Chapter 21

"Sam. Hey, Sam."

Hands were gently shaking me, but I awoke with a start, making pain break out behind my eyelids. I sucked in a breath. Only slowly, my eyes regained focus, and I recognised Emmanuelle leaning over me.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she said. "Think you can walk inside on your own?"

I sat up carefully before getting out of the car. A prominent headache throbbed at my injured temple. Emmanuelle unlocked the front door of her house and led me inside. Upon hearing that Frank was out with Martha, she'd refused to drive me home.

"I'll get you some clothes you can wear. There are bloodstains all over your shirt. Why don't you wait here," she said and made me sit down on a bench in the hallway.

"Some more Advil would be great," I managed to get out.

Emmanuelle only nodded and vanished upstairs. When she reappeared with the clothes, she'd exchanged her dazzling slacks with sweatpants that also looked dazzling. Damn her.

She gave me an amused look, and I realised I must have said that out loud. Ears tingling in embarrassment, I motioned weakly towards my head. "I can't be made responsible for what I say right now."

God, how mortifying.

But I could see the laughter in her eyes. She made me get up and follow her to the kitchen, where she put ice into the blender before wrapping it in a towel.

"Here you go," she said and lightly put it against my face.

"Thanks, and sorry for all the trouble."

She eyed me with exasperation. "I'm not happy you got yourself beaten up, but I can recognise a good deed when I see one. Without you there, I'm pretty sure it would have gotten even uglier."

"I'm just glad McKenzie's okay."

"Me, too," she agreed and sighed when she looked at my shirt.

"What?"

"It's going to be difficult to get out all that blood."

"What? But it's my favourite shirt!"

"May the Fourth be with you?" She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're not overdoing it a little with the lovely integration?"

"Well … it … was a gift, really. From my brother. And he … he would be terribly disappointed if I didn't wear it."

"Hmm, I'm sure," she deadpanned. "I promise, I'll try to save it. Is it okay if I give you a hand in taking it off?"

Nodding, I carefully set the ice-filled towel down on the table and tried not to hold my breath when Emmanuelle slid her fingers under the hem of my shirt.

This wasn't quite what I pictured would happen today.

Her chuckle made me wince, but this time not in pain but from acute bashfulness. "Okay, this is getting very bad." My belly churned. "I need to just shut up."

"Why?" She gave me a smirk. "I happen to like this side of you."

Her words made butterflies whirl around in my stomach, and I tried to hold still when she freed one arm then the other before lifting the cotton over my head.

Thank god, I'm wearing something underneath.

"Done," she announced and just as quickly put a wide sleep shirt over my head. I slipped out of my shoes before she handed me the makeshift ice bag again. "Keep cooling," she ordered.

"Okay, but you can just point me towards the couch now, and I'll be fine."

Emmanuelle was critically inspecting my bloody shirt before going to the sink and turning on the faucet. Over her shoulder, she said, "You know, that's the one thing I haven't managed to order yet. I'm afraid my bed will have to do," and dumped the shirt into the water.

My face momentarily abandoned me and did its own thing. When she noticed my expression, it made her laugh out loud. "I should be offended that you look so scared. I swear I don't bite."

I don't know if I can swear the same thing.

I didn't feel in complete control of myself and that was dangerous. And being high on painkillers really didn't help the issue.

"It's a queen, so we should be fine space-wise. Come on, I'll show you." She led me up the stairs and into her bedroom, handing me the sweatpants she'd carried with her. "Let me just soak your shirt real quick. I might have some curd soap somewhere." She went downstairs again.

Her bedroom was tasteful, with the sheets on her bed an arresting shade of jade-green. The dresser and nightstand looked like solid oak. I managed to change into the sweatpants, resting on the edge of the bed after the ordeal.

Emmanuelle walked up the stairs again five minutes later, a glass of water in hand. She gave me two Advil, then the water. I gulped it all down.

Carefully, I rose, but almost immediately began to sway. She reached for me, her sudden proximity playing havoc with the rhythmic beating of my heart. The only thing I could do was hold on to her. Our eyes met and, for a moment, it felt like we both existed outside of the space-time continuum. A trembling tension took over her body.

"What's wrong?" I whispered.

But she just shook her head as if to shake the feeling away, unwilling to answer. When she attempted to move away, my hand tightened around her arm. I couldn't let her go, not like this.

Emmanuelle gazed at me under long eyelashes, and her green eyes were dark pools of unspoken emotion. I wanted to ask her why she'd been so adamant I stay here. I wanted to ask what the expression on her face meant. I wanted to ask so many things I didn't know the answer to.

I never got the chance.

She leaned forward and brushed her lips over mine.

I froze, brain fuzzy, then raged at my body to move. My hands gently cradled her face to pull her closer. There was a nervous swarm of bees converging in my belly, but I could hardly hear them over the pulse drumming in my ears. Her lips were soft, yielding gently, and when her tongue started stroking hesitantly against mine, I could feel my stomach bottom out. With a start, I understood what I hadn't understood a moment before.

Longing. That had been longing in her eyes.

When the kiss deepened, I lost myself in her, in the way she tasted, in the way she made that little mewling sound in the back of her throat, in the way her body moulded itself against mine. With a shiver, she suddenly broke contact, her breathing laboured, and there was a wild mix of confusion, consternation, and desire on her face.

"This … isn't a good idea, right now." Her usual tenor was several octaves deeper than usual.

"Why?" I asked, feeling equally robbed of breath and reason. I reached for her again, but she dodged my hand with a breathless chuckle.

"Because you need sleep, Casanova. You can barely keep your eyes open."

You think I can sleep after this?

But my thoughts were sluggish and focusing my eyes was hard, and the fact that my emotions weren't in complete disarray over that kiss told me a lot about my physical state.

"The pills are kicking in, so just lie down, Sam."

"I'll be good. But only because it's you who's asking," I mumbled.

If I had to interpret her expression when she put the blanket over me, I would've said it looked a lot like tenderness. I was waiting to freak out about lying in the same bed as Emmanuelle, but the pills numbed my emotional response enough to make me fall asleep seconds after my head touched the pillow.

***

I woke up to the sounds of a shower. Despite an insistent throb at my temple, I felt better than before. Stretching, I straightened into a sitting position and looked around.

I'm in her bedroom.

Really? That's what I was freaking out about?

You slept right next to her, you dork.

And I missed all of it.

Stupid pills.

Then my thoughts came to a crashing halt, and I remembered another detail of last night. Had I really kissed her? Or had she kissed me?

Holy moly guacamole!

Yes, she had. Emmanuelle had kissed me. The woman I had lusted after for weeks had kissed me. Me. Socially inept and slightly gawky Samantha Hale, who had never even brought a woman home yet.

You lucky bastard, you.

I would gladly take on ten Pauls if that meant she would kiss me again.

You're such a hopeless fool. It's embarrassing.

But I could do nothing against the warm feeling spreading inside, even if it was located decidedly lower than usual. In my mind, there'd been an iron enclosure around our declared friendzone, and with her not giving me the tiniest bit of an indication that she was anything other than straight, this was better than finding a golden egg under my pillow.

Carefully, I rolled to the edge of the bed. The room stayed where it was.

So far, so good.

The shower was still running when I located my trousers and hurried into them. Putting them on made me feel more in control. I folded the gifted sweatpants and left them on the bed. Then I went in search of a mirror. Ecstatic, I even found some spare toothbrushes in the downstairs bathroom. After washing my face, and brushing my teeth, I almost felt human again.

My fingers carefully pulled up one side of the large plaster when I'd finished with my morning routine, and in the light, I took a critical look at the bruise. The right side of my face was a dark purple, a bluish tint dusting the edge of one eyelid, and a neatly stitched cut ran up to my hairline. Cautiously, I moved it back into position.

The doorbell rang.

Feeling a bit out of my depth, I stepped into the hallway, still hearing the shower upstairs. I scratched the uninjured side of my face. Was it alright for me to open the door?

The bell rang again. Using the spyglass, I could see Remi on the doorstep.

"Merde," the man said when I opened the door. "You look worse than I did when I walked into that signpost in kindergarten."

"Thanks. You're too kind."

"How're you holding up?" Emmanuelle's brother walked past me into the house and toward the kitchen. While he busied himself making coffee, he openly watched me.

I shrugged. "It's painful, but at least it doesn't feel like my head's filled with cotton anymore."

He shifted a little before blowing out a breath. "I know this makes me sound like an asshole, but I'm just glad it was you that was with McKenzie and not Emmanuelle."

"That doesn't make you sound like an asshole; it makes you sound like a brother," I told him gently. "And believe it or not, I'm glad about that, too."

"And why is it…" Emmanuelle stepped into the room, a challenge in her eye. "That she's allowed to stand and fight, and I'm not?"

Tight jeans, red turtleneck, loafers. She could have probably worn an outfit consisting of taped popcorn bags and looked smashing. Although, right now, she was a little scary, too.

"Because we'd both hate it if something happened to you!" exclaimed Remi.

With a sigh, she finally went to the cupboard and grabbed something out of it. I only saw what it was when she held the Advil under my nose.

"They make me drowsy," I protested, but her expression brooked no argument, and I accepted the pill with a grimace. "It's really hard to argue with you."

"And you're lucky I like you enough to tolerate your attempts of being stubborn." But then she curled her mouth into that lopsided smile of hers that I loved so much.

I inhaled sharply.

"What's wrong?"

Shaking my head, I gulped the Advil with some water. "I'll explain it to you someday. When there are fewer witnesses."

Or never. Preferably.

"Speaking of explaining. What makes you visit my humble abode this early in the day, dear brother?"

"You know it's technically a family house, right?" Remi shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, you probably forgot, what with all the upheaval yesterday, but you did offer to let me borrow your car."

"You're right. I forgot."

"Yeah, I figured something like that. All good, as long as we can still switch for the day? I really don't want to take a rental, and using an Uber is just going to suck all the fun out of exploring."

"Sure, you can have it."

"Great," he exulted.

Talking about cars made me remember that mine was still parked in front of Vinnie's workshop, and thinking about Vinnie and how worried he'd been yesterday let unease bubble up. I still hadn't talked to Frank. But then, my phone was pretty much busted. The screen was cracked, and I was sure landing in a small puddle hadn't done the electronics any favours.

"I really should get home," I said.

"I'd really like to drive you, but I have an appointment I can't reschedule…" Emmanuelle trailed off, and I was surprised by how unhappy she looked.

"It's fine, seriously."

Remi cleared his throat and put down his coffee. "I can give you a lift."

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not."

"Then yes, thank you."

"Don't mention it. You still owe me that tour, remember?"

"I won't forget," I told him with a smile.

I focused my gaze on Emmanuelle, not knowing what to say, but also not wanting to go without having said anything.

"We'll talk later," she said, and there was something in her eyes that told me she, too, remembered what had happened last night, probably better than I did. "I'm still holding your favourite shirt hostage, remember?"

"What is it with you and my clothes?" I teased her.

She only grinned.