herself had known since she was five months along. “I
brought you a bunch of Annabelle Goode's soaps and lotions and balms.
She actually came out with something for stretch marks and something
for... well nursing issues,” she said discreetly. “Alright,
I want it,” she said, holding out gimme hands toward the baby.

Hannah
smiled, shifting the bundle and placed it into Emily's waiting hands.
“His name is Isaac.”

“A
boy,” Emily said, smiling down at him. “Just wait till
you get older. I have so much to tell you about girls.”

He
tried not to watch her. He really did.

He
couldn't have even fathomed that she would be there. Not that
quickly. It was such a far drive. Someone must have called her and
told her when Hannah went into labor. He himself hadn't even gotten a
call to early that morning. A clipped, but happy sounding Elliott
saying that the baby was there and that they would be heading home in
an hour if he wanted to stop by to see it.

Which
was why Allie was still with him. He had been in such a rush to see
his nephew that he hadn't even thought to drop her off. He had pretty
much forgotten she was even there with him until Elliott announced
that Emily was there.

And
damn if she didn't look like she stepped out of a friggen fashion ad.
The dress clung to her lithe body, her long legs on full display, her
stunning red hair cascading over her shoulders. She even had makeup
on, making her blue eyes pop and her lips beg to be kissed.

He
shook his head to clear it on his wandering thoughts. He needed to
keep it together. Things were just starting to fall into a new kind
of normalcy. Work. Alcohol. Women. Reminders in between not to think
about her.

That
last email had made him spit coffee over his desk and computer
screen, Carter laughing at him and telling him that's what he got for
making him deal with that Adalaine woman. And she had CC'd Elliott.
Sometimes he really underestimated her. It was a threat: back the
fuck off with that superior boss nonsense or I am going to make your
life a nightmare. He respected that.

James
sank his teeth into his cheek, reaching over and grabbing Allie's
hand in his.

Mr.
Michaels.
Who knew his own name could sound like a slap in the
face?

She
seemed so at ease with Isaac. Like she had held dozens of babies in
her time. Like it came as second nature to her. He wondered how that
was possible when she wasn't close with her family. Was it just
something that happened when you lived in a small town? Did you just
hold all the babies?

Hannah
reached out and put a hand on Emily's knee, whispering quietly so no
one else could hear. “What the hell happened in Stars Landing?”

Emily
shrugged a shoulder. “Dane happened,” Emily shook her
head.

“Dane?
Dane Broderick? What does he have to do with anything? I mean I knew
you guys were friends... but how could he mess up...”

“Dane
and I were more than friends. Less than together, but more than
friends for like... a year. Until one day he up and left for
California to become... wait for it,” she said, smiling
wickedly. “an underwear model.”

Hannah
threw her head back and laughed, clutching her belly in the process,
grumbling about it hurting to laugh, but not being able to stop
herself. “Oh that's great. I want evidence,” Hannah said,
wiping tears from her face, waving a hand at the others who looked
like they wanted to be in on their private conversation. “So
what happened?”

“He
showed up. In my room. Half naked. 'Cause, ya know, that's totally
what you do after six months. And, well...”

“Ahh,”
Hannah nodded. “I see. That explains a lot actually.” She
glanced over at James who looked absolutely miserable, casting
sideways glances at Em anytime she wasn't looking. “So,”
she said, louder, including everyone again. “how the heck did
you know the baby was here?” she asked. “We were going to
call you as soon as we got settled, but we just didn't get a chance.”

“Maude,”
Emily shrugged. “she had a dream about a fish.”

“Oh,”
Hannah said, nodding like that made all the sense in the world. “that
explains it.” She reached for the baby as he started stirring
in Emily's arms. “I'm such a bad host,” she said, a
strange edge to her voice that Emily distrusted immediately. “I
should be offering you a drink...”

“I'll
put some coffee on,” Emily said, standing. “just point me
toward the kitchen.” The second she said it, there was a light
in Hannah's eyes and she knew what she was in for.

“James,”
Hannah said, smiling innocently. “do you mind showing Emily to
the kitchen?”

Emily
lowered her eyes at Hannah, James looked queasy, and Allie looked
horrified at the idea of being stuck alone in the room with two
people she didn't even know.

“Sure,
Hannah-Banana,” he said, sending her a tight smile. He held out
an arm toward the doorway and Emily fell into stiff step next to him.

She
was going to murder Hannah. That was really the only retribution
harsh enough for this kind of betrayal. She never remembered Hannah
playing love games. That wasn't her thing. Damn her. She wasn't
prepared.

James
walked her into the hall and toward the back of the house where they
encountered a huge, very white and stainless steel kitchen.

Emily
spotted the coffee machine and walked over to it. James stayed there,
leaning up against a wall, watching her. In complete, infuriating
silence.

She
poured the fresh water into the reservoir, cleaned out the filter,
put a new one in (which were conveniently piled in a basket beside
the machine. But the coffee was MIA. She reached up into the cabinet
above the machine but found nothing but coffee cups. She dropped back
onto her heels, taking a deep breath. Lord how she didn't want to
have to ask him for help. And damn him because he knew what she
needed and he was just going to stand there and wait until she asked
for help.

“This
whole coffee thing will taste a lot better if we had some actual
coffee grinds,” she said. There. That wasn't exactly asking for
help.

She
heard James push off the wall and walk over, walking behind her and
stopping several cabinets over. He reached in, grabbed the bag, and
turned toward her. Holding it. Not handing it over.

Emily
shut her eyes for the barest of seconds. Trying to steel her nerves.
Trying to forget about their past. Their very recent past. She
turned, reaching out for the bag, but he held it tighter.

When
she looked up into his face, he was smiling. Boyish. Charming. “Say
please.”

“Give
me the damn coffee,” she said instead, grabbing it from him and
turning to add it to the machine. She turned it on and stood there
for a second listening to it drip, taking a deep breath. He was still
standing there. Right there. Two feet away. “What?” she
asked, turning, unable to stop herself.

“Getting
all dressed up for me?” he asked, smirking. Liking the thought
of getting her riled up. “That's... sweet.”

“Don't
flatter yourself,” she shot back. “I had no idea you
would be here.”

“And
yet you bought a new dress just in case.”

“It's
not new,” she lied. “You don't know my wardrobe. This is
how I dress when I am not working.” Lies. Lies.

“Sure
it is,” he said, stepping closer. Too close. Reaching out and
grabbing the hem of her skirt, his fingers brushing against her
thigh.

Emily
swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Article five,”
she said as his hand started to stroke down the side of her leg.
“Line ten,” she added, hated how turned on she was
already. His hand slid across, moving toward the inner side of her
thigh. “Lines fifteen and twenty-two.”

James'
fingers dug into her leg, ducking his head slightly to look in her
eyes. “I'm the boss,” he said. “those rules don't
apply to me.”

Emily
lifted her chin. She knew she was weak. With regard to him and his
hands on her body, she was helpless. She needed to get control of the
situation before it got out of hand. “Got something to prove,
huh?” she asked, watching his eyes for a reaction. “That
threatened by Dane are you?” And there it was, the lowering of
the brows, the blue eyes shooting daggers.

But
she wasn't prepared for his reaction. There was no way she could have
been prepared.

He
reached out, grabbing the back of her neck with his hand and turning
her away from him, slamming her hips up against the sink. Her arms
flew out to to the sides of the cool stainless steel to steady
herself. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, moving the
material of her dress up until it was bunched around her waist. His
fingers grabbed the top of her tights, quickly dragging them and her
panties downward.