Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(42)

“Tell Ida thanks,” he said, even though they both knew it was total BS. Ida might have mentioned for her to check on Dax, but feeding him was all Emerson. She couldn’t help herself.

Before Dax could take the tray, Smokey slid up beside Emerson and slung his arm over her shoulder and visually perused the merchandise. “Beer and, hey, are those the famous tapas everyone’s been raving about?”

“No” was all Dax said, because the grin Adam was dishing up was playful and smug—and 100 percent stupid male at its finest. And Emerson had been dealing with stupid men all night, looking their fill, making wisecracks, all while the woman was hustling to do her job. She shouldn’t have to deal with SHFD’s number one player. “You can’t tap that or look at her tapas no matter how many times you tell yourself it sounds like topless. And stop breathing on my beer.”

He gave Adam a gentle shove, but just like he didn’t need to call Emerson on her BS, no one needed to call him on his. He wasn’t getting possessive over Adam sampling his tapas, he was ticked that Adam was sweet-talking his private chef.

“He never was good at sharing,” Adam said with a wink. “Cried when I borrowed his G.I. Joe doll.”

“G.I. Joe is an action figure,” Dax said slowly, “and I was five. And you lit him on fire with Grandpa’s blowtorch.”

“How else would I practice putting out a fire?” Adam said with so much duh in his tone Dax wanted to punch him. Then he turned to Emerson and cranked up the charm. “So rather than make him whine in front of a pretty girl, I’ll place my own order for a tray.”

“Too bad you don’t make the age cutoff,” Dax said, then held up a stamp of an anchor. “No stamp, no entry. Those are the rules.” He slid Emerson a secret look. “And the lady does like her rules.”

Emerson flushed, not enough that his brothers would notice, but he saw it. A faint pink tint crept up the tips of her ears. She opened her mouth to say something, something he knew by the playful spark in her eye was going to make him smile, when her phone pinged.

She set his tray on the little table he’d been using to hold the swag bags, fished her phone out of her bra, and looked at the screen. Her humor vanished—and so did the lightness she’d been carrying.

“Everything okay?” Dax asked, taking a step closer, because if he had learned anything about Emerson over the past few weeks, it was that nothing much rattled her. She took life head-on and never wavered. But she was wavering now.

“Yeah. It’s just my dad,” she said, and normally he would have let it go. Her smile was still there, fastened in place, right where it should be for everyone to see. But if he wasn’t mistaken, it was manufactured. Just like the tough-girl posture she wore. She was upset, and something about that drew out his need to comfort her.

“Is he all right?” he asked quietly, wondering if it was Pixie.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” she said, ignoring his question. “Enjoy your dinner.”

The three of them watched her go back into the bar, and the way she squared her shoulders brought out this crazy instinct to follow her inside.

“Shay said you hired Emerson to do some cooking for you,” Jonah said, and Dax tore his attention off Emerson and put it on his brother, whose expression was one big wagging finger. “So what the hell was that?”

“I don’t know, something to do with her family,” Dax said and both brothers looked at him weird. “What?”

“He meant that.” Adam pointed at the tray of food, then to the doorway where Emerson had disappeared. “And that.”

“Uh, my chef. Bringing me dinner.”

Adam made a coughing sound that sounded a lot like bullshit. “As the resident fire expert of the group, I’d like to point out that what just went down was not your standard cooking heat. That was more of a slow smoldering. Harder to fight and highly susceptible to combustion.”

It was also dangerous, Dax thought as he looked down at the tray. Not only had she brought him his favorite kind of beer, there wasn’t a speck of green on anything.

This was confirmed by the little note that read, No green. I promise.

Which meant that the meal, as well as that dress, had been specially ordered. Prepared well in advance. And served specifically with him in mind.

The only way her intentions could have been made clearer was if she had scribbled her number on his forehead.



Groaning, Emerson slipped off her heels as the last pair of swing dancers cleared the floor and the bar finally quieted down. She had banked on running out of food by ten, leaving her plenty of time to find Dax before Ida let him go home, to see if he wanted to cash in that rain check. Only Harper had made enough spinach and dill-infused feta phyllo bites to keep the party going until midnight. And now Dax was gone—Ida had let him go about an hour ago—and her plan, which had taken her all day to gather enough courage to see through, was a total bust.

No need for the pinup pumps.

The story of her life. She’d been seduced by the possibility of a night of freedom, a night to let go and lose herself, and maybe, just maybe, find something fun, exciting, invigorating—a real shot at being a part of something amazing. A heady thought, one she wanted to grab on to, but life had stepped in and given her a fat smack to the forehead.

Which sucked. Big-time. She really wanted tonight to work, wanted Dax to work, because she desperately needed to have something that was just hers—even if it was temporary. Especially after that call with her dad.