Mirin, Christelle - Emma's Heart (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (7 page)

Emma reached out and cupped his cheek, her hand warm. “Thank God for organ donors. She must have been a wonderful woman.”

Logan smiled. “She was.”

“Well,” Emma said, dropping her hand, “I’ll call you tomorrow.” She opened the door and stepped through.

“Be careful.”

“I will.” With a wave and a smile, she walked down the hall toward the front vestibule.

Logan sighed and closed the door. What a wonderful day it had turned out to be. He puttered around the apartment for a few minutes, picking up the coffee mugs and taking them into the kitchen. Yawning, he realized how tired he was. He started for the bedroom, turning off lights as he went, then stopped in the middle of the living room.

In all the excitement of the afternoon, he had forgotten to stop at his mailbox for his mail. Grabbing his keys from the small table beside the door, he opened his door and walked out into the hall. He only took two steps when he stopped.

Down the hall, almost to the vestibule, Emma stood talking to a man just outside his apartment.

Logan stepped back toward the wall and froze. Who did Emma know in this building? She hadn’t said anything about knowing anyone. Logan watched as the man stepped forward and gave Emma a quick hug.

Logan’s stomach tightened. How well did they know each other?

The hug was quick, and Emma stepped out of it first, tucking her hands in the pockets of her jean jacket. The other man said something then disappeared back into his apartment for a moment. When he returned, he handed Emma a slip of paper. Emma nodded and gave the man a wave then turned toward the front doors. The man watched her for a moment then went back into his apartment and closed the door.

Logan didn’t know what to think. Jealousy had reared its head immediately when he had seen Emma embrace the other man.

Maybe they were old friends or knew each other somehow. Surely Emma would have said something if she was in a relationship. After all, they had talked about it.

“Stop being stupid,” Logan whispered. Squeezing his keys in his hand, he continued on and retrieved his mail from his box then went back to his apartment, closing the door and locking it behind him.

With a sigh, he turned off the lights and headed for bed. There was no use worrying about Emma seeing another man right now. Hopefully, Emma would explain tomorrow when they talked. If not, Logan would ask. If he had the nerve.

Chapter Seven

Emma was almost to the vestibule when she heard someone call her name.

“Emma? Is that you?”

She stopped then turned on her heel. “Clay, how are you?” Emma took a few steps back the way she had come, pausing in front of Clay’s door. He hadn’t changed except for a sprinkling of gray in his coal black hair. His eyes were still the warm, dark brown Emma remembered, and though he hadn’t gained a lot of weight, his physique looked softer somehow.

“I’m good. Just moved back, as a matter of fact.” He clasped his hands together and held them chest high, over his heart. “I was just stepping out to get my mail, but I’d love to have you in for a cup of coffee.” He smiled, his eyes wide.

Danger, don’t go there
. Getting over Clay had taken a while, but the main reason she wasn’t going to step through that door lived just down the hall. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s kind of late. I’ll have to pass.” It felt good to tell him that. Good that she had a real and true reason not to rekindle that fire, and that reason’s name was Logan. Even though she wanted to pursue this relationship with Logan, she still felt a bit of heat swirl inside at the thought of what she and Clay used to share. She tried to damp it down. The thought of Clay and Logan with her at the same time tickled her imagination though.

Clay’s face fell almost instantly. “That’s too bad. I’d love to do some catching up with you. Wait a just a minute,” he said, holding his index finger in the air. “I’ll be right back.”

Emma opened her mouth to say “don’t bother” then quickly snapped it shut. Clay had already disappeared through the open door. Unable to stop herself, Emma peered inside without stepping over the threshold. There was a couch and a TV and a lot of cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked. Clay hadn’t been lying about just moving in.

Clay stepped from a doorway into the living room and came directly back to the door. “Here.” He thrust a slip of paper at Emma. “It’s my phone number. Give me a call when you have time and it’s not so late. I’d love to get together.”

She didn’t want to tell the other man that probably wasn’t going to happen, really didn’t want to hurt Clay’s feelings even after all this time, so she shoved the slip of paper with Clay’s phone number in her jean jacket pocket. “I’ve got to be going,” she said, turning away and giving him a wave. She had to get through those doors and get gone before the situation got any worse, or hotter.

“Call me,” Clay said just before the vestibule doors closed behind Emma.

Emma walked down the sidewalk, the night slightly chilly but good, and she smiled to herself. It had been a great day. Meeting Logan and surviving her first sexual encounter since the surgery were milestones in this new life she’d begun. But she was also bone-tired.

Slipping behind the wheel of her car, she was glad she didn’t have far to drive. As she pulled out onto Clifton Boulevard, so many things were swirling through her head. She didn’t know if she’d be able to sleep even if she was bone-tired. With a smile, she hit the gas and headed for home.

The next morning, her alarm buzzed at eight o’clock, and when she opened her eyes she realized she was smiling. She threw back the covers and padded to the bathroom in her bra and panties.

Once she finished her bathroom regimen, she slipped on a pair of sweats and T-shirt and headed for the kitchen to do her morning routine of coffee, juice, and antirejection drugs.

Finished with that, she carried her coffee into the living room and pulled back the curtains to look at the tree-lined street in the morning light while she sipped her coffee.

She’d better enjoy it now because she didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to afford this place on what disability paid her every month. It wasn’t something that bothered her to the point it made her depressed. She knew sooner or later her savings would be drained and she’d have to try to find some income-adjusted housing. She figured if she tightened her purse strings a bit, she could stay here another six months.

Instinctively, she reached up and took her earlobe between her thumb and forefinger, rubbing it slowly. If she canceled the newspaper and dropped her cable down from premium to basic—

“Stop it,” she said, pulling her hand from her ear and shaking it as if she’d touched something hot.

She had been doing it again. Rubbing her ear had been one of the things Logan said reminded him of someone, and that wasn’t the only thing, either.

Emma let the curtain fall back into place and glanced at the clock. Eight forty-five. It was possible the doc would be in by now. She picked up the phone and dialed.

“Doctor Joseph Reese’s office,” one of his nurses answered.

“This is Emma Shane. The doc said to call if I was feeling anything funny—”

“Are you having chest pains or trouble breathing? Any pain or numbness in your arms?” the nurse interrupted.

Emma blew out a breath. She was glad the nurse was concerned and knew the symptoms that would buy her a trip to the hospital, but this wasn’t the time. “I’m fine, really,” she said firmly. “I don’t have any symptoms. It’s just I need to talk to him about something.”

“Maybe you should come in, Ms. Shane. Let’s see when I have an opening.”

“Listen! I only need to speak to the doc on the phone. I’m not rejecting, I’m not dying, and I don’t need to schedule an appointment. Now tell me—is the doc in the office?” Her face was growing hot, and she could feel her blood pressure rising. All she wanted to do was talk to the doc on the phone, nothing else.

“All right, Ms. Shane. One moment please,” the nurse said very frostily. She clicked off and music filled her ear.

At least it’s classical.
She pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it. Where had that thought come from? She’d never liked classical music before. But then she remembered Logan was playing classical when she had arrived at his apartment and she had liked the way it sounded. Why did she like it now? This was all getting too weird.

“Emma? Everything okay?” The concern was evident in the doc’s voice when he finally came to the phone.

Emma sat down on the coffee table, her gaze focused on the curtains at the window. “I’m sorry to bother you, Doc, but I have some questions.” She gripped the phone tighter in one hand while she fingered the hem of her T-shirt with the other.

“So you’re all right? No medical problems?”

“No. Just some questions. Listen, Doc, I hope you don’t think I’m weird but—”

Chuckling on the other end of the phone stopped her. “Too late for that, Emma. I already think you’re weird.”

Emma smiled. He always managed to diffuse the situation, no matter how bad, and make her smile. “Well, my questions won’t surprise you then, will they?”

“Ask away.”

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ve noticed lately that I’m doing some strange things. Things I’ve never done before. Different habits and different tastes.”

“Is this a problem? You aren’t doing drugs or smoking or anything, are you? I just saw you yesterday and you didn’t mention anything different.”

“I didn’t mention it yesterday because I hadn’t realized I was doing it. Not until last night, anyway. It’s not that I’m doing drugs or anything. It’s things like rubbing my ear and drinking ginger ale instead of my usual cola. There are other things, too. It’s even affecting the way I talk.”

“No slurring word, right?”

“No, but I’m using words I’ve never used before and saying phrases I’ve never said.” Emma caught herself rubbing her earlobe while she spoke. She ripped her hand away from her ear and shoved it beneath her thigh. Maybe that would stop her from doing it. “This all started after the transplant, and someone told me they had heard of people having transplants and then taking on some of the personality traits of the donor. Doc, be honest with me here, do you think that’s possible? Have you heard of it?” She chewed her lip, suddenly very nervous. If it was true, if it could happen, then there was not only a part of someone’s body living inside her but also a part of their mind, a piece of who they were, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“Emma, it sounds like you’re upset and stressed out. You could come in, and we could discuss this further.”

“Can’t you tell me now if it’s even possibly for something like this to happen?”

The doc sighed into the phone. “The condition is called cellular memory.”

“It’s a
condition
? It has a
name
?” She stood up, unsure if she wanted to laugh or scream. At least she wasn’t crazy, right?

“Calm down, Emma. Why don’t you come in this afternoon, and we’ll discuss it. I’ll make an opening for you. I don’t want you this upset.”

Emma started to pace. “Okay. I’ll come in. What time?”

“How about four?”

“Yeah, okay.” She rubbed her forehead. “Um, can I bring someone with me?”

Nothing but silence on the other end of the phone. Had she just shocked him with her question? “Doc? You still there?”

“I’m here. Of course you can bring anyone you like with you. I’ll see you at four.”

“Thanks, Doc. Bye.” Emma ended the call, dropping the phone on the coffee table. Cellular memory. Did that mean she might have part of someone else’s memories inside her, too?