Page 13 of Make Me Love You

Eli blinked. “Come again?” he said, just to be sure.

“Emma and Thomas. He’s getting her badge taken care of right now, but they should be back any minute. No point in going over everything twice, is there?”

“I figured you would get me set up, and Mr. Whittaker would take care of Emma. Separately.”

Mrs. Whittaker laughed. “Don’t be silly. You will be working together, won’t you? Might as well start now. Anyway, it makes sense to do you both in one go.”

“I—”

“Yes?” Mrs. Whittaker looked at him expectantly.

Eli looked at her kind face and just couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her that Emma regarded him as a mortal enemy, and that she would rather shave her head than be in the same room with him. He couldn’t tell her they had made a deal to conduct all their business dealings virtually. If he told her all that, Mrs. Whittaker might decide they couldn’t leave after all, and the grandkids would have to wait another few years—if they lived that long. The Whittakers weren’t exactly young, and Mr. Whittaker had a minor heart attack a year ago.

Eli couldn’t have that on his conscience. His conscience had taken enough of a beating as it was.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he finished lamely. “We’ll do it together.”

Mrs. Whittaker beamed. “Wonderful.”

He doubted Emma would agree. No, Emma was going to kill him. Physically, none of this emotional warfare she had employed yesterday. She didn’t like firearms, but she struck him as the type to always have a pocketknife handy. She would have to get close enough to him to use it, though. Maybe even touch him. She might put her hand on his shoulder, catch him off guard. He didn’t want to be stabbed, so he’d have to find a way to disarm her without hurting her. They might have to wrestle...

“Are you all right, Eli?” Mrs. Whittaker asked. “You look a little flushed.”

He jerked to attention. What the hell was the matter with him? He was sitting in the deputy mayor’s office, half hard, fantasizing about a wrestling match with his ex-best friend. He was sick in the head. If Emma ever knew the turn his thoughts took, she would kill him twice.

The trouble was, there had been a distinct lack of sex in his life for far too long. Of good sex, that is. He and Claire managed to get naked usually twice a month, but it had been...well, the word placid came to mind, and that wasn’t a word that should have anything to do with sex. Placid rhymed with flaccid.

He was pretty sure Claire agreed with him on that, because when he had called her up last night to suggest they meet for coffee, she had sighed. He knew the sigh meant things were truly over between them, but she had followed it up with asking if maybe they could just break up over the phone, no hard feelings, because it was such a long drive. He was both relieved and a little insulted that she didn’t want to see him one last time, but he agreed. The whole thing was over in three minutes—a new record for him.

So it wasn’t that he needed to wrestle Emma. He needed sex—and he instinctively knew that sex with Emma wouldn’t be placid. It couldn’t be, because nothing about the way they felt for each other was calm or quiet.

He shifted uncomfortably on the vinyl-padded chair. “It’s a little warm in here.”

Mrs. Whittaker nodded apologetically. “It’s an old building. No air conditioning, but the ceiling fans work and the windows open. Still, you’re bound to feel the heat when temperatures get into the nineties, like today. Fortunately we don’t have many of those days.” She frowned, giving him an accusing stare as though he were personally responsible. “More than we had in my day, though.”

“Right.”

“There’s never enough money for those kinds of projects, it seems. We—oh, here they are now. Goodness, what happened to you?” Mrs. Whittaker exclaimed. “Thomas, you’re a mess.”

Eli turned in his chair to see what she was referring to. Mr. Whittaker was, in fact, a mess. His suit jacket was slung over one arm, and his face was red and dripping sweat.

“Elevators are out. Had to walk...six flights of stairs,” Mr. Whittaker panted. He made a beeline for the fan in the corner of the office, revealing Emma behind him. “Oof, that’s better. The stairwell was hot as Hades.”

“You should have gone slower, Thomas,” Mrs. Whittaker scolded, her forehead knit in a worried frown. “Doctor O’Hare warned you not to overexert yourself. Should I call her?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mr. Whittaker said, waving her off.

Watching them, Eli was more sure than ever that they were doing the right thing. Mr. Whittaker needed to retire for the sake of his health. He glanced at Emma, wondering if she’d come to the same realization.

Emma didn’t look messy—she looked mussed. Like...like she had been wrestling for control of a pocketknife. Her cheeks were glowing pink and her skin was glistening. Tiny blonde whisps had escaped her bun to frame her face like a halo. A bolt of lust socked him in the gut, followed quickly by annoyance. It wasn’t fair. How was he supposed to keep from touching her when she kept looking so...touchable?

He growled and everyone turned to look at him.

“It’s—it’s not right that City Hall is in such bad shape,” he said. “It’s one of the oldest buildings in Hart’s Ridge. It should be a source of pride.”

Mrs. Whittaker gave him a bemused look. “It’s wonderful to see you so...erm...passionate about our historical buildings, Eli. I’m sure you’ll think of some way to help during your tenure as deputy mayor. I feel so much better leaving the town in your hands, now that I see how strongly you feel about Hart’s Ridge.”

“Don’t know how you’ll fix up the place, seeing as we’re short on funds,” Mr. Whittaker broke in. “We’re always short on funds. You’ll learn to say no a lot in the next two months.”

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