Part 11 (1/2)
He hooked his hand beneath her chin to hold her close, returning his attention to her mouth. She kissed him back, slipping her tongue over his again and again, and, okay, yeah, his composure was pretty much a foregone conclusion.
”You feel good, too,” Emerson murmured, edging her teeth along the sensitive skin of his lower lip just enough to make him want to scream. Hunter was vaguely aware that they were outside, and although the shaded, tree-lined footpath around Willow Park wasn't quite the same as the wide-open public of Town Street, they were still far from behind closed doors.
But right now, he was far from caring. Curling his fingertips into the soft angle where Emerson's jaw met her neck, he thrust again with his tongue, sucking and tasting and relearning every nuance of her mouth. He dove in deep, kissing her as if he'd die if he didn't, pulling her even closer against him with no regard for time or place, fully intent on leaving his mouth on hers until they both forgot their names . . .
And then a pair of voices, too close to be avoided, ricocheted him right back to reality.
Hunter and Emerson flew to opposite sides of the bench just as a young couple came chattering around the bend in the path, both of them seeming surprised at the sight of anyone nearby.
”Oh! This is kind of a lucky break,” said the guy, his shock fading into a friendly smile in two blinks. ”We're looking for Willow Park. We overheard some local folks talking about it and figured we'd have a picnic.” He held up a bag printed with Harley's name and logo on the side, and Hunter nodded farther down the path, thanking G.o.d that his hard-on had done a cease and desist at the sound of company.
Company that had been the only thing keeping him from impulsively acting on said hard-on until he and Emerson were both good and sweaty and spent right here on a park bench, and holy s.h.i.+t, was he insane?
Hunter cleared his throat, forcing his voice to its most neutral setting. ”You're not too far off. Just keep following the path here for another couple hundred yards. You'll end up at the east end of the park.”
”Thanks,” said the girl holding the guy's hand, and man, they couldn't be more than eighteen. She looked up at her boyfriend, her smile spanning ear to ear as they moved down the footpath. By the time they'd moved out of earshot, Hunter's calm had found its way back into place.
And apparently, so had Emerson's guard.
”I'm sorry,” she said, smoothing a hand over the front of her T-s.h.i.+rt and straightening the already-straight hem. ”I shouldn't have gotten so carried away.”
”Why not?” Way to blurt it out there, Casanova. Hunter shook his head at his utter lack of finesse and tried again. ”I mean, yeah, we got pretty caught up together, and a park bench in the middle of the day probably isn't the best place for that. But we are consenting adults. Why shouldn't we get a little carried away?”
Emerson blinked, her shoulders losing a fraction of the tension holding them tight. ”Because I'm your physical therapist, for one.
Legit under the right circ.u.mstances, he supposed. Still . . . ”That's temporary. Plus, we've known each other way longer than the week you've been my physical therapist, and we're not at the therapy center right now.”
”No,” she said slowly. ”But we will be on Monday.”
”And everything will be business as usual when we are. I know you're not going to treat me differently at the PT center just because we kissed.” Hunter paused, nudging her gently with an elbow. ”Are you?”
”Of course not.” Emerson's chin hiked up, but the tiny smile winding over her mouth said she heard his teasing tone of voice loud and clear.
Hunter took the ball and ran like h.e.l.l. ”I mean, it was a really good kiss,” he said, fixing her with half a grin and all the charm he could work up. ”Maybe you should go just a little easier on me with those resistance tube exercises.”
”If I go easy on you, even a little, you won't heal as fast or as well,” she pointed out, although her expression didn't match the sternness of the words. After a second, she added, ”It was a really good kiss, wasn't it?”
”One of my best, if I do say so myself.”
”Oh my G.o.d, you're terrible!” Emerson said over a peal of laughter, and Hunter arched a brow, unable to resist.
”Not according to you. Okay, okay!” He held up his hands in concession as she flashed him an indignant stare. Man, she was still feisty when she wanted to be. ”But come on, Em. We kissed. There's no sense turning it into a headline.”
She nodded, sending a wistful gaze to the thick canopy of leaves over their heads. ”No one else has ever called me that, you know.”
His chest panged with something that felt oddly proprietary. ”Does it bother you?”
”No. I just . . . you need to know I'm not looking for anything serious. I really am here in Millhaven to focus on work.”
Hunter opened his mouth, fully intent on asking her exactly why she'd come home when she had so much bad family history here. But the truth of it was, however understandable her motivations for leaving were now, Emerson had still hurt him in the past.
Trusting her completely was going to take time, and as s.e.xy as their kiss had been, he didn't want anything serious, either. Jumping into anything with her-including a conversation about why she'd suddenly come back to Millhaven-would only rock the boat.
”Tell you what,” Hunter said, extending a hand in her direction. ”How about we put everything else behind us and just go one day at a time?”
She smiled, wrapping her fingers around his for a handshake that meant business. ”Head up, eyes forward sounds perfect to me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE.
Emerson's body might have been perched in the rickety old chair at the front desk of the physical therapy center, but her mind was no less than a billion miles away. Or maybe it was just twelve miles, up Town Street and past Pete Hitchc.o.c.k's poultry farm, on a sprawling lot of land she'd be able to find in the dark, even after all this time.
Less than two days had pa.s.sed since her unexpected, oh-so-steamy encounter with Hunter Cross, but one thing was for d.a.m.n sure. Despite her very best efforts-and maybe-probably-definitely a pair of very, very cold showers-ever since he'd walked her back to Daisy's tent at the Watermelon Festival on Sat.u.r.day, Emerson had been completely unable to get Hunter out of her brain.
Have you ever wondered what if . . .
She sat up straight, the desk chair giving up a hearty squeal of protest at her sudden s.h.i.+ft. She couldn't deny that their kiss had felt mind-scramblingly good, better even than all the other times Hunter had kissed her in the past. But she'd come back to Millhaven to work hard and move forward with her life. She had so many other things to worry about, namely the wide-open s.p.a.ces in her appointment book and the fact that, sooner or later, she was going to have to face her parents in a showdown she didn't want or need.
She couldn't afford a distraction. Not even one that came in a s.e.xy, Wrangler-wearing, sweet-talking, slow-kissing package.
Oh G.o.d, this morning's shower hadn't been cold enough.
”Excuse me. Emerson?” came a soft voice from the doorway leading back to Doc Sanders's waiting room. ”I apologize for not having an appointment, but Nurse Kelley said I should come on back.”
The heat in Emerson's veins turned to surprise in an instant, her brain whirling in an attempt to play catch-up with the reality around her. ”Mrs. Ellersby?” The sweet old woman had lived in Millhaven since the day she'd been born there nearly seven decades ago. ”Sure, of course. What can I do for you?”
”Well, it might be silly,” she said, her bespectacled gaze growing wary. ”I know you're used to working with all those famous football players. They must get hurt real serious all the time.”
”Sometimes.” Emerson nodded, proceeding with care. ”But if you're having discomfort, that's not silly at all. Do you want to come in and tell me about it? I might be able to help.”
Mrs. Ellersby crossed the threshold into the PT center, taking the seat Emerson offered beside her at the reception desk. ”My hands have been giving me fits lately,” the older woman said. ”I've had arthritis for about ten years now, and sometimes I get the old aches and pains when snow's coming or I knit too much. But for the last few weeks, these babies have just been hurting something fierce.”
She flexed her fingers, wincing slightly at the movement, and Emerson's heart gave up a tug at the same time her brain began to process.
”I'm sorry to hear that. Joint pain can be pretty debilitating.” She sure had been cozying up with that reality lately. ”Do you see a rheumatologist for your arthritis?”
The cluck of Mrs. Ellersby's tongue answered the question before she even spoke. ”Oh, sugar. Seems a bit silly to haul my bones all the way to Camden Valley just to have the doctor there poke me and prod me and tell me I'm old as dirt. I used to go in the beginning, but Doc Sanders keeps me in good with my medicine now, and usually, the pain's not so bad.”
”But lately that's changed,” Emerson said, waiting until the woman nodded before adding, ”Can you think of anything out of the ordinary that might have caused the increase in pain? Any kind of injury at all?”
”Not that I can think of, although I did crochet a whole bucketload of doilies to sell at the Watermelon Festival.”
No wonder the poor woman's joints were hurting. ”That would probably do it. Have you talked to Doc Sanders yet to see what she thinks?”
Mrs. Ellersby's head shake sent a ripple of surprise up Emerson's spine. ”No. Mich.e.l.le Martin told me you were doing those hand ma.s.sages over at Daisy Halstead's tent at the Watermelon Festival, and then Hunter Cross was just bragging up a storm yesterday morning at Clementine's Diner, sayin' how much you've helped him with his shoulder. So I figured I'd come here first to ask you.”
”Hunter told you about his physical therapy?” Shock knocked the question right out of her mouth. Maybe Emerson had misunderstood the woman. No way had she meant- ”Why, yes he did, hand to G.o.d,” Mrs. Ellersby said. ”I went to Clementine's after church for some coffee and a slice of pie, and he was sitting in the next booth over, having breakfast with his brother Owen and Sheriff Atlee. I made mention of my pain to Cate McAllister-poor, sweet girl, she's waiting tables at the diner now-and wouldn't you know, Hunter overheard us. He was so sweet to tell me all about you two working together. Talked you right up, he did.”