Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(56)
He wanted to point out that he was already one step ahead of her. Manning up wouldn’t be a problem. She wasn’t touching him anywhere sensual, just her hand poking into his pec with purpose, but it was as if he could feel her everywhere. She could feel him too, because her eyes went heavy and she looked a little lost, a little dazed, and a whole lot like she wanted him.
“What’s up with Pixie and the no wings?” he asked quietly.
Her face lit with excitement. “We’re trying something new, so don’t make a big deal out of it. But her teacher thought it would be best if the wings stayed home, and she started answering to Violet.” He could tell that she agreed with the teacher, but reinforcing the rules fell completely to Emerson. “So I promised Violet that I would do the twilight walk with her before dinner, like my mom used to, but only if she left the wings in her closet during the week.” She leaned in. “And it’s working!”
“You’re a good sister.” He moved his arms so that their knuckles lightly brushed. “The way you take care of your family is . . .” He searched for the right word. “Sweet.”
She dropped her gaze to his chest and shrugged. “Most people would argue about me being sweet.”
A few weeks ago he would have been one of those people. But he knew better now, knew that her hands-off thing was all for show. It was her armor. What kept her safe from all of the disappointments life had thrown her way.
Dax slipped his finger under her chin and lifted it until she met his gaze. “Most people would be wrong then, Emi, because everything about you is sweet.”
Their gazes held, hers so uncertain and lost he wanted to pull her to him like he had the other day. “It’s getting weird again,” she said quietly, and he could see the pulse beat in the base of her neck.
“I think you meant to say, it’s getting good.” He stepped closer and her breath caught. If this was weird, then he was officially a fan.
“You should probably go find that wood,” she said but he noticed she didn’t move.
“The wood—”
Her eyes went wide and she pressed her hand over his mouth, shaking her head. “No, please don’t say it’s in your pants.”
“Okay.” He kissed the palm of her hand and she jerked it back. And yeah, he might have given her a gentle nip. And then, because he didn’t want to be another one of life’s disappointments, he gave her what she needed right then. Laughter. “I also won’t tell you where the party is then.”
She threw her head back and laughed, then stuck the papers in the neck of his shirt. “Read up, Ranger. I want you prepared for lunch.”
Dax watched her go, her hips swaying as she walked to the picnic table. That sway was the kind of sexy sway a woman gave when she knew a man was watching—and wanted him to watch.
Yup. She was feeling it. Fighting it, but feeling it all the same.
He didn’t bother to tell her he wasn’t eating her lunch, that he’d stopped by Stan’s earlier and enjoyed two bowls of chili and some corn bread—and an hour of chopping. He pulled out the papers and went to hand them back when he noticed red markings in the margins. Phone numbers, notes, big red Xs through parts.
He looked closer. It wasn’t pages from his book—she’d accidently handed him her list of trucks for sale. Commercial food trucks, to be exact. There must have been ten pages, containing the details on over thirty food trucks for sale in the area. The first several trucks were either untouched or marked out. In fact, there were only three that he could find in the packet that were circled as though possibilities.
“Why is the truck on page two crossed out?” he asked because he didn’t know a lot about food trucks, even less about cooking in one, but he knew cars. He’d also seen Emerson work in his kitchen enough to understand that the few trucks she had circled weren’t big enough. “Or these circled ones smaller than twenty-nine feet?”
She looked up and he knew the second recognition hit. Her eyes went wide and she was on him in seconds, reaching for the paper. He wasn’t sure what came over him, maybe it was the expression she wore, the same one she’d worn when doing the mailbox shuffle the other day, but instead of giving it back, he flipped the page and pointed to the twenty-nine-foot semicustom truck that would be perfect. “I like this one.”
“Then you should buy it,” she said, successfully snatching the papers back and sticking them in her binder. “It’s only thirty grand more than the others.”
He followed her over to the table and leaned a hip against the corner. “That much of a difference?”
She sat down and pretended to reshuffle the handouts, not saying a word. Fine with him, he was used to waiting people out—it was what made him such a good sniper. He could wait for hours, days if he had to. Most people lived to fill the silence. Emerson held on longer than he expected, but after about three minutes of the birds chirping and leaves rustling, she broke.
“It’s frustrating,” she said. “The difference between a renovated roach coach and a renovated food truck is like twenty grand, then with upgrades and equipment it goes up from there.”
“Is this the only commercial truck warehouse in the area?”
“For financing reasons and my timeline, this place seems to be my best option.” She shrugged, then reached under the table and pulled out two bowls filled with weeds and flowers that the girls had collected at the beginning of the day. She picked up a clover and nibbled it. Dax’s throat constricted a little. “I was thinking I could get a bigger truck that needs a little TLC and clean it up. But with Street Eats not that far off, I don’t think that’s a smart option.”