Curiously Enchanted (Witches of Hawthorne Grove Book 2) Page 11

  His low chuckle threaded its way along her spine, making her want to squirm in her chair. “Conversation's a little too deep for you, huh?”

  “Personal,” Emma corrected. So much so, she was having trouble meeting his gaze now. “A little too personal.”

  “Right. Personal.” Sam nodded and resettled himself in his chair. “So let's talk about something else. Something I've been real curious about lately.”

  Relieved that he wasn't upset over her need to move the conversation into a more neutral territory, Emma nodded and let her gaze roam over his features, noting the way his shirt clung to his broad shoulders and hugged his chest while she waited for him to tell her what had caught his attention. “Curiosity could be good. As a matter of fact, you put me in mind of a cat in that you seem the type whose curiosity might never be appeased. But go ahead, tell me. What have you been curious about?”

  Lifting her gaze, his laughter-warmed eyes locked with hers and darkened, as if he had read and correctly interpreted the sudden change in the direction of her thoughts. Emma felt the heat of his stare all the way to her toes. In fact, she thought she might well drown in the pooling desire she saw now in his eyes.

  She thought she would be more than happy to give up breathing so long as he kept looking at her like that—until he leaned forward and caught one of her hands in his, causing heat to spiral through her and a tingling sensation to begin somewhere deep in her core.

  “You. I'm curious about you, Emma Riley,” he said. “Who are you? What makes you tick? Why do you consider yourself shy and unassuming? What turned you off being around people? Why do you keep quiet when I can see an entire universe of eager thoughts spinning in your eyes?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Watching her closely, Sam held his breath and waited, sure Emma would get up and walk out on him now that he'd turned the conversation to her. But what he'd said was true. He genuinely wanted to know more about her—a lot more—although he hadn't a clue why his simple curiosity felt like a whole lot more.

  Her answers, whatever they may be, were important to him. He realized he needed to know what drove her, what made her who she was—and right now, who she was was the woman he felt more in tune with, more attracted to than any other he'd thought he wanted over the past six years.

  Obviously, she had people issues, but who didn't have issues of one kind or another these days? He himself still found it hard to deal with being left behind when someone he cared about went away for extended periods of time. Probably due to his mother's untimely death and his father’s job, sure, but those problems were still there. They hadn't disappeared just because he realized where they came from.

  “I'm no puzzle, Sam. Nor a riddle to be solved.” She shrugged. “I'm just a girl who had her illusions shattered early on about what people do and do not find interesting.

  “Intelligence and a thirst for knowledge doesn't matter much when it's housed inside an awkward girl with springy red hair and freckles who asks a million questions a mile a minute and eventually becomes a nuisance to everyone who knows her.”

  Sam sensed a deep pain behind those words—the pain of what must have been a thousand rejections over a lifetime in response to her intense curiosity—and he knew. He understood why she had become a research specialist rather than an entrepreneur. He knew why she tended to shun people and hide behind her glasses and her job. He knew without asking what had made her retreat into herself rather than stand out, stand up, and show the world what she was made of.

  “You didn't want to compete, did you? Friends. Family,” he explained. “You didn't want to compete for their attention, or even their affection. Now, when someone comes along who sees what you've been hiding all these years, you don't trust their interest and enthusiasm because it's given freely and you don't understand how or why.”

  Tilting her head to the side, Emma pushed her now empty bowl aside and lay down her spoon before casting him a semi-teasing glare. “Can we please stop analyzing me now, Dr. Sam?”

  He laughed. “Only if you promise to stop trying to hide. You don't have to do that, Emma. Not with me. I can see you—the real you—and I like what I see. I'm just waiting for you realize you are safe with me and that there's no need to compete for anything you might want that I have to offer. It's already yours.”

  A nervous laugh jittered from her lips. “You do realize you're getting awfully close to uttering one of those cheesy movie lines, right?”

  Grinning, Sam said, “You mean the ones all women secretly long to hear? The ones that leave them sighing dreamily and crying happy tears? I didn't know.”

  This time her laugh was full and warm. “You're such a ham, Sam Huntingdon. No wonder everyone loves you.”

  “Even you?” He didn't stop to think about what she might read into his question. He just blurted it out and went on although he did notice the subtle change in her gaze, the slight flush on her cheeks, and the way she carefully avoided looking at him. “Well, if I had known winning you over was going to be that easy, I wouldn't have bothered with the stew. I'd have gone straight to the introductions.”

  “Introductions?”

  Sam nodded. “Yes. I believe it's customary for a man to introduce his lady to the ruler of the house.”

  Turning in his chair, he pushed it away from the table, snapped his fingers and called out, “Jabez! Come here, boy. Come here. Come inside and meet Emma.”

  A scuffling noise was soon followed by the sound of toenails clicking on the floor, and then a black and white blur with bright blue eyes rushed at Sam, not stopping until his front paws were in Sam's lap and his moist nose inches from his master's. “Arff! Arff!”

  Sam pulled back slightly but immediately reached out to ruffle the dog's fur. “Whew. Doggie breath. Haven't had your doggie biscuit today, have you?”

  “Arff!” the Husky pup replied and Sam chuckled. “Emma, this is Jabez. One of the Huskies at the shelter was abandoned before she dropped her litter. When they came, Kaylee asked me if I would like to adopt one. I took one look at this handsome fellow and could not resist.”

  “I can see why. He's a cutey. Hello, Jabez. Hello,” Emma crooned to the pup. Jabez turned his head and looked at her but he didn't leave Sam for an instant. Sam playfully admonished him for neglecting to show “his lady” some love but Emma said it was perfectly fine. “At least he isn't screeching and trying to claw my eyes out like Chloe did to you.”

  “No worries. Chloe was just protecting her mistress from potential threats, as she should.”

  “So you admit to being a potential threat?”

  “Absolutely. To your boredom. Loneliness. And any chance of your spending the rest of what's left of these cold winter nights alone.” He wiggled his brows up and down and Emma laughed. “Beware, Emma. My boyish good looks and charming good nature makes slipping into your daily routine, and thereafter your life, a matter of ease. One minute I'm on the fringes, and the next?”

  He snapped his fingers. “I'm up close and very personally real in every aspect of your life.”

  “It's a good thing I haven't let down my guard, then. Otherwise you'd be stealing into my business, my quiet, peaceful dinnertime, and my dreams. Oh, wait...” She gave him a side-wise look, then rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

  “Ah, yes, those dreams. You never did tell me what they were about.”

  “Nor am I going to.” Sliding her chair back, Emma stood and calling for the puppy, she snapped her fingers like he had. Jabez, always ready for affection, defected immediately. He rushed over, jumping up to rest his feet on Emma's waist.

  “Goodness, you're a strong one! There's a good boy,” she said. Steadying herself in the face of his enthusiasm, she scrubbed her fingers playfully through his fur. “I'll bet you would make Chloe behave herself, even on her most inventive days, hmm? Do you like cats, Jabez?”

  “For breakfast,” Sam said, then, at her look of abject horror, he laughed. “I'm teasing. He's never met an animal he di
dn't like—yet. You should bring Chloe with you next time and we'll see how the two of them get along.”

  Squatting in the floor, Emma snapped her fingers in the air, encouraging Jabez to jump up and down beside her. Each time he did, she'd give him a scratch, which he loved. “Why would there be a next time?”

  “Because you like me? And because I'm asking nicely?” Getting to his feet, Sam snapped his fingers and said, “Out, Jabez. We'll be along in a minute.”

  The Husky pup obviously knew what 'out' meant because he dropped immediately to the floor and ran to the doggy door on the back door off the kitchen.

  To Emma, he said, “Will you come back tomorrow? We'll have lunch this time and I'll show you the workshop out back. There's no lathe, but you can see the chiffonier Jordan's restoring for me for the One Shot.”

  “No lathe, huh? I don't know,” she teased. “There should really be a lathe.”

  Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Sam twisted side to side in a rocking motion the way a nervous teen might and said, “I'll buy one in the morning if you'll say yes.”

  Emma laughed. “A girl could get to like you really fast, Mr. Huntingdon. You're so accommodating.”

  He shook his head, denying her statement. “I just know what I want, Miss Riley, and what I want is you.”

  Emma felt her reaction to his declaration all the way to her toes. The truth was she wanted him, too. But she wasn't sure he would be able to handle what having her would mean. Not Sam. He was a people person. A charmer. He loved to go places and see things and talk to people wherever he went. Being with her would curtail a lot of that.

  Not to mention her preoccupation with needing fidelity right from the start. If Sam wanted to be with her, he would have to be with her only—even if they were only going out a few nights a week. If she couldn't hold his interest for a week or two without him supplementing his lifestyle with other women, there was no hope whatsoever for a lifetime of monogamy.

  Maybe that would be the perfect test, a way for her to find out how serious he really was about wanting her, about being curious and hoping to get to know her better. Or, she could have misread him altogether. Maybe he'd meant he wanted her, like, right now—as in a one-night fling thing?

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I'm wondering what you meant when you said you want me.” Peering at him from beneath lowered lashes, she asked, “Care to explain?”

  His brows lowered. “How many ways can one take 'I want you'? I meant exactly what I said.”

  Emma shook her head. “No, no, no. There are a lot of ways what you said could be construed, and you know it. Are you looking for friendship? An over-nighter? A short fling? A long-term affair? Or maybe you're hoping for the real relationship Macoy?”

  Meeting his questioning gaze full on, she said, “Before I agree to see you again, I need to know, Sam.”

  “Because you're an all or nothing kind of girl?” he half-teased, but she could tell he was partially serious. And the part of him that wasn't? The side that still insisted on being playful? She wasn't in the mood for it right now.

  “No, because I don't want to be hurt and the easiest way to avoid that is to know what I'm getting myself into from the get-go.” Blunt might be revealing and a bit hard-edged, but in her experience, it kept one from being confused or having doubts later.

  His stare said more eloquently than his lips how odd he found her to be. “You're a tough nut to crack, Emma Riley, you know that?”

  “I am what I am, Sam. Oddities, eccentricities, call my determination and need to know the truth up front whatever you like but they aren't going to go away and they aren't going to change.” At least she hoped they didn't. Bending the rules for Sam, no matter how much she might wish she could, would be a Very Bad Thing.

  “Fair enough. Alright, let's see … I assume you also require total honesty, right?”

  His tone was light, but Emma knew by the look in his eyes that he was finally being as serious as she was. “Right—which means you'd probably better think about all this before you answer. Maybe you'll decide you don't want me as badly as you think you do.”

  “Oh, there's no chance of that, Emma,” he promised, his voice husky. “I am absolutely, one hundred percent certain I want you. I'm just trying to figure out how to explain how much to you without scaring you away.”

  Holding up one hand, Emma put a smidge of space between her index finger and her thumb. “This much?”

  Sam shook his head. “More than that.”

  She held both hands about six inches apart. “This much?”

  Again, he shook his head no, so she widened the gap. But before she could ask again if it were enough, he reached out and pulled her against his chest. Emma blinked in surprise, her gaze flying up to meet his.

  “This much, Emma, and a whole lot more,” he said in the seconds before his mouth crushed down on hers in a kiss far too long denied.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emma leaned into his kiss, letting go, for the moment, of her insecurities about where they might be headed. His mouth was warm on hers, his kiss seeking. Insistent and yet gentle. Dimly, Emma realized this was the first time he'd kissed her that she hadn't immediately thought she'd slipped back into her dreams. The man kissing her now was the real Sam, and the knowledge was electrifying.

  No, wait. It wasn't knowledge creating a vibration in her gut, she realized—it was a cell phone. Breaking away from the kiss, she said, “Maybe you should get that. It might be important.”

  Sam groaned in disappointment, but stepped back to remove the phone from the clip on his belt. “Sam here. Elliot, hi. What's up?”

  While Sam spoke with whomever had called, Emma wandered around the kitchen that looked more like it should belong to Martha Stewart or maybe even Sara Lee than Sam Huntingdon, III. It wasn't utilitarian at all. Rather, it seemed homey and well used. Casting a wondering glance over her shoulder at Sam, she marveled over the man who apparently had such a passion for cooking. Her father never cooked. Neither had either of her brothers.

  “Grandma,” Sam mouthed, having caught her questioning gaze. Ending the call, he slipped the phone back onto the clip and leaned against a counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Grandma's kitchen was the central focus of my life for so many years, it kind of makes sense that I would carry the security of it over into adulthood.”

  “Now there's a security blanket you can't tote around with you,” Emma teased.

  “Right. But there's somewhere I want to carry you—my office, unless you'd rather walk?” He grinned, then pointed to his cell phone and explained. “That was Elliot Drummond, the architectural engineer who is overseeing the renovations at the cafe. He called to let me know he was faxing over some blueprints I thought you might want to see.”

  Curious, Emma asked, “Me? Blueprints for?”

  “Coffee Cozy. Latte Lounge. Espresso Escape. The comfy, informal little drink-coffee-and-lounge-around-in-semi-privacy buildings you sketched for me, remember? Elliot used your drawings and a ton of measurements that took him practically all day to get and put together… ” He'd straightened from his lounging position against the counter and was headed toward a hallway when he realized he was alone and turned back. Holding out a hand to her, he asked, “You coming or not?”

  Emma debated whether or not she should follow him into the obviously more private, personal areas of his house. Maybe she should decline and wait for him here? Sam didn't seem to care either way. In fact, he seemed perfectly unconcerned. Was his unconcern because the person he'd invited back was her? Or did he bring anyone and everyone into his home office for a look at blueprints when they were over?

  She thought of his friends, Kaylee and Jordan. Sam would invite them back without a thought. But they were his friends. She was just an acquaintance. Wasn't she? “I—yes, I would love to see the blueprints.”

  Sam nodded, his hand falling to rest at the small of her back when she joined him. As he lead her through th
e short hallway and across his living room to his office, he finished what he'd been saying. “Elliot put together a set of workable blueprints for each, but he also sent over—I don't know what you call them, but it's a set of images showing where each of the buildings could be placed. Structural arrangement or something like that?”

  Waving away the matter as unimportant, he disappeared into the room and came back a few seconds later with a stack of papers the size of poster board. He pointed toward the sofa. “We'll sit over there and you can tell me what you think.”

  And that was when Emma became lost.

  Lost in the moment, in the excitement of seeing her idea for a project coming closer to life, in the easy back and forth chatter between her and Sam—the kind of to and fro discussion that felt as natural to her as breathing—over Elliot's proposed locations, dimensions, interior decoration, even how the wait-staff would handle the little tea-room like structures he was seriously considering having put in where she'd drawn them on the back lot.

  “I like you like this,” Sam said later, during a lull in the conversation. “All passionately animated and genuinely interested enough in this project to forget all about being shy or inhibited. You've been like a kid at Christmas from the moment we sat down together in here.”

  Emma turned her head, glancing up at him in confusion, and almost bumped noses with him. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. She flushed. How had she not noticed how close they were? He was right there beside her on the sofa, his thigh touching hers. She even vaguely recalled letting her palm rest on it once or twice, now that she thought about it, but he'd said nothing.

  He must have been enjoying her distraction because he had one arm around her, too, from where he'd leaned over to point something out on the blueprint earlier and needed to brace himself, but then left it there—for the fun of it?