LITMIR.BIZ

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wondered why he liked that sort of woman, like that brunette who made soufflés, or so he said. He knew them to their bones. Perhaps that was why he never got attached to them, because he knew what they were about.

      She recalled what he’d told her, about his late wife, and the way she’d died in childbirth. It helped her to understand him, just a little. He blamed the baby for killing her. But that was just God’s will, she thought, and was saddened that he didn’t share her belief system. She smiled. His wasn’t a unique viewpoint. In today’s world, many people thought that God was just a myth.

      She recalled things she’d read about in history books, about other periods of time when men had become fixated on their own power—only to have some natural disaster remind them that men were less powerful than they believed.

      In the winter of 1811–1812, there had been a devastating earthquake on the New Madrid fault in Missouri (which was pronounced New Mádrid, not New Madríd). It had caused damage in many surrounding states, including Georgia. Part of the Mississippi River had run backward. Sand blows—areas that liquefied and sand rushed to the surface in huge circles—had been everywhere in the impact zone. There were a few eyewitness accounts. Not so many people had died, because in those days the area wasn’t as populated as it was today. But after the earthquakes, the churches were full. It just went to show, Emma thought, that people sometimes got reminded that they weren’t all-powerful.

      She sat down in the big chair behind Connor’s desk, her fingers caressing the armrests. She missed him. It was insane to let these feelings get a grip on her heart, because inevitably she was going to have to leave. Her great plan to gain his confidence and then tell him what she’d done had gone to pieces. She realized now that she could never do it. She didn’t want to leave. She couldn’t bear the thought of his outrage, his disgust, if he knew who’d blinded him. He would hate her...

      She got up from the chair as if it had turned red hot, and walked out of the room. She closed the door behind her, almost overcome with silent fear. She had no one to blame but herself. She’d parked herself in the lion’s den and now she was waiting to be devoured.

      In a panic, she went to her room and got out her suitcase. She could run. She could go home to Jacobsville. Not to her father’s ranch; she never wanted to go back there. But the Griers would certainly take her in again. Cash and Tippy had given her the affection she’d never gotten from her father. It was just that she felt she’d imposed on them too much. She had a cousin in Victoria, near Jacobsville, where she could live until she got a new job. Cousin Ella would let her share the big house she’d just inherited, and there was always work at the big ranches nearby; or maybe get a job cooking in a restaurant somewhere.

      Even as she thought about it, as her fingers touched the cold vinyl of the hard-shelled suitcase, she realized that she couldn’t do it. She thought of Connor here with nobody to help him with the tangle of daily email, or with routine things like where food was on his plate, how many steps he had to walk down to go to the shore of the lake, where Emma led him almost every evening when he was home. Who would sit with him when he had the horrible migraines that plagued him? Who’d tease him and wipe away the broodiness that hallmarked his personality?

      She moved her suitcase back into the closet and slowly closed the door. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she cared for him. That had been a huge mistake. But he was the sort of man who attracted women. Not only for his amorous technique—which was formidable—but also for his wit and courtesy and the soft heart he hid from most people.

      He cared about the people who worked for him. Marie told her how much he’d done for her family and Barnes’s. He’d done that for other people, as well. He was generous to a fault. He was that way with Emma, too. He’d wanted to buy her things, but she’d refused every attempt. There would inevitably come a time when he’d find her out—hopefully, long after she left him. She didn’t want him to remember that she’d accepted expensive presents from him. It would look as if she had ulterior motives for coming to work for him. Her only motive had been to try and make up just a little for the horrible thing she’d done.

      She had nightmares about the boat hitting him. Now that she knew him, had feelings for him, she was tormented by the memories. She should have stopped the boat, gotten out, helped him, apologized, tried to explain. Even if he’d sent the sheriff’s department after her, which he would have had to do since the lake house wasn’t within the city limits, she’d have dealt with the consequences, whatever they were, bravely.

      Instead, she’d let him give her a job that she never should have taken under false pretenses.

      But look what she’d have missed, she told herself. Quiet evenings by the lake. Breakfast with him every morning. Working together in the office, listening to his deep, velvety voice while he dictated. Easing his headaches with medicine and companionship until he fell asleep. Just being with him. Looking at him. Loving the handsome face and muscular physique that defined the man he was. She never saw the millionaire. She saw the man.

      She wandered out to the deck overlooking the lake. There was a flat area between this lake house and Mamie’s place, right on the shore. There was a log there where Emma liked to sit. It was where she’d been sitting that first time, when Connor had found her and railed her out about trespassing. It was near where he’d offered her breakfast later, when he lost his vision. She’d teased him and he’d laughed.

      Marie said he hardly ever laughed before Emma came to work for him. It made her proud that she could give him a few light moments in his darkness. She wished she could go back and undo what she’d done.

      He’d gone away so suddenly. Was it because of last night? Had it meant something to him, beyond just the physical attraction that was so evident to both of them? Did he regret his behavior because she worked for him? Was he embarrassed? Ashamed?

      She laughed. He was never embarrassed, and he would hardly be ashamed. Nothing much had happened. She’d struggled away from him before anything could. But she recalled the sudden hardness of his body. He’d wanted her, badly. Did he think she’d let him touch her for ulterior motives, that she wanted something for being with him? She was horrified that he might think she was pretending to be clueless. She’d told him she was engaged once. Did he think she’d slept with her fiancé as many women did before the wedding?

      Her mind flew ahead to his return. How would he act when he came back? She hoped he wouldn’t pursue her, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist him. She loved being in his big arms, she loved kissing him. That was unwise for many reasons. She hoped she could get her hormones under control before he came back. Because she absolutely could not let him get close to her. The thought depressed her so much that she skipped lunch and went to wander the lakeshore like a lost soul.

      * * *

      There were a few emails left that he’d wanted sent, so she took care of those. After that, there wasn’t much to do. She helped Marie in the kitchen. The older woman liked to make exotic dishes and freeze them, for when company came.

      Not that there’d been many visitors lately. Connor had been famous for his lake parties when he was sighted, Marie commented a few days later. The house had been alive with light and music and the sound of conversation.

      “I guess he knows a lot of important people,” Emma said as she chopped fresh herbs for the omelet Marie was making them for supper. They had light meals since Connor wasn’t in residence. Marie did the cooking, a chore she’d shared with Connor’s chef, Edward, who stayed in France at Connor’s other home on the Riviera. Emma loved omelets, for any meal. This one had lots of herbs, with tiny muffins to accompany it.

      Marie heard the wistful note in her voice and glanced at her. “Too many, it seems sometimes. You know, I always felt that he hid in people, in droves of people, to keep from facing his personal demons. The house was full, but he was alone, even then.”

      “He told me about his wife,” she confessed.

      Marie’s eyebrows lifted. “He did? My goodness, he never speaks of her to anyone, that I know.”

      Emma laughed softly.

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