Undaunted

“She likes to dance,” he said. “So do I.” His face hardened. “It’s hard to do anything more than a lazy two-step now, of course. I can’t see! I can’t see a damned thing!”

She bit her lip. He wasn’t accusing her; he didn’t know who she was. But the pain was like a knife in her heart. She’d done that to him!

He struggled for composure. “I love Viennese waltzes,” he said. “I danced with a countess in Vienna once, at a ball given by the American consulate. I danced the tango in Argentina with the daughter of a titled count. And now I can’t walk if someone moves a damned chair into a position I don’t remember!” His fist hit the desk so hard that Emma jumped. “I hate being blind! I hate it!”

She swallowed. “Mr. Sinclair,” she said softly, “I’m more sorry than you know, for what happened to you. But you have to go forward. Life doesn’t have a rewind button.”

He leaned heavily on the desk for a minute, a caged lion roaring at his fate. After a minute, he moved away from the desk and slid his hand along the back of a leather chair. “Tell that cleaning woman that if she moves another piece of furniture in this house, and doesn’t move it back, she’s fired.”

“Yes, sir.”

He got almost to the door. “Tell the florist to add a box of chocolates to that order,” he said. “She likes sweets.”

“I will.” The “yes, sir” was wearing thin.

“You don’t dance, do you, Emma?” he chided, turning his head back toward her. “God forbid you should have to get that close to a man! Dancing is sinful, isn’t it? Anything that gives people pleasure is forbidden!”

Actually, she danced quite well. There had been a party that she’d gone to before she took the job with Mamie. Cash Grier, Jacobsville’s police chief, had heard from his wife, Tippy, that Emma couldn’t dance. He took it upon himself to teach her, and he was great at it. Tippy had grinned at her with the new baby boy in her arms, laughing when Emma tripped and said she was going to kill him with her two left feet and go to jail. They’d all laughed. Emma had gone to a party soon afterward, and she’d been the belle of the ball.

So Emma could dance. But she wasn’t giving the big man any more chances to taunt her. She just remained silent.

He cursed under his breath and left the room.

Emma didn’t understand his changed attitude. Or maybe she did. He blamed her because he’d gotten out of hand. He wouldn’t remember that he’d pulled her into bed with him, that he’d been the pursuer. He was angry because he’d given in to a hunger he should never have entertained for a young woman who worked for him. But he didn’t make mistakes like that, so naturally it was Emma’s fault. She’d tempted him.

Or maybe it was just that the new woman in his life had made him realize that he was desperate for sex. Emma had been handy and he’d been hungry. As simple as that.

Either way, the joy was gone from the lake house. Emma knew in her heart that it was better this way. She didn’t dare get involved with him. But she’d had dreams. Stupid dreams. Why would a man like that, urbane and rich and sophisticated, want anything to do with a countrywoman who bought clothes off the sale rack and valued morality above fun?

* * *

She finished his letters. She’d had some idea that he’d have her help him sign them. It was dangerous to be that hungry for contact with him. She remembered too well how it felt to be held close to that muscular body.

But he brought Barnes into the office with him and had the other man help with the signature.

“They have electronic signatures now,” Emma ventured, braving his temper. “You sign up with the service, and then you just push a button on the screen to make legal signatures on documents.”

“That’s something we’ll look into later,” Connor replied. There wasn’t an edge in his voice this time. He sounded worn-out.

She wanted to say that, to say a lot more. He shouldn’t try to go nightclubbing when he was so obviously fatigued. She knew, because of Mamie, that too much excitement, along with any number of other triggers, could bring on a migraine. She remembered how bad the last headache had been. She hated seeing him suffer.

But it would be worth her job to say so.

“What time is it?”

Barnes looked at his watch. “Just going on four thirty, sir.”

“Take those letters to the post office as soon as Emma finishes with them. Then come back and help me dress,” he said, and smiled. “I’ve got a hot date.”

He ignored Emma completely as Barnes opened the door for him and he found his way down the hall to his own room.

Emma watched him go. Then she went back to the mail, carefully folding and inserting the letters in addressed envelopes. She stamped them. When Barnes stuck his head in the door, she had them ready to go.

He gave her a sad smile. “It looks like you’ll have the night off, Miss Emma,” he said. “You should go see a movie with Marie. She likes movies. It would do you both good. Go talk to her.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Barnes,” she added softly.

He just nodded. He was mentally comparing sweet, kind Emma with the sort of women Connor brought home. What a shame that the boss was even blinder than he looked. Emma cared very much for Mr. Sinclair. He imagined it cut the heart out of her to hear him boast about his date. But there was nothing he could do to help her.

* * *

Connor wore a dinner jacket with a white shirt and black tie, immaculate slacks and polished black shoes. He had a Rolex watch on one wrist, and a ruby ring on his pinky finger that probably cost as much as the lake house.

Emma had to bite her tongue not to tell him how devastating he looked.

“I won’t be back until late tomorrow,” he repeated. “That doesn’t let you off work in the morning, Emma,” he added curtly. “There will be emails to delete and some to answer. Set aside the ones I need to address and we’ll see to them when I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” She really did sound like a parrot. But her voice was light and breezy. She did that deliberately. He couldn’t see the pain in her soft brown eyes, and that was just as well.

Marie saw it and grimaced. She didn’t understand what was going on. The Ariel that Connor was going nightclubbing with was the same brunette he’d sent packing because he’d gotten tired of bouncing soufflés. Now he was dating her again, and he was really rubbing it in. Did he know that he was hurting Emma with just the mention of the woman?

She studied his hard face as he looked toward Emma’s voice. Yes, he knew it, she realized suddenly. He was doing it deliberately. He wanted to hurt her. But why? She’d been kinder than any woman Marie could ever remember seeing with Mr. Sinclair. What reason would he have to grind into Emma like that?

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