“You realize she’s going to puke,” he said.
Aaron pursed his lips and exhaled loudly through his
nose. “Yep. Look, I hate to ask, but can you watch her while I kick everyone out? Even if you can just get her into the grass so no one steps on her . . .”
“He’s taking me home.”
Her voice was so clear, it took Seth a moment to register that it had come from Emma. He looked sharply at her, seeing Aaron’s startled look out of the corner of his eye as he turned his head.
“Miss Henry—”
“Emma,”
she interrupted him, just as clear. Her head lifted ever so slightly though her hair covered most of her face. “An’ you said you would.”
“I didn’t say that! I just told you not to go anywhere.” He knew he sounded defensive, but the last thing he needed was for his neighbor to think he’d been hitting on his drunken friend on his way to telling him to shut down his party. He looked beseechingly at Aaron. “I didn’t say that.”
Aaron simply waved him off. “I’m sure you didn’t. She’s just channeling Jose Cuervo right now. It’s kind of like speaking in tongues, but with a lot more sexual innuendo.”
Relieved, Seth laughed and shook his head. “Been there. Do you have a way to get her home? She seems stubborn enough to try to walk there if she manages to get up again.”
“Oh, she’ll be fine here.”
“No, I won’t,” she insisted. “I don’t feel good. He said he’d take me home. He’s a—a policeman.” She gave a woeful-sounding hiccup. “I have beer on me. I want my bed. I hate the ground. This sucks.”
Seth arched a brow when he returned his attention to his neighbor. “You sure about that?”
Aaron frowned and sighed. There was enough alcohol
in the puff of air that wafted by Seth’s nose to confirm that Aaron wouldn’t pass a breathalyzer right now, even if he was pretty coherent.
“No. If she really wants to go, I’m sure there’s somebody who can . . . well . . .” His brow furrowed, and Seth knew he was mentally going through the list of people sober enough and trustworthy enough to deliver Emma home. He waited, suddenly certain that the list would be short to nonexistent. Finally, Aaron sighed. “Shit. I drove back here, but I’d be over the limit now. I’m not putting her in some random person’s car and hoping for the best. And not to sound like an ass, but she doesn’t have a lot of friends, anyway. Emma’s kind of . . .” He trailed off, seeming to consider his options, and finally chose a word. “Independent.”
The simple statement struck an unexpected chord with him. Independent could mean a lot of things, but he was pretty sure Aaron didn’t mean it as an insult. He understood not being close to many people, whether by choice or simple temperament. Maybe he and Emma had some things in common after all. Didn’t seem likely, but neither did finding her drunk as a skunk and hanging on to the earth to keep from falling off it. Anything was possible. And the solution to this particular problem was inevitable.
“I’ll take her.”
Aaron seemed surprised. “That’s really nice, but you don’t have to do that.”
Seth lifted a shoulder. “I know. But she seems to think I do, and I can manage a detour before I head home.”
“Aaron, quit arguing with him,” Emma groaned, her voice more muffled now. “Officer Ambi . . . Officer? Just take me home. I don’t feel so good.” Emma’s voice drifted over to them from where she lay, curled into herself.
“Em, you’re staying here, remember? With your sister?” Aaron said, leaning to the side to speak to her. “Your things are in the house.”
“Then give them to Officer What’s-his-face.”
“Seth. It’s
Seth
,” Seth told her, hoping to avoid further butchery of his last name for one evening.
“Seth. Whatever. I want to go
ho-ome
,” she moaned. “Everything is spinning. God. Why did I drink so much?”
Aaron cringed. “Those are the words of doom.”
“Impending doom,” Seth agreed. “I won’t leave her until I’m sure she’s settled in for the night.”
He could see his neighbor was uncomfortable with it, and he didn’t blame him. But if Emma really wanted to go home, which she seemed to, he was her only option. Oddly enough, he didn’t mind the imposition. Aaron, however, was going to need more convincing. They were friendly, but they hadn’t quite made it to “friends” yet.
“Look, I don’t sleep much,” Seth admitted.
Even though I would have tonight
. “I can stay up awhile longer.”
“It’s not that,” Aaron said. “I’m more concerned about leaving her alone. She’s going to be sick.”
“Shut up. I can hear you!”
“I know, Em.” Aaron rolled his eyes, then lowered his voice. “Seriously, though.”
Seth shifted his weight from one foot to the other, leaned his head to one side to stretch muscles tight from a long day, and chose his words carefully so that Aaron would understand he had nothing to worry about. Being a soldier and a cop didn’t have to mean anything, but he was a guy who took the honor inherent in both professions seriously.
“I have a twin sister,” Seth said. “I’ve pulled plenty of hair-holding duty. It takes a lot to faze me, so if she needs a keeper until her stomach settles, I guess I can do that,
too. Like I said, I don’t sleep much. This is at least as interesting as anything on TV at this hour.”
Aaron chewed his lower lip for a moment. “It would be flattering to think you were doing this to win my favor, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the case, so . . . why? You don’t even know her.”
“Sure I do. Emma Henry, local force of nature, right?”
That made Aaron laugh. “That’s one way to put it. And this is . . . chivalry?”
Seth couldn’t help the slow grin. “The lady demanded an escort. I am but a humble public servant.”
Aaron laughed again, shook his head, then rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.
“Okay, Officer Lancelot, go sweep her off her feet while I get her bag and start kicking people out. I’ll put my number in with her things so you can text when she’s settled. Be good. Hands to yourself except where warranted, or I’ll unleash hell on you, standard disclaimers, et cetera.”
Seth felt a stiffness he hadn’t been even aware of begin to leave his shoulders. Why it was suddenly so important that he be allowed to see to Emma’s well-being, he had no idea. But his instincts had rarely failed him, and he didn’t question them now. “Understood. She’ll be safe with me. You have my word.”
Whatever Aaron heard in his voice, it seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded. “Okay. And you’ve got mine that I’ll have everyone but the people staying over gone within a half hour or so. Thanks for being a neighbor about it instead of, ah . . .”
“A jerk?” Seth supplied.
“You said it, not me,” Aaron said. Something told Seth this wasn’t the artist’s first encounter with cops breaking up a party, and that it probably wouldn’t be his
last. Still, the guy was hard not to like, and he obviously took care of his friends. Good qualities, even if he was occasionally prone to get in a little trouble.
Hell, so was he. Or he had been, once.
“Back in a sec.” Aaron jogged up the walk and headed inside. Seconds later, the music stopped, and a strong, clear voice rang out. “Ladies and gentlemen, local law enforcement has just stopped by to let me know that it’s closing time at Maclean’s watering hole, so like the song says, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” There was a chorus of groans. “Yeah, well, considering most of you just followed me home anyway . . . Jesus H. Christ, Al, where are your pants?”
Seth chuckled to himself as he walked to where Emma lay and crouched down beside her. All that thick, dark hair was in her face, and he reached down to brush it aside with a couple of fingers. Her eyes were closed, long spidery lashes twined together, but he doubted she was asleep. Probably wishing for sleep, though. She took in deep gulps of air, a telltale sign that the nausea was in full effect.
Her night of fun was definitely over.
“Miss Henry?”
“Ung. Emma. Might as well call me Emma.”
“Okay. Emma. Can you get up?” He kept his voice low and soothing.
“Don’t wanna.”
“You still want me to take you home?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” She kept her eyes shut, staying very, very still. “Carry me?”
His eyebrows lifted, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Drunk didn’t cure bossy, which she certainly seemed to be. “You sure about that?”
“God yes. No standing.” A pause, then a small and oddly attractive furrow of her brow as she sighed. “Please?”
Her voice was plaintive, and defeated, and he couldn’t have denied her if he’d tried. So, carrying it was. He slid one arm beneath her knees, the other beneath her shoulders. “Here we go,” he said, and lifted. She was light in his arms, and turned her face into his chest as he stood, making a soft unhappy sound. He tried not to think about how right she felt, tucked up against him. For all he knew, the woman was hell on wheels when she was sober, and as far from his type as humanly possible. Right now, though, her soft vulnerability tugged at him.
He was the kind of guy who’d been born to protect things. It was just in his nature, same as the need for a certain amount of order. Right now, he wanted to protect
her
. And he had a bad feeling that instinct would wreak havoc on the order he’d finally achieved here, in this quaint little town where the fact that nothing ever happened was a large part of the appeal.
As his guests began to depart, walking down the street back toward downtown or piling into cars, Aaron hurried outside again.
“Here,” he said, lifting the small overnight bag so that Seth could grip the handles. He followed Seth’s gaze to some of the cars, then met his eyes with a knowing look.
“The ones leaving in cars have designated drivers,” Aaron said. “I keep a good eye on things, and I take keys. I’m not interested in being even a little responsible for somebody wrapping themselves around a tree because they shouldn’t have been behind the wheel.”
The grim look on Aaron’s face, so at odds with his sunny personality, told Seth he was cautious from experience.
“Okay,” Seth said.
“Okay,” Aaron echoed, then sighed. “Well, thanks. She lives in the apartment over her business, down on the square. Entrance is in the back. Have fun with the stairs.” He gave Emma’s hair an affectionate ruffle. “’Night, sweetie. Call me tomorrow and we’ll coordinate getting your car back to you, okay?”
Emma’s reply was an unintelligible mumble against Seth’s shirt, but Aaron seemed to take it as an affirmative.
“Text me,” he said again to Seth, then turned and walked back toward the house, bidding people good night as he walked by them. Seth didn’t miss the soft laughs as people caught sight of Emma in his arms, or the whispers as people speculated. He brushed it off. People would talk—they always did. It didn’t bother him much, though he suspected Emma wouldn’t feel the same. For her sake, he hoped the situation was obvious enough that it wouldn’t prompt much gossip. She seemed like a woman who put a lot of value on her image—which in her case was “cool and professional.”
“I’ve got your things,” he told her, “so let’s get you home.”
“’Kay,” she sighed, snuggling further into him, her fingers tucked into his shirt between two buttons. “I like you.”
He smiled, surprised. “I like you, too. How’s the stomach?”
“Mmph,” was the only reply, and it sounded negative. He thought of his nice clean cruiser and felt a sinking sensation.
“Emma, I realize we don’t know each other, and you don’t owe me a thing for this, but if you don’t mind, can you not puke in my car?”
One bleary eye opened to look up at him. “No promises.”
Seth nodded to himself as her eye shut again. Whatever happened, he was all in now. Only one thing was certain—after this, Emma Henry would definitely know who he was. And whether or not that turned out to be the extent of their acquaintance, they’d probably be able to agree on one thing.
It had been a hell of an introduction.
E
mma woke up slowly, the way she always did. She breathed in deeply as her body adjusted to the light streaming in the window and hitting her closed eyelids, becoming aware of the sensation of her limbs sunken into the soft mattress, the soft sounds of birds chirping outside.
The taste in her mouth like the floor of a truck stop.
She opened her eyes slowly. Her eyelids were sore. As a matter of fact, her entire body was sore. And her
head
. . .
“Oh. God.” It took an obscene amount of effort just to lift a hand to her throbbing head. The strands of hair that caught between her fingers were hopelessly tangled. Her thoughtless bliss upon waking vanished, to be replaced by memories of the night before. Hazy memories, but they were enough. The part where she’d driven to Aaron’s was clear. The champagne at his house was clear—obviously a bad idea, but she remembered it just fine. Then they’d headed to the Harvest Cove Tavern, and that was where things got a little scattered. There’d been beer. And . . . tequila. And—
“Dancing. Oh
God
.”
Her voice was little more than a croak, and her throat
felt like she’d been gargling with razor blades. Emma gingerly raised herself to a sitting position, though that made her throbbing head a thousand times worse. She squinted around her room, which looked perfectly normal. That was great, except she had no idea how she’d gotten here.
No . . . wait. . . . There was a guy. A cop, I think. Was he at the party?
That’s right. There had been a cop. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d been an invited guest, though she was pretty sure they’d had a lengthy conversation. And she was more than pretty sure that her ride home had been in a squad car. A fragment of that ride returned to her.
“Okay, Emma, you look really green. We’re almost to your place. Can you hang on just a few minutes longer?”
“If you drive faster, maybe.”
He hadn’t just driven her home. He’d come in. To help. Because she’d been a complete disaster. Dread curled in the pit of her much-abused stomach. Emma’s eyes shifted to her nightstand, upon which sat a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. On the floor was her wastebasket, helpfully lined with a plastic bag. It was blessedly empty.
Whoever this guy was, he’d taken care of her. She was deeply grateful and deeply embarrassed all at once. She didn’t like owing people for things. And she didn’t like making a spectacle of herself. It looked like this time around she’d managed to do both.
A familiar feline form wound around the corner of her half-shut door and sauntered in, greeting her with a soft, high-pitched meow utterly at odds with his size. His tail was curved into a furry question mark, as though he was wondering what on earth she’d been thinking last night, too.
“Hey, Boof,” she rasped. He quivered his tail at the
sound of his unusual name, which her sister’s fiancé had invented for him. Jake had gotten a kick out of the big kitten’s penchant for headbutting, and he enjoyed adding sound effects when he was around to watch. “Boof” was used frequently. As it turned out, it was also the only thing resembling a name that the cat would answer to. Emma had fought it, but Boof, in true feline fashion, had seemed determined to thwart her.
She was pretty sure that Jake was still gloating.
It was a surprise to see her cat up and about. He usually slept with her. Then again, she wouldn’t have wanted to sleep with herself last night, either. Boof gave another squeaky meow, then sat looking expectantly up at her. Looking for breakfast, no doubt. He loved her, but for the feline, food came first.
She slid her legs over the edge of the bed, steeled herself, and stood. Her legs were wobbly, but functional. Though her feet were bare, she was still wearing last night’s clothes, the scent of which now wafted up to her and had her feeling sick all over again.
Stale beer. Mmm.
At least her shirt was dry now. And her hair. The way they had gotten wet in the first place was a part of the evening she wished she didn’t remember, but she did. Not with perfect clarity, but well enough.
Emma tottered to her dresser, stripped off the offending clothes, and dumped them in a fragrant pile. Then she pulled one of her worn old sweatshirts and a pair of flannel pants out of her drawers, sighing with relief when she put them on.
Better.
She walked slowly out of the bedroom, feeling more like an old woman than someone standing on the cusp of thirty. As much as she wanted to stay in bed and hide beneath the covers, something told her she needed to check
the rest of the apartment . . . just in case. The bedroom across the hall, the one she used as an office, was empty, as was the bathroom. Everything was neat and organized, exactly the way she liked it. Nothing seemed dangerous except for the big brown medium-haired tabby winding between her legs as she walked. But something nagged at her, though it took her a few seconds to identify what. Then it hit her.
It was a new smell.
She paused right before heading into the open living area when she caught it, faint but recognizable even through the still-unpleasant scent of her hair. She’d always had a sensitive nose, a thing sometimes useful and occasionally annoying. Right now, it was simply . . . illuminating. And mortifying. Because that smell, a subtle, clean, slightly woodsy scent, was the cop’s cologne. The first whiff of it reminded her how much she’d enjoyed breathing it in as he’d carried her to his car. Then from his car. Then up the stairs. And she knew, just
knew
, that she’d told him how amazing he smelled. At length.
Right before puking her guts out.
I’m never going out again. Ever.
Emma closed her eyes and mouthed several epithets before starting forward again. There was a brief moment of relief when her quick, initial glance around the room showed her nothing. Then she heard the deep, sleepy sigh from her couch, only the back of which was visible from where she stood.
Her feet propelled her forward even though her angrily throbbing brain was screaming at her to go back to bed before it was too late. Still, in a matter of seconds, Emma found herself standing at the corner of her big comfy couch, staring down at the semifamiliar figure of last night’s savior. Her hero.
Perfect. I need a hero like I need a hole in the head.
And yet here he was, looking every inch the white knight she didn’t need. Emma had remembered his scent, his uniform, and a vague sense that he was cute. Apparently, the booze had clouded her vision as well as her thoughts, because in the harsh and sober light of morning, “cute” didn’t even begin to cover it. Not even the hangover from hell could do much to dull her appreciation of this particular sight.
The man was hotness incarnate.
He was still in uniform, stretched out with one arm bent across his chest and the other tucked behind his head, giving her a full-length view of a long, lean body that she could tell was in excellent shape just from the way his clothes fit. He’d untucked his shirt, and the top couple of buttons were undone, so she could see the white neck of his undershirt, a marked contrast to his olive skin. His face, relaxed in sleep, was a study in angles—sharp cheekbones, square jaw, a slim, sharp blade of a nose. His mouth was wide, generous, with soft-looking lips that were parted gently. Thickly lashed eyes tilted slightly down at the corners, closed beneath dark, heavy brows. His short, dark-brown hair was tousled, probably from sleep, and it just made him that much more beautiful.
He was absolutely, completely, horrifyingly gorgeous. And while she stared, trying to figure out whether it was possible to get him out of her apartment without him actually seeing her, the feline in her life decided to indulge one of his favorite—and her least favorite—habits.
If she liked, needed, or was working on something, Boof would inevitably park his big furry butt on it. Too late, Emma realized that she’d stared at the cop long enough for the cat to decide he was of some import to her. In the blink of an eye, Boof was sitting on him.
Emma’s eyes widened. “No!” she hissed, her voice a ridiculous stage whisper. “Damn it, Boof, no!”
The cat looked at her placidly from the center of the cop’s chest, seemed to consider her for a moment, and then bunched himself up to lie down. Emma was positive that if he’d had a middle finger, Boof would have given her one.
“Boof!” she whispered again, a harsh rush of air that the cat had plainly decided to ignore. He gave her the slow, sleepy blink that her sister, Sam, assured her was feline for “I love you.” Emma thought it was probably more like “Screw you, stupid human.” Especially right now.
The cop woke up just as Boof started to knead his chest, purring loudly.
He hissed in a breath. “Ouch!”
Emma stiffened, ready to shout as his hand moved to, presumably, swat at her cat. Instead, he settled it gently on Boof’s back, then rubbed the cat’s soft fur with his fingers.
“Hey, big guy. Watch the claws.” Big warm eyes the color of her morning coffee opened, hazy with sleep. And of course, they found her right away.
“Hey,” he said again, easily, as though it was the most natural thing in the world that he was here, a stranger who’d cared for her through a bout of epic vomiting and then slept on her couch. When she said nothing, he breathed in deeply, stifled a yawn, and pushed himself up into a half-sitting position while steadying Boof with one hand. He kept the hand beneath the cat to cradle him against his chest, then used his fingers to begin rubbing underneath Boof’s chin, against his cheeks, behind his ears. All the favorite places.
Her treacherous cat was immediately in heaven. The cop, on the other hand, quickly returned his focus to her.
She wished she could remember his name. She wished she could think of something, anything that wouldn’t make this worse than it already was. Her hair was probably making it worse already.
“You feeling better this morning?” he asked. “Sorry I didn’t split before you got up. I was waiting to make sure you were, um . . . finished,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom, “before I left. Guess I dozed off.”
His voice was low, with just a hint of roughness that buzzed along her ragged nerve endings. She fought off a shiver, irritated that she was having any kind of a reaction at all to this guy. He didn’t belong here. He shouldn’t still be here. The need to have him gone was so strong that she would have scooped him up and carried him over the threshold, reverse bridegroom style, and then run back inside to lock the door if she could have managed it. He looked pretty solid, though. And he’d probably struggle.
Please let him not try to make small talk. Please.
Emma crossed her arms over her chest and tried to give him her best intimidating glare. The cop just looked back at her, his dark eyes far more serious than his words had been. The quiet intensity she saw in them messed with her resolve, threw her off balance.
Well, maybe it was the hangover that was doing all that. But still.
“You brought me home last night,” she said, her voice sounding like something dredged up from one of the deeper pits of hell.
“Yes, I did.”
She held herself a little more tightly as several more details surfaced in the morass of last night’s memories. “You held my hair. When I was sick.” And rubbed her back while she’d cried about what an idiot she was in between. She would tell him never to speak of it, except
that she had no intention of acknowledging it had ever happened in the first place.
The cop licked his lips, a distracting little flick of his tongue as he finally looked away for a second. Knowing this was a little embarrassing for him, too, made Emma feel a tiny bit better. Not much, but it was something. Of course, it hadn’t made him get off her couch yet.
“I did that, too, yeah.”
Emma shook her head, staring at this odd and handsome creature who apparently offered full-service rescue for blindingly drunk women. “Why?” she asked. “Why would you do that?”
His dark brows rose a little. “Because you were in rough shape when I got you back here, and I didn’t want to leave you alone? Plus, you asked me to stay.” He moved his shoulders restlessly. “I just didn’t feel right leaving you like that. Bad things can happen. You’d be surprised.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t argue with that. He’d probably seen plenty of those bad things firsthand, given his job. It wasn’t an explanation she could argue with—she hoped she would have done the same, in his position. Of course, she would have been gone like a thief in the night before things got all weird and embarrassing.
This guy didn’t seem to have any qualms about it.
“Does Aaron know that—”
“He knows,” the cop interrupted smoothly. “I was under strict orders to keep him posted.”
“You’re . . . friends, then,” Emma said, frowning as she tried to remember the connection. Mostly she just remembered lying in front of Aaron’s house. That there was a connection at all, though, eased her mind a little. It was better if this was a friend of Aaron’s and not just some random cop who’d been driving by and taken pity on her.
“He and I are neighbors,” the cop said. “Though after this, I think ‘friends’ works, too. He did say he owes me dinner.” He angled his head down, tilting it to one side. “You sure you’re okay? You’re still pale, and you were pretty sick. Want me to grab you some juice or something before I take off?”
“No,” Emma said, a quick denial that was forceful enough to make him blink. “No,” she said again, trying to soften the sound of it. “I . . . appreciate it. And everything. I just need to, ah, recover. I guess.” She closed her eyes and gave a short, rusty laugh. “I feel like something somebody scraped off the bottom of a shoe.”
His grin revealed perfect, very white teeth. “Yeah, you mentioned you don’t get out much.”
She managed a rueful half smile. “Not like that, anyway.”
The cop’s serious eyes softened, and some small, stupid part of her wished, just for a moment, that he was here because she’d brought him, not because she’d needed a babysitter. It was a stupid wish, and she banished it as quickly as she could. Guys like him were not for women like her. That was a decision she’d made a long time ago.