Connor sighed. Hell, he hadn’t made that mistake since he was a kid and their father had taken them all out on the half-day fishing boats. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Liam fell into silence, gaze fixed on Connor until he shifted uneasily under that steady stare. “What’re you looking at?”
“A man with a problem.”
Major understatement, Connor thought, but kept his mouth shut. He just wasn’t the kind of guy who needed to “vent” his feelings. He’d never wanted to hug and cry and learn and grow. He didn’t mind listening to his friends’ problems when they needed someone to talk to. But his own problems remained just that. His own.
“Knock it off, Liam.”
“Hey, just sitting here.”
“Well, sit somewhere else.”
“It’s a small boat,” his brother said, shrugging.
“Getting smaller every damn minute,” Connor muttered. He lifted his right foot and braced it on the stern. “Don’t you have a rosary to say or something?”
Liam grinned, unoffended. “I’m taking the day off.”
“Lucky me.”
“True.”
“What?”
Liam smiled again. “You are lucky, Connor. You have a career you love, a family willing to put up with you and a beautiful day to do some fishing. So, you want to tell me why you look like a man who just lost his best friend?”
That last, stray statement hit a little close to home, and Connor winced. He stood up, walked to the edge of the boat and braced both hands on the gleaming wood railing. He shot Liam a quick look, then shifted his gaze back to the unending, rolling sea. “I think I have lost my best friend.”
“Ahh…”
Connor snorted in disgust. “Don’t give me Father Liam’s patented, generic, sympathetic sigh.”
“You want more specific sympathy, tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s Emma.”
“I figured that much out already.” When Connor looked at him again, Liam shrugged. “Not that hard to work out, Connor. You lost the bet to her and now I’m thinking you lost something else to her as well.”
“Like?”
“Your heart?”
Connor jerked up straight, as if he’d been shot. He viciously rubbed the back of his neck, then pushed that hand into the pocket of his jeans shorts. “Nobody said anything about love.”
“Until now,” Liam mused.
“You know,” Connor pointed out with a sidelong glare, “you can be pretty damn annoying for a brother, Father.”
“So I’ve heard.” Liam stood up, too, and faced his younger brother. “Talk to me, Connor.”
With a quick glance at the galley steps to make sure Brian and Aidan were still out of earshot, Connor blurted, “I think I’m losing my mind.” Then he glared at his older brother. “And it’s all your fault. The stupid bet. That’s what started all this.”
“Ahh…” Liam turned his face away to hide his smile. He wasn’t entirely successful.
Connor muttered, “That’s great. Laugh at your own brother’s misery.”
“What’s a brother for?”
The boat rocked, sea spray drifted with the breeze and, overhead, seagulls kept watch, looking for supper.
“What’s making you miserable?” Liam asked.
“Emma.”
“This is getting better.”
“Damn it, Liam.” Connor stalked to the corner of the boat, then turned around and came back again. “Something’s wrong.”
Liam frowned. “With Emma? Is she okay?”
“She’s okay. I’m the one in trouble.”
“Oh.”
Connor blew out a breath and viciously rubbed his face with both hands before dropping them to his sides. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Not to him. Not to the man who’d firmly believed that the reason God had created so many beautiful women was to make love and marriage unnecessary.
All his life, one woman had been pretty much like the next. He’d figured if he lost one, there’d be another one right around the corner. Now? Now the only woman he wanted, didn’t want him.
It had been three long days since the night he’d left Emma in her shop. Three days and three even-longer nights.
He’d tried everything he knew to keep his mind off her. He’d thought about asking some other woman out, but he just couldn’t work up any interest in someone who wasn’t Emma. He’d gone to his favorite hangout, but every time he saw that pool table, he saw Emma, stretched across it, her perfect legs tormenting him. Hell, he couldn’t even work on his car without thinking about her.
His dreams were full of her image and every waking thought eventually wandered back to her. His chest felt tight every time he realized that she just might not want to see him again. Unconsciously he rubbed his chest with one hand and looked at Liam. “She won’t talk to me.”
“Does she have a reason?”
“Maybe.” Remembering the look on her face when she’d told him about the idiot Tony, Connor winced. He hadn’t been looking for a relationship. Hadn’t wanted one. Hadn’t expected to find one.
He’d lived his life pretty much on his own terms and had never considered changing. So why, he wanted to know, did the fact that Emma wouldn’t talk to him, hurt him badly enough to make his whole insides ache with it?
Love?
Inwardly he reared back from the thought. Love? Him? Panic chewed on him.
He didn’t do love.
“Hell,” Connor muttered, still trying to get over the shock of what he might be feeling, “I really don’t know anything anymore.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say something like that.”
“What?” Connor asked wryly, “a priest doesn’t believe in miracles?”
“Good point.” Liam leaned against the stern, crossed his arms over his chest and stared at him. “What are you going to do about this, Connor?”
He shook his head. “I think I’ve done enough already.” Hell, he’d made his best friend throw him out of her place. He’d fixed it so she wouldn’t talk to him. So she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Oh, yeah. His work was done.
“So you’re gonna quit? Walk away?”
Connor fixed him with an evil look. “You’re manipulating me.”
“No kidding.”
“And who said anything about quitting?”
“Then, what’s the plan?”
“If I knew that, would I be standing here being insulted by you?”
Liam grinned. “Okay, but aren’t you the guy who said, and I think I’m quoting here, ‘the day I need advice on women from a priest is the day they can shave my head and send me to Okinawa’?”
Man, the hits just kept on coming. Blowing out a breath, Connor grumbled, “Fine. I’m an idiot. I need advice.”
Liam slapped one hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Then here it is. You’ve already opened your eyes about Emma—maybe it’s time you opened your heart.”
“That’s it?” he asked. “That’s all you’ve got?”
Liam laughed. “Think about it, grasshopper. The answers will come.”
“Before I’m old and gray?”
“Probably.” Liam bent and opened the cooler. “Want a beer?”
“Open my heart.” Connor snorted and stepped out of his car into the humid night air. Liam’s words echoed in his mind as they had all day. He looked at the garage, the light gleaming behind the windows and knew Emma was in there. His stomach fisted like he was about to tiptoe through a minefield.
Love?
Was he in love with Emma? He still didn’t know the answer to that one.
He liked her. More than he ever had anyone else. It bothered hell out of him that they weren’t speaking. That she didn’t want to see him. And it really bothered hell out of him that he couldn’t think about anything but Emma.
“But that’s all going to change now,” he murmured. It had taken him most of the day to figure out what Liam’s advice had
meant. Then it had finally hit him.
Stop treating Emma like his friend and start treating her like a woman.
He smiled to himself as he reached into the car and pulled out the white-tissue-paper-wrapped bouquet of red roses. Their scent was heavy, cloying and just right. Still smiling, he held the flowers in his left hand and grabbed up the gold foil box of expensive chocolates.
Finally. He felt in control.
This he knew.
“This I’m good at.” Hell, he could write a how-to book for guys on how to smooth talk a woman out of being mad. Flowers, chocolate and a few kisses had bailed him out of trouble with women more times than he could count.
All he had to do was show her that he appreciated her. Show her that what they’d found was more than a one-night—or two-night—stand. Then, once she was softened up, they could find a way to deal with the changes in their relationship.
He straightened up, kicked the car door closed and headed for the garage. Automatically he tried the doorknob and was pleased to find she’d locked it. “At least she listened about that.”
Clutching the box of candy, he rapped the door with his knuckles and waited what felt like forever for her to answer. When she did, she opened the door only a few inches and peered out at him.
Through that narrow opening, he could see only one of her beautiful eyes and the tips of her fingers wrapped around the edge of the door. Partially hidden as if protecting herself, she was wearing the gray coveralls again, and a part of him wondered if she was naked beneath it. But then his body stirred and his mouth went dry, so he attempted to steer his brain away from the roller-coaster ride it was headed for.
“Connor. What’re you doing here?”
“I needed to see you, Em,” he said, and lifted the roses and candy, just in case she hadn’t spotted them. “And I wanted to bring you these.”
“Roses.”
He smiled and took a step closer. “And candy.”
She laughed shortly, a harsh, stiff sound that held no humor, and pushed the door a bit more closed. “You still don’t get it.”
Confused, he frowned and stared at her. “Get what? I’m just trying to be nice, here. What’s going on, Emma?”
She looked at him for a long, silent minute. Connor could have sworn he could actually hear his own heartbeat in the deafening quiet. Then at last she opened the door wider and stepped out from behind it. Folding her arms across her chest, she shook her head and stared up at him.
Only then did he see the sheen of emotion glistening in her eyes. And he knew, instinctively, that he’d done something wrong. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.
“You brought me roses.”
“So?”
“I hate roses.”
Something clicked in the back of his brain and he wanted to kick himself. He’d known that, damn it. Known that Emma’s favorite flowers were carnations. His left hand squeezed the bouquet tightly as if he were hoping he could just make the damn flowers disappear. But he couldn’t, so he said, “You’re right. I didn’t think. I—”
Emma lifted her chin and stared into his eyes. To Connor’s horror, those beautiful eyes of hers filled with tears, and he prayed like hell they wouldn’t spill over.
“No, you didn’t think,” she said sadly. “Not about me. You bought me your traditional make-up present and figured that would do it.”
“Emma…” This wasn’t going the way he’d planned. Nothing was working out. He was getting in deeper and felt the quicksand beneath his feet sucking at him.
Desperation clawed at him as he realized that by trying to make things better between them, he’d only made them worse.
“I told you three days ago, Connor,” she said, her voice still just a low, disappointed hush, “the foo-foo girl thing is not me. The me you were with before doesn’t exist. Not really. And the me I really am, you don’t want.”
His insides trembled, and he scrambled to find the right words to say. But nothing was coming to him. The one time he needed the ability to smooth talk, he was coming up empty.
He’d hurt her again.
And that knowledge delivered a pain to his soul like nothing he’d ever known before.
Suddenly it was more important than it had been to get through to her. He felt as though he was sliding down a rocky cliff, trying to grab something to stop his fall. But there was nothing there. “Emma, I know I did this wrong…” He let his hands, still holding the offerings she hadn’t wanted, fall to his sides. “I just wanted us to be friends again.”
“I don’t want to be your friend, Connor.”
Her voice was too small, too hushed, too full of pain, and every word she spoke fell like a rock into the bottom of his heart. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I love you, Connor.”
“Emma—”
“Don’t say anything, okay?” She held one hand up for quiet. “Please.” She choked out a laugh that sounded as though it had scraped her throat. “This is my fault and I’ll get over it—trust me.” She inhaled sharply, deeply, then blew it all out again, lifting one hand to swipe at a single, stray tear glistening on her cheek.
Connor’s chest tightened as though he were in a giant vise and some unseen hand was forcing it closed around him. He couldn’t breathe. His heart hurt, his hands ached to hold her and he knew, without a doubt, that if he tried to reach for her, Emma would turn him away. And he didn’t know if he could take that.
So instead he stood there like an idiot while the woman who meant so much to him battled silent tears.
“I can’t be your lover anymore, Connor,” she said and he swallowed hard at the calm steadiness in her eyes. “It would kill me to have you and yet never have you—you know? And I can’t be your friend anymore, either—”
She gulped in air and kept talking, her words rushing from her in a flood of emotion that was thick enough to choke both of them.
“Emma—”
“No. I can’t be your buddy and listen to you complain about the women in your life. I don’t want to hear about the date of the week or the hot brunette who caught your eye.”
Guilt raged inside him and battled with another, stronger feeling that was suddenly so real, so desperate, he trembled with the force of it.
For the first time in his life, Connor felt helpless.
And he didn’t like it one damn bit.
“Go away, Connor,” she said as another tear slid down her cheek. Stepping back from the doorway, she pushed the door closed. As she did, she said softly, “And do us both a favor, okay? This time when you go? Stay away.”
Then the door closed, and Connor, the damn roses in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other, was left standing alone in the growing darkness.
Despite the hot summer night, he felt cold to the bone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE NEXT MORNING EMMA had a pickup truck that needed a new timing belt, an SUV with bad brakes and a headache that wouldn’t quit.
Too many tears and not enough sleep.
And the way she was feeling, she didn’t see things changing anytime soon.
For most of the night she’d agonized over blurting out her love to Connor. Why hadn’t she just kept her big mouth shut? Bracing her elbows on her desktop, she cupped her face in her hands and tried desperately to forget the look on his face when she’d said the three little words designed to inspire panic in the hearts of men everywhere.
“Oh, God.” She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Emma, you idiot. You never should have said it. Now he knows. Now he’s probably feeling sorry for you. Oh, man…”
She jumped up from the desk, started for the door to the garage bay, then changed her mind and whipped around, walking toward the bank of windows instead. She couldn’t go into the garage. She didn’t want to talk to the guys. Didn’t want them wondering why her eyes were all red. Didn’t want anyone else knowing that she’d allowed her heart to be flattened by an emotional sledgehammer.
r /> “Maybe I could sell the shop,” she whispered. “Leave town—no, leave the state.” Then she caught herself and muttered, “Great. Panic. Good move.”
She wasn’t going to leave. Wasn’t going to hide.
What she was going to do, was live her life. Pretend everything was normal and good until eventually, it would be. Positive mental attitude. That was the key. She’d just keep her thoughts positive and her tears private.
Everything would work out.
Everything would be good again.
“God, I’m such a liar.” Sighing, Emma thought about going home, but that wouldn’t solve anything. At least here, in the shop, she had things to concentrate on. She could catch up on paperwork.
Of course, what she wanted to do was lie down somewhere in the dark and go to sleep. Then hopefully, when she woke up again, her heart would be healed and she’d be able to think of Connor without wanting to either hug him or slug him.
But it wouldn’t be that easy, she knew.
She was going to have to deal with Connor—at least until he was transferred to another base or deployed overseas or something. She’d have to find a way to learn to live with what had happened between them. Learn to survive with her heart breaking.
Shouldn’t take her more than ten or twenty years. “Piece of cake.”
A florist’s van pulled into the driveway off Main Street and Emma nearly groaned. Oh, God, more flowers. Last night he’d brought the “Gee, I’m sorry, please forgive me” bouquet. What was up today? she wondered. Maybe a little something from the “Too bad you’re in love and I’m not” sympathy line?
“This just keeps getting more and more humiliating,” she said as she hit the front door and marched across the parking lot to head off the delivery guy.
The sun was hot, the air was stifling, and even the asphalt beneath her feet felt as if it was on fire. All around her, Baywater was going about its business. Behind her in the garage bay, she heard the whir of the air compressor. Kids played, moms shopped, guys cruised in their cool cars, looking for a girl to spend some time with.
And here, in this one little corner of town, Emma prepared to take a stand. She didn’t want Connor’s pity bouquets. She didn’t want his guilt.