Emergency Attraction (Love Emergency) Read online

  “I see lots of changes.” He pointed to the buildings flanking the original schoolhouse. “Two new wings, a refurbished gymnasium, new football field and expanded grounds. C’mon. Let’s look around.”

  “Thinking of trying out for the team? I hate to break it to you, but you missed your window of opportunity by about ten years.”

  “I wouldn’t say I missed it. I had no interest in banging heads with a bunch of sweaty guys.” He reached out and touched the articulated silver and crystal dragonfly pinned to the collar of her coat, making one iridescent wing flutter. “I had other interests. So did you, if I recall.”

  She took a step back and snuggled into her coat. “It’s fair to say neither one of us has glory days to relive. What are we doing here, Shane?”

  Oh, they had glory days, and he was more than happy to relive certain aspects, but the exasperation in her voice told him the better tactic right now would be to focus on the present. “Any comprehensive municipal disaster plan encompasses the schools, and identifying the optimal evacuation routes firsthand gives me a leg up on assessing the viability of their existing procedures.”

  All totally legit, but the chance to visit the place where they’d first met factored into his choice. Try as she might to keep a lock on the past, he figured nostalgia ultimately worked in his favor. They’d shared a lot, back in the day, caught up in each other with the kind of all-consuming intensity that made any risk seem reasonable, and any obstacle insignificant. The wildfire of emotion had probably been destined to flame out even if life hadn’t gotten in their way, but seeing her again stirred the embers and made him realize he hadn’t experienced anything close in a long time.

  And he wanted to. Chalk it up to pure, simple lust, or the challenge of breaking through the wall of resistance he’d slammed into headfirst last night. And yes, also to reconcile the past and tie things off properly this time. He could still hear his former drill instructor—now his boss—telling him, Son, consider her the one that got away, and move on. He had, because there’d been no other option, but a small, persistent sense of unfinished business lingered in the back of his mind.

  Her narrowed eyes conveyed skepticism. “I haven’t participated in so much as a fire drill here since I graduated. Shouldn’t you do this with someone who knows what’s what?”

  “I’ll do that, too, eventually. This afternoon I just want to get the lay of the land, and I want company while I do it.” To goad her into doing what he asked, he added, “Why the reluctance? I thought you were immune to me?”

  “I’m totally immune to you. I’m just not a big fan of wasting time. But whatever.” She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “It’s your time. Where do you want to start?”

  “This way.” He guided her around the main building and onto a concrete walkway that formed a border between the buildings and the sports fields.

  She fell into step beside him. After a moment, manners got the best of her. “How’s your family?”

  “Predictably dysfunctional.” The reply came out terser than he intended, and he didn’t want to leave her with the impression he gave a shit over something he’d come to terms with a long time ago, so he elaborated. “Derek, as I expect everyone around here knows, is currently a guest of the good state of Alabama. He’s about halfway through a three-year stint at Draper.”

  “I know.” She laid a hand on his arm for a brief moment, and said, “I’m sorry.”

  The simple sympathy in her voice told him she might be one of the few people to actually mean the words. Though just three years apart, he felt like he hardly knew his older brother anymore. The first time Derek had gotten himself in real trouble—picked up by Atlanta PD for assault—Shane had only been fifteen. Even so, he’d heard all the whispers and seen the way people had looked at him like it was only a matter of time before he followed in his brother’s footsteps. He very nearly had.

  He shrugged. “Not his first time, probably not his last. He excels at bad decisions, and he won’t listen to anybody, including me.”

  “I hope that changes.” As she spoke, she crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders against the chilly breeze.

  “Me, too, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  “And your folks? They’re still in Illinois?”

  “Mom works at a nursing home outside Chicago. Dad’s doing as little as possible, as always.”

  Parenthood had come early and unexpectedly to Mandy and Gregory Maguire. The shotgun wedding arranged by her parents had stuck, but an exchange of rings didn’t actually prepare a person for raising kids. He and Derek had run wild growing up. Acting out to get their parents’ attention hadn’t done anything except earn them bad reputations and ensure that in any situation requiring the benefit of the doubt, they wouldn’t get it.

  “You live in Chicago now, too?”

  She phrased it as a question, but he detected a hint of deductive certainty in her voice.

  “What makes you think so?”

  She stopped and ran her hand down the sleeve of his green cashmere sweater until she reached the stainless-steel band of his Breitling chronograph. “Oh, please. You’ve got city all over you. A speck on the map like Magnolia Grove can’t hold you now. It never could.”

  He liked her hand on him, even if her underlying intention was to push him away. Technically, she might be right, but he found himself playing devil’s advocate just to keep her engaged. “I’ve been bouncing around the globe since I got my Eagle. I’m not rooted anywhere.”

  Even as he said the words, the crisp air, the scent of logs burning in a fireplace somewhere in the distance called up memories, as did the sight of her standing in the shadow of the old brick building. They knuckled through the foundations of the life he’d built since leaving Magnolia Grove, like a tree long gone but never properly excavated. Those useless remnants could still trip him up now and then if he didn’t watch his step.

  Maybe she read his mind, because she said, “You won’t stay,” and then turned and started walking again. “You couldn’t get out of here fast enough, and once you left, you never looked back.”

  He followed, a little surprised at how ready he was to dispute her summary. She made it sound as if he’d left by his own choice and never contacted her again, which wasn’t how things had gone down. “Seriously? That’s the way you want to play it?”

  “That’s the way it was.”

  “I could argue your version of events.”

  “The past is the past. I don’t want to talk about it.” But her actions suggested otherwise, because she stopped and turned to him. “My only point is, you’re not staying. Despite all the recent growth, this is still Magnolia Grove. It hasn’t changed much from the place you walked away from.” She glanced back at him. “And you haven’t changed much from the guy who walked away. A job brought you back, nothing more.”

  Very true. A job had brought him back, and when he finished, he’d jump on a plane and head to the next. Which made her absolutely right, but he resented her words, and the certainty in her voice as she said them. He had changed, and for some pathetic reason, he wanted people to see that. The fact that she didn’t hurt more than he liked to admit, so he spent a purposeful minute noting the potential bottlenecks in evacuation routes caused by the installation of several portable classrooms on one side of the quad. When he glanced at her again, he found her regarding him with a hard-to-quantify look on her face. “What?”

  A smile flitted across her lips. “Nothing.” She shook her head and took the path that cut across the quad, lined by a row of big, old maple trees. He measured his steps to hers and kept quiet—a strategy he’d always relied on when he wanted Sinclair to talk. Give her silence to fill.

  The strategy still worked. After a moment, she laughed under her breath, and murmured, “Your job.”

  “My job is funny?”

  “It’s funny that the kid with a reputation for acting first and dealing with the shitstorm later now spends his time considering risks a
nd implementing protective measures.”

  He shrugged. “I got tired of dealing with shitstorms—especially ones I should have been smart enough to prevent.” Despite the offhand reply, pride expanded his chest. He’d left Magnolia Grove under the momentum of one of those self-induced shitstorms, well aware a lot of people assumed he’d never turn himself around. Coming back in a position of trust and authority felt good. The reluctant admiration in her eyes felt good.

  “Preventing personal shitstorms is one thing. Preventing them for an entire city seems like a huge responsibility. That’s a lot of people to protect.” She slowed to run her fingers over the rough bark of a stark, leafless maple. The chilly air had turned her unpainted nails light blue.

  He caught her hand and tucked it into the warmth of his and led them down the walkway toward the gymnasium. “I’m a protective guy.”

  That earned him a scoffing sound. “Ricky Pinkerton might beg to differ.”

  “See, we do have some glory days to relive,” he teased. Of course, they were standing in the shadow of the very spot where he’d broken Ricky’s nose at senior prom, for not knowing the meaning of the word “no,” despite Sinclair saying it more than once. He hadn’t known her then, other than from a distance. A nice girl, from a good family, and on every guy’s radar thanks to one of those truly remarkable growth spurts nature had bestowed over the summer. Ricky hadn’t been the only one fantasizing about getting into her panties, but he’d definitely been the most aggressive in the face of a clear and unconditional refusal. “As it turns out, I wasn’t protecting Ricky that night.” He drew her to a stop. “I was protecting you.”

  She leaned back against the wall of the gym, and crossed her arms. Her chin came up, but her lips curved, and he knew what she was going to say before she said it. They’d been over this ground before. “Thank you, but I didn’t need protecting. I had everything under control.”

  “Sure you did. I should have minded my own business.”

  Her stubborn little chin tipped higher. “I knew how to handle myself.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He faced her and braced one forearm against the building, to one side of her head.

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth and then flicked up to meet his, and he fell into midnight blue.

  “Yeah,” she said softly.

  He leaned in, bringing their faces close. “What if he’d done this?” Slowly, he slipped his hand inside her coat, under the loose hem of her sweater, and trailed his fingers around her naval.

  “That wouldn’t worry me.”

  Warm, cinnamon-infused breath washed over his chin. He inhaled, tasting her in the shared air, unlocking startlingly vivid memories of endless make-out sessions from their storage space somewhere deep inside his brain. Stolen hours spent behind the school, or down by the creek, or parked at the Lookout in his piece-of-shit truck, kissing until the windows fogged and their lips went raw. Need roused in his gut, heavy and staggeringly strong—like a hungry beast awaking after a long hibernation.

  “How about this?” He eased his other arm around her, taking her weight against him as he pulled her close and slid his hand into the back of her jeans deep enough to tangle in her thong. “Would this worry you?”

  Her breath caught. Slender hands grabbed his biceps and held on as he nudged his thigh between hers. She shifted until his pounding cock nestled against the fly of her jeans. “I’d tell him—”

  “Me.” He ran his mouth along the side of her neck, scoring her skin with the edge of his teeth. “What would you tell me?”

  “Shane…”

  Wait, his mind insisted, because that wasn’t a yes, but his hands had a will of their own. One cupped her ass and hauled her more tightly against him. The other swept up her rib cage and closed over one soft, lace-covered breast. The tip tightened against his palm, and her little moan sent tiny vibrations all the way to his balls. He lifted his head and stared down at her and those plush, parted lips just millimeters from his.

  “What would you tell me, Sinclair?”

  …

  Lips she hadn’t kissed in years hovered enticingly close. Irresistible energy jumped the small distance and woke tiny nerve endings in hers, making them tingle with anticipation. No, not anticipation—that was too tame a word for the bone-deep need gripping her. Like a recovering alcoholic staring down a double shot of premium, ninety-proof whiskey, she could practically taste the illicit flavors flowing over her tongue, burning a path straight to her heart, and finally quenching a thirst she’d never completely cured with ten years of safe, harmless substitutes.

  There’d been kisses before Shane—not many, and not memorable in any visceral way—and there’d been kisses since. Fun kisses, passionate kisses, a few surprises, but none had stormed her senses and captured her soul. None, except his. Would his kiss still affect her the same way after all this time, or was it some elusive magic generated by youth, fearlessness, and the utter newness of it all? More importantly, was curiosity a good enough reason to throw caution to the wind and find out?

  “Shane,” she whispered, and tipped her head a fraction of an inch, bringing their mouths closer. His breath warmed her lips. Rock-hard biceps flexed under her hands.

  “Jesus, I missed you.”

  His drawl snuck into the low words and sent her heart bounding to close the distance forged by time and circumstances, but her mind pulled the leash. Hard. Had he missed her? Really? Where had he been during those weeks when her world had spun out of control? When she would have given anything for a single word? By the time he had finally reached out, it had been too late.

  Way too late. Self-preserving instincts kicked in, jerking her back as far as the wall behind her would allow while she struggled to find her voice. It surfaced, weak and pitchy. “I’d tell you—”

  “Tell me what you want,” he murmured. “Anything.” His fingers teased her aching breast while his lips brushed the corner of her mouth.

  Her resolve wavered.

  Stop. You went down this road before. It led to a long, hard fall, and some wounds that never healed. Don’t let him draw you along the same dead-end path. Stay strong. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves. “I’d tell you to back off.”

  Every muscle in his body pulled tight, like brake lines straining to stop a speeding truck. For half a second she thought—hoped—he wouldn’t, but he dropped his head to her shoulder, and drew in a deep breath.

  “Your call.” He raised his head, and she got caught up in an unflinching green gaze. “But you know I would make it so good, Sinclair.” He tugged gently on her nipple as he said her name, and she felt the pull of both in places she’d locked away years ago. Over her reluctant moan, he murmured, “Remember those nights we parked at the Lookout? I learned your body like a treasure map. I learned if I touched you here,” he tugged her nipple again, harder, and another moan snuck out from low in her throat as heat twisted inside her, “you’d make that sound. And if I kissed you here,” he feathered his fingers over her other breast, “your breathing would get fast and shallow. You’d wrap your arms around my head and hold onto me like your life depended on it, and I’d bite and lick and suck those gorgeous tits of yours while you straddled my lap and got the both of us so wet. Remember?” The hand in the back of her jeans edged around the waistband of her underwear. “Your panties would be drenched.” He slid his fingers down the front of her jeans. “I’d be so hard it hurt, and you’d be so sensitive, as soon as I so much as grazed your little—”

  “Shane.” Even she couldn’t tell if that was an invitation or a warning. His fingers paused, but his voice continued stroking her need.

  “Are you wet now? If I touched you, would you come in your panties for me, just like back then? I bet you would.”

  She damn well would, and the awareness was enough to scare her into putting the brakes on for real. “Shane.” She gripped his wrist, but didn’t quite rouse the determination to drag his hand out of her jeans.

  “Not so immune to m
e, are you?” The corner of his mouth lifted, but something hungry burned in his eyes.

  He looked smug and dangerous, and the combination lit the fuse on her temper. She brought her knee up until it menaced his balls. “Want to find out?”

  “Careful.” One dark brow winged up. “That used to be your favorite toy, baby girl. You never know when you might want to play with it again.”

  If he expected her to laugh at the old joke, he was going to be sorely disappointed. She shoved him away. “I’ve outgrown it. You honestly think you can waltz into town and pick up where you left off?” Anger propelled her. She turned and started walking back the way they’d come, but after a few steps she stopped and swung around to add, “I hate to shatter your ego, Shane, but I haven’t been sitting around waiting for you to come back and toy with me.”

  Dark brows lowered over flashing eyes. “You’re involved with someone.”

  Okay, no. You do not get a secret thrill out of that possessive look. “I’m involved with my life. With my work, my home, my family—”

  “Not a man.” His expression cleared.

  “You’re not hearing me, Shane.”

  “I heard every word. You’ve got work, and a home, and your family. I want to know about all of it. Wednesday at five thirty. I’ll pick you up.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him no, but he cocked a brow and kept on talking. “Or are you backing out of our deal?”

  Pride took control of her voice. “I’m not backing out of anything.” Then she spun on her heel and stomped away rather than face his “I win” smirk.

  Dammit.

  Chapter Four

  Tiny leaves from the canopy of willow limbs overhead spiraled down in a lazy breeze. Sinclair tipped her head up to let the faint stirring of air cool her face. The sweet, fruity taste of Arbor Mist sangria lingered on her tongue, along with a hotter, smoother, far more addictive taste. Both made the view above her spin just a little. She definitely didn’t need any more sangria, but she never seemed to get enough of Shane.