meant there was no way he'd ever want a future with Emma. A future that would tie him irrevocably to a woman like Emma's mother. A woman who by her appalling behaviour proved she could never be trusted.
The man who'd stood before her, just minutes ago, looked nothing like the Oscar she remembered. And she wondered how on earth he'd ended up in Eden?
The timing for all this, Emma knew, could not have been worse, she had the book to write!
She was too busy to have memories and thoughts of Oscar Zamani crowding her thinking. Emma decided that once she had the answer to why he was here, she'd try to put him out of her mind. It was time to put the heartache of the past behind her and move on.
However, she made a firm promise to herself to confront her mother.
The woman needed a rude awakening.
The time was long overdue for straight talking.
Catherine Ludlow either changed her behaviour or she'd lose her daughter, for good.
Emma was shivering with reaction now.
It wasn't until her teeth were chattering that she realised the shower had gone cold.
Her stiff muscles protested as she struggled to her feet, slapped off the water, and grabbed a towel.
Like an automaton Emma wandered through the bedroom, winding her towel-dried hair in a plait before pulling on jeans and a black tank. She couldn't look in the mirror because she didn't want to see eyes heavy and swollen from her crying jag.
As she opened the bedroom door, she could hear someone moving about in the sitting room. She'd left the place in a mess. After living with a man who had an obsessive compulsive disorder for towels to be folded just so, for everything in his closet lined up and regimented by colour, these days Emma loved having the freedom to toss things on the floor.
Who the hell cared if she didn't pick up a dirty cup?
Then she remembered that Oscar was incredibly tidy, too.
And knowing him, he'd probably alerted the cleaning crew.
Then the scent of hot food and fresh coffee hit her.
Stunned, Emma wandered into the sitting room to discover the dining nook set for two with candles lit and a bottle of red wine uncorked to breathe.
Taking a deep breath, she crossed the room in bare feet to find Oscar in the kitchen.
His big body filled the small space.
On the counter top two plates held a beautifully presented green salad.
A dish towel was tucked into the waist of his chef's trousers.
It appeared he was preparing the ingredients for an omelet.
"Don't you cook?" he asked without turning around.
The man had ninja hearing.
"Sometimes," she said. She'd never had a man cook for her before. The scene was so domesticated, intimate, Emma wondered if she was dreaming. "Badly," she added since there was no point in lying.
He turned his head to shoot her an incomprehensible look.
His dark eyes searching her face, questioning.
"You haven't even opened the carton of eggs," he said in a rough voice. "What have you been eating since you arrived, apart from M&M's and potato chips?"
Annoyed at the tone Emma didn't answer, since she considered what she ate and when she ate it none of his damned business.
But she didn't want to fight with him either.
What was the point?
Oscar knew she was watching him.
She was standing utterly still, wary, too wary, of him.
Those lovely eyes looked so desperately sad, all teary and swollen.
And it killed him that she'd been crying.
Maybe he'd been too hard on her?
Maybe he'd scared her?
Then he told himself he didn't give a damn one way or the other. And that decision shocked him. As well as stir up things he didn't want stirred. He could feel lust tighten, but it was the overwhelming love for her that drained him.
To give himself a moment to calm down, Oscar chopped an onion, grated cheese. Then he turned to her, noticed how her eyes were nervous.
He moved to wash his hands, dried them on a towel.
Without warning, he crossed to her, framed her face in his hands, watching those vivid green eyes go wide just