Page 61 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Thirty-Five

“No biggie.”

Brec cut loose with a harsh grunt. Yeah, maybe not to her. Arms draped over the steering wheel and chin on top, he glared straight ahead, watching Molly walk toward his car out of the corner of his eyes, teeth milled so tight he thought they might snap. He hadn’t been this mad since he’d been forced to take an anger-management class when he’d bashed in an opponent’s head after a game. He had to admit the class had worked wonders. He hadn’t lost his temper since. He ground his jaw.

Till now.

Tip #1 in Controlling One’s Temper: Think before you speak.

Oh, yeah, and Brec was thinking plenty. Like why in the deuce would a woman as smart as Molly traipse around a mostly secluded lake by herself after having a premonition of being murdered? It was just plain stupid, and Brec planned to tell her straight to her teeth.

Molly opened the car door and got in. “Hey, I’m sorry I took so long, but I wanted to offer my condolences to Pastor Dave about Greg and maybe dig a little, but he sure didn’t want to talk.”

Yeah? Neither do I.

More like scream …

Tip #2: Once you're calm, express your anger.

Yeah, that was a tough one because “calm” was nowhere in sight as Brec rammed his thumb against the ignition button and slammed into gear, still so hot under the collar, he was surprised his shirt wasn’t on fire.

Placing her purse on the floor of his car, Molly buckled up. “Mmm … going to Coldstone sure sounded good, so maybe we can go after shooting. What do you think?”

He grunted his assent. Trust me, Princess—you don’t want to know what I think …

Tip #3: Get some exercise.

In the past, when he lost his temper, the only exercise he’d resort to was his fist, but that wasn’t an option, so he gunned the engine with pedal to the metal instead, all but peeling out of the parking lot.

“Uh, Brec, are you … okay?” Molly asked, concern tingeing her tone as she laid a tentative hand on his arm.

It took everything in him not to fling it away. “Fine.” He stared straight ahead, the burn of her gaze on his profile singeing along with the stupid collar.

“Are you sure?”

Tip #4: Take a timeout.

Good idea! Slapping his blinker on, Brec squealed to a stop on the side of the road and slammed the vehicle into Park. Unlatching his seatbelt, he spun to face her. “No, I’m not all right, Princess. You promised you would take care of yourself,” he shouted, stunned at the depth of his fear, but too angry to be stunned at how much he cared. “Yet off you went, jogging by yourself through woods around a lake where break-ins, arson, and murders have taken place. And all after a premonition about being murdered yourself!”

“Brec,” she began in a conciliatory whisper, unbuckling her own belt as well in order to face him, “I already told you—you and everybody else were gone and it was a beautiful day. And I had my Glock, so I didn’t think it was a problem.”

“No, Princess, you didn’t think, period,” he ground out, his heated gaze all but cauterizing her to the seat. “Oh, and ‘everybody else was gone’?” He wagged his head up and down in an exaggerated fashion, his sarcasm gaining both volume and vigor with every word. “Oh, I see—so no one was around to even help if you did get in trouble and scream …”

“Now, you listen to me, Brec—” Her voice rose to counter his.

“No, you listen to me, Molly Stewart,” he shouted, jabbing a blunt thumb to his chest, “I care about you, Miss Lilly cares about you, and a whole host of other people care about you, so if you don’t have the sense to think about yourself, then at least have the common courtesy to think about us!”

She blinked twice before a glaze of moisture filled her eyes. “Brec, I … I’m sorry … I didn’t think of it that way. Will you … forgive me?”

Chest heaving, he stared as a single tear trailed her cheek, thinking he’d be lost if anything ever happened to her, devastated if anyone touched a single precious hair on her head. In one ragged breath, love welled in his chest and with a guttural sound deep in his throat, he jerked her close and held on with all of his might, face buried in the soft folds of her hair. “Of course I forgive you,” he said, voice hoarse as he pressed a shaky kiss to her head. His lips trailed to the shell of her ear, his whisper warm against her skin and his. “But you have to promise to not go jogging alone again, Molly, do you hear?”

She nodded, and the heat of his anger slowly seeped out, only to be replaced by heat of another kind as his face rested against her ear, aching to touch and taste forbidden fruit denied far too long. Eyes sheathing closed, he silenced a needy groan with a gentle kiss, grazing the tender flesh of her lobe. “I care too much about you, Molly,” he whispered, his senses roused by the scent of her perfume, the taste of her skin, “and I’d be shattered if anything happened to you …”

“Brec …” His name drifted from her lips like a fading whisper, a plea and an invitation all in one, her raspy breathing as shallow as his. With a rush of longing too urgent to defy, his mouth took hers with a reverence he’d never felt for a woman before, fondling until her soft mew issued a temptation he couldn’t refuse.

And yet he did.

Because this friendship was too important.