Instant Gratification (Wilder #2)(29)

“No.” Emma shook her head. “She wouldn’t say that.” But…but how many times had Sandy said those very words, that Emma was to aim high, far higher than her own roots. Oh, God. “I don’t believe it.”

“I know it must be hard, after being raised by her, to hear the other side.”

No. No, it wasn’t hard. She knew more than anyone that there were two sides to every story. But this, this couldn’t be right.

Yet the look on his face, the utter empathy, the utter certainty…“Why?” she whispered. “Why did he let her tell him that he couldn’t see me?”

“Because he owed her. He felt responsible for her losing those years of her life when she stayed out here, the years she blamed him for.”

Sandy had resented those years, bitterly. Just as she’d bitterly resented every single wrinkle on her face, the ones she’d blamed on the high, harsh, Sierra sun. “He came to New York to see me.”

His eyes softened, revealing his honesty. “Yes.”

“And she turned him away.”

“Yes.”

Emma stared blindly at the granite rock, the rough, rugged pines. “She didn’t want to share me.”

“I imagine not, though it hurt him. And because he had time and love to give, he turned to other kids. Me, for one. And others.” She heard him take a step toward her, his feet crunching on the fallen pine needles. “He’s a good guy, Emma. A really good guy.”

She closed her eyes at the emotion in his voice.

He cared about her dad. She absorbed that a moment, then went still at the feel of his hands pulling her around to face him. His arms slid along hers as he took the casseroles from her, his body warm and sinewy. “Stone?”

“Yeah?” He didn’t shift away, remaining so close she could feel his breath warm on her temple.

“Thanks for telling me,” she whispered.

He nodded, then shook his head. “He won’t thank me.” He set the casseroles on the hood of the truck, then stepped close again.

She’d never been so aware of a man’s body.

Or her own.

Not good.

Yet she didn’t move away. If anything, she shifted slightly closer.

“You look tense enough to shatter,” he murmured, lifting a hand to touch her cheek.

Shocked at herself and her utter lack of control, she shifted into him. A mistake, because as she knew all too well, chemistry was basic.

And they had it in spades. “You might have noticed, I’m not good at relaxing.”

His mouth quirked. “I can help.”

Her mind went there, to how she’d let him relax her, and all it came up with was getting naked.

Oh good Lord. This was all his fault. He practically oozed sex appeal, and being this close wasn’t helping. Nor was the hand he had on her arm. That and his eyes, on hers, weakened her defenses, tearing down a wall she’d put up a damn long time ago, leaving her feeling far too exposed.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his thighs bumping hers. “It’s definitely there.”

Knowing what it was—that Chemistry 101 she was thinking about, all that sheer, bare, physical need—she lifted her chin. One thing at a time, and right now, she was concentrating on her self-righteous frustration over her dad. “This…this whatever it is between us, isn’t going to be a problem.”

“No?”

“No.” She firmed up her voice. “No way, no how.”

“You trying to convince me?” he asked. “Or yourself?”

“I mean it. This would be a very bad idea.”

“A bad idea, huh?” His voice was low and shockingly seductive as he dipped his head down slightly so that their mouths were disconcertingly close. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night, Doc.”

His eyes were smoldering with a dark and enticing knowledge, and her knees actually wobbled. Other reactions occurred too, reactions she wasn’t ready to admit to. But she could admit this—for whatever reason, whether it was his sheer testosterone-fueled masculinity, or the fact that he was different from the men she usually let in her life—she was too vulnerable to him.

Far too vulnerable.

Turning, she picked the casserole dishes back up and shoved them into his arms. “You cook those at 350 degrees for about an hour.”

His lips were curved slightly, and she drank in his closeness. He smelled a little woodsy, a little citrusy, and a whole lot male. His face was tanned, with fine lines fanning out from his eyes and the corners of his mouth, assuring her that he laughed, and often.

She had no idea why that was so damn attractive. Maybe because she’d always wondered what it was like not to be ruled by her work.

But her work was her life. She’d made sure of it.

Stone rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t shaved that morning, maybe not yesterday either, and the stubble should have put her off.

Yeah. It so didn’t.

She needed something to put her off. Maybe he wore holey socks. Maybe he snored. God, she hoped he snored.

“You going to talk to him before you go?”

“I think I said enough.”

“You were pretty hard on him.” The casual bluntness of the words struck a chord deep inside her, mostly because he was right. Which she hated.