He stood up, preparing to disembark. “Ready?” he asked, extending his hand towards her.
“Yes. Thank you.” She ignored his outstretched hand and moved towards the now open hatch, ignoring the look in his eyes that might have been pain if Emerson actually felt any pain.
She was about to descend, but she suddenly turned around and looked back up at the pilot. “Thank you for such a soft landing,” she said to him with a grateful, genuine smile.
She turned back around, so she didn’t see the startled expression on Darren’s face or his wife’s as she and Emerson went down the stairs. Nor did she hear Darren whisper to his wife, “What happened to the Ice Queen?” Or his wife’s response, “She’s just afraid of flying.”
Rachel didn’t see the look of understanding and compassion that the two shared since she was slipping out the side door of the hangar with Emerson right behind her. She still wasn’t sure what was going on, but they weren’t in New York so the day was bound to be better than expected.
Rachel looked around at the nondescript airplane hangar, seeing several people moving forward who looked like maintenance personnel. “You still haven’t told me why we’re here or even where ‘here’ is.”
Emerson put a hand to the small of her back, guiding her towards the parking lot. “Yes I did. I said you’re going to learn the other side.” He almost chuckled when she tried to move away from his touch, but he wasn’t letting her get away with that. He touched her arm and pulled her back to him, smothering his need when she shivered at his touch just like she always did.
She didn’t understand, but she realized from the expression on his face that he wasn’t going to tell her either. “Okay. Lead on,” she said with resignation.
Emerson pushed the door open and Rachel gasped when she immediately smelled the sea air. “Are we in Maine?” she asked almost reverently.
“Yes,” he told her with a sight grin. Emerson watched her beautiful features carefully, trying to gauge her reaction to being back in Cape Elizabeth. He didn’t want to push, but he was pretty sure she wasn’t happy with life in New York.
“Come on,” he said and led her towards a jeep parked near the corner of the building. It was a beautiful, new Jeep and he lifted her into the seat even though he didn’t really need to. He just liked touching her and it had been a long time since she’d let him do anything more than simply kiss her goodnight.
“Thanks,” she whispered, feeling his hands hesitate to move away from her waist. A part of her wanted him to keep his hands right where they were, warm against her skin. And then another part of her pulled back, too afraid of what she was feeling or the next surprise by this man. She turned quickly, facing forward so he didn’t see the need his touch had ignited within her.
He smiled slightly, recognizing the signs but trying to go slowly. Instead of pressing the issue, he moved around to the driver’s side. “We have an important stop to make before we do anything else,” he told her and pulled out of the parking space.
Rachel watched his strong, competent hands on the steering wheel, fascinated by his fingers. She remembered the nights when those fingers touched her skin, exploring her body and driving her mad with need.
She sighed and pulled her eyes away from his hands, forcing her mind to think of something else. She couldn’t trust him. She had no idea who he was and what he was like underneath the Emerson façade. He was a stranger. A fascinating, amazingly sexy and alluring stranger, but she could resist. She had to.
Portland, Maine wasn’t nearly as densely inhabited as New York or even the Washington, D.C. area. It would take about forty minutes to get out of the airport in either of those metropolitan cities. But here, they spun out of the parking lot and were almost immediately on the highway into the city. They actually had left New York so early in the morning that they were now about to hit Portland’s rush hour. But commuter traffic in Portland meant that there was probably someone in front of you and beside you, and most likely behind you, but one didn’t need to slow down. She hadn’t driven in New York but in Washington, D.C., if one wanted to drive from approximately three o’clock in the afternoon until after seven o’clock in the evening, they needed to be prepared to face a parking lot on just about any street or highway they ventured onto. The same went for the morning rush hour which lasted from six o’clock in the morning until after ten o’clock each day. It was horrible! Sometimes traffic jams even happened at lunch time or in the middle of the afternoon if one were on interstate sixty-six or ninety-five. Los Angeles traffic was famous for coming to a standstill, but that also happened around the beltway of Washington, D.C. It was miserable.
But in Portland? Despite the fact that people were moving around them, hurrying off to their jobs, they were still traveling at the posted speed limit, zipping along towards the downtown area. It was one of the beautiful things about this city. It was very metropolitan, but not so painfully crowded that a person had to adjust one’s schedule based on traffic patterns.
Unfortunately, Emerson wasn’t heading across the bridge to Cape Elizabeth. In fact, he was slowing down, heading towards the main street that edged the heart of the city. “What’s going on?” she asked nervously when Emerson pulled into a parking lot that could hold no more than three or four cars and was located behind a crazy blue building with curious murals along the outside wall.
“Breakfast,” he said and shut off the Jeep.
He came around to her side of the car and opened her door, waiting patiently for her to get out. “Why are we eating here?” she asked nervously but she slid out of the leather seat, prepared to follow him just like she’d done in New York.
“Because you’ve lost too much weight and the best place to start your next lesson is in The Holy Donut shop.” He raised an eyebrow when she hesitated.
“Donuts?” she asked, trying to hide her horror. She was proud of the fact that she didn’t cringe at the mention of the sugary treat but she really hated donuts. They were one of those desserts that promised so much but were always such a disappointment. “They aren’t very nutritious. Why don’t you grab what you want and I’ll just…”
He took her hand and pulled her along behind him. “Come on. These aren’t your normal donuts,” he explained. “These are potato donuts. That makes them good for you.”