That bothered her even more. “What stories? You shouldn’t pay attention to gossip, Mr.—?”
“Nick Garrett.” He flashed her quick glance. “I bought the towing and mechanic business from Mr. Hanson last year. I take care of your cars.”
“Thank you for that service. Whatever you’ve heard about me probably isn’t true.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am.”
They had finally reached her car. Emilie gave a silent prayer of thanks, even though she was still angry.
Nick pulled the tow truck to a stop in front of it. "Stay here. There's no reason for both of us to get soaked again."
It was a begrudging sort of deferment to Emilie being the one who was paying for the service. There was no explaining, but it angered her further. No doubt it was the whole miserable evening that made her push open the truck door and slide down the side of the seat to the ground.
She trudged through the rain that was rapidly becoming sleet. The cold winds whipped by from the fast moving traffic as she reached his side.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" he yelled above the sound of a passing truck that sprayed icy water on them both.
"Why do you dislike me so much?" she shouted back. "You don't even know me!"
"You're right." He set up the equipment that would tow her car back to the garage. "I don't know you at all. Let's keep it that way. Get back in the damn truck." He bent down close to the road, bringing the hook with him, looking underneath her car at the damage she'd done.
She followed him. "Does it look bad?"
"I can't tell. I'm going to have to take it back and look at it there."
Emilie got down close to the same level with him at the car bumper. "Is it because my family has money? Or is it because I'm a cripple?"
He stared at her. He'd been brought up in a family that was plain spoken—even they wouldn't have put it that way. He'd heard one of the Ferriers was crazy. Was this the crazy one?
"You've had something against me from the minute you picked me up today," she complained, despite the fact that her teeth were chattering and she was soaked from the top of her head to her feet. "I want to know."
Faced with those burning green eyes set in that pale face, her lips turning visibly blue in the cold, he relented. "It's nothing personal. People talk. I’m fairly new to town. You’re not what I expected. That’s all."
Her face, amazingly, brightened at his words. "Really? What did you expect?"
“Do we have to talk about this now?” Another 18-wheeler came by, the sleet pelting them with tiny icy needles.
“Did you think I was taller?” she asked. “A whiny bitch? What?”
"I don’t know." He wiped the rain from his face. "Maybe a rich-bitch heiress who wants to boss everyone around?”
“Is that what people think of me?”
“Look, Ms. Ferrier—”
“Emilie.”
His face felt frozen. “Look, Emilie, if you'll get back into the truck, I can finish up out here. Then we can talk all you like.”
“I'm sorry I haven't been by to meet you before now, Mr. Garrett."
"Nick.” He nodded at the truck. "If you'll please get back in—"
She looked down at the water that was sluicing across her shoes as it ran to the side of the highway. "I don't think I can get back in there again by myself, Nick. I'm afraid I've reached my limit for the day. I can ride in my car back to town."
"That's not legal." He finished hooking up the Mercedes. "I could lose my license for letting you do that."
She frowned. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know. I—"
He was suddenly there beside her, taller and darker than she'd noticed earlier. Rain dripped everywhere, from his shoulders, down his jacket and legs. "I'm finished. Let me help you."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak when she looked into his eyes.
Black eyes. Devil's eyes, as her father used to say. Up to no good. Not to be trusted. Gypsy's eyes.
"I'm sorry to be so much trouble." She started to walk back around the side of the truck again. Her limp was more pronounced, painfully so, as she hunched over against the icy wind.
Before she went a dozen steps, he had lifted her, coat and all, easily into his arms. She didn't fight him, wondering instead what to do with her arms, ending up clenching her hands against her chest.
"This is better service than anyone deserves." She reached with one hand to open the truck door.
"Even a Ferrier?" His dark eyes laughed ironically down into hers.
"Even a Ferrier," she pledged solemnly.
Chapter Two
"Thank you," Emilie said with a little smile when he'd checked the car again then returned to the driver's side.
“No problem.” He started the truck's engine and watched for a break in traffic.
He kept his eyes averted after that brief exchange, willing her silently to go to sleep or break out a phone or something. It was over an hour on the road until they reached Ferrier's Mountain. He preferred the silence.
Nick got his wish. She fell asleep almost as soon as they were back on the road. She’d put up a valiant struggle to stay awake that he’d watched from the corner of his eye. Her eyelids had drooped and she’d rubbed her hands across her eyes like a child. She yawned and shifted positions, but the truck was warm and she seemed exhausted. Her breathing became regular and her head turned against the seat.
Emilie Ferrier was trouble. He'd known it when he'd picked her up on the side of the Interstate, standing next to her Mercedes. She was the kind of woman who drew people into her world. He could feel her pulling him closer when he looked into her eyes. Something inside of him responded. He didn't want or need to go there. It was way too easy to get lost.
The road got worse as they left Charlotte. There were several times that he had to stop because accidents that had closed the road. The North Carolina Highway Patrol was out in force. There was only so much that could be done during the brunt of the winter storm.
During one of those times that he had stopped, Nick watched Emilie as she slept. Her face was a perfect oval, her skin flawless with a faint, pearly sheen. Her dark eyelashes curled against her cheek. Her lips were pink and parted slightly, whispering unintelligible secrets in her sleep.
She didn't look like the heiress he'd expected. Not from the stories he’d heard about the Ferriers and their exploits. He’d thought she’d be in furs and treacherously high heels. In her wet clothes and sensible shoes, her hair down in her face, she looked more like a homeless waif.
Her head slipped lower on the seat and he fought with himself not to touch her. His fingers itched to feel that creamy skin beneath them. Her perfume filled his senses in the warm truck. When her head fell again, it was only reasonable to put his hand under her neck and move her the few inches it took until she was resting against him.
Reasonable. Not practical.
He could hear his father telling him that no good could come of this. He ignored those words of wisdom.
Traffic began to move forward again.
She sighed and murmured something in her sleep, but didn't wake. Her hand came to rest on his jean-clad thigh. He moved her hand away from his leg. She moved it back. The touch burned through the thick layer of denim that separated them.
Nick put his hands back on the wheel and refused to look at her again. The warmth of her body pressed close to his side, the feel of her skin on his hands, lingered to haunt him.
He switched off the heat and turned on the radio. The songs were meaningless as he fought down a powerful wave of sexual attraction. He focused his mind on the road. Emilie moved and sighed. His thoughts returned to her.
A year of hearing stories about the Ferrier family, about Emilie herself, hadn't prepared him for the reality. He couldn’t see the demon in her that he’d heard her called so often. A witch?
Maybe.
Her touch was like a hot coal. He wanted her in his arms, the length of her against him—
He almost passed the exit that led to town. The drive home had been long and filled with peril, most of the danger snuggled trustingly against him in the truck. The streets of Ferrier’s Mountain, population 5,200, were empty. Sensible people stayed in during an ice storm.
Nick finally pulled through the wrought iron gate that led down the long drive to the old mansion. It was a relief to see the lights on in the large garage where he usually picked up and returned her cars.
The weather had changed during the drive up the mountain. The sleet had turned to fat, soft snowflakes that plopped wetly against the windshield. The night sky was alive with them in the steady beams of the truck's headlights.
They'd left behind the worst of the weather at the Interstate turn-off. The town's higher elevation frequently made their weather different from the areas around them. It could be raining at the foot of the mountain, dry at the top.
Jacque de Ferrier had known what he was doing when he'd built his town on the side of the mountain. Nick had heard about the large gold claim that had created the little town in the 1800s. The Frenchman had provided well for his family, the youngest descendent of which nestled against his shoulder.
"We're here, Ms. Ferrier." He tried to waken her.
Her breathing continued rhythmically and her head slid a little further down against his chest.
"Emilie?" He encouraged her to wake up, stifling a heavy groan when other parts of his body wanted him to let her stay where she was. "We're back. Wake up."
There was still no response. Her head slid a little lower against his chest.
Finally, he threaded his fingers through her hair and brought her head back up to his shoulder level. "Emilie," he whispered. His face was very near her own. "If you don't wake up, we're both going to be in a lot of trouble."
She opened her eyes, blinking them sleepily as she tried to focus on the face that was close to hers. She slowly realized that she'd fallen asleep, and that somehow, she'd moved against Nick's shoulder and her hand—
Emilie moved her hand out of his lap quickly and sat up straight. "I guess I fell asleep. I’m sorry. Are we back home?"
"Yeah." A large, warm part of him wished she hadn't moved so quickly, wished her mouth had been about a half inch closer . . .
"Oh, good. Good!" She tried to gather her scattered wits before she said something stupid. "I-uh-I hope I wasn't snoring or anything."
"No." He smiled at her, his eyes very dark in the half-light. "You sleep like an angel."
Emilie was bewildered by the tenderness of his tone and the intimacy of his words. Not to mention the combined effect on her breathing.
"Well, I-well-thank you. I'm sorry this turned out to be such a big problem for you. Please include your time on the bill for this and for the repairs to the car."
"Don't worry," he assured her. "I will."
When she looked at him again, the cab of the truck seemed very small and very warm suddenly. She knew she should go. She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay. She liked the sound of his voice. "I appreciate all of your help."
What’s wrong with me?
She shook her head. She must be more tired than she’d thought.
Nick opened the truck door and climbed out, coming around to her side of the cab. "Let me help you down."
"Oh, that's not necessary." Emilie was embarrassed by his offer. She didn’t want him to think of her that way. Yet if he walked away, she was afraid that her leg would collapse under her when she reached the ground.
"My pleasure." He put his hands on her tiny waist again. This time, he lifted her out carefully and let her feet rest on the ground. Her soft breasts slid slowly down his hard chest, their parted legs tangled.
She forced herself to relax and let him help ease the jarring transition between the high truck cab and the hard ground.
"It's snowing." She said the first thing that came to mind. Her hands were shaking, but not from cold.
"It is," he responded. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Thanks."
"I'll have the car back in a few days, unless there's a problem with parts.”
"All right. Thanks." She grinned, feeling foolish. "Again."
He started to climb back into the driver's side of the cab, cursing himself for wanting to be close to her that last time. Those warnings shuffling through his head were right. This could only end in disaster if he kept thinking of her that way.
He paused, half in and half out of the truck. A fleeting shadow caught his attention, running across the white snow in the large open meadow beside the house. Then it was gone. For just a minute, he’d thought he’d seen a naked woman out there.
It was crazy. Like the rest of the night had been. He closed the door and started backing up to pull out of the wide drive.
The tow truck’s headlight beams picked out Emilie’s slender form as she walked slowly up to the house. He'd been working on her cars for a year and hadn't met her. The chances were it would be another year or more before it happened again.
By then he would have forgotten what her skin felt like and that her hair was like silk. It was cliché, but apt. He’d forget how close he'd come to touching his mouth to hers in that last instant before she'd awakened to look at him with those amazing green eyes.
"Not tonight, old son," he said out loud, turning out of her driveway. He headed his truck for home.
Emilie had seen the shadow cross the snow-covered meadow as well. She sighed as she looked out into the night.
"Joda?" she called out. “Are you out there?"
"Go inside, child," her aunt’s voice, creepy and disembodied, floated back from somewhere around her. "I'll be in shortly."
Emilie hobbled inside, glad to reach the warmth and comfort of her home. Her clothes were still wet close to her skin, though the top layer had dried in the truck. The effect was clammy and miserable. She wanted a hot bath, a glass of wine, and a good night's sleep.
She was worried about Joda, of course. She was always worried about Joda. Sometimes, contrary to what she'd told Alain earlier, she did feel tied to her aunt, responsible for her, ever since she was very young.