Unbroken

now!
    “Like I’ve just been doing unspeakable things to you.” Emerson says with a wicked gleam in his eye.
    “No!” I yelp, patting frantically at my hair – now tangled and messy.
    He laughs. “Relax, you look great. Always.”
    Emerson holds his hand out to me. I look at it for a split-second, amazed that after everything, I’ve wound up here. A week ago, I would have laughed at anyone saying I’d be back in Emerson’s arms—or on my knees in a storage closet. I would have said they were crazy, that I would never be so reckless and stupid and backwards. But here I am, and I don’t feel any of those things.
    I feel free.
    I take Emerson’s hand and follow him back out into the bar. I’m blushing, certain everyone will be able to tell what we were just doing, but nobody even turns in our direction.
    “What time do you get off?” I ask, twisting Emerson’s fingers in mine. It’s crazy, I still can taste him in my mouth, but I already want him again—for real this time. All the way.
    “You tell me.” Emerson grins, and I can tell from the dark flash in his eyes that he’s thinking the same thing. He leans in close, lips softly scratching my earlobe as he whispers in a low, seductive drawl. “I can have this place shut down in five minutes. Just say the word.”
    I feel a shiver of excitement, but I know I need some breathing room. Time to process what just happened in there. I step back, lightly planting my hands on the broad planes of his chest. “No, finish up here. Come over when your shift’s done.”
    “Yes ma’am.”
    I start to walk away, but Emerson grabs my arm and yanks me back. Before I can think, he takes me in his arms and dips me low to the floor, capturing my mouth in a scorching kiss. I can hear the sound of whoops and whistling around us. Then Emerson lifts me up again, setting me back on my feet. I blink at him a moment, breathless and dizzy.
    He winks at me. “See you later.”
    I nod dumbly. I don’t know how I manage to turn and walk away, but somehow, I make it back out to the car. I open the door and slip into the driver’s seat, my head still reeling from that heart-stopping kiss.
    God, but that man can kiss.
    And do a whole lot more besides…
    My mind flashes back to the storage closet, and his mouth closed over my nipple; his fingers driving me insane. I sink lower in my seat, flushing hot just at the thought of it—of what I did to him!
    And what I want to do to him, tonight…
    Later.
    I shake it off and start the engine, but even as I crank the radio loud and drive back towards the beach house, I can’t stop the grin of pure satisfaction from spreading across my face, so wide my cheeks almost hurt. I feel like a kid the night before Christmas, full of nervous anticipation and excitement for what’s to come. Except Emerson isn’t just a Christmas present to unwrap, he’s birthdays, and holidays, and summer vacation all rolled up into one: every good thing to look forward to, waiting for me.
    Tonight.
    * * *
    Back at the house, I drag my duffel inside and unpack for real this time, in one of the upstairs guest bedrooms I always used to sleep in, all those summers ago. It’s the smallest of the four bedrooms, so the others never wanted it, but I loved tiny space, crammed up in the attic under the eaves with a too-big bed and a chipped dresser. The flower-print wallpaper is faded now, but the windows are hung with gauzy blue curtains that flutter in the breeze, and the view looks all the way out across the shore.
    I open the windows wide to the warm, afternoon breeze and hang my clothes in the closet, going down to the bathroom on the first floor to arrange my toiletries and makeup. I hum along to the radio, breathing in the scent of salty air and summertime. Now that I don’t have the anxious fear of seeing Emerson hanging over me, calm and relaxed, some of the dark shadows in the house fade away.
    Some, but not all.
    I pass a closed door in the hallway: the master bedroom. The one room I still can’t bring myself to step inside. I pause, and lift my fingertips to rest them against the wood, like I can feel the ghosts lurking, just on the other side of the door.
    This was my mom’s room. Dad was never around enough for it to belong to him, so I always thought of it as hers. She picked out the pink comforter, and painted the dresser to match when I was still a kid: dripping paint all over newspaper on the porch. She even had some of my photos framed and