No Fear Page 4

  “Is that so you don’t have to worry about cutting your finger and needing me to stitch you up?” she asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “How is your finger?”

  “It feels fine,” he replied. It was no lie. “Thank you for stitching me up today.” The bandage she’d put on was still in place and would remain so for the week she insisted the stitches had to remain. He, of course, wouldn’t tell her that the stitches were already gone, the finger completely healed.

  “You’re welcome. But I get the feeling you do things like that on purpose just to come into the office so I can stitch you up.”

  “Hmmm,” he let out as he looked at her evenly. “Okay, you caught me. I admit it. I do like coming into the clinic and letting you care for me.”

  She offered him a grin, and he liked the look of it. Then she looked at him speculatively. “I’m not sure I believe you. I certainly hope you don’t really stick yourself with hooks just to see me.”

  “Can I just come to see you from now on and not have to be bleeding?”

  “Yes.” Then she looked down for a moment. “I’d like that,” she said, but her words were spoken so softly he barely heard them.

  Yet, he did hear them. After all, his hearing was more acute than any dog’s. He dwelled on every word. From the first moment, he’d heard her voice, it was as if she spoke to his heart. And now, five years later, he knew her dreams, as well as her fears. He shared her nightmares. He knew that at night she stayed up until she was exhausted enough to fall asleep curled up on her side. He knew of her need for water and how she thought Doc had put in a pool for her. Hell, she swam sometimes three times a day. James had long ago lost count of the number of times he’d watched her swim and longed to join her. He knew she preferred tea to coffee, and that she seldom turned down chocolate.

  He may have lost count of the times he’d watched her swim, but he could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d seen a real smile on her face since that night of horror five years ago. Worse yet, he suspected that when she discovered what he thought was happening now on Medusa’s Island, she might never smile again.

  He really did know a lot about her from watching her every day and every night. At the same time, he knew nothing about her. He didn’t know how she would taste if he kissed her, but he often thought she would taste minty and fresh, like the outdoors, because she smelled like that. He didn’t know if she really liked working with Doc, or if she merely did it out of habit or security or loyalty, or because she thought she owed Doc, despite the fact that she appeared to enjoy her job and never turned down a chance to help someone in need. He didn’t know what her childhood had been like or anything about her family, or if she even had one besides the good Doctor Jenkins.

  Emma hesitated for about thirty seconds, and then she moved to the fridge.

  “I’m really glad you came home with me,” he said, hoping, wishing, he could help her relax and convince her she was safe with him. “I get tired of eating alone.”

  She started chopping vegetables for the salad. Was it his imagination or did her shoulders seem to relax?

  “Do you and Doc always eat together?” he asked, thinking sooner or later she was bound to get tired of hearing his one-sided conversation and join in.

  “No,” she replied.

  “I know the two of you share a house,” he put in. Everyone on the island knew she and Doc shared a house. Most of them probably assumed there was a relationship between Emma and Doctor Jenkins. What no one but James knew was that James had taken her there. After that night of terror, after she mistook him for the creature that had hurt her and he’d had to subdue her just to help her James had taken her to Doc while she was still in shock.

  James had shown up at Doc’s door with Emma in his arms. Doc had ordered him inside as soon as he saw Emma. Then James had given a few orders himself—close the door, lock it and not open it until morning had been the most important. And Doc had followed him as James carried Emma to the nearest bedroom and deposited her gently on the bed. Doc had been in shock, too, for he’d discovered his wife’s lifeless body a short time before. It had taken a bit of persuasion, but in the end, James had drawn Doc from his grief-ridden shock in order to help Emma. And as it turned out, Emma had helped Doc, just as Doc had helped her. Then she had simply stayed there, unwilling to return to the house she’d shared with her roommate, Marcy. That would have been too much of a reminder of that night.

  “Yes, but it’s not what everyone thinks,” Emma replied, her soft voice bringing him back to the present.

  “I don’t think you’d be here with me if it was,” he pointed out. James couldn’t help noticing the expert way she used the knife while cutting the salad vegetables, even though it was made of green plastic. “I’ve got a bottle of wine, too, white zinfandel,” he told her, wanting nothing more than to continue the easy atmosphere flowing between them. “Can I pour you a glass?”

  Her soft smile disappeared.

  “What?” he had to ask, wanting to kick himself and not really understanding why.

  “Wine sounds wonderful. I haven’t had a glass in a very long time. I suppose one glass would be all right.”

  Then he understood. She prided herself on being at her best all the time. She worked out at the gym on a regular basis. She practiced self-defense and swam every day. She did whatever was necessary to keep her body in prime shape, and he knew why. He knew she could never again allow herself to be taken, grabbed, and tied up or placed in a situation where she wasn’t in control. She could never again be a victim. Wine or any alcohol could dull her wits, make her vulnerable, perhaps even open doors she had closed long ago.

  James didn’t allow her time to change her mind. He didn’t care what doors it opened. He didn’t care if the wine dulled her perception, not tonight. She was perfectly safe with him. He wanted to convince her of that. He poured the wine and held the glass out to her.

  Emma hesitated a few seconds before reaching out to take the delicately stemmed glass from him. Her fingers brushed against his and sent something close to an electric current up his arm. She had no idea what kind of effect she had on him.

  He didn’t let her have the glass, not for a long moment. He kept hold of it. Nor did she let go. Together, as the fish cooked behind him, as the rest of the supper sat waiting around them, they each held the glass as he looked into her eyes. She didn’t look away; she didn’t even try to, as she had so many times in the past.

  “Emma,” he said softly.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m going to touch you,” he warned her.

  He allowed her another long moment and watched the way she digested and deciphered his words. In the soft, lush green of her eyes, he saw her indecision. In her gaze and through the softness of her skin, he felt the way she fought against the urge to pull away. She struggled with the desire for his touch. He didn’t give her the opportunity to reach a decision he might not like. As he had touched her in the clinic earlier, he reached out and gently placed his hand on her face, his palm on her chin, his fingertips lightly touching the softness of her cheek.

  The instinctive way she leaned into his hand and closed her eyes for a brief moment was nearly his undoing.

  Still holding the glass, with his fingers against hers, he led her hand to place the wine on the table and moved his hand to cover hers. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he slid his hand up her arm, over her shoulder, across her collarbone until it mirrored his other hand on the other side of her face. “You are so soft,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so soft, so warm,” he admitted.

  James hardly moved. He didn’t even breathe. He couldn’t take the chance of scaring her away. At the same time, he couldn’t believe how wonderful it felt to finally hold her, touch her, and have her so close after such a long time of just watching her from a distance.

  And he was going to find out about her taste. In fact, he leaned toward her to do just that.
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br />   It was a simple brush of his lips to hers. Quick, beautiful, perfect, easy, and undemanding. It was a mere touch, and yet the contact sent his heart into overdrive as his blood heated and pulsed through his body.

  Within his grasp, she pulled away slightly, and yet he felt no fear in her as he still held her face. Beneath his touch, she was perfectly calm. Still, he couldn’t help noticing the way her heart raced in unison with his. At the same time, he thought—he hoped—he detected desire to match his.

  “Our fish is burning,” she said softly.

  For a moment, he was so caught up in the idea of kissing her that her words didn’t register, didn’t make sense to him. Then at the same time he understood her, the slight smell of burning fish touched his nose. He licked his lips and tasted her. She did taste slightly of mint, clean and fresh. Her taste whirled through every sense of his being and lingered on his tongue.

  He smiled. “I guess that means it’s time to eat.”

  He let her go—for the moment. And he grinned as he turned back to the fish. He knew several seconds went by before she resumed making the salad, so his touch, his kiss had left her as off balance as it had left him. He could only hope that it left her longing for more. There was so much he wanted to teach her, so much he wanted to show her, so much he wanted to simply experience with her. And he, of all people, knew the importance of moving slowly, of taking things one step at a time.

  Thinking of Jillian McComb and her terrified expression, he hoped he would be given the time.

  For now, he’d start with dinner and wine. He got out plates, bowls for the salad, and forks and knives. He pulled the chair out for her. She looked at him for a moment, as if no one had ever done something like that for her. Then she sat down. He dished out fish and joined her. He’d even put candles on the table, and he looked at Emma over the small flame before him.

  She met his gaze evenly, and then she looked away as she absently brushed her hand through her hair. He loved the way her golden waves fell back into place, framing her face and landing softly on her shoulders. His kiss had probably shaken her world like an earthquake, but she handled it very well. Then she took a large swallow of her wine.

  Well, she might not be looking him square in the eye, but she wasn’t running in the other direction, either.

  He was making headway, he thought.

  Later, he would show her how to face her fear of the dark so that she could once again admire the stars. Also, so she could face the dark if she was forced to do so.

  She took a bite and offered him a small smile. “This is good. Only a little burnt,” she said. “I didn’t know you liked to fish.”

  “Every now and then, it’s a nice escape,” he replied. He didn’t admit that he didn’t spend hours working to catch that fish, just as he didn’t admit that he’d hooked himself on purpose. Both were simply ploys to get her close to him.

  He liked her smile, and he smiled back. Yes, he was definitely making headway.

  Chapter Five

  Night Sky

  “I have to go,” Emma said.

  James picked up his glass of wine and took a drink, well aware that his next words could send her running away from him, send any trust she had of him down the drain, or they could bring her closer to him. He had no choice but to take the chance. “You’re very good at calculating distance and time. You must do it every day.”

  “I can’t be out in the dark,” she admitted.

  At least he hadn’t scared her away—yet. She still looked at him calmly from across the table. And she trusted him enough to share her fear with him. She hadn’t said she didn’t like to be out after dark. He knew how deep her terror of the night ran. Nearly a year after he’d rescued her, she and Doc had left the clinic later than usual and halfway home they’d suffered a flat tire.

  Doc Jenkins was a great doctor, but he didn’t know beans about changing a tire. As darkness blanketed them, changing the tire was nothing compared to Emma’s increasing terror. By the time James arrived to help, she was well beyond hysterical, and Doc had had to give her a sedative to calm her. James had driven them both home before returning with Deke to change the tire and bring Doc’s car home.

  No, what Emma felt about the dark went well beyond simple fear.

  Her wine glass was nearly empty. Her plate now held nothing but crumbs, as did James’s. It had been a wonderfully casual dinner with talk about the weather, the food, some of the art hanging about James’s house.

  James watched her closely, taking in the way she hugged her arms together despite the calm expression she worked to maintain. The way she held her arms drew his attention to the soft pink of her sweater and her creamy flesh above the scooped neck. James swallowed hard and did his best to keep his gaze on her face.

  “Why can’t you be out after dark? Do you turn into a werewolf?” he asked. He knew the reason for her fear of the dark, just as he knew he shouldn’t bring up something as legendary as a werewolf, but he had to know where he stood with her when it came to her trusting him with her past. He couldn’t very well come out and say he knew that she’d been tied up in the dark with a vampire, or could he? He chose not to do so now. Later, he might have no choice.

  She looked at him, completely serious. “No, but there might be one waiting out there for me just the same,” she replied.

  He knew she wasn’t kidding. He also knew he was treading on broken glass. “I know you’re terrified of the dark,” he said. He didn’t have to mention the flat tire incident, and the last thing he wanted to do was give her a reason to put a wall up between them at the memory. “And yet, you let me bring you to my house in my car so that you had to depend on me to take you home again.”

  “Doc said I could trust you,” she replied. It was so easy to look into his eyes. She found it nearly impossible to look away from them. She liked looking at him, period. James Winchester had sharp features, a square jaw and thick, dark hair she found appealing. And yet, it was his eyes that called out to her. His eyes were deep gray and filled with something close to fire. Emma again and again found herself lost in the storm she thought she saw there. He was a tall man, even sitting. Emma had to look up slightly to meet his gaze. His stance, his nearly constant intent expression, relayed strength that was contradicted by the gentleness in his eyes. He didn’t appear powerfully built with muscles that bulged beneath his shirt, and yet, Emma saw power within him. And the confident air about him told her he was unafraid.

  His hands were finely boned with long fingers and trimmed nails. They were hands capable of work as well as the gentlest of touches. As Emma noticed the way he reached for his glass, she couldn’t stop the heat that washed through her at the memory of how those hands had cupped her face.

  “And do you agree with him?” James asked.

  “I think so,” she admitted. “That’s why I came, to find out for certain.”

  “I have ice cream for dessert,” he told her. “Chocolate.”

  She met his gaze as she contemplated the fact that he might know chocolate was her favorite. Then she looked out the back door, taking notice of the quickly sinking orange ball in the western sky. “Perhaps I’ll have ice cream another time. Can you take me home now, please?” She fought to maintain her composure. How could she convince him of her fear of the dark without sounding like a two-year old afraid of the monster hiding in the closet? Because sometimes monsters really did hide in closets…

  She stared at him as he absently swirled the last bit of wine in his glass. He watched her carefully with those strange eyes of his, and yet his scrutinizing stare didn’t make her the least bit uncomfortable. He had kissed her earlier. It had been nothing more than a sweep of his lips, and yet Emma admitted to herself, as she now absently licked her lips, that she wanted more. The thought didn’t shock her. She’d felt a strange pull from him for a very long time. In fact, being with him, being close to him, as well as being at his house and eating dinner with him, felt more natural to her than working to k
eep her distance from him. It was the falling darkness that bothered her.

  What did surprise her was his answer, however.

  “No,” he said simply.

  “No?” She looked again out the back door. She could run the two miles home, but she’d never make it before dark. She’d be out there, vulnerable, as the darkness swallowed her like a monster with big teeth. She couldn’t chance it. Cop or not, she decided she’d have to take his keys, perhaps even fight him for them. And she’d have to do it soon.

  His next words surprised her even further. “I want you to stay with me.”

  She forgot about stealing his keys. “What?” The fish dinner she’d just finished suddenly turned hot in her stomach.

  “I want you to stay with me. We can look at the stars together.” His gaze trapped hers and never faltered.

  A shiver ran up her spine. Emma concentrated on her next several breaths. Breathe in, let it out. Breathe in, let it out. “I can’t be out in the dark,” she said simply. It probably wasn’t much different from telling him she couldn’t walk a tightwire stretched between two skyscrapers, either.

  Until then, she’d been thankful he hadn’t asked any questions. He hadn’t asked why a woman her age would rather live with a man old enough to be her father, or why she had no social life, or why she was afraid of the dark. He hadn’t forced her to open any doors she had long ago closed.

  “I know,” James said simply.

  She might have just told him the sky was blue and the grass was green with the way he’d answered her.

  “I know of your fear. I want to help you face it,” he said.

  Breathe in, let it out, she thought again. She placed her hands on her lap to keep from throwing her plate or glass or fork at him. He might think he knew, he might think he understood, but there was no way he possibly could.