Книга - Christmas in the Billionaire’s Bed

Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed
Janice Maynard






“I find myself at a loss.

“I know you’re up to something,” Aidan continued, “but since my family has taken you to their bosom, I can hardly toss you out on your ear.”

“I live here now,” Emma said, her gaze daring him to disagree.

“And why is that?”

“You didn’t want any explanations,” she reminded him.

“Perhaps I was too hasty.”

“The information window is closed.” Her ironic smile made his temper spark, but he was determined to keep the upper hand.

“What if we agree to an exchange? One piece of info for another.”

“I don’t need to know anything about you. I don’t care.”

“Look at me.” He strode to where she sat, pulled her to her feet. “Actually, there’s only one thing I really need to know.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, capturing her mouth beneath his.

* * *

Christmas in the Billionaire’s Bed is part of The Kavanaghs of Silver Glen series: In the mountains of North Carolina, one family discovers that wealth means nothing without love.


Christmas in the Billionaire’s Bed

Janice Maynard






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


JANICE MAYNARD is a USA TODAY bestselling author who lives in beautiful east Tennessee with her husband. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary school teacher to pursue writing full-time. Now her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance stories.

Janice loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books. Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website, www.janicemaynard.com (http://www.janicemaynard.com), and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.


For all the wonderful authors who paved the way at Mills & Boon. I read your stories growing up, took trips around the world, and dreamed of writing my own romantic heroes one day …


Contents

Cover (#u46bbef7e-e8eb-558d-83ce-a0f9fcdd85d7)

Introduction (#u167e6942-feb6-5b63-a6ca-f07fd882772c)

Title Page (#u46baa91e-b7ac-5ee0-978a-376502fe5935)

About the Author (#ud912a2ea-f8db-57fa-afb4-13ca7d20acf8)

Dedication (#ue201e8df-c9cf-5e34-a951-43d50fb98852)

One (#ulink_87abbd75-55b8-553e-908b-a2ebf145c098)

Two (#ulink_1ee46b03-13eb-5e0a-bf6b-ad44d0594847)

Three (#ulink_d3d60bc3-3266-5121-8593-d75c129ed454)

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Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ulink_2447937b-dab5-52cc-9baf-ffcaf1857c8c)

Mrs. Maeve Kavanagh

and

Mr. and Mrs. W. H. Larin

request the honor of your presence

at the marriage of their children

Dylan Edward and Mia Elaina

on Saturday, December 20th

The Chapel in Silver Glen



Aidan Kavanagh stared at the cream vellum card edged with tiny holly leaves and berries and shook his head in reluctant admiration.

Game. Set. Match.

His mother had won the war without firing a single shot. The last thing Aidan wanted to do was visit Silver Glen, North Carolina, during the holidays, but Maeve knew he wouldn’t miss his own brother’s wedding.

The first of his siblings, Liam, had tied the knot recently as well. That event had been a huge, splashy society affair at Zoe’s home in Connecticut—a hop, skip and a jump from New York City. This time Aidan wouldn’t be so lucky.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Silver Glen. He did. But going home for Christmas brought back too many ugly memories. So, he chose to visit his large, close-knit family at other times of the year: Easter, Mother’s Day, the Fourth of July...and October, when the fall foliage in the mountains was at its peak.

But December? No. In the last decade, he had managed it only once and only then because one of his brothers had been in the hospital. Aidan would have felt like a total jerk if he had let his family down.

That visit had been both uncomfortable and unpleasant. His mother and brothers had walked on eggshells around him, everyone far too aware that Aidan carried the weight of past tragedy. He’d done his damnedest to prove to them he was fine...that he had moved on.

Unfortunately, no one had been convinced by his deliberate facade of Christmas cheer. Least of all Aidan himself. Because the truth was, December sucked. He was fine. His life was good. He was content. But not even his family knew the worst of what had happened so long ago.

He stood and stretched, tossing the offending invitation on his desk. The view from his office window stretched from the Statue of Liberty all the way to the George Washington Bridge. Aidan loved New York City. The constant pulse of life. The fact that he could stop for lox and bagels at three in the morning and no one batted an eye.

Most of all, he loved the anonymity. No one here cared about his past or even his future. The emotional breathing room had become as essential to him as food or water.

Growing up in Silver Glen provided an idyllic childhood—at least until his father’s death when Aidan was a young teen. The little alpine-like town would always be home. But living in a fishbowl where everyone knew his business became unbearable when he was twenty-one and his entire world crumbled around him.

Moving to New York had been his salvation. With a hefty nest egg of Kavanagh money—long since repaid—he’d started a high-end real estate company. The lessons he’d learned as a youth working in his family’s swank hotel stood him in good stead. Although the Kavanaghs were very wealthy, the crème de la crème here in the city took that definition to a far greater level. Aidan enjoyed the challenge of matching socialites and business magnates with their perfect homes on the rooftops of Manhattan.

His phone pinged, reminding him of an upcoming appointment. Once more he sat down, then picked up his favorite pen and rolled the heavy gold cylinder between his fingers. He had inked his first real estate deal with this pen. Beyond the leather blotter, the wedding invitation lay innocently. He read it a second time, finding its elegant cursive font no less stomach tightening than he had before.

December 20th. That meant Aidan would need to be in Silver Glen no later than the weekend before. Knowing his mother, she would undoubtedly have planned a series of social events to fill the days leading up to the wedding. And then he would be expected to hang around until the family celebrated Christmas together on the 25th. Almost two weeks. Might as well be a lifetime.

He glanced at the paper calendar his assistant kept updated on the corner of his desk. She was as tech savvy as the next person, but she had discovered that Aidan liked to keep tabs on his schedule in more than one medium. The month of December was notably blank.

No one, with very few exceptions, shopped for high-dollar real estate during December. His clients were too busy hosting parties, overspending on their spoiled children and taking trips to exotic locations. Which meant, unfortunately, that Aidan was free to do as he pleased.

Or in this instance as he did not please.

For a moment, he flashed back, his vision blinded to the present but very aware of the past. Two young women. Both beautiful. Both charming. Both full of life and fun. And he had lost each of them.

The familiar burning sensation in his gut was more than a mix of guilt and regret. It was a longing for what he would never have. Absolution. A woman and a family to call his own.

Spending Christmas at Silver Glen would undoubtedly resurrect a host of old memories that he’d rather not face. But if he were honest, the memories lived with him everywhere. The painful part of going home was having other people share the memories. The empathy and concern on the faces of his siblings and his mother would be his downfall.

He didn’t want their love to heal him. He didn’t deserve that. And he didn’t want to feel anything. Family knew his weak spots. Family refused to let him cling to the cloak of indifference that made it possible to live from day to day.

Aidan Kavanagh was a charming shell of a man, interested only in closing a deal or cashing a check. Ask anyone. The persona was one he had crafted carefully to keep people away. After loving and losing three times in his life, he was through with emotion...with caring.

In Silver Glen, especially at the holidays, he would have to be himself—the young man who had enjoyed life and reached for happiness with the careless naïveté of the innocent. He would be forced to open himself up to the warmth of family celebrations that would make him terribly vulnerable.

Could he do that and still survive?

Doggedly, he reached for the peace he had created here in the city. Emotional anonymity. A pleasant shield that kept other people from inflicting hurt.

He didn’t hurt. He wouldn’t hurt. Loving his family was a given. But beyond that, he had nothing to offer. Loving and losing meant vicious, unrelenting pain. Only a fool would walk that path again.

* * *

Emma Braithwaite leaned into the bay window, perched precariously on a stepladder that had seen better days. Creating the shop’s storefront display was usually the highlight of her workweek. Today’s theme, not exactly original, was teapots. Twitching the edge of a lace drape into place, she tried to visualize what her handiwork looked like from the street.

On the other side of the glass, a woman stopped and waved madly. Emma smiled. Even through the reverse gold lettering that spelled out Silver Memories, she recognized her visitor. Maeve Kavanagh, matriarch of the Kavanagh family—mother to seven sexy, über-masculine, wildly attractive grown men, and heir to the Kavanagh fortune.

Maeve’s husband’s ancestors had literally created the town after discovering a rich vein of silver deep in the mountain. The family story took a tragic turn when Maeve’s feckless husband, Reggie, became obsessed with finding the remnants of the mine. One day he climbed into the hills and never returned.

But that bit of local color was from long ago. Maeve was now a vibrant woman in her early sixties who managed to keep tabs on her brood and run a thriving business up at the Silver Beeches Lodge. A little bell tinkled over the door as Maeve entered. Her dark auburn hair—with only slight traces of silver—was done up in a stylish bun.

Emma climbed down from the ladder and straightened her skirt.

Maeve waved an envelope at her. “I know etiquette dictates I mail this to you, but I couldn’t wait. Here. Take it.”

Emma accepted the cream-colored envelope with a grin. The missive was thick, the paper expensive. When she opened it and examined the contents, she understood the older woman’s enthusiasm. “Another wedding?”

Maeve’s smug smile said everything. “Indeed. And this time right here in Silver Glen. I know it seems hurried, but Dylan’s adoption of Cora will be final on the day after Christmas. He and Mia want to be married and have their family complete.”

Emma tucked everything back in the envelope. “I’m honored to be invited.”

Emma and Mia had met several months ago at a coffee shop around the corner from Silver Memories. Since then they had become friends. Emma knew Maeve had been extremely kind in including Mia’s parents as hosts for the wedding. The Larins had given birth to Mia late in life and now lived in Florida on a fixed income.

Maeve waved a hand. “Don’t be silly. You’re practically part of my family now. Mia raves about you, and I’ve enjoyed getting to know you these last few months.”

Not long after Emma opened her store, Maeve had dropped by to shop for a set of occasional tables to use in a lounge at the Silver Beeches. It was thanks to Maeve that word had spread and the small shop had become a success so quickly.

“May I ask you something personal, Maeve?”

“Of course.”

“Is the baby’s father in the picture? Mia never speaks of him, and I didn’t want to upset her by asking.”

Maeve shook her head. “Dear Mia chose to have a baby via a sperm donor. When she and Dylan got together, he fell in love with little Cora. They make a beautiful family, don’t you think?”

Emma smiled wistfully. “They certainly do.” She had often seen Dylan and Mia and the baby out walking on afternoons when the weather was still warm.

Silver Glen was a small, cozy town, even though it boasted a strong tourist economy. Movie stars shooting on location often took up residence, as well as wealthy travelers who loved the peace of the mountains. The town’s alpine flavor reminded Emma of a Swiss village.

“There’s one more thing,” Maeve said, her expression cajoling. “Mia told me you’re not going home to England for Christmas, is that right?”

“Yes. I spent two weeks in September with my mother for her birthday. She’s handling the loss of my father better than I expected. And she has plans to tour the Greek Isles during the latter part of December with a group of her friends.”

“Then I want you to spend the holidays with us. Mia’s parents are coming only for the wedding itself. So I know Mia would enjoy having you around. We’re gathering for several occasions at Dylan and Mia’s home. My older son and his wife are still building their new house. And of course, we’ll have some special events up at the lodge, too. What do you think?”

Emma didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t afraid to be alone. In fact, her childhood had been solitary more times than not. She enjoyed the peace and tranquility of her own thoughts. And she was not a Kavanagh. Surely her presence would be awkward.

Maeve spotted a silver rattle and a matching small cup from the 1950s. “I knew I remembered seeing these,” she said triumphantly. “One of my college sorority sisters just became a grandma for the first time. This will be the perfect gift.”

As Emma rang up the purchase and took Maeve’s credit card, she wondered how large a wedding the Kavanaghs were planning. And then another thought struck. One that made her heart race.

“Will all of your family be able to attend on such short notice?” Emma had never actually confessed to Maeve that she knew one of her sons very well.

For the first time, Maeve lost a bit of her excitement. “I hope so. My third son, Aidan, lives in New York. We don’t see him all that often. And besides...”

She trailed off, her expression indicating that she had traveled somewhere unpleasant in her mind.

Emma wanted to know badly. “Besides what?”

Maeve’s lips twisted, her eyes shadowed. “Aidan had a very bad experience some years ago. It happened at Christmas. He comes home to visit, but not at the holidays.”

“And this wedding?”

“We hope he’ll make the effort, but who knows...”

What would Aidan think if he saw Emma ensconced in the bosom of his family? She hadn’t set eyes on him in a decade. Her original intent in coming to Silver Glen during the late summer had been to speak with him and bring some closure to what had been a painful time in their lives. She had hurt him badly, and she wanted to explain and make amends. But she discovered he no longer lived in the town of his birth.

Her recent birthday had brought home the fact that life passed quickly. Regret was an emotion fraught with negativity. After healing a decade-long rift with her father back in the spring, she had realized she wanted to move forward and to make better decisions than she had in her early twenties.

It was entirely possible that Aidan had not clung to the memories the way Emma had. She might be nothing more than a footnote in his past life. According to Maeve, he sounded like an entirely different person than the boy Emma had known.

The fact that Emma had chosen to settle in Silver Glen permanently had more to do with the town’s charm than it did with Aidan. But her initial motive remained. Even if her apology meant nothing to him, it would clear her own soul of lingering regret.

She couldn’t control his response. In fact, he might not even show up. But if he did, she was determined to do the mature, responsible thing and own up to her mistakes.

Emma wanted to grill her visitor, but she had already overstepped the bounds of polite curiosity. “I’m sure he realizes how important it is.”

Maeve gathered herself visibly. “You haven’t given me an answer. And I warn you in advance that I’ll only accept a yes.”

“Then I will say yes with pleasure.” And a healthy dose of trepidation.

“That’s wonderful, Emma dear. My invitation is selfish actually. Everything you say in that delightful British accent makes me want to listen to you for hours, but I have to fly.”

“I’d say you’re the one who has the accent,” Emma teased. “You, and the rest of Silver Glen. I’ve practiced my drawl, but it never seems to come out right.”

Heading out the door, Maeve shook her head, laughing. “Let’s face it, Emma. You’re the quintessential blue-blooded Englishwoman. Fit to marry a prince if Kate hadn’t snatched him up first. If you had a slow-as-molasses speech pattern, no one would ever believe you were an aristocrat.”

In the sudden silence created by the departure of her vivacious guest, Emma felt her stomach curl. She had known this day would come eventually. It was a major reason she had chosen to roost in Silver Glen. That, and the fact that the town reminded her of the cheery Cotswolds village where she had grown up.

Sooner or later, Aidan would appear. If not at Christmas, then in the spring. The thought of seeing him face-to-face both elated and terrified her. She knew they were far beyond second chances. Too much time had passed. His life experiences had no doubt changed him, especially the tragedy to which Maeve alluded. Too many turns in the road. But Emma wanted to speak her piece. And she would make him listen.

He deserved to know that she had loved him beyond reason and sanity. That his leaving had nearly destroyed her.

Perhaps she was kidding herself. Aidan might not even remember her. Maybe she had magnified the importance of their university romance. Aidan had come to Oxford the fall semester of his senior year for a term-abroad experience. He had literally bumped into Emma on the street in front of a pub frequented by students.

They had both laughed and picked up their books and papers. Aidan offered to buy her dinner, and that was that.

Her heart actually clenched in her chest, the pain of the memories still fresh after all this time. Would he look the same? Would he think she had changed?

And what was she going to say to Aidan Kavanagh when she saw him again?


Two (#ulink_bd746411-80ca-5974-984c-9b9f8eb1568d)

Aidan braked carefully and rolled to a stop in front of the courthouse that reigned over the town square. Darkness had fallen swiftly, proof that they were nearing the shortest day of the year. All around him, buildings were decorated in lights...some twinkling white, some a rainbow of colors.

New York City loved to deck itself out for Christmas. But nothing about Christmas in the city was as disturbing as this. As if it were yesterday, he remembered Danielle’s delight when he first brought her home to spend the holidays with his family. She had loved the decorations, the town itself and the fresh snow that had fallen.

At least this year the roads were dry. Even so, the image of a long-ago snowball fight brought a small smile to his lips. Danielle had approached everything about her life with the enthusiasm of a puppy.

He was surprised and grateful to find that at least a few memories of their last days together were good ones.

Glancing at his watch, he knew he had lingered long enough. Though Dylan and Mia had invited him to stay with them, Aidan preferred the privacy of a hotel room up at the lodge. Then, it was nobody’s business if he couldn’t sleep.

His mother had a nice condo in town, though his oldest sibling, Liam, still had a suite with his wife, Zoe, at the Silver Beeches Lodge. They were in the process of designing and building their dream home, but it wouldn’t be finished until the following summer.

Liam would be sleeping with one eye open, waiting to make sure that Aidan showed up safely, even if it was almost 3:00 a.m. Why can’t you fly down here like a normal person? he had complained.

Aidan wondered that himself. The grueling hours on the road were supposed to have prepared him for his upcoming ordeal. Well, hell, that was a little too melodramatic. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been back to Silver Glen time and again after Danielle was gone. But only once at Christmas. And then only to see his brother in the hospital and make sure he was okay. A little fruitcake, a few packages and as quickly as he could manage, he had returned to his home in New York.

This trip, however, there would be no reprieve. Maeve had already warned him that she expected his presence at an assortment of events and activities. Her third son had strayed beyond her reach, and since she had wrangled his presence via the unexpected wedding invitation, she planned to make the most of it.

Aidan put the car in gear again and cruised around town slowly, expecting at any moment for a cop to pull him over and demand an explanation for his nocturnal prowl. Things looked much the same as they had during his last visit. Except that his brother Dylan’s pride and joy, the Silver Dollar Saloon, was once again open for business.

When Aidan had come home for the long 4th of July weekend, the Silver Dollar was still being repaired and renovated after a fire in June. Fortunately, no one had been injured, but he’d heard more than one person bemoaning the fact that the town’s most popular watering hole was closed indefinitely.

He looped back toward the square, passing Silver Screen, the community’s one and only movie theater. Way back in the forties and fifties, someone had decided all the stores in Silver Glen should be named with the theme of silver. As a marketing ploy, it was brilliant.

The town had grown and prospered, drawing visitors and business from all over the country. Despite his unease, Aidan found himself feeling distinctly nostalgic for this charming valley that had been his home for twenty-plus years.

As he turned the car one last time and headed for the narrow road that would take him up the mountain to the lodge, his headlights flashed across a darkened storefront that didn’t look familiar. Silver Memories. From what he could see of the window display, the merchandise appeared to be antiques.

He frowned, almost positive that the last time he’d visited, this particular spot had been a leather shop. Operated by an ornery old guy who made saddles and guitar straps to order.

Odd. But then again, at Thanksgiving, he’d been in town barely twenty-four hours.

When he made it up the mountain, he pulled onto the flagstone apron in front of the Silver Beeches Lodge. After grabbing his bag and handing off his keys to a sleepy parking attendant, he sent a text to his brother. I’m here. Go to bed, old man. See you tomorrow.

A neatly uniformed employee checked him in. After that, it was a matter of minutes to make it onto the elevator, up to the top floor, down the hall and into his quiet, dark, pleasantly scented room.

He kicked off his shoes, plugged in his phone and fell facedown across the bed, prepared to sleep until someone forced him to get up.

* * *

Emma kept one eye on her customer and the other on her laptop. The elderly woman came in a couple of times a month, mostly to window-shop. She actually sold Emma a few items from time to time, clearly in need of cash to supplement her social security check.

Since the white-haired lady seemed content to browse, Emma refocused her attention on the website she’d been perusing. Catriona’s Closet was a designer boutique in London that had been Emma’s go-to spot for special occasion clothes when she still lived in England. Fortunately for Emma, the shop now boasted a strong online retail presence.

Trying to decide between a cream lace duster over a burgundy long-sleeved jersey dress, or a more traditional green velvet cocktail number with a low, scooped neck, was impossible. With a few quick clicks, she bought them both, with express shipping. If she were going to see Aidan face-to-face, she needed armor. Lots of it. From the cradle, she had been taught the finer points of social etiquette. Mingling socially with the well-regarded and diverse Kavanagh family would pose no threat to her confidence.

But seeing Aidan again? That was another matter.

Finally, the customer left without buying so much as an embroidered hankie. Emma sighed. Her father, if he had lived, would have been horrified at his only daughter stooping to something as bourgeois as trade.

The Braithwaites were solicitors and clergymen and physicians, at least the menfolk. The females generally presided over tea, rode to hounds and threw dinner parties, leaving their offspring to be raised by nannies.

Emma had been eight years old before she understood that her dear Baba was not a member of the family.

Shaking off the bittersweet memories, she prepared to close the shop. This time of year, business fell off in the afternoons despite the holidays, so she rarely stayed open past four o’clock.

Outside, people hurried about their errands, braced against the stiff wind and the swirling flurries of snow. Emma would have much preferred to go upstairs to her cozy apartment and snuggle under an afghan, but she was completely out of milk, and she couldn’t abide her tea without it.

Bundling into her heavy, raspberry-pink wool coat, she wrapped a black-and-pink scarf around her head, tucked her billfold and keys into her pocket and walked quickly down the street.

At the next block she shivered, impatient for the light to turn green so she could cross the street. So intent was she on making it to the other side that she didn’t notice the silver Accord running the light until it was too late.

Her heart beat sluggishly, everything easing into slow motion as she hopped back. But not before the reckless driver clipped her hip, sending her tumbling airborne for several long seconds and then crashing into unforgiving pavement.

Though she was aware of people crowding around her, she lost herself somewhere internally as she catalogued all the places that hurt madly. Teeth chattering, she forced herself to sit up. Nothing appeared to be broken. A man crouched beside her, his scent a mix of warm male, cold air and an oddly familiar cologne.

“Don’t move,” he said, his honey-toned voice sharp with command.

She was glad to accept his support behind her shoulders. The world swam dizzily. Vaguely, she heard the wail of sirens.

Shortly after that, brisk strangers loaded her onto a gurney and lifted her into an ambulance. Though she protested as much as she was able, no one seemed prepared to listen to her. Her scarf had slid halfway over one eye. She was fairly certain her leg was bleeding.

The EMTs wasted no time. The vehicle moved swiftly, cutting in and out of traffic. Closing her eyes, Emma winced as a pothole caused fresh discomfort. Fortunately, the hospital was not far away. Before she knew it, she had been whisked inside and tucked into an emergency room cubicle. The dizziness was getting worse. She had enough presence of mind remaining to wonder if she was in any kind of serious danger.

A nurse came in to get vitals. Suddenly, the same deep voice with the bark of command sounded nearby. “How is she?”

“She’s conscious. We’ll have to get her up to X ray.”

“I’m fine,” Emma stated, her determination diluted somewhat by the high, wavering condition of her voice.

The nurse left. Though Emma’s eyes were closed, she sensed the man standing nearby. His presence had a narcotic effect. She felt safe...as if he were keeping an eye on things.

“Don’t go to sleep,” he snapped. “Let’s get this damned scarf out of your face.”

She felt him untie it and draw it free. And then he cursed. “What the hell? Emma?”

She struggled up on one elbow and stared at her white knight. Instantly, shock flooded her already compromised nervous system. Oh, God. “Aidan. I didn’t realize it was you. Thanks for helping me. I’m sure everything is okay. You can leave now.” The words tripped over each other as her limbs began to shake.

He’d gone white, his eyes wide with what appeared to be a combination of disbelief and horror. “What are you doing here?”

A smile was beyond her. Tears threatened to fall, but she blinked them back. This was not how she’d imagined seeing him again. Not like this. Not without warning. She swallowed hard. “I live here,” she whispered.

“The hell you say. Is this some kind of a joke?”

The outrage in his voice and on his face might have been tinged with a hint of panic.

His fury was one blow too many. With a whimper of surrender, she fell back onto the exam table as the world went black...

* * *

Aidan strode out of the hospital at a pace little less than full-blown retreat. His heart slugged in his chest and his hands were ice-cold. Of course, that might have been the weather. He’d left his gloves in the car.

Emma was here. And Danielle was not. Emma. He repeated her name in his head, still seeing the look of dazed comprehension that filled her wide-set gentian-blue eyes. He was very familiar with those beautiful eyes. Not to mention the porcelain skin, the perfectly curved pink lips, the patrician features, and the silky, fine blond hair that fell past her shoulders. Emma...Good Lord.

The buzzing in his ears was probably a factor of the wind. But then again, his blood pressure might be in the danger zone. His emotions were all over the map. And how ironic was that? He’d made a science of becoming the superficial guy with no real emotions.

The lie had been practiced so deeply and so well, he’d begun to believe it himself. But a chance encounter on the street had cut to the heart of his charade. He was injured, bleeding deep in his gut, raw with pain.

Yet Emma was the one in the hospital.

He had no obligation to go back inside. He’d done his part. She was in the hands of professionals.

Standing beside his car, he slammed a fist on the hood...hard enough to bruise his fingers. He’d known that coming home at Christmas would be a test of how well he had healed from the past. But never in a million years had he imagined a confrontation with Emma Braithwaite. She was supposed to be in England, happily married to Viscount Supercilious. Raising upper-crust rug rats with Harry Potter accents and carelessly chic clothes.

Damn, damn, damn...

What would happen if he merely walked away? If he didn’t ask for explanations? Could he pretend that the last two hours were a dream? Or a nightmare?

Another ambulance zipped into the admitting area. The flashing lights and ear-piercing siren shocked him back to sanity. He’d left Emma passed out on the exam table. True, he’d notified a nurse immediately, but after that he had fled. What would his brothers think if they could see him now?

They already teased him about his city polish and his propensity for take-out every night of the week. Even Liam, who dressed as befitted his position as co-owner of the prestigious Silver Beeches Lodge, was most at home clambering about in the mountains. He’d already taken Zoe camping and made a new convert.

The Kavanagh brothers, out of necessity, were physically and mentally tough. You didn’t grow up with six same-sex siblings and not learn how to handle yourself in a fight. But as much as Aidan loved his brothers, he had always felt a bit out of step with them. He’d wanted to travel the world. He’d been strangled by the small-town lifestyle.

Regardless of the differences in personality and temperament, though, Maeve Kavanagh had taught her sons about responsibility and honor. Perhaps because their father had been lacking in that area, the lessons had stuck. Only the worst kind of cad would leave a woman alone in a hospital with no one to look after her.

Cursing beneath his breath, Aidan gulped in a lungful of icy air. This couldn’t be happening. What terrible sins had he committed in the past that karma was so very ready now to kick his ass?

Minutes passed. All around him, people came and went. Hospital staff heading home for the night. Visitors walking toward the doors with worried faces. Aidan barely noted their presence.

Though it shamed him to admit it, he was actually terrified to go back inside. What if Emma were badly hurt? What if even now she was slipping into a coma?

As if it were yesterday he remembered pacing the halls of this very same hospital while Danielle struggled to live. It was a lifetime ago, but the agony was fresh and real. As if it were happening all over again.

He wouldn’t allow that. Not on his watch. He had no clue why Emma was in Silver Glen. It didn’t matter. He would make sure she was okay, and then he would walk away.

Just like he’d been forced to do ten years ago...


Three (#ulink_f9b80a6b-66df-5e4b-aa31-980bd9482af6)

Emma moved her shoulders and moaned. “My head hurts,” she whispered. When she tried to focus her eyes, rectangular ceiling tiles above her bed marched from one side of the room to the other. For some reason, that drunken motion made her think of the intricately plastered frieze in her childhood bedroom. She remembered trying to count the individual roses on days when she was ill in bed and stuck at home.

Sadly, this generic space was not nearly as beautiful.

At some point, an unknown set of hands had replaced her clothing with a standard issue hospital gown. The warm blanket tucked up around her shoulders should have felt comforting, but instead, she found it claustrophobic.

Despite her discomfort, she shifted until both arms were free.

An older nurse with kind eyes patted her hand. “You have a concussion. Try not to upset yourself. The pain meds will be kicking in any moment now.”

“How long was I out?” She could swear she had only closed her eyes for a moment.

“Not terribly long. But enough for us to get a couple of X rays. They were concerned about your leg, but nothing is broken. You’ll have to have a few stitches on your cheek and shin, but that’s not too bad considering what might have happened.”

“Oh...good...” Someone must have pumped wonderful drugs into her IV, because even with the pain, she was floating on a cloud of worry-free lassitude. Something important nagged at the corners of her mind, but she didn’t have the clarity to summon it.

Time passed. Perhaps minutes or hours. She had no clue. She was aware of drifting in and out. Surely it must be dinnertime by now, but she had no appetite.

At one point she was startled by a loud crash in the hallway. Turning her head toward the window, she noted that it was dark. How odd. She remembered heading toward the supermarket for milk. And though the details were fuzzy, she recalled the accident.

But after that things blurred.

When she awoke the next time, her body rebelled. Turning her head, she gagged and reached for the button to summon help. The woman came instantly, offered a basin and spoke soothingly as Emma emptied the contents of her stomach.

The nurse’s scrubs were covered in Christmas trees and snowmen. “It’s normal, I’m afraid,” she said. “The medicine helps the pain, but some people don’t tolerate it very well. Try to sleep.”

She lowered the lights again and the door swished shut. Feeling dreadfully alone and miserable, Emma was no longer able to stem the flow of tears. She sobbed quietly.

A warm hand stroked her hair. “Hush, Emma. Don’t cry. Go back to sleep.”

Her eyelids felt weighted down. But she forced them open for long enough to make out the shape of a man seated in a chair beside her bed. “Aidan? I thought I dreamed you.”

His laugh sounded rusty, as if he hadn’t used it in a while. “I’m afraid not.”

“Why are you here?” The syllables slurred together. She was so very tired.

Still he stroked her hair. “It doesn’t matter. You’re going to be okay. Go to sleep.”

* * *

When she awoke toward morning, her brain was clearer, but her body felt as if she had gone three rounds with a professional boxer. Maybe the medicine was worth it after all.

In one surreptitious glance, she ascertained that the room was empty. The taste of disappointment filled her mouth. Perhaps Aidan had been a dream after all.

An aide came in with breakfast. Emma’s stomach flopped sickeningly at the scent of scrambled eggs, but the tea bag on the tray caught her attention. When the woman arranged the rolling table across Emma’s lap and raised the head of the bed, Emma thought she might be sick again.

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and remained perfectly still until the feeling passed. At last, she summoned the energy to brew a life-saving cup of Earl Grey. With a dash of sugar, a squirt of lemon and a dollop of artificial creamer, the result was not entirely acceptable, but it was better than nothing.

She was poking at a lumpy biscuit when a female physician entered the room. “Ms. Braithwaite. How are you feeling?”

Emma shrugged. “Like I was hit by something big and hard?”

The doctor grinned. “Aptly put. We’ve patched you up, and all your stats are good. Don’t get me wrong. You’re going to be in bad shape for a few days. But you were very lucky. It could have been a lot worse. I’m thinking of releasing you later today once I see how you do with your meals. Is there anyone at home who can look after you? So you don’t have to be on your feet too much?”

Emma opened her mouth to speak, but before she could answer, a man stepped from the hallway into the room. “I’ll get her settled and make sure she has help.”

Aidan. She couldn’t have been any more surprised if the Loch Ness Monster had paraded down the hall. Apparently the sexy phantom in her dreams was entirely real.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said firmly. Even as she spoke, she scrambled mentally for other alternatives.

Mia would be willing to lend a hand, but she had a baby to care for and a wedding to plan. And Emma definitely was not going to ask Aidan’s mother for help. Which left Mrs. Correll, the retired lady who worked part-time at the antique store. But the older woman battled arthritis and couldn’t climb stairs.

Emma hadn’t lived in Silver Glen all that long. Certainly not long enough to have an extensive list of friends on hand to provide casseroles and sympathy soup.

Aidan ignored Emma’s protest. He gave the white-coated physician a high-wattage smile that made her blink twice. “I’ll make sure she follows your orders exactly, Doctor. You can count on me.”

The doctor departed. Emma stared at the man who once upon a time had been her knight in shining armor. “I can explain,” she said, eager to clear the air.

Aidan held up a hand, his gaze wintry. “I don’t want to hear anything about the past or why you’re here. I’m not interested, Emma. I’m going to take you home and sleep on your couch overnight. But that’s it. I have no desire to hear anything you have to say. Are we clear?”

Her heart sank. She had hoped his animosity might have dwindled after all this time. But, no. She was an unwelcome obligation to him. Nothing more. Not even worth the effort of polite conversation.

Her throat tight, she nodded. Though it pained her to admit it, she didn’t have the luxury of arguing with him. If Aidan’s assurances of aid were enough to get her dismissed from the hospital, then she would swallow the words that wanted to tumble forth in a plea for understanding.

She watched him focus his gaze on the muted television as he feigned great interest in an infomercial for egg separators. His profile was dear and familiar, but the boy she had once known was gone, replaced by a man with even broader shoulders and a physique that was honed and strong.

His dark brown hair with a hint of red was expertly cut, his clothing masculine and expensive. The young university student she remembered had flaunted shaggy locks and a succession of rock-and-roll T-shirts that showcased his flat abdomen. Close-fitting denims had outlined long legs and a tight butt. His grin and American accent won over every girl in a ten-mile radius. But at the end of the day, he went home to Emma’s off-campus apartment.

Shaking off the poignant memories, she stared at him. He’d said no explanations, so what else was there to talk about?

Abruptly, he turned to face her. “I’ll ask the nurses’ station to call me when they’re ready to dismiss you. In the meantime, I have errands to run.”

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

Emma ate and drank and did everything that was asked of her. For one panicked hour she contemplated faking a relapse to avoid being alone with the painfully distant man who looked so much like the Aidan Kavanagh she had once known. But as much as she dreaded being beholden to the glacial-eyed Aidan, she also wanted to get out of this noisy hospital and back into her own bed.

After a long afternoon of additional tests and X rays and blood work, a physician’s assistant showed up and announced that Emma was free to go. Aidan appeared just as she tried standing beside the bed to dress in her sadly damaged street clothes.

He cursed quietly. “For God’s sake. You’re going to fall over.” Her tights were badly torn. Aidan took one look at them and tossed them in the trash. “You’ll have to go bare-legged on the way home,” he said, “but I assume you live close?”

She nodded, humiliated by the way he tucked and pulled and fastened her bits and pieces as if she were a helpless child. Tension radiated from his large frame. Her head pounded, but she was damned if she would show weakness in front of this brusque stranger.

When her few belongings were gathered and in her lap, an orderly eased her into a wheelchair and gave Aidan a nod. “If you’ll bring your car around to the front entrance, sir, I’ll meet you there with Ms. Braithwaite.”

Aidan nodded and vanished.

Emma wouldn’t have minded a tour of the hospital, or a quick peek at the maternity ward with all the brand-new babies. Anything to postpone the moment of truth.

If she hadn’t been in so much pain, physical and mental, the pun might have made her smile. Aidan didn’t want to hear the truth. He’d already judged her and found her guilty. He believed that she had betrayed his trust. In his defense, the evidence had been pretty damning.

Outside, the wind was no less biting than it had been the day before. Only now it was dark as well. By the time she sank into the passenger seat of Aidan’s fancy sports car with the heated leather seats, she was shivering. He grabbed a jacket from the backseat and handed it to her.

“Wrap that around your legs.” He paused, staring out the windshield. His granite jaw flexed. “I need your address.”

She sensed that having to ask for that one small piece of information pissed him off. Muttering the street and number, she leaned back and closed her eyes. The car smelled like him. Maybe he would let her sleep here. The prospect of making it all the way to her bed was daunting to say the least.

He parked at the curb in front of her business, his hands clenched on the wheel. “Here?” he asked, incredulity in his voice.

“I have an apartment upstairs. You don’t need to stay. Really.”

Ignoring her statement completely, he half turned in his seat and fixed her with a steady gaze that left her feeling naked...and not in a good way. The hazel eyes that had once twinkled with good humor were flat. It was difficult to believe that anything about this older, tougher Aidan twinkled.

His jaw worked. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that Lady Emma Braithwaite was an heiress. To the tune of several million pounds. I can’t fathom why she would be here in the mountains of North Carolina running an antiques shop when she grew up in a damned castle.” He was practically shouting at the end.

“It wasn’t a castle.” His sarcasm cut deep, but it also made her angry. “You said you didn’t want any explanations,” she reminded him. “If you don’t mind, I’m very tired and I need to take some medicine. If you’ll help me up the stairs, you can go.” She managed an even-toned, reasonable response until her voice broke on the last word. Biting down hard on her bottom lip, she swallowed and inhaled the moment of weakness.

After several long, pregnant seconds, Aidan muttered something inaudible and got out, slamming his door hard enough to rattle the window beside her. Before she could brace herself for what came next, he opened her side of the car and leaned in to scoop her into his arms.

She shrank back instinctively, unwilling to get any closer. He stumbled when her quick movement threw him off balance. “Put your arm around my neck, Emma. Before I drop you.” Irritation accented every syllable.

“Are you always so grumpy?” she asked. If anyone had cause to be out of sorts, it was she.

He locked the car with the key fob and settled her more firmly into his embrace. “Don’t push it.”

To the left of her storefront, a single narrow door gave entrance to a steep flight of steps. The building dated back to the early days of Silver Glen. When Aidan took the key from her and let himself in, she wondered if his big frame would make it up the stairwell, especially carrying her.

But he was a natural athlete. She never even felt a jostle or a bump as he ascended to the second floor and her quaint apartment. His chest and his arms were hard, though he carried her carefully. If it were possible, she thought she might get drunk on the scent of his skin and the faint starchy smell of his crisp cotton shirt.

A second door at the top required a key as well. By now, Aidan should have been breathing heavily. Emma was five-eight and not a slip of a woman. But he managed the final hurdle and kicked open the door, reaching with one hand to turn on the light.

She knew the exact moment he spotted her sofa. The red, velvet-covered Victorian settee was designed more for looks than for comfort. It was definitely not meant for sleeping. Fortunately, she owned a more traditional chair and ottoman that were tucked up close to her gas-log fireplace. If Aidan were determined to spend the night, he would be under no illusions as to his accommodations.

The apartment was fairly warm. When she’d left the day before, she had only been nipping out to grab the milk, intending to return in little more than a half hour. That was a blessing. If the rooms had been ice-cold as they sometimes were, her misery would have been complete.

He set her on her feet in the bedroom, not even glancing at her large brass bed with its intensely feminine white lace sheets and comforter. “Can you get ready for the night on your own?” His hands remained on her shoulders, though it was clear he was lending physical support, nothing more.

“Of course.” Her right leg felt as if someone had delved into it with an ax, and her head was a heartbeat away from a painful explosion, but she’d die before she would admit it. She had been brought up not to make a fuss. Her father hadn’t liked female histrionics, as he called them.

Aidan stared down at her. For the first time, she saw something in his eyes that told her the past might be gone, but it was not forgotten. For the space of one brief, heart-stopping breath, she was sure she witnessed tenderness. But it vanished in an instant...perhaps never there to begin with. He unbuttoned her bedraggled coat and eased it from her shoulders.

“Where are your pajamas?” he asked.

She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’ll get them. Go fix yourself a cup of coffee.”

One eyebrow lifted. “You have coffee?”

In England, she had done her best to wean him from the uncivilized beverage. “For guests,” she said stiffly.

He nodded once and walked away. Sinking down onto the bed, she told herself she could manage to wash up and change clothes. It was a matter of pride and self-preservation. Having Aidan help was unthinkable. She was far too aware of him as it was. His physical presence dwarfed her cozy apartment.

In the bathroom she dared to glance in the mirror and groaned. Why had no one seen fit to give her a hairbrush? Moving as carefully as an old lady, she removed her rumpled and stained blouse and skirt and stripped off her undies and bra. Bruises already marked her skin in a dozen places. She had been given strict instructions not to get her stitches wet, so a shower was out. With a soft washcloth and a bar of her favorite lavender soap, she managed a quick cleanup.

When she was done, she realized that she had forgotten to get a nightgown from the bureau. Wrapping a towel around herself sarong-style, she opened the bathroom door and walked into the bedroom.

As she did so, she caught Aidan leaning down to put a cup of steaming hot tea on her bedside table.


Four (#ulink_d9f09801-3ec8-56c3-952d-45b5c52c3588)

Aidan froze. If Emma’s eyes grew any bigger, they would eclipse her face. Though it hurt to look at her, he forced himself to meet her gaze with dispassion. “Drink your tea while it’s hot,” he said. “I’ll see what I can whip up for our dinner.”

In her tiny kitchen, he put his hands on the table, palms flat, and bowed his head. So many feelings, so many memories...

Emma laughed up at him, her skin dappled by shadows from the willow tree that served as shelter for their impromptu picnic. “Why the serious look?” she asked.

She lay on her back, arms outstretched above her head, eyes ripe with happiness. They had borrowed an old quilt from her neighbor. The faded colors only made her more beautiful in comparison.

“I have to go home soon,” he said, unable to comprehend the upcoming rift. “What will I do without you?” He sat upright, his back propped against the tree trunk, trying not to think about how much he wanted to make love to her at this moment. But the perfectly manicured English park was filled with adults and children eager to enjoy the warmth of a late fall afternoon.

Emma linked her fingers with his, pulling his hand to her lips. “Don’t spoil it,” she whispered, for a moment seeming as desperately dejected as he was. But immediately, her optimism returned, even if manufactured. “Remember—you’ll graduate in the spring, and then we’ll have all sorts of choices.”

There was no acceptable choice if it didn’t include her. He managed a grimace that was supposed to placate her. But from the expression on her face, he knew she saw through him. She had since the first day they met.

He lay down at her side, not caring if anyone raised an eyebrow. Propped on an elbow, he brushed the back of his hand down her cheek. “I can’t leave you, Emma. I can’t...”

But in the end, he had...

Inhaling sharply, he slammed the door on recollections that served no purpose. That day was so far in the past, it might as well be written up in the history books. Perhaps in a chapter labeled “youthful indiscretions.”

Turning his attention to practical matters, he examined the contents of Emma’s fridge. The woman lived on yogurt and granola and fancy cheese. His stomach rumbled in protest. But he’d have to make do with a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich.

He found a skillet and spooned a dollop of butter into it, listening to the sizzle as he strained to hear movement in Emma’s room. Even now, the image of her half-naked body remained imprinted on his brain. All that creamy English skin. Long legs. Hair the color of spring sunshine.

He dropped a chunk of cheese on the burner and had to fish it out before he set off the smoke alarm. His final efforts were not visually pleasing, but the sandwiches would keep them both from starving.

Leaving his meal in the kitchen, he took Emma’s plate to her door and knocked quietly. She would be dressed by now, but he didn’t want any additional surprises. He knocked a second time and then opened the door a crack. “Emma?”

The lights were on, but Emma was in bed, fast asleep. Curled on her side, she slept like a child with a hand under her cheek. A neat row of stitches near her ear reminded him anew of how close she had come to disaster.

He glanced at his watch. He hated to wake her, but if she awoke later in pain, it would be worse. He put the plate on the dresser and crouched beside the bed. The instinct to touch her was one he had to ignore.

“Emma,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her.

She moved restlessly but didn’t open her eyes.

“Emma.”

This time her eyelids fluttered. A small smile curved her lips before she realized where she was and with whom. Immediately, a mask slipped over her features. “Aidan. I told you to go. I’ll sleep ’til morning.”

Fishing the bottle of pills out of his pocket, he shook a couple of tablets into his palm. “The doctor gave you enough pain meds to last until we can get your prescription filled tomorrow. You’re an hour past due, so you’d better take them. And at least eat a few bites of food.”

She took his offering with visible reluctance and washed it down with two sips of tea. When he brought the grilled cheese, she stared at it. “You cooked for me?”

He felt his face redden. His lack of expertise in the kitchen was well documented. “It’s a sandwich,” he said gruffly. “Don’t get too excited. I’ll be back in a minute with a glass of milk. That might help you sleep.”

When he returned, she had managed to finish half of the meal. He held out the tumbler of milk and waited until she drained most of it. Already, the simple exertion of eating had taxed her strength. She was as pale as her bedding, and he saw her hands shake before she tucked them beneath the sheets and settled back into her original position.

“Do you want the lights off?” he asked.

“I suppose. Please leave, Aidan.”

He flipped off all except the bathroom light. Leaving that door cracked an inch or so, he took one last look at the patient. “Go to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning.”

* * *

The chair and ottoman were more comfortable than they appeared. With the gas logs flickering and a couple of woolen throws in lieu of blankets, he managed to fall asleep. His dreams were a mishmash of good and bad, past and present.

Somewhere in the middle of the night a crash jerked him out of his restless slumber. Leaping to his feet, he headed for Emma’s room, almost sure the noise had emanated from that direction.

He found her in the bathroom surrounded by the broken remains of a small water glass she kept on the counter. “Don’t move,” he barked. Her feet were bare. Scooping her up, he avoided the worst of the mess and carried her back to bed. “Why didn’t you call me?” he grumbled.

“I didn’t need a witness for that,” she snapped. Even drugged and injured, she had spunk.

Smothering a smile he knew she wouldn’t appreciate, he tucked her in and straightened the covers. It was still another forty-five minutes before she could have anything for pain. “How do you feel?”

She shrugged, her expression mulish. “How do you think?”

Evidently, the ladylike manners were eroding in direct proportion to her unhappiness. “Sorry I asked,” he said drolly, hoping to coax a smile.

But Emma turned her back on him. “Don’t be here when I wake up,” she ordered, the words pointed.

He shook his head though she couldn’t see him. “Do you want me to bring in the medicine when it’s time?”

“No.” She burrowed her face into her arm. “I can take care of myself.”

* * *

Emma had cause to regret her hasty words only a few hours later. When pale winter sunshine peeked into her room, she stirred and groaned. Today was worse than yesterday, and that was saying something. Of course, part of the problem was her stubborn pride. It was long past time for a pain pill, and she was paying the price.

She eased onto her back and listened. The apartment was silent and still. For a moment, she panicked about the shop, and then she remembered it was Sunday. Well, she wasn’t going to get any relief until she took something, so she had to get out of this bed.

Cursing softly when pain shot up her thigh, she grabbed hold of the foot rail and found her balance. Her slippers were tucked beneath the edge of the bed, but if she bent to retrieve them, she was fairly certain her headache would ratchet upward about a million notches.

Tiptoeing on icy feet, she went in search of the elusive pill bottle. What she found was Aidan, sleeping soundly beside the hearth. Her shock was equal parts relief and dismay. His longs legs sprawled across her ottoman, his shoes in a jumble nearby. Though his neck was bent at an awkward angle, he snored softly, irrefutable evidence that he was actually slumbering.

She counted the breaths as his broad chest rose and fell. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she knew their color by heart. Hazel, beautiful irises that changed with his mood. Lately all she had seen was the dark glare of disapproval.

His thick hair was mussed. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a dusting of hair below his collarbone. The intimacy of the scene curled her stomach with regret and sharp envy. No doubt there was a woman in New York who had laid claim to this beautiful man. But Emma had known him before...before he had acquired the spit and polish of a successful entrepreneur.

As he slumbered, she finally caught a glimpse of the boy she had known. After all, even at twenty-one she and Aidan had been little more than teenagers. They’d had no clue what forces could tear them apart, no way to understand that life seldom produced fairy-tale endings.

The old Emma would have curled into his embrace, not waiting for an invitation, confident of her welcome. Wistfully, she allowed herself a full minute to watch him sleep. But no more.

Easing past him, she spied the bottle on the end table, scooped it up and retreated before the lion awoke and caught her gawking at him. Her bravery extended only so far.

Though she would sell her soul for a cup of hot tea, that luxury would have to wait. The simple task was more than she could handle at the moment, and she had leaned on Aidan far too much already.

Thankfully, he never stirred as she retraced her steps. The partial glass of milk from the night before still sat beside her bed. It wouldn’t have spoiled in this amount of time, and she needed something to coat her stomach. Wrinkling her nose at the taste, she swallowed the medicine with one big gulp of liquid.

Though she had heard Aidan clean up the mess in the bathroom, she knew it was foolhardy to go in there again with bare feet. So she forced herself to slowly and carefully retrieve her footwear from its hiding place beneath the bed. When she straightened, she saw black spots dancing in front of her eyes and her forehead was clammy.

Even so, her immediate need was pressing. After a quick visit to the facilities, she washed her face, brushed her teeth and shuffled back to bed. She didn’t even bother glancing at the clock. What did it matter? She had no place to go.

* * *

Aidan breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Emma’s door shut. He’d heard her the moment she climbed out of bed. Feigning sleep had seemed the wisest course of action. But he hadn’t anticipated how strongly her silent perusal would affect him.

What was she thinking as she stood there and stared at him? How did she reconcile the way they had left things between them years ago with her current choice to live in Silver Glen? She had to possess an agenda. There was no way she could call such a thing coincidence. She was far too intelligent to try that tactic.

The only explanation was that she had come here intentionally. But why?

He told himself it didn’t matter. And he almost believed it.

Scraping his hands through his hair, he sat up and put on his shoes. As he rolled his neck trying to undo the kinks, he wondered how long it had been since he’d spent a platonic night on a woman’s sofa.

Emma would probably sleep for a few hours now that she had taken her medicine. Which meant he had time to drop off her prescription, grab some breakfast and dash up to the hotel for clean clothes and a shower.

The first two items on his list were accomplished without incident. But when he tried to access the back stairs at the Silver Beeches to avoid any awkward questions, he ran in to Liam coming down as he was going up.

His older brother, dressed to the nines as always, lifted an eyebrow. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Don’t rag on me, Liam. I haven’t slept worth a damn.”

“At least not in your own bed. I thought all your lady friends were in New York.”

Aidan counted to ten and then to twenty. Liam was not giving him any more grief than usual, but Aidan wasn’t in the mood to be teased. Not today. His jaw clenched, he offered a simple explanation, knowing that Liam wouldn’t let him pass without at least that. “I ran in to a friend who was having a bit of trouble. I helped out. That’s all. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to my room and get cleaned up.”

Liam leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the young woman who was hit by a car day before yesterday...downtown?”

Aidan stared at him. “Damn it. That’s exactly why I don’t live here anymore. Nobody has anything better to do than gossip.”

“People were concerned. Silver Glen is a tight-knit place.”

“Yeah. I got that.”

Liam’s face changed, all trace of amusement gone. “I know it’s hard for you to be here this time of year. But I want you to know how glad we all are to have you home for the holidays.”

The knot in Aidan’s chest prevented him from answering—that and the sting of emotion that tightened his throat.

His sibling knew him too well to be fooled. “I’ll let you go,” Liam said, his eyes expressing the depth of their relationship. “If I can help with anything, let me know.”


Five (#ulink_8497f422-0ef6-51c6-89e9-6f413ea072e9)

By the time Aidan picked up the prescription and made it back to Emma’s place, almost two hours had passed. He had taken her key with him, so he let himself in quietly and placed his packages on the table. Peeking into the bedroom, he saw that she still slept.

The extra rest was good for her. And besides, the sooner she was stable, the sooner he could leave.

He shoved the carryout bags he had picked up into the fridge. The greasy burgers and fries came from a mom-and-pop joint down the street. The Silver Shake Shack had been there since he was a kid. While Emma had converted Aidan to drinking proper English tea, he had been the one to teach her the joys of comfort food.

His immediate mission accomplished, he sprawled in the chair again and scrolled through his email. No big surprises there. Except for the one from his mother that said: Dinner at eight. S.B. dining room. Don’t make me hunt you down.

He laughed softly, knowing that had been her intention. Everyone wanted Aidan to be in a good mood. To be happy. He understood their concern, but he was fine. He was here, wasn’t he? They couldn’t expect more than that.

Evidently the smell of his lunch offering permeated the apartment. Emma wandered out of her room wearing stretchy black knit pants and a hip-length cashmere sweater. She had done her hair up in a ponytail, and wore bunny slippers on her feet.

She gave him a diffident smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. Doing any better?”

“Actually, yes. Was that food I smelled?”

“Some of the best. I put it in the fridge, but it hasn’t been there long. We can zap it in the microwave. Are you hungry now?’

She nodded, heading for her small dining table. Her gait was halting, so he knew her leg was bothering her.

While Emma sat and rested her head in her hands, he managed to rustle up paper plates and condiments. “I ordered you one with mustard, mayo and tomato. I hope that’s still the way you like it.”

Her expression guarded, she nodded. “Sounds lovely.”

The silent meal was half-awkward, half-familiar. Emma had changed very little over the years, though he did see a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes. She had always been more serious than he was, conscientious to a fault. The one thing he couldn’t help noticing was that her breasts had filled out. The soft sweater emphasized them and her narrow waist.

When the food was gone, down to the last crumb, he cleared the table. “Do you feel like sitting up for a little while? I’ll give you the seat by the fire.”

“That would be nice.”

So polite. Like a little girl minding her manners. Swallowing his irritation at her meekness, he hovered as she made her way across the room. He wouldn’t touch her unless she showed signs of being lightheaded. When she was settled, he stood in the center of the room, hands in his pockets. “If you have an extra key,” he said, “I can check on you later and you won’t have to get up to answer the door. I have dinner plans, but I’ll bring you something hot to eat before I go.”

Staring into the fire, she nodded. Her profile, silhouetted against the flames, had the purity of an angel’s. He felt something in his chest wrench and pull. The shaft of pain took his breath away. That wouldn’t do. Not at all. He was way past dancing to Emma Braithwaite’s tune.

He made a show of glancing at his watch. “Will you be okay for the afternoon on your own?”

“Of course.” Her chin lifted with all the haughtiness of a duchess.

For all he knew, she might actually be a duchess. He hadn’t kept up with the details of her life. Anything was possible.

She pointed. “The spare key is in the top drawer of that desk by the window. I think it’s tied to a bit of green ribbon.”

He rummaged as directed and found what he was looking for. As he pushed everything back into place, his gaze landed on a familiar-looking piece of paper. When he recognized what it was, he felt a mule-kick to the chest. “Emma?”





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