Читать книгу Something to Talk About - Dakota Cassidy - Страница 8

Three

Em’s eyes slid upward, scanning the length of him. This wasn’t her him. Her him wouldn’t have been the angry father from the phone last night. He also wouldn’t be an angry father with a phone number for a place like Call Girls.

She was certainly open to many things since she’d begun working for Call Girls—she would never judge a client, or at least she tried her best not to. But a man she’d turned into a knight in shining armor by virtue of one long glance, calling women for sex who were complete strangers?

“Nella?” She fought the squeak in her voice. “I’ll call you back.” Em slid the phone off and dropped it back into her pocket, taking in a deep breath before confronting him.

Arms crossed over his big chest, encased in a black sweatshirt with a plaid flannel jacket over it, he flared his nostrils. “You spoke to my daughter on the phone last night. I’d know your voice anywhere after you read me the first-grade teacher ‘how dare you’ riot act.”

Dixie was about to rush to her aid. Em knew it just by the sound of her heels clacking with a swift pitter-patter across the hardware store’s floor and the narrowing of her eyes. The angry narrow, not to be confused with the smolder narrow.

Em held up a hand to ward off Dixie, who came to stand at her side nonetheless. When it came to looking out for Call Girls, nothing could fluster her. Not even him.

She cleared her throat and adopted a businesslike tone. “I think we got off on the wrong foot last night. First, let me introduce myself—or reintroduce myself. I’m Emmaline Amos, general manager for Call Girls Inc.” She held out her hand.

He stared at it, his once-promising lips now a hard line.

Em straightened, sucking in her cheeks. Hoping to avoid a spectacle everyone in town would talk about until she made the next spectacle of herself. “Maybe we should discuss this outside?”

His face grew harder, if that was possible. “The hell. I’m fine with discussing it right here. Mind telling me how a six-year-old managed to get through to one of your operators?”

Em’s eyebrow rose. She bristled at the implication she was anything less than acutely aware of everything that went on at Call Girls. “Mind telling me how your six-year-old got her hands on a number like ours? She did say it was on your desk.”

He ran a hand over his jaw, already littered with stubble, or maybe it had remained littered with stubble because he hadn’t shaved.

His face, formerly known as hard and angry, went suddenly boggled and tame. He scratched his head. “Come to think of it, I have no idea how she got her hands on the number. I sent her straight to bed, and I didn’t have time to talk with her about it this morning. She made me tea, which distracted me because she’s dang cute when she makes me her special tea. That’s how I left her—having tea.”

Which would imply there was someone else looking after his little girl if he’d left her at the house, and still didn’t explain why he had a number for Call Girls. She struggled with how deeply that disappointed her and gave him her “aha” look, hoping her glare would reach him from behind her sunglasses.

It was the glare she gave her boys when they held the answer to their own question. “Then your number-one priority right now is to go focus on bein’ a better parent, and ask her. You obviously missed the chapter on putting things in high places where small children can’t reach them,” she condescended.

He grinned—suddenly, inexplicably. And it was magical. “I obviously did.”

Just like that, he wasn’t angry or yelling anymore. He was like Texas weather. Stormin’ and ragin’ one minute, sunny and blue-skied the next.

“So you—” he leaned in toward her and whispered “—manage a phone-sex company?”

Now that his accusatory tone and mad face were gone, Em’s words suddenly were, too. She swallowed hard, tongue-tied. When he said the words phone sex, her heart stopped again. It was husky and raspy like he’d taken a swig of whiskey and it had left him hoarse. His deep timbre vibrated up along her spine with soft fingers.

She understood exactly what he’d said, but somehow, his words had turned into the man of her daydreams asking her to have sex with him. Which couldn’t be right.

Her cheeks flushed.

Dixie pinched her arm and smiled at Em with encouragement. “She does manage a phone-sex company, and she’s amazing.”

Em nodded because it seemed like the right thing to do, not because she considered herself amazing. “I do.”

Now his eyebrow rose, dark and questioning. He made the shape of a phone with his fingers. “So, do you, you know, talk to...people—callers?” He seemed fascinated by the idea that he might have encountered a real live phone-sex operator out and about in the wilds of Plum Orchard, Georgia.

Em knew he was waiting for an answer, but she was mesmerized by the sharp planes of his face, the deep grooves on either side of his mouth, his dark hair, shaggy and curling around the collar of his jacket. And the pink barrette, dangling from a strand of it just behind his ear.

Her heart melted like cold ice cream on a hot July day. A man with a pink barrette in his hair was exactly the man of her daydreams.

“So do you?” he repeated, his eyes intense.

Did she?

“No!” Dixie was quick to answer in her stead. “No. Em doesn’t talk to our clients, do you, Em?” She rubbed Em’s back to prompt her. “But she does talk. I promise. She’s just tired. It’s been a busy week doing all that managing.”

The world morphed back into shape again, bringing with it the crisp colors of the stacks of ceramic tile, people milling in and out of the aisles, and Dixie, pinching her again, even harder. “Yes!” She forced her lips to move, watching the barrette he was so completely unaware of, bobble. “I do talk, but I can’t right now. I have to go. So I hope you’ll excuse us.”

He stuck out his hand, preventing her from leaving. “Before you go, Jax Hawthorne. My apologies. I’m a little overprotective when it comes to my daughter. I really don’t know how she got her hands on a number like yours. Not that your number is bad or anything. Just, well, you know.”

Jax Hawthorne. She’d once mentioned to Dixie, his first name sounded like something out of a romance novel. His last name cinched the deal.

Em hesitated. Touching his hand, that rough, wide, callused hand, the one she’d wondered what it would be like to have touch every inch of her, was probably a bad idea. It would leave an imprint on her skin—one she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about.

But her upbringing and good manners insisted she take it. Em dropped her hand into his, squeezing hard to assert herself in yet another way to prove to the world she was capable—independent. Because stern teacher’s voices and extrafirm handshakes are sure signs of empowerment, Emmaline.

“Anyway,” he said, dragging her back to reality by dropping her hand. “My apologies for reacting without investigating first. Have a nice Saturday, ladies.”

Just as he was about to turn his broad back to walk away, the pink barrette slipped from his hair, dropping to the ground at Em’s feet with a tinny clink.

She lifted her glasses to set them atop her head as she knelt and scooped it up at the exact moment he knelt to retrieve it, their heads almost touching.

And their eyes met, too—again—in another one of those stares. Long, short, intense, soft. Em couldn’t decide which adjective to lend it. She cleared her tight throat, holding up the barrette. “You dropped this.”

If Jax recognized her without her glasses, he didn’t show it.

He grinned again. “My daughter’s.”

She melted again.

“She likes pink?”

“She said it’s my color. For dress up, I mean,” he corrected, grumbly and deep.

Em smiled at him. “I agree.”

“Then it’s settled. Pink forever.”

“Pink rules.”

“Just like my daughter.”

More melting. “Tell her Miss Em said hello, won’t you?”

“I will.” He took the barrette from her fingers, their skin touching then not, doing hot, delicious things to places on her body that shouldn’t be hotly delicious from just touching fingers. He dropped it in the pocket of his flannel jacket.

“Have a nice afternoon, Mr. Hawthorne.” Em swung upward, thankful for Dixie, who grabbed her by the arm to steady her, murmuring a goodbye to Jax and ushering her out of the hardware store.

Outside, the cold air struck her cheeks, cooling their heat, but assaulting her headache with prickly pinches.

Dixie fanned herself, tugging at the collar of her sweater and lifting her chin to let the air hit it.

So it wasn’t just her. Em fanned herself, too. “It was like Hades in there. Someone needs to tell Lucky to turn down the heat in that store. It felt like August.”

“No, someone needs to tell the two of you to turn down the heat. You and Jax Hawthorne, that is.” She smiled, tucking her purse under her arm with that look of confidence on her face.

Em peeked back over her shoulder at the hardware store and made a warning noise at Dixie. “You hush.”

“I surely will not. It’s the truth. Jax Hawthorne is hot. As your person, it’s my duty to tell you, he’s hot for you.”

Jax Hawthorne. A flutter of nerves made Em shiver. Just the notion he might find her equally attractive after all that fantasizing about him wasn’t acceptable. She’d only end up disappointed when the fantasy ended. “He’s hot for my backside on a silver platter because of his little girl callin’ up a sex line. Nothing more.”

Dixie shook her head no with an impish grin. “Tell me that the next time the two of you spontaneously combust with one little glance.”

Em shuffled her feet, giving in to Dixie’s theory just a little. Jax’s face at the mention of his daughter left her heart fluttering like it had hummingbird wings. “Did you hear him talk about his little girl? He wears barrettes in his hair for his daughter when they play dress up.” How endearing and in tune to his daughter’s needs for a man so big and rough. More melting ensued.

Dixie giggled, lilting and girlish. “I saw. I heard. I conclude. Hot man, hot for you, who loves his little girl so much he’ll let her dress him up, grows hotter.”

Em let just one schoolgirl sigh escape her lips—allowed herself just a second or two to believe a man like Jax Hawthorne could find her attractive. But then the cold wind, growing colder by the minute, blasted her in the face and she winced. “It doesn’t matter. He said he left his little girl at home. He surely didn’t leave her alone. That must mean there’s a Mrs. Hawthorne.” Less melting, more gut-gnawing disappointment.

Dixie wiggled her finger in Em’s direction. “Would his daughter be lookin’ for a girlfriend for her father if there was a Mrs. Hawthorne? And if there is, he owes her an apology, ’cuz he’s been cheatin’ on her with his eyes. Now, come with me. I’ll have Sanjeev fix you up some hair of the dog and we’ll take care of that hangover. Then we’ll talk more about the cues a man gives a woman when he’s hot for her and almost certainly unmarried.”

Em began a slow stroll alongside her when doubt set in. “He didn’t even remember me.” Jax Hawthorne, that is.

“That’s because you had your sunglasses on. He couldn’t see those eyes he all but made the business with in the square that night.”

“I took them off, and anyway, shouldn’t he have known me just by my scent...or something?”

“Only if he’s a vampire, or is that werewolf?”

“Let’s not talk about him anymore. I need hangover relief STAT.” Em popped open the doors of her Jeep.

“Him’s name is Jax Hawthorne. I know you’re turning his name over and over in your mind. And we can avoid the subject of him all you like because that’s what you do when you’re flustered. But we’ll have to address this eventually, because I heard a little something while you were giving him hell. So, guess who’s movin’ to Plum Orchard permanently?” Dixie hopped in the car with a grin and shut the door.

Em’s stomach nose-dived while her heart fought for a way out of the captivity of her chest. Permanently? How, in the name of the good man above, would she survive his sexual napalm living in a community as small as Plum Orchard?

* * *

Jax shoulder bumped Caine Donovan, his longtime friend and old college roommate, before dropping down on a stool at the breakfast bar. “This—” he craned his neck to indicate the enormity of what Caine called the Big House “—is some shit. That guy that used to come visit you all the time in college left you all of this? Your best friend, right?”

Caine smiled, his grin easy as he leaned forward on the breakfast bar and sipped his beer. “Yep. Landon Wells, and yes, again. Technically, he left it to my fiancée, Dixie, but I scored big because I’m smart enough to marry her. He also left us something else. Something that’s gonna blow your head off. It’s one of the reasons I called you when I heard you were moving into your aunt’s place. You need something to do with your time since you sold the business. Your brothers told me you’re a total shithead lately.”

Jax was still reeling after meeting one Emmaline Amos up close and in person. The woman he’d seen across the town square when he’d been here two months ago, signing the papers to take possession of his aunt’s house.

When she’d run from the square that night and straight into him after seeing a picture of what he’d heard through Plum Orchard’s gossipy grapevine was her husband dressed in drag, her vulnerability, her raw humiliation, had touched a nerve.

Soft and sweet, her dark hair falling over her shoulders like silk, she’d caught his attention then and stuck like glue to his mind’s eye since.

Today, when she’d used that tone with him, under the guise of some good old-fashioned Southern decorum, it did something funny to his chest. It was like telling him to go straight to hell while she smiled that cute smile.

She was hot and sweet, and she’d tried pretty hard to maintain her composure, leading Jax to believe she remembered him from that night, too.

“Jax?” Caine nudged him across the marble countertop.

“Sorry. Got a lot on my mind. So what’s gonna blow my head off? Like this palace isn’t enough? You have a camel, man. There’s a camel in the backyard.” He still couldn’t believe it.

Caine chuckled. “That’s Toe, by the way. You’ll need to know that when you come work for us. He actually likes people—especially people who need a swift kick in the ass.”

He didn’t want to do anything but renovate his aunt’s house and hang out with his daughter, Maizy. Jax stiffened, cracking his scratched knuckles. “I don’t need a job, Caine. Since I sold the company, I’ve just been catching my breath.”

“And driving Gage and Tag crazy,” Caine said, but this time, he wasn’t grinning or coaxing or doing any of the things everyone did to try to get him motivated to get off his ass.

The mention of his two younger brothers, who were also part of the “get off your ass or at least get laid” brigade, made him chuckle. “Speaking of asses, they don’t know theirs from their elbows.”

Caine hitched his jaw in the direction of Jax’s hands. “Well, neither do you, if the Band-Aids on your fingers are any indication.”

Both of his brothers were skilled carpenters; both had offered to come and renovate their aunt Jesslyn’s house. Because they’d declared parts of it were unsafe, and the last thing those two knuckleheads wanted was anything to happen to Maizy. They loved Maizy as much as he did.

So, because he had nothing but time on his hands, he’d been trying to help with the renovations. Or making shit worse, as Tag said. He and their sister, Harper, were the brains of the family, Tag and Gage, the brawn, Gage always said.

Except there was no more Harper—she was dead. He clenched his fist and shoved that memory to the farthest region of his mind. “So why don’t you tell me why you’re plying me with beer, pal. What’s with all the secrecy?”

Caine shoved a bowl of tortilla chips at Jax. “Didn’t you get the message I left you? I called the house phone and left a message with Gage when I couldn’t get you on your cell.”

He smiled—because even when Maizy ruined something of his “on accident” she was still damn adorable. “Maizy spilled apple juice all over the damn thing—it crapped out. What message?”

“The one about Call Girls. I left the number.”

“Call Girls?” It hit him all at once. That’s how Maizy had gotten her hands on a phone number that, according to her, belonged to a store where you could “buy girlfriends.” His always-in-a-rush brother must have taken down the most minimal of information and left it on his desk, hoping Jax’s psychic abilities would link Caine to Call Girls.

Oh, shit. He’d fucked up and the stern teacher’s voice Emmaline Amos had lambasted him with hadn’t been without warrant.

“Yeah. Call Girls’ is the phone-sex company Dixie and I own. Someday, I’ll tell you how that crazy shit went down. Until then, that’s what this is about. I need someone to write some encryption software for security purposes. We want to tighten things up and branch out while we do. You’re the biggest tech geek I know. When I heard you were moving to Plum Orchard, you were the first person I thought of.”

“Maybe I’m not connecting the dots. Call Girls is a phone-sex company you own? Here in Plum Orchard? How the hell did you make that happen? I only visited during the summers, but people aren’t exactly progressive here. Not progressive enough to have a phone-sex company.”

Caine grinned. “Money talks in the PO. Landon made a lot of money. The town, and all he offered it with all that money, made up for their disapproval. He made sure of that before he left this place. So whaddya say? I’ll hook you up with your own office over at Call Girls, which is in the guesthouse, by the way—this way you can get out from under Tag’s and Gage’s feet while they fix that beast up, and it’ll give you something to do while Maizy’s in school.”

“I don’t need a job.” He needed his sister—alive. Since she’d been killed almost two years ago, he couldn’t keep his head in the software development game. Every time he thought he might go back to work, the memory of Harper, the other half of his geeky brain, kept his fingers as far away from a computer as he could get.

She’d been his sounding board, his right-hand man, or woman, as she’d often reminded him, and he couldn’t seem to focus on the intense kind of details government security contracts required.

Caine clapped him on the back. “Well, this job needs you. If you can create software for the Defense Department, you damn well can do it for something as rinky-dink as a phone-sex company. It won’t use up a lot of your brainpower, and you won’t be moping around, ruining perfectly good pieces of two-by-fours by measuring them wrong. I’ll give you your own office and everything. C’mon... You can even eavesdrop on the girls’ phone calls,” he joked with a wink.

“I don’t need an office to develop software. I can do it from home.” That he was even considering Caine’s offer shocked him.

“Nope. You don’t need an office, but I’m gonna give you one anyway because you need to get the hell out from under Gage’s and Tag’s feet before they hack off your fingers. And then you won’t be developing anything, will you?”

Jax sat silently.

“Look, bro, if not for yourself, do it for Maizy. I bet she’d really like a playroom that has a roof,” Caine said, ribbing the state of his aunt’s dilapidated house.

“Caine? Honey?” a familiar voice called from the large entryway, echoing off the marble tiles. “Know where Sanjeev is? I need him to mix up one of his hangover specialties.”

Caine held out a hand to the woman who’d been with Emmaline in Lucky’s, a woman who looked at him like his old college buddy had invented high-heel shoes. Pulling her to him, he gave her a long kiss that almost made Jax uncomfortable.

So he chose to take that moment to think. Caine was only trying to do what everyone had been trying to do since Harper died. Get him back out into the world—where crazy assholes roamed free and killed your sister.

He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. He had no motivation in him to do anything that was productive or useful, and everyone knew it.

It was at that undecided moment—while he searched for this motivation everyone seemed so eager to instill in him, when Emmaline Amos walked into the big kitchen, her hand squeezing her temples while she looked down at her feet—that he forgot everything.

Caine let go of Dixie, circling her waist with a loose grip. “Dixie, Em? I want you to meet my old college roommate, Jax Hawthorne. His aunt Jessalyn owned that big Victorian over by the creek. He used to spend his summers here. You remember her, right?”

Em’s steps stuttered then stopped altogether.

And there it was again—their stare. The one that connected them in a way Jax tasted on his tongue, felt in his freakin’ marrow.

A weird shift of his gut, his emotions all tangled up in it, happened again. This time stronger than the last.

Jax caught Caine and Dixie sending each other some secret signal only lovers shared. Dixie was probably trying to warn Caine that he and Emmaline had already been introduced, but like the man he was—the man they both were, Caine totally missed the signal.

When Em didn’t respond, Caine said, “Em, this is Jax. Jax, Em’s our GM at Call Girls.”

Yep. She sure was.

Enough said. He was in before he even understood why.

Oh, and hello there, motivation.