Free Emily and the Stranger by Beverly Barton Page B

told Emily, then turned to Rod. "Emily has a date tonight, so she's leaving—right now. But I'll hang around a few more minutes. Long enough for you to get squared away."
    "Yes, ma'am. Thanks." Rod took several steps backward, up the stairs. But he watched while Nikki Griffin ushered Emily and Mitch out the door.
    Mitch glanced back at the boy who glared at him, anger and jealousy marring the perfection of his handsome face. The kid had it bad for Emily. Mitch wondered if she knew. Surely she did.
    "Bye, you two. See you tomorrow, Emily." Nikki stood in the open doorway, watching while Mitch helped Emily onto his cycle and handed her a metallic green helmet, then adjusted the strap under her chin.
    When the Harley roared to life beneath them, Emily slipped her arms around Mitch's waist, leaning into him, absorbing the security of his strong back. As they pulled out of the parking spot, Emily turned, her gaze catching sight of Nikki in the doorway. She was smiling.
    As they rode along the highway, Emily clung to Mitch, wondering all the while if she'd lost her mind. Emily McLain Jordan had never done anything so wildly exciting in her life. She had always preferred walks on the beach, classical music, poetry, art, good literature and men as gentle and cultured as Stuart had been. But Mitch was a man with rough edges, aggressive, possessive and earthy. With him the music would be earsplitting loud, jazz or hard rock. And she didn't doubt for a minute that his taste in literature ran to more basic male interests—sports, cars and adventure.
    For five long years she had isolated herself from life. And now, for the first time, she was reaching out to embrace the joy of being alive, the thrill of sexual attraction, the danger of risking her life and her heart to a stranger.
    Dear Lord, please don't let me regret this night.

----
    Chapter 5
    « ^ »
    T he sun lay on the horizon like a giant orange ball nestled against multicolored layers of cotton. Rays of twilight sunshine melted into the earth to the west and sent soft shadows across the waters of
Mobile
Bay
and to the south. Boats of all sizes lined the docks of the Fair Harbor Marina.
    Mitch drove his Harley up in front of the Fly Creek Fish Market. Once he'd dismounted, he turned to Emily, lifted her up and off, then lowered her slowly to her feet. Their bodies touched intimately as they stood together, alone in their own little world of sexual awareness. He removed her helmet and hung it on the Harley, then took off his.
    Emily stared at Mitch, into his stark, ice-blue eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. A tremor of sexual longing rippled through her. Mitch was so big and tall and utterly masculine, and his casual attire of jeans and cotton knit shirt enhanced his rugged, blond good looks.
    Mitch dressed like the man he was—a laborer, a blue-collar worker, who drove a motorcycle and drank beer straight from the bottle. But Emily didn't mind that his social position didn't equal hers. His athletic, tanned body and ruggedly handsome face couldn't be bought at any price. He was the most fascinating man she'd ever met.
    "I'm glad you weren't in the mood for steaks," Mitch said, nodding at the naturally aged wood structure behind them. "I've been told that this fish market sells some of the best seafood in
Alabama
."
    "I make a wonderful clam linguine." Emily stepped back away from Mitch, deliberately putting some distance between them. "Would you be insulted if I offer to pay for the groceries?"
    Mitch glared at her, realizing she suspected he had just enough money in his wallet to cover the cost of their dinner, which would mean he'd be eating bologna sandwiches the rest of the week. Paying rent for the cottage next to Emily took a hefty chunk out of his paycheck.
    "Call me old-fashioned, pretty lady, but on a first date, I consider it my privilege to pay for dinner. I'll buy the fixings and clean up afterward if you'll prepare our feast. I'm afraid I'm not much of a