“I was...six years old.” He palmed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable sharing this story. “My dad and I went out. I can’t remember why. The grocery store, maybe? Gas station? Whatever was open at 6:00 a.m. on Christmas morning.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze unfocused on a spot across the room.
“We returned to our street and fire engines were lining both sides of it. Police cars wouldn’t let us close, so my dad climbed out of the truck and busted through the cops to see what happened.”
He sighed and paused as if gathering the strength to continue.
“The house was a total loss. My mom and my baby brother, Michael, didn’t survive the fire. They said later it was caused by faulty wiring.” The tilt of his lips was dark, humorless. “Half my family...gone, thanks to a shoddy electrician.”
She let out a sound between a whimper and a gasp. What a horrible tragedy.
“I don’t remember a lot from that day. More what happened in the years that followed. Sadness hovered in our apartment like a gas leak. There was no escaping. Until I did.”
“Oh, Emmett.” She gave in and sat, grabbing his hand, holding it with both of hers. He stiffened next to her, his arm going taut, his expression unreadable.
He shrugged one shoulder as if to assure her it was okay, but it wasn’t okay, was it? Losing a parent and a brother in a house fire when you were six years old could never be okay.
She stroked her hand up his arm in an attempt to warm him, or maybe warm herself. Since he’d spoken it was as if a chill had come over the room. Like a ghost had passed by them both.
Or two ghosts.
She shivered.
“Like I said, it was a long time ago.”
Still. It wasn’t like losing half your family was easily forgotten. And he’d been a little boy.
“Anyway.” He straightened his back, pushing the conversation aside. “Dad never was much of a Christmas guy, and I followed suit. And I’m not big on strings of cheap lights in my house decorating a highly flammable dead tree.”
His hand was still in hers and she squeezed his palm.
“It was an awful tragedy, Emmett. I’m so sorry.”
He faced her, his expression younger somehow, or maybe lighter. Like unburdening that story had taken years off him.
“I don’t normally share that.”
“I understand why.” Who would want to relive that pain?
His eyes dipped briefly to her lips, igniting a sizzle in the air that had no place being there after he’d shared the sad story of his past. Even so, her answering reaction was to study his firm mouth in contemplation. The barely-there scruff lining his angled jaw. His dominating presence made her feel fragile yet safe at the same time.
The urge to comfort him—to comfort herself—lingered. This time she didn’t deny it.
With her free hand, she reached up and cupped the thick column of his neck, tugging him down. He resisted, but only barely, stopping short a brief distance from her mouth to mutter one word.
“Hey...”
She didn’t know if he’d meant to follow it with “This is a bad idea” or “We shouldn’t get carried away,” but she didn’t wait to find out.
Her lips touched his gently and his mouth answered by puckering to return the kiss. Her eyes sank closed and his hand flinched against her palm.
He tasted...amazing. Like spiced cider and a capable, strong, heartbroken man who kept his hurts hidden from the outside world.
Eyes closed, she gripped the back of his neck tighter, angling her head to get more of his mouth. And when he pulled his hand from hers to come to rest on her shoulder, she swore she might melt from that casual touch. His tongue came out to play, tangling with hers in a sensual, forbidden dance.
She fisted his undershirt, tugging it up and brushing against the plane of his firm abs, and Emmett’s response was to lift the hem of her sweater, where his rough fingertips touched the exposed skin of her torso.
A tight, needy sound escaped her throat, and his lips abruptly stopped moving against hers.