She straightened, put on a smile, and walked through the bedroom, flinging the door wide and striding out into the main area. Greer was pacing the kitchen and turned at the sound of the door opening. Again, he stared at her. She paused and then flipped her long hair over her shoulder and asked, “What? Have you never had a girl stay in your house before?”
“Mom, sister, or cousins,” he said.
“Oh.” She walked bravely toward him. “So I should feel extraordinary dwelling where no unrelated woman has ever dared trod?”
His slow grin came, and he nodded.
Though he said nothing, his smile and his look were enough to light a fire inside of her. Emery had to look away. She glanced out his huge floor-to-ceiling windows and whistled. “Gorgeous doesn’t even begin to describe that view.”
He still said nothing, which she was beginning to see was normal for him. She looked back at him and cocked an eyebrow. “What? You see such beauty every day that it’s become commonplace for you?”
His gaze slowly traveled over, and she’d never had a compliment so sincere bestowed upon her.
“No,” he finally said.
“No what?” She would force this man to talk if it was the last thing she did. It was a quest now.
“I’ve never seen such beauty,” he said, staring directly at her.
Emery gasped and put a hand to her neck, trying to remember to breathe. She hadn’t meant to bait him like that. She could only guess this man didn’t gush out compliments to anyone. She felt special, unique, elite, and exceptional. She wanted to hug him and kiss him. He boldly held her gaze, and she was in desperate trouble of forgetting who he was, who she was, and why she was here. Flirting with and getting Greer to talk wasn’t the objective. Finding some military secret and avenging her brother was her purpose.
This was all getting completely out of control, so before she did anything she’d regret, she looked to the table set with dishes, syrup, butter, chunky peanut butter, and bowls with sliced strawberries, bananas, blueberries, and raspberries. “You made me breakfast?”
Instead of answering, he turned and pulled a cookie sheet out of the oven. It was loaded with plates of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. He walked over to the table and set it down in the middle. No hot pad or trivet on the table, so she’d guess it wasn’t too hot. She loved how true Greer was to himself at all times. No fancy platters here. Basic white stoneware and a cookie sheet as the serving tray.
He pulled out a chair for her and gestured with his hand. The look on his face matched the feeling inside her. He was interested in her, but he was leery. Did that mean he knew she was Emery? A shiver slid down her spine at the thought. How could she find out without getting kicked out of his beautiful house?
Or worse, shot between the eyes.
She sank into the chair and gave him a wobbly smile. He nodded and hurried back to the kitchen, pulling milk and orange juice out of the fridge, then returning and setting them on the table. He must’ve put the milk back away earlier when he’d seen her in only that T-shirt. The fear disappeared and a delicious shiver trailed through her at the memory.
Greer sat kitty corner from her. As if he wanted to stay close but didn’t want to sit directly across from her and stare at her throughout breakfast. Did he want to stay close because he liked her, or because he thought she’d go berserk and try to throw the butter knife at him?
The bacon smelled delicious, but her stomach was pitching all over the place with worry and she wasn’t sure she could eat a thing.
Greer met her gaze and asked, “Prayer?”
She wasn’t sure if he was asking if she was all right with prayer or if she would offer the prayer. Nothing about this man was lining up with her already ludicrous expectations of what he’d be like. Prayer, huh? She wanted to hear him say the prayer, hear him string together more than a few words in a sentence. She also wanted to know if he was a token Christian or a real one.
Would a real Christian murder her brother? No. But if he killed him completing what he thought was an assignment from higher ups, as a soldier, she supposed he could be forgiven. But he would be conflicted. Looking into Greer’s eyes, she could see that hewasconflicted. She’d thought it was because he knew she was Emery, but maybe it was something deeper than even that.
“I’d love to have a prayer over the food. Would you offer it, please?” She blinked at him, she hoped prettily. It was out of line for a guest to ask the host to offer the prayer, but what was one more strike against her at this point?
That must have surprised him, as he gave a grunt of surprise and a crooked smile. Then he shook his head and put his hand out.
Emery swallowed hard. Could she take his hand? Every time she’d touched him, it had messed with her mind. Last night had been bizarre, and she couldn’t repeat the hugging and letting down her guard with him. But she’d said she’d pray with him and asked him to voice it. If she refused to hold his hand now, it would be all kinds of awkward. They had more sparks but also awkwardness going on between them than any of her junior high dance partners. She could picture her and Greer at those junior high dances. Her hands barely touching his shoulders. His hands pinching the waistline of her dress. Two feet of distance between them as they shuffled back and forth and tried not to look at each other, but they wanted to look and they wanted to get closer.
Placing her hand in Greer’s, she tried to distract herself by thinking of junior high dances, but she couldn’t ignore the warm pulse that went through her as his fingers threaded with hers and their palms slid together. Just like those first touches from a boy that were all sparkle and tingles. There was nothing awkward about Greer holding her hand, and he was all man. If it was any other man in this world—well, any man close to her age without severe halitosis—she would’ve proposed marriage based on the connection of this handholding alone.
Emery quickly bowed her head and shut her eyes tight so he wouldn’t see how affected she was. She didn’t want to know if it affected him, too.
Greer cleared his throat and began, “Dear Father. We thank thee for the food, for all thou blesses us with. We thank thee Taylor is here. Please bless, protect, and lift her. Please bless the food. In the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.”
“Amen,” Emery echoed. She didn’t move. She kept her head bowed and her hand in his. The spirit was strong in the room. Greer didn’t waste words and it was a very formal prayer, especially for her underspoken cowboy. He’d officially talked more than she’d heard him speak previously. He’d been grateful she was here and asked for her to be blessed and protected. As Taylor. At least he believed the lie, but she wanted to hear his deep voice say her real name.
She forced herself to pull her hand back and look up. Greer offered her a shy, endearing smile. How could this man be a killer? Her brother’s killer? Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe the Voice had made it all up or gotten misinformation. She wanted to explore that possibility but feared she was grasping at excuses to like Greer.
Neither of them said anything as he waited for her to dish up, and then he got himself food while she piled fruit on her pancakes and drizzled them with the butter syrup. She poured herself some milk, put her napkin on her lap, and ate a bite of eggs. They were incredible. Buttery and cheesy, and was that sea salt?