She Drives Me Crazy. Leslie KellyЧитать онлайн книгу.
of me.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Because I have to admit, seeing you was a definite surprise, but I don’t think I’d go swooning over it.”
His surprise certainly couldn’t match hers. She’d been so sure Johnny would be long gone. Instead, here he was, crouched between her calves, trying to ease her foot out of her sandal, as if they’d seen each other in the flesh every day for the past decade…instead of only in each other’s nightmares.
“I didn’t swoon,” she muttered. “I slipped in something.”
He just shrugged, continuing to try to unbuckle her shoe.
Emma took a moment to remember the look on his face when he’d first recognized her. She had to admit it—that expression had almost made the subsequent pain of twisting her ankle worthwhile. Surprise didn’t cut it. He’d been shocked. Stunned. And for one quick, nearly unseen instant, he’d been very, very glad.
Emma didn’t care so much about the shock. The glad, however, had almost been worth the sixteen-hour car ride which had ended with her falling on her fanny with her legs askew and the hottest guy she’d ever known in her life crouched between them. In front of the gawking shoppers in the Joyful Grocery Store, no less.
Who were all still gawking.
She sighed. Quite an entrance after ten years away. She supposed it was a vain hope to think no one here would remember her being caught in pretty much this same position on prom night.
Oh, well, at least she wasn’t stark naked this time.
As she ruthlessly shoved the hint of pleasure that Johnny was glad to see her out of her brain, she acknowledged the other parts of her body that were also sparking in reaction. My, oh my, those hard, lean hips of his were between her legs and she was looking at his thick, dark head of hair, remembering tangling her fingers in it. Suddenly she was feeling damp—down low—and it had nothing to do with whatever spilled liquid she’d fallen in.
Closing her eyes, Emma took a deep breath, trying to work up the courage to deal with her current predicament. Hmm…she was flat on her butt in public, lusting for a guy she should hate, wishing her panties weren’t so tight and her skirt wasn’t so short and her sex life hadn’t been so miserable lately that her own body would betray her in spite of the pain in her ankle. And in her heart.
Today was going onto her top ten list of bad days.
“I’m sorry, Emma Jean, your foot’s already swelling.”
Sorry for causing her to slip on some unseen wet spot? Or for breaking her heart? Not that she’d give him the satisfaction of voicing that question. No, Johnny Walker had no idea he’d broken her heart…because he’d never known it was his to break.
“Nobody calls me Emma Jean anymore,” she said, wincing as he gingerly touched her heel with the tip of his finger.
He visibly stiffened and met her stare, his deep blue eyes still incredibly dramatic against the dark brown hair. “Do you go by another name? A screen name?”
Not sure why on earth he’d care about her Internet name, she frowned and leaned over to gingerly unbuckle her sandal. “I mean, I go by just Emma now.”
“As in just Cher? Or Madonna?” he asked, his voice thick with something she couldn’t identify. She put it down to embarrassment—he couldn’t be feeling any better about the situation in which they’d suddenly found themselves than she did, particularly with the wide-eyed onlookers all around them.
“No,” she explained her patience growing thinner as her embarrassment increased. “As in just Emma Frasier. No Jean. Now, if we’ve straightened out my name to your satisfaction, would you mind leaving me alone so I can stagger to the nearest emergency room for X-rays and a cast?”
He muttered under his breath and she’d swear she caught the word “sassy” again. “I’ll take you over to the clinic,” he finally said when he saw her staring at him.
“Forget it,” she muttered. “I can get up.” She glanced around the floor. “What did I slip in?”
They both spotted a big, smeary blue puddle of sticky goo at the same instant. “Did two Smurfs battle to the death in here or something?” she said with a disbelieving groan.
Johnny tsked. “Laundry detergent. Or fabric softener. I think a little girl was trying to get some spilled juice out of her clothes.”
“Great. Welcome home, Emma, enjoy your fall,” she said.
He shrugged. “You always did know how to make an entrance.” Then his eyes narrowed. “And an exit.”
She shot him a glare, not appreciating his humor—nor his reminder of the last time they’d been together—one teeny bit.
“You’re sure it was a little girl? Maybe it was you who had to suddenly clean up his clothes…though I never figured you for a man who’d wet his pants at having to look me in the eye again.”
The insult skimmed right off his gorgeous hide. “Aww, honey, I hate to disappoint you, but you didn’t have me shaking in my shoes.” He lowered his voice. “Or needing to get out of my pants in a hurry.” His grin was positively evil. “For a change.”
Zing. Another dangerous recollection. Johnny sure hadn’t needed much urging to get out of his pants the last time they’d been together. The dog.
Before she could give into her first impulse, which was to laugh in spite of herself, or her second, which was to smack him, he continued. “It was the Deveaux kid. I don’t think she’s quite mastered the whole sippie cup thing yet.”
“So then what?” Emma asked, raising her voice and looking around the store. “Was there a run on mops or something today? Blue light special on paper towels?”
The two young cashiers, as blatantly nosy and fascinated as their customers, exchanged a look. She read it easily. Both silently ordered the other to take care of the mess. Then they each refused. She could almost predict how this one was going to end—with a game of rock, paper, scissors, loser gets the floor duty. In Joyful, some things never changed.
“Doggone, I sure wish I had a camera to get a picture for the paper,” the old man said with a snort. “I can see the headline. Star slips…”
“Enough, Tom,” Johnny muttered, giving him a warning look.
Star? Before she could even ask what on earth the old-as-dirt guy was talking about, one of the cashiers reached around her register and grabbed a disposable camera.
That was enough for Emma. Without another word, she yanked two fistfuls of Johnny’s shirt between her fingers. Using his shoulders for leverage, she pushed herself up into a half-standing, half-leaning position. She ignored the sudden rush of heat in her belly. It was almost certainly caused by embarrassment and not the warmth of his exhaled breaths against her stomach as she leaned over him.
Not his breaths. Not his lips. Not his mouth.
Definitely not.
Another giggle from the crowd made her straighten her back. Her ankle screamed in protest, but she turned and hobbled toward the door, anyway. She just couldn’t do this right now. Not after the night she’d had. Not after the month she’d had!
Emma had no problem laughing at herself when she deserved it. But this was too much. She was stressed, jobless, exhausted from driving. Oh, yeah, and penniless. Then, she’d come face-to-face with the guy who’d stolen her virginity and broken her heart.
And finally, the cherry on this particular hot-fudge sundae of her life, she ended up flat on her butt next to a big puddle of sticky blue goo in front of half the town.
Dammit, some days it didn’t pay to get out of bed. Then she remembered: she hadn’t been able to afford springing for a cheap hotel room along I-95 last night. So she’d actually been out of bed for