running away from him."
"He's an idiot," Rye said, practically growling.
"I know."
And then Emma felt better, fear receding and reality sneaking in.
She realized abruptly that she was clinging to him—a man she'd just met the day before. She'd shown him herself at her weakest and most vulnerable point, and now she'd thrown herself into his arms.
Yes, she was fairly certain now that's what she'd done.
And they were standing in the cold on the front porch in broad daylight.
She eased back in his arms, looked up to find his gaze running over her face and then her body, as if he had to convince himself she was okay.
"Sorry," she said. She hadn't meant to scare him.
She stepped back, because she thought she had to. But it was harder than she imagined it would be. She was more shaken than she cared to admit, and he was still right there.
She had her hands clasped to her chest one minute, then reaching for him the next. She stopped to think about what she was doing at the last moment, leaving her hands hanging in the air, not sure what to do with them anymore.
He knew. He covered her cold hands with his warm ones and pressed them against the worn, smooth cotton of his shirt. His heart was thrumming heavily, and she felt his chest rise and fall with the next breath he took. It was cold enough that when he exhaled foglike breath billowed out of his mouth and hung there between them, dissipating in the next seconds into nothingness.
She kept waiting for the feelings that hovered awkwardly between them to do the same, but they didn't. They seemed to be suspended there, frozen as the two of them were. Strangers, too, and yet...
She had the strongest urge to ease herself back into his arms. To raise her head and press her lips to his cheek. It was a bit rough and dark. He hadn't taken the time to shave, and she found herself wanting to know what it would feel like to have him kiss her with those soft, full lips and his rough cheeks. She was fascinated by the idea, no matter how completely inappropriate it might be.
Emma had been raised with all sorts of male relatives, young and old. They were a big, loud, affectionate bunch. This was just a hug. A kiss on the cheek. Honestly, it was nothing at all.
She left her hands where they were, raised up on her toes, and for a mere second, brushed her lips against one of those cheeks that intrigued her so.
"Thank you."
Chapter 3
A shiver went down her spine at the light touch.
Her lips tingled in the oddest of ways where they touched him. He smelled heavenly.
She figured out pretty quickly that treating him like a brother or a cousin wasn't going to work, and eased back, trying to figure out what to do next.
He stood there, his back ramrod straight and said, "I didn't do anything."
"You're here."
At the moment, that was all she needed. Him here with her.
He took a step back, a slight flush to his cheeks, and she thought she must have embarrassed him, something that made him absolutely adorable. Not that he wasn't that already. This just made him all the more so.
He had dark blond hair, almost brown, and the kind of dark eyes a woman thought she could drown in, thick, spiky lashes women tormented themselves with mascara to try to get. The stubble of whiskers gave him a slightly rough look she found altogether appealing. And his body was all filled out, like a man's, not a boy's.
She wondered how old he was. Late twenties, maybe? That would be a problem, if anything were to come of this. Not that she was looking to get involved with anyone. Not after what she'd just been through.
But at the same time, she was suddenly completely aware of him as a man. It was in the wide shoulders and the rough cheeks, something about the way he walked or maybe the way he filled out those smooth, worn jeans.
There, she'd admit it.
The man was sexy.
Emma found herself frowning up at him and then feeling completely bewildered about what had just happened. She'd been scared