Finding Her Son(25)

“To search for your grandson.” Emily looked down at Victoria. “I want him back.”

For a moment, she thought Victoria’s expression softened a bit. Then that haughty look reappeared. “No. I’m not wrong. I know your kind. You care about nothing if you’ll sell everything Eric ever gave to you.” She faced Mitch. “You look into the $250,000 account I found. It’s in her name. Not Eric’s.” Then she turned to Emily, her gaze as icy as her heart. “When you can explain that away, I might believe you weren’t responsible for killing my son.”

She rose and walked out the door, regal as ever.

Mitch whistled under his breath. “Wow. She doesn’t mince words.”

“I told you.” The kettle shrieked from the kitchen. Emily hurried to remove the pot from the stove. He followed her. The room suddenly seemed much smaller, claustrophobic even. Maybe it was the low ceilings, but his muscular frame and larger-than-life presence sucked the air from her lungs.

“Want some?” she asked, her voice strangely breathless.

“The tea is for you. I figured you’d need it after your mother-in-law left, and I was pretty sure she’d leave before it was ready. I just wanted you out of the room. So, about the $250,000—”

Emily faced Mitch. “If I’d had access to that kind of money, do you think I’d be selling my house to pay for the investigation? The house Eric and I built together? I didn’t even know about the money until today.” She struggled to swallow back the sob that stuck in her throat. No. She couldn’t let herself regret what had to happen. Without William’s support, or Perry, she could at least count on the money from the house to help her find Joshua.

Mitch lifted his hand to her cheek. “I’m on your side,” he said softly. “Remember that.”

She nodded.

“Did anyone ask for your signature on anything unusual?”

The question harkened back to Dane Tanner’s interrogation. Her entire body tensed, her neck muscles bunched in resistance.

“Remember,” Mitch whispered.

His hands moved to her shoulders, kneaded the knots. She sighed at the comforting touch. She didn’t know what good her answer would be.

“I’ve signed a million forms since Eric died. I signed papers to try to refinance the physical-therapy business. I don’t remember opening a bank account.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I saw the signature. It can’t be mine. It looks like mine, but I didn’t sign it.”

“The account existed before the accident. This isn’t something recent, Emily. I’ll get the exact date from Tanner. Maybe that will jog your memory.”

She couldn’t stand so close to him any longer. She turned away and hugged her arms around herself. “Why is this happening?”

Mitch moved in closer, but she stiffened, trying to ignore the longing that had bubbled up inside of her, that still threatened to escape. She pulled a teabag out of the cupboard and poured hot water in a flowered cup.

Emily inhaled the floral scent of the herb drink, but it didn’t comfort, soothe or distract her. She felt his warm presence again at her back. Her body tingled. He wouldn’t give up. His persistence was one of his most irritating—and appealing—qualities. His heat warmed her from shoulders to hips. She wanted nothing more than to give in to her instincts, to sag against him, let him wrap her in a cocoon and make the world go away for just a few minutes, a few hours.

Gently, almost tentatively, he rested his hands on her shoulders again. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered, his warm breath at her ear.

His hands eased down her arms. She could’ve escaped at any moment. He would’ve let her go, but she wanted his touch. She needed his strength. She’d been alone for so long, battling the world for too long. For this moment, in this small room, she truly believed she’d found a champion. She and Mitch against a world gone crazy.

Effortlessly, he folded her against him, his hard body cradling the softness of her own. Her hands shook. His warm hands surrounded hers, and he took the cup in his hands and set it aside before turning her in his arms.

His chocolate-brown eyes had gone black with desire. His body fairly pulsed with need. He lifted her chin, and his finger toyed with a strand of hair near her face.

She understood passion. The electric longing had crackled between them before. But this was different. He could have swept her into his arms, tugged her to him and taken her lips. She would’ve given him what they both wanted, but he didn’t. His hands worked slowly up and down her arms, then around her back to her shoulders, touching her with such a gentle persuasion that she melted deep in her belly.

Her heart pounded and she leaned into him, wanting his heat to warm her from the inside out, needing to feel safe. He was the only one who could give her that. “Please,” she said.

A small smile tilted his lips. “Please what?”

“Hold me.”

With a groan, he secured her hard against him. She could feel every plane of his body, the muscles in his arms and chest. She hugged him close. He shivered, and a surge of female pride raced through her. She’d made him tremble.

What if she raised her head? Would he kiss her? Would he want her?

His hips arched against her. Yes, he wanted her, and he wasn’t afraid of letting her know it. The loneliness of the past year crashed over her. Dare she risk letting herself care, or even feel something more than grief and emptiness?