Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning . . .
Janie woke to the scent of freshly brewed coffee and…
Is that bacon?
Her lids remained shut, her body unmoving beneath the plush, warm covers as she fought her way out of a semi-conscious state. A single hair made its presence known in that very moment, tickling her forehead and cheek.
Without opening her eyes, Janie scrunched her nose, giving it a few, tiny wiggles in hopes of working the annoyance free. The small movement pulled at the muscles in her left cheek and eye, and then . . . she remembered.
All at once, several vivid, terrifying details from the previous night rushed to the forefront of her mind. The hotel. The masked man. Fighting with all she had, thinking she was going to die.
Her eyes flew open as she shot straight up in the bed. She scanned the room she was in. Only then did Janie regain full recollection of the rest.
I’m not at the hotel. I’m in a mansion somewhere in the woods.
Emmett had brought her here late last night, and she’d promptly crashed in one of the estate’s many bedrooms. She hadn’t cried. There’d been no screaming. In fact, Janie was fairly certain she hadn’t even dreamed.
The rustling of sheets filled the room when she brought her knees to her chest. With her arms wrapped around her covered legs, she let her head fall between her shoulders with a sigh.
She needed a minute. Just one minute before facing the day. She just needed to sit, breathe, and give herself a mental reset because there was so much work to be done.
Dwelling on what happened to her was a complete waste of time. It wouldn’t change the fact that she was attacked, which left only two other choices.
She could wallow in self-pity, letting those responsible get away with what they did. Or, Janie thought, she could do what she did best.
Putting her boots on the ground and using her pen as a sword as she faced her fears head-on in the name of justice. That’s what Janie Reynolds did.
It was who she was at the center of her core. A champion for the truth who needed to get her ass out of this bed and start acting like the award-winning journalist she was.
Janie lifted her head, remembering Devon’s recent description of her grit and unyielding tenacity. She was like a dog with a bone. The trail was slight, and Apparently there were hunters determined to put her down, but Janie was no longer scared.
Okay, so maybe a part of her was scared. But she was also extremely pissed. Anger, she could deal with. Anger was something she could use.
A loud, desperate growl interrupted her internal pep talk, reminding Janie she also needed food.
A feeling of renewed strength and determination had her tossing the covers to the side and climbing out of bed. Despite her hunger, there were a few other things she needed to tend to first.
Holy crap!
Janie had been so lost in her scattered thoughts the night before she hadn’t had the wherewithal to notice the home’s beauty. But now, in the light of a brand new day, the en suite bathroom looked positively stunning.
Airy and filled with a generous amount of natural light, the space was very spa-like and serene. At the far end of the room, a free-standing tub was centered beneath a wall of windows. If she listened closely, she could almost hear it calling her name.
But as much as Janie wanted to lose herself there for hours on end, she chose the tiled shower, instead.
Twenty minutes later, Janie was clean, dry, and dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a light blue tank.
An oversized white shirt she’d left unbuttoned finished off the casual look, along with a pair of plain, white sneakers.
She blew her hair dry but decided to leave it down before throwing on a minimal amount of makeup, just enough to make her feel a little more put-together.
Her attempts to cover up the blue and purple skin beneath her sore eye were pretty much in vain. The bruise was there, and from the looks of it, she’d be walking around like a prize fighter for at least the next few days.
Janie left the indoor oasis behind as she flipped off the lights and walked out of the room. In less than a minute, she was making her way down the gorgeous, curving stairs.
The structure’s polished wood gave the flight of steps a positively regal feel, the soles of her sneakers nearly silent as they carried her to the home’s main level.
Janie followed the savory scents, which grew stronger the farther she went down the marble-tiled hallway toward the rear portion of the house. The more flooring she covered, the clearer the telltale sounds of someone working in the kitchen became.
The hallway came to an end, giving way to a wide, open space as impressive as the rest of the structure’s interior. To the right was a warm and cozy living room, complete with a stone fireplace and walnut mantle.
Soft, morning light shone through the wall-to-ceiling windows that made up the wall she faced. To her left, Janie found a dining room table and chairs near a kitchen that would be every chef’s dream.
Her lungs froze, the breath she’d been in the process of taking hitched slightly when her gaze landed on the man at the stove. Emmett’s back was to her as he stirred a pan of scrambled eggs with one hand and flipped strips of bacon in the pan on his right with the other.
Janie started to speak, to bid him a good morning, but she stopped herself before making a sound. Rather than alert him of her presence, she took a step back, partially concealing her body with the wall’s smooth edge.
Her head tilted just enough to be able to watch him while he worked.
Emmett’s black hair looked damp, as if he’d also recently showered. As usual, the slightly longer locks on top were combed back, the way he seemed to like it. Her fingers itched to rake their way through them. To muss up that careful composure of his.
Maybe someday.
Her gaze followed a trail lower.
Broad shoulders stretched the black t-shirt he was wearing, and chiseled biceps pulled at the hemmed edges of the sleeves.
Though they were covered, Janie could make out several muscles working together while the intriguing man moved.
The jeans Emmett wore were faded in places that made her wonder if they were his favorites.
Speaking of jeans—
Janie’s attention landed on the man’s mouthwatering backside and thighs. Toned. Fit. It was clear Emmett kept himself in very good shape. And that’s what she could tell from here, with the man fully clothed.
If he looks this good in jeans, I can only imagine what he’d look like out of them.
The tantalizing thought had barely driven through her mind when his deep voice made her jump with a start.
“There’s coffee, if you want some.”
Praying he wouldn’t notice the flush of embarrassment already making its way into her cheeks, Janie acted as if she hadn’t just been caught spying and casually entered the room.
She went straight for the coffee. Once the white, ceramic mug she’d chosen was filled to the brim, she leaned a hip against the counter halfway between where she’d been and where he was standing.
“You cook?”
“That surprises you?” Emmett looked away from what he was doing to give her a glance from over his shoulder.
“Not really.” Janie rewarded him with a small smile before taking a cautious sip. “I imagine you had to get pretty inventive during your time with the Marines.”
His low grunt could be heard over the sizzling bacon. “Inventive. That’s one way of putting it.”
“You were MARSOC, right?”
“Marines Special Operations Command.” Emmett nodded as he turned off the burners. “Here.” He grabbed one of two plates from the counter and held one out for her. “Ladies first.”
“Thank you.” She sat the mug down onto the granite countertop that looked like white marble with gorgeous, gray veins. Taking the plate from his hand, Janie was careful not to let their fingers touched.
Her emotions were already on the verge of tilting in the wrong direction. The last thing she needed was to feel that electrifying spark his touch created.
Janie also didn’t balk at grabbing a serving spoon and filling half of the plate with the fluffy eggs. The other half was reserved for three strips of the perfectly cooked bacon.
“Is your team coming over for breakfast, too?”
“No. It’s just us until later.” Emmett frowned. “Why?”
She looked back at the amount of food still left in the pans and laughed. “Because you made enough bacon and eggs to feed a small army.”
The teeniest grin lifted the corners of his mouth, and if she didn’t know any better, Janie would almost think the man was embarrassed.
“I like a big breakfast,” he told her. “And you didn’t eat any dinner last night. I wasn’t sure what kind of appetite you’d have when you woke up this morning and figured it was better to be safe than sorry.”
“Oh, I’m not complaining.” Janie picked up her cup and carried it and her plate to the room’s monstrous island. Sliding onto one of the swiveling barstools, she realized she’d forgotten to grab a fork.
“You might need this.”
A fork appeared as if she’d conjured it with her thoughts.
She looked up to find Emmett standing inches from where she sat. “Thank you.”
Her eyes remained locked with his as she took the utensil from his hand. His thumb touched hers, and Janie couldn’t bring herself to pull away.
See? This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
“How did you sleep?”
“Good.” When one of his dark brows arched, she assured him with a rushed, “Honest. I was surprised, too.” She sat the fork on the counter beside her plate. “I guess my body was too busy focusing on sleep to torture me in my dreams.”
At the mention of torture, Emmett’s dark stare slid to the bruise on her face. In a slow, almost hesitant move, he brought his hand up, feathering the back of his knuckles against her cheek.
“I hate that you were hurt.” His hand lingered before lowering away from her face to rest on the counter’s smooth surface.