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“Emerson, Emerson.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m a family-type man, I told you that. The house belongs to my parents, more or less. They moved out to the farm with the grandfolks a few years back and I watch after it. I’m not an apartment sort of guy. Too many restrictions.”
“Too many nosy neighbors?”
“You haven’t lived on a residential block, have you, sweetheart?” He snorted. “Try block parties, someone knocking at the door at midnight to borrow a tool or to stop and chat. Old guys giving you women advice and old ladies warning you not to listen to them. Trust me, an apartment would be a hell of a lot more private.”
By the tone of his voice, he didn’t seem to mind the advice or the midnight visits. That should have surprised her more, she realized; the fact that it didn’t worried her.
“What about you?” He swiveled around in his chair as she moved to the kitchen and the smell of coffee. “Why an apartment over a house?”
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Too much room for just one person. I wanted something smaller.” Too many open rooms to wander through alone would have driven her crazy, made the loneliness sharper.
She didn’t glance back at him; she couldn’t. Macey would see things she knew were better kept hidden, both for her peace of mind and for the state of her heart.
A heart that was rapidly beating out of control. She hadn’t missed the sexual wickedness blazing in his eyes when he had stared at her moments before. She could feel it now, his gaze roaming over her back, her butt, as she fixed her coffee. She would eat later, but for now, she needed a clear head to deal with Macey.
“You don’t seem to return home to Virginia a lot,” he commented as he leaned back in his chair and watched her quizzically. “The admiral seemed a little put out that your parents hadn’t seen you for a while.”
She took her coffee to the small round table and stared back at him resentfully. She didn’t want to discuss her family, but she could see the determination in his face.
“Why would the admiral mention my family?”
“He had a hard time contacting them when you were taken by those French terrorists.”
“They have a life.” She sipped her coffee and tried to ignore the hurt.
“They also have a daughter,” he said tightly.
“A daughter who, as you said, rarely returns home. Look, Macey, we don’t have family reunions; sometimes we manage to catch dinner together if I’m there on business or they’re here to see the admiral about something. We aren’t tied at the hip.”
“You don’t have to be tied at the hip to be a family,” he pointed out. “You don’t seem like the type of woman who would distance herself like that from family. You’re close to the admiral, but not your mom and dad.”
Mother and father, not mom and dad. She shook her head.
“This is really none of your business.”
“I’ve met your parents,” he said.
Emerson stared back at him directly, keeping her gaze cool. She didn’t want to hear this, but she had a feeling a family-minded person like Macey would have to see her actions in a less than complimentary light.
“They’re cold as hell.” He sighed. “It’s hard to imagine you growing up with them. Tell me they at least loved you.”
“They loved me.” In their own way. Bemused, irritated, often uncertain what to do with her, but they had loved her.
His expression tightened, then seemed to clear as curiosity took over. “What was the one thing you always wanted as a child and didn’t get?”
The shift in the conversation threw her off balance, had her answering before she thought.
“A tree house.” Regret shimmered in her voice because she couldn’t stop it. “I wanted a tree house.”
“Your parents owned a fifty-acre estate and you didn’t have a tree house?”
“Everything had its place.” Except her. She had never figured out where her place was there. “A tree house didn’t fit into the scheme of things.”
“Everyone needs a tree house,” he said softly, rising from his chair and moving to her.
Before she could move or avoid him, he was by her chair, his hand sliding into her hair, his lips stealing a quick kiss. “Don’t worry, Em, one of these days, I’ll give you a tree house.”
Sure he would. She shook her head and smiled at the thought as he released her and moved to get a cup of coffee for himself. She knew and understood promises and how easily they could be broken. Not just for children. She could have survived the broken promises as a child, gotten over them, gone on. But she had learned as an adult as well how easily even the most sincere promises were broken.
