The Specialist Page 12

  Nevertheless, she’d banked ten grand which would take care of the taxes and catch up the mortgage. School would be a little longer in coming, but not as long as it would have been without Hastings’s errand, so she was more thankful than disappointed. Still, she thought, casting a wistful glance at Cinnamon and Lazarus, it would have been nice to jump right into school. Now that she’d finally figured out what she wanted to do, she couldn’t wait to get about the business of doing it.

  “We’ve still got several people to see tomorrow,” Payne said, carefully studying her. “You know what they say. You always find what you’re seeking in the last place that you look.”

  Emma couldn’t help it—she grinned. “Well, of course you do, you big nimrod,” she said. “Why the hell would you keep looking for something if you’ve already found it?”

  He smiled down at her, bent and kissed the end of her nose. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

  “I prefer ‘adorable’ to ‘smart-ass,’” she told him, citing the name he’d been calling her last night.

  His head tilted to a thoughtful angle. “Actually ‘adorable smart-ass’ fits perfectly.”

  Better than being an unadorable dumb-ass, she supposed. “We should probably head back up to the house,” she remarked. “Matthew will have dinner ready soon.”

  Payne nodded. “Why don’t we get a movie from the library afterward?”

  He wanted to watch a movie with her as opposed to having sex the instant they went back upstairs? Like a date? Emma thought as a balloon of happiness expanded in her chest. “Sure,” she said, unreasonably pleased.

  He nodded, laced his fingers through hers and tugged her toward the house. “Any preferences?”

  “I’m not picky,” she confessed. A thought occurred. She shot him a sidelong look and qualified her comment. “Just no porn.”

  Payne’s deep chuckle vibrated off her spine, sending little tingles of pleasure curling through her. It was deep, sexy, intimate laugh, the kind between lovers. “No worries. I’m not into watching it as much as I’m into making it.”

  “I’D LOVE TO GET A PEEK at one of those ghosts, wouldn’t you?” Emma asked as they waited their turn to thank Judith and Matilda, the cross-dressing pig, for a night of ghost story hogwash, er, entertainment, Payne amended. Honestly, he fell strictly into the seeing-is-believing camp in this instance. Not that he didn’t have faith, but this…This was just too much.

  Judith had spun several tales involving both Confederate and Union soldiers which had reportedly been spotted in and around The Dove’s Nest. Evidently the Inn had been used as a Confederate hospital after the battle of Gettysburg and, according to Harry and Norah, they’d both seen the ghost of who they believed was a Private Jeremy Roberts. Jeremy and his three younger brothers had all lost their lives at Pickett’s Charge and Jeremy still wandered the halls of The Dove’s Nest today, looking for his fallen brothers.

  Payne couldn’t deny that he’d had a bit of a weird feeling when he and Emma had toured the battlefield today. He believed that too much death and destruction—thousands upon thousands of lives lost—had somehow imprinted its pain into the very ground. Fanciful? Maybe. But that kind of loss commanded respect—reverence—and as such, he and Emma had both appreciated the eerie silence as they’d walked through the battlefield. But ghosts? He supposed it was possible, but until he came face to face with one, he’d undoubtedly remain a skeptic. Payne frowned.

  Just like he was skeptical that Robert E. Lee’s pocketwatch actually existed. Emma had made the comment a couple of days ago about that very thing and, knowing what finding it had meant to her, he’d kept his own counsel.

  But after almost a week-long search with no luck and no possibility of luck, Payne grimly suspected that the pocketwatch tale was simply a story, much like the ones they’d heard here tonight.

  Though she’d kept a stiff upper lip this afternoon when they’d left their last possible lead, Payne knew that she’d been privately disappointed. Her slim shoulders had rounded with uncharacteristic defeat and she’d stared out the window, watching the passing landscape, lost in her own thoughts. Given the resigned look on her face, they hadn’t been happy ones.

  For whatever reason, that look had been practically unbearable, and he’d been hit with the almost inexplicable urge to make things right for her. To help her. He’d considered offering her a job, hell giving her the money himself—an indication that he had lost any grasp on his former reality—but he knew that she wouldn’t be interested in either. Emma wanted to make her own way and anything that smacked of a handout would undoubtedly result in him getting smacked back. The thought drew a smile.

  One way or another, though, he’d find a way to help her.

  Unfortunately, time had run out in this instance and his legendary brain had yet to produce an answer to his very immediate problem.

  Payne supposed he could change his ticket and stay for the rest of the weekend, but after careful thought—and no small amount of cowardice—he’d decided that he needed to leave in the morning, if for no other reason than to prove to himself that he could. Every instinct tugged at him to stay—to be with her—but old fears had reared their ugly heads, polluting his thinking. The idea that Emma could influence him beyond good sense did more than simply alarm him—it terrified him.

  He needed some distance to pull his thoughts together, to come up with a new way to help her, and for whatever reason, it had become imperative that he do that at home. Did he care about her? Payne’s throat clogged with some nebulous obstruction and he swallowed a bark of dry laughter.

  More than he wanted to.

  More than he would admit.

  More than he ever dreamed possible.

  But he would not become a slave to emotion any more than he would allow her to lead him around like a bear with a ring in its nose. He would not—no matter how much he cared about her—allow her to make a fool of him.

  He would not be like his father.

  “Judith, that was fantastic,” Emma said. “Very entertaining.”

  At last, Payne thought with a silent sigh. Their turn. Then they could go up to bed and get started on creating a proper last night together. One that involved naked skin, hot sighs, hotter sex and bone-tingling orgasms.

  Judith smiled warmly. “I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself, dear.”

  Her lips curled in a wobbly grin, Emma gestured toward Matilda. “Er…what’s with the tuxedo and top hat?”

  Judith rolled her eyes. “Gender identity crisis,” she said in a stage whisper, as though the pig could hear or understand her. “Doc Newton assures me this is just a phase, but I can’t do anything with her. She refuses to wear any of the new dresses I’ve made for her and pitched a snorting fit when I tried to put a necklace around her neck.” She cast an exasperated glance at Matilda. “Ornery hog.”

  Emma pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle and Payne had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something completely inappropriate. Like, She’s a pig! What the hell are you doing putting clothes on her in the first place?

  Payne’s gaze dropped to Matilda and he barely smothered a snort. She wore a top hat and tuxedo, complete with a red satin cummerbund. And Matilda might have balked at wearing a necklace, but that hadn’t stopped Judith from attaching a pocketwatch to the hog’s chest.

  …a pocketwatch to the hog’s chest.

  Payne stilled and every sense went on point. No, he thought, staring at the gold watch glinting from the front of the tuxedo. It couldn’t be. Not after everything they had been through this week. It was too simple. What sort of twist of fate would put Robert E. Lee’s father’s timepiece on a spoiled cross-dressing potbellied pig? It was unfathom—

  Emma tugged at his hand. “You ready?”

  Payne’s gaze swung to hers and he forced himself into lockdown mode. “Actually, I wanted a minute with Matthew. You want to go on up and I’ll meet you?” Payne knew she would assume that he wanted to compliment the co
ok—he’d been making a point to do that after each meal—and, at the moment, he was content to let her think that.

  Emma nodded. “Sure. I’ll see you in a few minutes then.”

  He waited until Emma mounted the stairs, then quickly turned to Judith. “That’s a nice pocketwatch Matilda’s wearing,” he remarked casually. “Where did you get it?”

  “Oh, that old piece of junk?” Judith laughed. “I got it from an estate sale a few months ago.”

  Anticipation spiked as the implication of what she’d just said sunk in. Granted Judith’s name hadn’t been on either one of their lists, but Garrett had said it had been a slipshod job. It could have easily happened. “Do you mind if I take a look at it?” Payne asked.

  Judith shrugged. “Sure. Suit yourself.” She bent down and retrieved the watch from Matilda’s chest, then handed it to Payne.

  Though his blood was brimming with adrenaline, Payne’s hands were steady, his face impassive as he inspected the timepiece. He studied the front, knew from the brand it was the right time period, then casually turned it over, looking for the inscription.

  And there it was—Lighthorse.

  He chuckled softly and shook his head. Well, I’ll be damned, he thought. After everything they had been through the past week, the damned watch had been added to the wardrobe of a pig the entire time. He was certain that stranger things had happened, but he sure as hell couldn’t think of anything at the moment.

  “If you like it, you can keep it,” Judith said. “Matilda has plenty of other accessories.”

  “Let me pay you for it,” Payne told her, uncomfortable with the gift.

  “No, no,” Judith insisted. She closed his fingers around it and squeezed. “Consider it a keepsake from your time here at The Dove’s Nest.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate it.” More than you will ever know, he silently added.

  He slipped the watch into his pants pocket, vastly relieved that Emma wouldn’t go home empty-handed. He couldn’t give it to her of course—she’d never accept it—but instead would have to set the stage for her to find it herself. This would mean enlisting help—Norah, the romantic, he decided, knowing that this would be right up her alley. And he’d have to stay for one more day. Once Emma put her hand on it first—translate, beat him, the competitive little wench—then he could make her a better offer. She’d take it, because she was smart and needed the money, and then he could hand it over to Garrett.

  End of favor.

  Debt paid.

  Payne expelled a heavy breath. It was a roundabout, convoluted ridiculous way to meet his ends, particularly when he’d just pocketed the freedom he’d been desperately seeking for the past several months, but knowing how much Emma needed it, as well…Payne just couldn’t do it.

  The last thing he ever expected to do was help a woman with money problems—after all, that very type of woman had been the bane of his father’s existence—but then again, he’d never met a more hardworking determined woman than Emma Langsford, either.

  She was…it.

  The profoundness of that thought made him pause right outside her door and he grew completely still, momentarily unable to move. He waited for a clap of thunder to rent the heavens, a bolt of lightning—anything that would announce the gravity of what he’d just realized—but, strangely, nothing happened. Instead a quiet peace stole over him, followed by a slow dawning smile.

  Then he opened her door and walked into heaven.

  13

  PAYNE’S NEED TO TIP Matthew in compliments as opposed to cash had actually worked out in Emma’s favor. She’d taken a few minutes to sexy herself up, to slip on the least unattractive gown she’d brought with her, a vintage nylon Grecian gown her mother had found for her at a bargain store. It was an icy green with hundreds of tiny accordion pleats and it never failed to make her feel like a forties-era Hollywood starlet. Deciding on candles, she’d turned off every light with the exception of the sconces on either side of the fireplace and, as a result, the room glowed with a cozy warmth.

  This was her last night with Payne—a lump formed in her throat at the thought, but she determinedly swallowed it—and, as such, she wanted this final evening to be special.

  She wanted him to know that he was special. To her.

  Emma wasn’t exactly sure when it had happened, but over the past few days, Brian Payne had become increasingly important to her. In the morning he would get on a plane and go back to Atlanta, and she firmly believed that she’d most likely never hear from him again. She’d go home and tell herself that this week had been a once-in-a-lifetime romantic fluke and that these intense feelings she had for him would subside and fade, right along with the memories they’d made together.

  She would tell herself that…and hoped like hell she became a better liar than she was at present.

  Wishful thinking on all of the above, but what the hell. Her lips curled into a rueful smile. If she was going to delude herself, she might as well do it big.

  Payne chose that moment to walk into her room. He didn’t bother to knock, because he knew he didn’t have to. He knew he was welcome. Into her room, into her body. Not necessarily into her heart, but that, she’d just come to realize, was a foregone conclusion, one she didn’t have any control over. She imagined she’d have just as much luck evicting him from her heart as she would making it stop beating. And since suicide was out of the question, she’d simply have to learn to deal with it.

  Payne’s cool gaze started at her feet and was a scorching blue flame by the time it tangled with hers. While another man might have made a compliment, he didn’t bother. He didn’t have to. She’d read everything in his gaze and it was a lot more thrilling than any token remark he might have made. A man of action, he strolled across the room, tilted her chin up and very deliberately kissed the strength right out of her backbone. Emma’s senses instantly caught fire and she sagged against him, offering her lips up for his taking.

  All week long he’d been desperate, hurried, seemingly unable to help himself when it came to being with her. He’d been driven, for lack of a better explanation. But tonight he was different. Tonight, there was a reverence in his still-hungry touch that made the backs of her lids burn, an unspoken emotion boiling under the surface of this particular siege.

  Emma allowed him to set the pace, fell into his rhythm. He kissed and suckled, rubbed and kneaded, slowly slipped her gown off her shoulders, then stood back and admired her as it fell into a satiny puddle around her feet.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” Payne told her, his voice oddly thick.

  Emma smiled. She certainly felt that way when he looked at her like that. Like she was dipped in chocolate, rolled in icing, covered in sprinkles with a cherry on top and he hadn’t had a good sundae in…never. A warm flutter winged through her belly, making her breath catch in her throat.

  “Thank you,” Emma finally said. She stepped forward, slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid her palms over the wide expanse of his chest. Supple skin, firm muscle…masculine perfection. “You’re pretty damned beautiful yourself,” she said, feeling her lids flutter beneath the weight of delicious sensation. Touching him made her drunk with longing, made her want to wrap her legs around his waist and sink onto his sex—the ultimate fix.

  As though he’d read her thoughts again, Payne’s gaze burned even hotter. He shrugged out of his shirt and shucked his pants and boxers, kicking them aside. His dick jutted proudly forward, huge and mouthwatering, just like the rest of him. He nudged her backward toward the bed, kissing her all the while. Emma felt the cool quilt at her back and a hot man on top of her and the sensation was…indescribable. Her womb contracted, coating her folds and a hot, insistent buzz beat upon her clit, making her squirm toward that part of him she so desperately needed.

  Murmuring masculine sounds of pleasure, Payne kissed and licked his way down her body. Her neck, her breasts, a long deliberate trail down her abdomen, stopping only long enough to sample her b
ellybutton. Then he parted her curls and blew a steady stream of hot air against her weeping flesh.

  Emma opened wider for him, shamelessly baring herself to him. He dragged a finger down her folds, dipped deeply inside, gathering even more juices, then painted her outer folds and aching clit with them. She bit her lip and squirmed beneath his ministrations, felt her stomach tremble as he dabbled and played. Then, without warning, he fastened his mouth upon her and she arched up off the bed, so intense was the sensation.

  He sucked hard, slipped a finger deep inside of her and hooked it around, locating a patch of super-sensitive skin she hadn’t known existed. He worked his tongue against her clit, massaged her inside until Emma thought for sure she would pass out from the pure joy bolting through her. She writhed beneath him, knew that release was coming and when it did, would come hard.

  Just when she was certain he couldn’t do anything more to please her, anything more to surprise her, he pressed a knuckle against the rosebud of her bottom and half a second later her world shattered.

  She came violently, so forcefully that she skated the fringes of passing out completely. Her head thrashed from side to side, her back arched away from the bed and she fisted her hands in the quilt, hanging on to consciousness as a silent yawning scream of release tore from her throat.

  Sweet God, Emma thought, then Save me, as Payne suddenly loomed between her legs—his gaze, intent and desperate and filled with some sort of hidden meaning she couldn’t understand, bored into hers—and then thrust deeply inside of her. She came again, this time harder than the first. It was savage yet tender and her silly heart melted right along with the rest of her body.

  Payne paused, seemed to be making sure she could take the rest of what was to come. Utterly drained but strangely energized, Emma smiled faintly and flexed her feminine muscles around him, drawing him deeper into her body. “Don’t stop,” she said, breathing heavily. “It’s insulting.”