So This Is Love (32 page)

"Emma said Robert looked far worse."

He smiled. "Your daughter is very competitive."

"Don't I know it. I suspect you can keep up."

"I think so."

"Stay as long as you like, Max."

After Lynda left, he stretched out across the foot of Emma's double bed and closed his eyes. He felt suddenly exhausted. The stress of the last few days had taken their toll.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew Emma was saying his name.

He sat up, meeting her confused gaze.

"We're in my bedroom," she said.

"Yeah. Sorry, I guess I fell asleep."

She glanced at the clock. "It's one o'clock in the morning."

"You should go back to sleep."

"Why are you still here, Max?"

He scooted forward on the bed so he was sitting right next to her. "Because I couldn't leave until I told you something."

She stared back at him with her pretty, intelligent eyes, and said, "That you're in love with me?"

"Hey, I wanted to say it."

"So say it."

He deliberately hesitated, wanting her to know that he was not saying the words lightly. "I'm in love with you, Emma."

A smile spread across her face. "I knew it."

"You did not."

"I did. I was just afraid it was too good to be true or that I was imagining things."

"You're not imagining anything. I love you, and I'm not leaving San Francisco or you."

"Are you sure this is where you want to be? You had a life in L.A."

"A life I can barely remember now—a life that doesn't matter at all because you're not in it. I fell for you the first day we met."

"You hated me the first day we met," she reminded him.

"It was a cover. And you pretended you didn't like me either."

"That wasn't pretense. I
didn't
like you. You were so cocky."

"So were you—in a slightly more charming way. I knew you were trouble."

"Likewise." She grinned. "We're two of a kind, aren't we?"

"I think we might be. Does that scare you?"

"No, it's exciting and wonderful. I've finally met the one person who really understands me, who accepts me for who I am, who sees my flaws and my strengths, and doesn't want to change me. You don't want to change me, do you?" she asked, a little uncertainty creeping into her eyes.

"Absolutely not. You're stubborn and sometimes a little too brave for your own good, but you're also smart, generous and extremely hot."

She gave him a playful smile. "You know I've never had sex in this bed. I used to dream about it, but it never happened."

"And it's not going to happen tonight," he told her firmly. "I've already been grilled by your brothers. I'm not going to have sex with you in your parents' house."

"I thought you were brave," she teased.

"You need to rest, Emma."

"Fine. I'll rest. As long as you stay with me."

He stretched out next to her on the bed, and they faced each other. For several long seconds, he just looked at her. "I've never told a woman that I loved her. I couldn't say it unless I really meant it. Unless I was willing to back it up."

Her gaze turned serious. "Really—no one?"

He shook his head. "I saw love destroy my father. He was never happy with the person he was with; he was always in search of this elusive emotion he called love. He told me once it was the greatest high, and he was an addict. He couldn't live without it."

"That doesn't sound like love. That sounds like lust, like the first flame of attraction."

"That's probably why it always burned out. And then there was my brother… I watched Spencer throw his whole life away for Stephanie. I didn't get it at the time. I understand a little better now what he went through. I would have fought Robert for you. I wouldn't have thought twice about it." He paused. "But you took care of him for me. You saved yourself."

"Not really. After I knocked Robert out, I was finished. I wasn't sure I could make it to the door. If you hadn't been there…" Her lower lip began to tremble, and her eyes watered. "Look at me, about to cry when it's all over."

He tenderly wiped a streaking tear off her cheek, knowing that the last thing she wanted to show was weakness. "It's shock. You're entitled. If it had been me, I'd be crying like a baby."

"Liar," she said, his teasing words lightening her mood. "You're a strong man, Max. And that's the kind of person I need and want in my life."

"And you're a strong woman, which is exactly the kind of person I need and want in my life." He leaned over and touched her mouth with his, wanting to show her how he felt, but not wanting to hurt her bruised lips.

"I love you, Max," she whispered again, her heart in her eyes.

"I love you, too, Emma.

"I hope you're ready for the Callaways. You do know that they're going to be interfering in every aspect of our lives?"

He smiled. "I'm more than ready." He slipped his hand under her t-shirt, caressing her warm curves. "You know what I said earlier about no sex…" He kissed her again. "Let me show you how much I love you, Emma."

"Okay. And tomorrow I'll show you." As he slid his hand over her breast, she softly sighed. "So this is love," she murmured. "I never knew what I was missing."

"I'm going to spend the rest of my life showing you," he said, as he kissed her again and again and again.

Epilogue

Three months later …

"We're late," Emma told Max as they hurried down the street to Serafina's Restaurant, where they were going to celebrate her thirtieth birthday with family and friends. "And it's your fault," she reminded him.

He gave her an unrepentant smile. "It was worth it. We had to christen our new apartment."

She smiled back at him. She'd never been this happy in her life. After three fantastically wonderful months of love and romance, they'd decided to move in together. They'd gotten a beautiful ground-floor flat in the lake district of San Francisco. The living room opened on to a deck with a pretty little garden, an oasis of color in the big city.

They didn't have much furniture yet, and they'd already disagreed on how to decorate, but Emma knew the fun was just beginning. Even when she was arguing with Max, she was also loving him, and he felt exactly the same way. They drove each other crazy, but they also brought out the best in each other.

"Look, there's Aiden and Sara," she said, waving at her friend and her brother. "We're not the last ones here."

"Why do I think they were late for the same reason we were?" Max said dryly.

"Happy birthday, Em." Sara gave her a warm hug while Aiden and Max shook hands.

"Thank you. It's a big birthday," Emma said.

Sara nodded. "I know. Mine is coming up soon."

"Well, I think our thirties are going to be pretty spectacular." Emma shot Max a quick glance. "Can I tell them?"

"Tell us what?" Sara asked quickly.

"It's up to you, Emma," Max said.

"Last night Max and I had a little private celebration," Emma said. "And…" She held up her left hand to reveal the sparkling diamond on her third finger. "We're engaged."

Sara grabbed her hand. "It's beautiful." Her face softened, her expression filled with love. They had been friends since they were teenagers, and Sara knew just how much trouble Emma had had finding real love. "I'm so happy for you," Sara said. She looked at Max. "You are a lucky man."

"Believe me, I know," Max said.

"And I'm lucky, too," Emma added. As she stared at her ring, at the hand Sara was holding, she noticed something shiny on Sara's finger.

Sara quickly pulled her hand away, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat.

"Hold on. What was that on your finger?" Emma demanded. When Sara didn't answer, she turned on her brother. "What do you have to say, Aiden?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Not a word."

"Sara, come on, show me your hand."

Sara shook her head. "No, it's your night—your birthday, your engagement. Let's go celebrate."

Sara turned to leave, but Emma grabbed her by the arm.

"Wait one second. Did Aiden ask you to marry him?"

Sara hesitated. "Let's talk about this later, Em."

"Let's talk about it now," she said, refusing to budge.

"You're not going to win," Aiden advised Sara. "My little sister is as stubborn as they come. You better tell her."

"He's right," Emma said, looking into her friend's eyes. "So talk."

"Fine. Aiden asked me to marry him," Sara confessed with a guilty smile. "It was last Saturday. We picked out the ring today. I should have taken it off my finger, but I couldn't. We were going to tell everyone tonight. But this is your night. We can tell everyone another day."

"Don't be silly. This is
our
night. And I want to see the ring. How did my brother do?"

"Very well." Sara pulled out her hand to reveal a sparkling square cut diamond.

Emma gave Aiden an approving smile. "Good job, Aiden. This is so wonderful. We're all getting married. I was going to ask you to be in my wedding, Sara."

"I was going to ask you to be my maid of honor, Emma."

Emma glanced around the group. "What do we think—double wedding?"

"That’s up to you two," Max said, with Aiden quickly agreeing.

Sara met her gaze. "I can't think of anything better, Emma."

"Let's go tell the family," Aiden said. He opened the restaurant door, and he and Sara slipped inside.

Emma paused and looked at Max. "Are you okay with sharing our day?"

"Absolutely. Just don't ask me to share you."

"Never. I love you, Max."

"I love you, too, Emma. For now and forever
.
"

THE END

Dear Readers,

I hope you enjoyed Emma and Max's story! The third book in the Callaway Series will be out this summer and will feature Emma's brother, Drew, who keeps seeing a woman, who's supposed to be dead. There are also some big weddings coming up with Aiden and Sara, and Emma and Max. I know you won't want to miss all the fun!

In the meantime, if you haven't read the first book in the series featuring Emma and Aiden, the following is an excerpt from ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS.

I'm also including an excerpt from A SECRET WISH, the first book in my WISH SERIES.

Enjoy!

Barbara

Excerpt – On A Night Like This

(The Callaways, #1)

© Copyright 2013 – Barbara Freethy

All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

As a teenager, seeing her father’s car in the driveway when she came home from school had always made Sara Davidson uneasy. She would steel herself for the evening to come, never quite sure why she felt afraid. Stephen Davidson had never physically abused her, but he had been demanding, and his words cut like a knife. It wasn’t always what he said that was the worst part; it was the rejection in his gaze, and the cold quiet that usually followed his disappointment in her.

It would be different now Sara told herself, as she got out of her rental car. She was twenty-nine years old, a successful lawyer, and she hadn't lived at home in ten years. So why did she feel trepidation? Because her relationship with her father had never been quite right.

They were biologically connected, but emotionally they were as distant as two people could be. Her mother, Valerie, had been the buffer between them, but her mom had died when Sara was nineteen years old. For the past decade it had been just her and her dad. Actually, it had mostly been just her.

While her father had paid for her education and living expenses, he hadn’t come to her graduations—not from college or from law school. The last time she’d seen him in person had been five years ago when they’d both attended the funeral of her grandmother, her father's mother.

She walked up the path, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, her hand tightening around the bottle of wine she’d brought for her dad’s sixty-fifth birthday on Sunday. She’d tried her best to get him something a wine connoisseur would appreciate – a bottle of 1989 Chateau Mouton Rothschild Bordeaux. The wine had cost as much as her monthly car payment; she hoped it would be worth it. Her father was her only living relative, and she still, probably foolishly, wanted to believe they could find a way to connect with each other.

Her nerves tightened, and she had to fight back the urge to flee. She'd flown all the way across the country to see him; she couldn’t back down. Trying to calm her racing heart, she looked around, reminding herself that this had once been home.

Her father’s two-story house with the white paint and dark brown trim was located in the middle of the block in a San Francisco neighborhood known as St. Francis Wood. Not far from the ocean, the houses in this part of the city were detached and had yards, unlike much of the city where the homes shared common walls.

Her family had moved into this house when she was nine years old, and one of her favorite places to be was sitting in the swing on the front porch. She’d spent many hours reading or watching the kids who lived next door. The Callaways were a big, Irish-Catholic blended family. Jack Callaway, a widower with four boys, had married Lynda Kane, a divorcee with two girls. Together, they’d had fraternal twins, a boy and a girl, rounding out the family at eight kids.

As an only child, Sara had been fascinated by the Callaways and a little envious. Jack Callaway was a gregarious Irishman who told great stories and had never met a stranger. Jack was a San Francisco firefighter, following in his father and grandfather’s footsteps. The Callaways had been born to serve and protect, and all of the kids had been encouraged to follow the family tradition. At least two of the boys had become firefighters and last she'd heard her friend, Emma, had done the same, but she hadn't spoken to Emma in a long time.

A wave of nostalgia hit her as her gaze drifted down the block. She'd let her childhood friends go—not that there had been that many, but she could still hear the sounds of the past, kids laughing and playing. The Callaway boys had run the neighborhood, taking over the street on summer nights to play baseball, football, or any other game they'd invent. She'd occasionally been part of those games, but not often.