Phoenix Burning(41)

Alex flopped onto the barstool. “Women are fucked up. You know that?”

“Nah.” Gabriel shook his dark head. “I see the way Jessa looks at Connor, and I know there have to be a few good apples in the bunch.”

Alex thought of a pixie’s sweet smile. She’d overcome more in her life than he could ever imagine. “Like Emory.”

“Things worth having don’t come easy,” Gabriel mused.

Alex grimaced. His friend didn’t know how right he was.





Chapter Thirteen





Emory loaded the casket piece and several other arrangements into the funeral parlor’s van. Being in the flower business meant you dealt with birth, death, and guilt on a pretty regular basis. It didn’t make it less creepy to think the bloodred roses she’d so carefully arranged would soon adorn a coffin.

“Thanks, Ms. Banks. We’ll see you next time.” The driver gave her a polite nod and climbed into his van to leave.

She sighed. She felt like a funeral today. Going back to sleep had been impossible after Alex left. Dawn had already bathed the sky in pale pink and indigo. So she’d sat at her prep table for what seemed like hours until she’d forced herself to go back upstairs and get ready for her day.

His shirt was still lying on her bedroom floor. Emory couldn’t bring herself to pick it up. She was afraid she’d wind up pressing it to her face and inhaling his scent for the rest of the day.

Time was crawling. Emory went back inside her shop and sat at the counter, chin propped on her hand. The Chrises wouldn’t be back from their romantic getaway until at least lunchtime. And she couldn’t call Fox to brood about her current situation anyway. She didn’t want to worry her brother.

The front bell rang, and Emory forced her brain out of its funk. It wouldn’t do for customers to see her like this. Pasting a warm smile on her face, she jumped down off her stool and headed toward the front of the shop.

“Welcome! How can I help you?” Her friendly greeting petered away to nothing when she came face-to-face with Donovan MacIntyre.

His intense gaze was focused on her. Emory had a sudden desire to put on a coat. Her standard-issue cargos and camisole didn’t provide enough of a barrier between her skin and his eyes.

“You know, Emory”—his gaze raked her from head to toe—“I would love to take you someplace nice just to see how stunning you would look in a dress.”

“I don’t wear dresses.”

“Don’t be silly. Every beautiful woman loves a dress.” He took a step closer, invading her personal space. “I’m sure you’re just being modest.”

She had never been comfortable with him. Though at one time she hadn’t been more or less uncomfortable with him than she was with any man. Since the day he had bullied her in her own shop, things had changed. Emory’s heart pounded, and she was on the verge of panic. Alex wasn’t going to pop in and rescue her this time. She was on her own.

“I was so glad to discover I was wrong about your whereabouts yesterday afternoon, Emory.” MacIntyre sidestepped. Wanting to keep him in full view, so did she. “Then I get a phone call this morning from Dacey Tolliver.” He leaned in close enough for her to see the gel coagulating on each strand of his hair. “Do you know why Dacey called me, Emory?”

Why did he keep saying her name? She hated the way it sounded on his lips. It reminded her of her father’s smooth voice. The way he would say her name right before he violated her. Waving off her protests even as she tried to reason with him.

“I would like to think that this romantic entanglement with Alex Dalesio is just a phase, like sowing your wild oats, or having a silly schoolgirl crush on the local bad boy. But I must admit that I’m beginning to think you’ve been soiled by him.”

Paralyzing fear slid down her spine and darkness swirled larger than life inside her mind. Soiled, defiled, sinful—hadn’t she prayed each and every day of her childhood for God to forgive her those things?

Heavenly Lord above, forgive my impure thoughts and actions. Make me pure again. Make me pure as the snow. Make me good enough for thy plans…

MacIntyre’s hands closed on her bare shoulders, his fingers caressing her skin. Her stomach heaved as though she might vomit. A maelstrom built inside her head. A swirling, frothing haze of blackness threatened to suck her back into the void.

“You have such potential, Emory,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t throw yourself away on the useless pursuit of womanizing trash. You’re better than he is. A man who has put his dick in every woman from coast to coast has no place inside you. You belong to me. Your body will welcome me, bear my fruit, and bring me pleasure. This is what you were meant for.”