Home > Atlanta Heat (Tempting SEALs #6)(9)

Atlanta Heat (Tempting SEALs #6)(9)
Author: Lora Leigh

Once it was inside, Macey closed and locked the glass door before turning back to her with a grin.

“She watches the place while I’m gone.”

Emerson sat down slowly, staring at the well-lit aquarium, certain her heart had stopped and she had died.

“She lives here?”

“Right in there.” Macey nodded, chuckling as he pointed over his shoulder at the glass-enclosed cage.

“You should have left me with the terrorists,” she said. “It would have saved them the trouble of recapturing me after I leave here. Because no way, no how, not in a million years am I staying here with a snake.”

FIVE

EMERSON’S SLEEP WAS RESTLESS that morning, filled with visions of a naked Macey and an anaconda twined around his body rather than her. Flickering tongue and slitted eyes dared her to touch his gleaming, muscular body.

She shouldn’t have been bothered by it. She didn’t consider herself innocent; sometimes she considered herself too jaded, too cynical. She had learned years ago that defending her heart wasn’t easy. She wasn’t like her family. The Navy, preserving honor and tradition, had meant more to them than trying to understand the clumsy, too-emotional child they had found themselves stuck with.

Her parents had been overprotective, and each time she tried to protest the restrictions, her parents had pulled the guilt card. They were trying to protect her. They couldn’t work if she was constantly crying for their attention or arguing over their precautions. So Emerson had kept her mouth shut and endured. Until her graduation from high school, until she left on her own for college and began carving out her own life.

But she had learned that those lessons she had missed as a child held her back now. She succeeded in her career, enjoyed it and the company she worked with. But interaction, allowing herself to be vulnerable, defenseless enough to allow herself to belong anywhere or with anyone, had become impossible.

Now, lying on Macey’s big bed, that monster snake curled in the glass tank across the room, she admitted that she had never felt that loss more keenly than she did now.

She could have been curled against him, reveling in a fantasy come to life. Macey had starred in her most erotic dreams for nearly two years. But as she lay there, she realized he had somehow managed to situate himself into her heart.

If he were any other man that she desired, then she could have at least taken the physical pleasure he could give. If she hadn’t hungered for more than just his touch, if she didn’t crave more than just his kiss or the heated possession of his body.

Shaking her head, she forced herself from the bed, glancing at the bedside table and the clock set there. It said twelve, but if it was noon or midnight, she had no idea. There were no windows in the basement Macey called the cave, no way of telling if it were day or night.

She glanced at the glass cage and watched as the snake, Drack, Macey had called it, flicked its tongue out, her eyes slitted and displaying something akin to curiosity.

It figured Macey would own an anaconda. He couldn’t do anything the easy way, could he?

“Well, she’s awake,” he spoke from behind her, his voice lazy and amused as she straightened the bed.

“Is it noon or midnight?” Whichever it was, she needed coffee before she took someone’s head off.

“Noon. Sunny and in the high nineties. Weather guy said it might hit a hundred before evening. Be thankful we’re nice and cool down here rather than sweltering out there.”

“I like the heat.”

“Yeah, I like it hot too,” he assured her. “Want me to turn off the AC?”

Emerson shook her head. “Do whatever you want to as long as you have coffee.”

“I couldn’t live without it. I also have lunch on the stove and ready to eat. You can shower first if you like. Homemade veggie beef soup and bread. It’s one of my specialties.”

She straightened and stared back at him suspiciously.

“Soup out of a can doesn’t constitute homemade just because you fixed it on your own stove, Macey.”

She turned and caught the flash of his smile as he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Homemade means from scratch, smartass.” He laughed at her. He was the only person she knew who had the nerve to actually laugh at her to her face.

“It’s safe to eat?” She moved to the dresser and gathered the shirt and leggings he had left there the night before for her to wear.

“It’s not safe to snarl at me when you first get up,” he told her, though the vein of laughter hadn’t left his voice. “Where did you come by that prickly attitude, Em? It’s cute as hell most of the time, but when a man’s trying to seduce you, you should soften it some.”

“I do, when I want to be seduced.” Her return smile was tight, but the tension whipping through her was anything but anger.

She could feel his touch. His lips on her breasts, his fingers between her thighs, and that was a very dangerous thing to remember.

“Go ahead and shower.” He shook his head at her, his overly long hair brushing his shoulders as his gaze softened. “I’ll put the coffee on and feed you. Maybe you’ll be nicer then.”

“You like that dream world you live in, don’t you?” she asked him, though she had to admit she wanted to smile. It was impossible to stay mad at Macey for long. Irritated, yes. Frustrated most often. But anger wasn’t an emotion she could sustain around him when he was trying to be nice.

“Hey, baby, my dream world is what it’s all about.” He grinned wickedly. “Want to know the part you play?”

“No thank you, I think I can probably figure that one out on my own.”

She escaped quickly to the bathroom and the shower with his chuckle lingering on the air behind her. Damn him, he was getting under her skin and she knew it. It was bad enough that she had all these pesky emotions to deal with, but dealing with them while the object of them was around wasn’t going to be easy.

She showered quickly, dried her hair, and dressed in her borrowed clothes before striding into the living room and toward the smell of coffee and homemade soup. If the smell was anything to go by, it was going to be delicious.

“On the stove.” He was sitting at the computer, a security program working through several formulas and protocols, if the screen she managed to read meant anything.

   
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