The Righteous and The Wicked (25 page)

As she leaves the bakery, her rage distills into sadness—and then pain.

Eric is capitalizing on the last few hours of daylight. His hands are covered in paint as he works on completing the exterior of the house. He feels happy, and it’s so strange. No nagging need gnawing at his soul. No battles. No bargaining. No hate. Just happy.

He hears a car and stops. Pulling down his driveway is the strange white car. He picks up a rag to wipe his hands, and saunters over to the vehicle. The door opens and out steps a woman. It’s the blonde Emma asked him to flirt with at the carnival. Deborah.

She wears a wicked smile. “Remember me?”

Eric stands before the beautiful woman with his arms folded across his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“My name is Deborah Daniels. I work for the real estate agency that sold you this property. I was wondering what you’re planning to do with this home you’re building. Are you going to sell?”

After following him around and waiting for his neighbor to leave, her desire is to capitalize on this chance to be alone with him. He has possessed her thoughts since she first saw him, and finding him again has become a mission for her.

“I’m Eric.” He shakes her hand and can sense she has ulterior motives. He’s not going to play games. “You’re not interested in this house, are you, Deborah?”

She misconstrues his confrontational manner for flirting. “Well, I
am
interested in the house.” She touches his arm. “But I’m more interested in
you.
It wasn’t long ago that Eric would’ve taken this woman and stripped her bare and fucked her right here against her car. She’s a perfect victim. He can see her spread legs and her naked breasts. Flashes of dark and dirty possibilities race through his mind’s eye, but the idea of touching her would be violating what he has with Emma. Tarnishing that which is now sacred to him. Though he
is
physically attracted to Deborah, and his demon would love to show himself to her, Eric no longer has a desire to be with anyone else. For the first time, Eric’s in control of his need, and he craves only Emma.

“I’m sorry, but I’m involved with someone.” Eric takes a step away from her.

“I thought you would say that. I’m married, but who cares? I can be discreet, you know. Your girlfriend wouldn’t find out about us.”

“I’m sorry. You can give me your card, and maybe I’ll call you if I decide to sell, but that’s all. I’m not that kind of guy.” He feels overwhelming clarity when he says those words, because for the first time ever they are true.

Deborah is not accustomed to rejection. She steps toward him, seething. She’s just a breath away from his face. “I think you
are
that kind of guy, Eric. I think that deep down, you
know
it. Call me when you’re ready to admit that to yourself. You won’t regret it, I
promise
you.”

She slams the door of the white car and floors it as she reverses out of Eric’s drive, almost colliding with Emma’s car.

Emma speeds through town, her eyes blurry with tears. She doesn’t believe it. She doesn’t want to believe it, but Danni has no reason to lie.

She trusted a man she doesn’t know. She
slept
with him, while still married to another man. She’s a sinner and she hates herself.

She has to confront him, but she needs to calm down and clear her mind. As she passes the church, she wonders if it will give her any comfort now. She pulls into St. Simon’s hoping for some kind of guidance, some kind of sign, but the stone building is cold and empty.

Her heart is not.

She drives home and has to swerve to avoid a strange woman driving a white car as she descends through the mud of Eric’s driveway. He’s standing in front of the house. She turns off the engine, but doesn’t get out. If she gets out of her car, the agony becomes real.

She stares at him through the windshield. The idea of him not being here anymore, the idea of him leaving . . . she wouldn’t be able to bear it. Her heart beats in her chest and she knows that it belongs to him.

Right or wrong, Emma is in love.

Eric looks into her eyes and sees pain. He sees fear. Terrified that she saw Deborah, he thinks the worst. He wants her to know the truth. He stalks toward her and opens the door of the car, helping her out.

“What’s wrong?” His concern for her pours out of him, he tries to kiss her, and she turns her head.

“Who was that woman in the white car?”

“A real estate agent.”

Emma drops her head, dejected. Danni was right. He is leaving.

“Eric, I was just with Sean’s fiancé, Danielle.”

He flashes back to all of the sick fantasies he has had of that woman, and he feels his stomach roll with nausea at the memory. Somewhere deep inside his mind, Eric knew that Danielle and Sean knew Emma. Ever since that day in their driveway when Danielle said she was going to meet up with “Emma”. Deep down, he knew. He just didn’t want to let anyone disturb what he has with her. He didn’t want to let anyone else in.

“And?”

“And she told me . . .” Emma fights a sob. Her eyes water and Eric feels himself ripping apart. He cannot stand to see her in any kind of pain. He cups her chin so she cannot look away from him.

Emma meets his gaze. “She said you’re not staying here. She said you’re selling this house and leaving. Is it true?”

Eric’s plan was to build and sell, and move on, like he always has. But everything is different now.

“It was.”

“Are you leaving or not? Answer me now!” She pushes him away and covers her face with her hands, hardening her heart, preparing for the worst.

Eric pulls her hands down, holding them in his own. “No. I’m not.”

She pulls away again, and he searches for the words to tell her what he feels.

“
Eu não quero ficar longe de você porque . . . eu te amo, Emma
.”
⁸
He presses his forehead against hers. He lingers there, taking in her sweet scent and softness. He tries to swallow down the emotion he feels right now, but he can’t. He has to let it out. “
Eu te amo
.”

“What does the mean?”

“It means . . . I love you.”

She grips his shirt in her fists and waits for him to say it again.

“I love you.” He presses his body against her and leans down to kiss her.

Emma’s afraid to say the words. She fears that once she says them, the world will fall apart again. But she can’t keep them inside any longer. “I love you, too. I love you, Eric.”

Love creeps like a vine, winding and wrapping tendrils around their hearts. Their lips meet and part, and taste and touch. They kiss until they feel they are floating above this earth, detached from any ties to reality. They kiss until it seems they are the last two people in existence. The first people who have ever loved. They kiss until their hearts meld together, and her happy tears mingle with his.

Eric’s calloused hands struggle to stay gentle; he wants to touch her everywhere. “I love you.” He says it again, treasuring the freedom and joy he now feels.

She sighs, and then her feet leave the earth. Eric lifts her up, and she wraps her legs around his waist. He wants nothing more than to be with her. He could take her right here, but where he wants her is in his bed.

They share a kiss, brimming with the love they’ve confessed. Eric couldn’t have dreamed those words would ever fall from his lips, but they flowed with such ease. The earth didn’t shatter and collapse in on itself. He wasn’t struck by lightning. It was cathartic to give the new feelings that have grown, and are living within him, a name.

Love.

He walks toward the silver trailer with Emma in his arms. The unpredictable rush of a spring wind blows through the trees and twists around them. They take shelter from it, and once through the door, make it as far as the kitchen counter. Eric puts Emma down on the edge and kisses her again. A dish slips and falls. It shatters, but neither of them notice or care. Emma imprisons Eric in the vise of her long legs, keeping him trapped. She feels his rough hands roaming her body.

“If you had left—” she begins to say against his lips, sliding his leather belt open, hungry to feel him in her hand.

“I’m not leaving. This is the only place I want to be. With you.”

He struggles to unbutton her shirt and yanks at the fabric with frustration, tearing it with his hands. Buttons fly across the floor and his palm runs along the lace of her bra as he kisses her neck. He lifts her off the counter and walks toward his bed, but gets just as far as the bookshelf. He presses her up against it, and loose books drop to the floor with a thud. Her foot bangs into the lamp and the impact causes the shade to crash to the floor. His tiny trailer is suffering under the urgency of their need to show each other what’s in their full hearts.

She reaches inside his pants and strokes him. “You’re mine, all mine.” She’s trying to convince herself that it’s true.

Emma wriggles her arm behind her back and unclasps her bra, baring her breasts to him. His gaze is riveted on her and she sees the change happening, she sees Eric fading. The Storm is rising over the horizon, ready to rage.

She welcomes it.

He looks at her breasts, her eyes, her lips. His tongue darts out and Emma holds her breath as he drops to his knees. He pulls her jeans over her hips, taking her panties off with them, and tosses her clothing to the side. She’s bared to him. Her eyes are wide, and he sees the innocence that still lingers there. The element that first attracted him to her.

“What do you want me to do to you?” He stands and removes his own remaining clothing.

“Touch me.”

“Where, Emma?” He eyes her body like it’s a treasure.

She slides her pale fingers down her abdomen and slips them inside herself. “Here.”

Watching her touch herself flames his desire to an explosive level. She starts to remove her hand and he stops her. “No.”

He slips his finger inside along hers and follows the rhythm of her hand with his own. “Oh, God . . . oh shit . . .”

His fingers cover and slip against hers. He’s enthralled watching her, but he wants to taste her, too. He kneels again to stare at her wet flesh and covers her swollen lips with his mouth, kissing and licking her hot wetness with his tongue.

“So good.”

Her face melts into ecstasy and he licks her again, teasing her with his tongue. Her head falls back against the shelf and he can’t take his eyes away from her face. She pulls at his hair and he’s so hard, so turned on by her taste and rough touch.

“The white car. The woman. Did you . . . want her?” Emma knows he may well have. She searches his eyes, hoping to find truth.

This is not Emma the Voyeur; this is a woman in love. She wants to know if he was able to resist temptation.

“No. Just you. I only want you this way.
Só você
.”
⁹
He stands and holds her shoulders, kissing her neck with passion, and lifts her legs around him. “Only you.”

He lays her down on his sheets and she clings to him, not wanting to let go.

“So beautiful.” He blankets her flesh with his.

In her pretty eyes, he sees the dreams that rest there. The
trust
he sees there gives him pause. In spite of his admitted love for her, he fears he will be unable to fulfill those dreams, but he would rather perpetuate them than be honest about how undeserving he is of her.