How classic. Give a man a kiss, and he starts talking about bed. “Do I have another option?”
“We can walk across the street to the diner, and I’ll buy you a meal first.”
To fortify her for their lovemaking? How thoughtful.
But she wasn’t ready to give her passion, to experience sexual bliss with the man she had loved since adolescence. What good would come of taking him into her bed and body when he intended to walk out of her life in two months with her nephew?
“I’m about to take you on the hood of this truck, if you don’t decide soon.”
Emma could feel the tension humming through him. And he thought she had been in danger at the dance?
“Dinner.”
He looked momentarily confused, then his face darkened. Suddenly he released her, grabbed her hand, and started pulling her across the street.
Emma stifled a snort. Undentable ego, hah! She smiled, hoping the diner was warm and toasty, because she intended to take off her shawl to eat.
Chapter Eleven
T he little witch hadtaken off her shawl in the diner. Ben shook his head as he escorted his date back to his truck. She had stuffed herself with potatoes and coleslaw and a hamburger that would have choked a horse. Then she’d followed everything with a monstrous dessert that had far more icing than cake.
Hehadn’t been able to swallow a thing.
Her coat was now buttoned up to her chin, thank God. Hopefully he would find the strength to take her home and leave her at her door.
That bright red dress was only slightly higher in the front than the back. And she was wearing a long string of pearls that nicely teased the top curve of her breasts.
Stunning breasts—full and soft—and she clearly wasn’t wearing a bra.
“A cold front’s moved in,” she said, her breath fogging in the chilly air.
Cold front? He was hotter than a teenager in a whorehouse with a hundred-dollar bill.
“The dance is still going strong. You want to go back in?” he asked, stopping beside his truck.
“No. I think we should call it a night.”
Something in her voice sounded odd—almost like fear. Emma Sands, the shotgun-carrying, night-flying spitfire, was afraid. But not of him—not exactly.
Maybe she feared the emotional danger he presented. Maybe the fact that she erupted like a long-dormant volcano every time they kissed scared the hell out of her.
Ben opened her door to his truck. “I’ll take you home, kiss you good night, and see you tomorrow.”
Wide, questioning green eyes looked up at him, and a sigh of relief escaped her as she turned to climb into the truck. Ben softly closed the door and walked around and climbed in his side of the truck.
“The evening wasn’t a total waste,” she said as he buckled his belt.
“Not for you. Your belly’s full enough to last you the winter.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you for dinner, but I meant the dance wasn’t a waste. You accomplished a lot tonight.”
He gave his attention to pulling out of the crowded parking lot. “How’s that?”
“You finally came into town, were recognized, and faced your accusers. Everyone is going home tonight with something to think about. And since they all know you’re here, you won’t have to stay hidden at Medicine Creek Camps any longer.”
That made him frown. “I wasn’t hiding.”
She waved that away. “Now when you come into town, there won’t be an ugly scene. You won’t catch anyone by surprise and they won’t be so hostile.”
“So that’s why you agreed to come tonight? You wanted to be there for my grand reunion with Medicine Gore, so you could run interference?”
She lifted her chin. “I just wanted to go to a dance. It’s been years since I attended one.”
Ben blew out a tired breath. Arguing with Emma was an exercise in futility. “And now you think everything’s fine?”
“No, they’ll still be suspicious. But they’ll also be more open-minded.”
“Because of your resounding endorsement?”
“Because I gave them cold, hard facts to think about.” Ben saw her lift her chin again. “And yes, because they know me. They know I wouldn’t be caught dead with you if I thought you were responsible for killing my father.”
“And what about Kelly? Will they forgive me for abandoning her and Mike?”
“Probably not. Although they won’t put all the blame on you. Kelly was … well, she was known for being a bit … impulsive.” She turned in her seat and touched his sleeve. “They’re good people, Ben. They just need time for the truth to sink in.”
He looked down at her hand. It was a feminine hand, despite the short nails and calluses he knew were there. It was a strong hand, capable of holding a gun, of coaxing a plane into unthinkable flight, and of inciting his lust to new heights with the gentlest of touches.
“God, Emma, you overwhelm me,” he said, covering her hand with his.
She squeaked and pulled back as if he had burned her. Ben opened his mouth to reassure her that she was safe for tonight, but one of the red idiot lights on the dash suddenly blinked on.
“Damn.” He immediately shut off the engine, then let the truck coast to the shoulder of the road.
“What’s the matter?”
“The oil light just came on.” He put the truck in park, turned to her, and caught her smiling at him. “What’s so funny?”
“This is what you get for spending a fortune for a sissified truck.”
“Sissified?”
She waved her hand around the interior. “This isn’t a real truck; it’s a station wagon disguised as one. It’s got leather seats and more frills than a Victorian teahouse,” she added as she dropped her visor and opened the mirror. A set of lights automatically turned on. Ben heard a soft whir, and Emma seemed to magically rise in her seat. “It’s a yuppy vehicle.”
“I bought it for us.”
“Us?”
“I thought the three of us could take a trip down to the coast some weekend,” he told her as she magically descended back into position. “I want Mike to meet my older brother, Sam. He lives in Keelstone Cove.”
She sobered. “Oh. Mike would love that.”
“Only we’re not even going to make it home, much less to the coast,” he said as he opened his door, releasing the hood and stepping out. He heard Emma’s door open also. “Be careful near that ditch,” he warned, remembering she was wearing heels.
There was a short scream, a rustling of bushes, and then muffled grumbling from the other side of the truck. It took him no more than a second to reach her, but Emma was already struggling to her feet. Her long hair had got caught on a bush and she muttered a word that made him grin.
“Don’t you dare say a thing,” she hissed. The interior lights of the truck were bright enough for Ben to see her glare at him while she tugged on her hair.
“Let me get that,” he said, reaching down to free her. “Emma, a lady is supposed to wait in the car when there’s trouble,” he said, shaking his head at the mess she’d made of herself.
“Thank you, Emily Post,” she snapped. She grabbed his pant leg—much too high for comfort—and tried to pull herself up out of the ditch.
Ben reached under her arms and hauled her to her feet, and didn’t let go until he had her seated in the truck. One hand on the door, the other on the roof, he stood and watched as she pulled down the visor again and opened the lighted mirror she had just scoffed at. She ran her fingers through her hair, then brushed at a bit of dirt on her cheek. “What’s wrong with the truck?”
“How in hell am I supposed to know? Have you looked under the hood of one of these things lately?”