Her mother’s words in her head made her move faster. She cracked her head on the ceiling just as Jax was smoothing her sweater back up over her shoulder and making a stern face at the shadowy figure outside the car.
His hand instantly went to the back of her head to protect her from crushing in her skull. “My brother Tag,” he offered. If he was at all embarrassed at being caught in this state, he was a good poker player.
A face a lot like Jax’s, but rougher, even harder angled, grinned into the window while moonlight poured over her indecency through her sunroof.
Perfect.
Still facing the wrong way, she crawled across the seat just as Jax turned the key and hit the button for the automatic window. He poked his head out while Em yanked at her dress, caught on the edge of the middle console.
There was a loud tear, solidifying the nightmare her good sense had become. Embarrassment stained her cheeks with a hot whoosh, but her reactive cringe was what almost drove them over the edge.
In her hot dose of humiliation, she stepped on the gas, revving the engine until it ground out a loud shot of ear-jarring sound.
Jax held up a calm finger to his brother. “One sec.” He leaned over, still seemingly unaffected, and put one hand on her shoulder while he used the other to untwist the edge of her dress, releasing it from the console. As he helped resituate her, he made introductions. “Em, this is my brother Tag. Tag, Emmaline Amos.”
Tag drove his big, square hand through the window. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
She slid down into the driver’s seat, looking straight ahead, focusing on the big oak tree, but good breeding and the threat of eternal damnation forced her to hold out her hand. “The same.”
Tag took it and gave it a light squeeze before letting go and focusing on Jax. “It’s Maizy. She’s got a fever. I’m thinking maybe another ear infection, but I can’t remember the recipe for the oil you use that she likes so much. Sorry, bro. Didn’t mean to—” he cleared his throat “—interrupt.”
Another face, equally as handsome, and rough in an entirely different way than Jax and Tag, appeared behind Tag. He held up a hand and waved with what was turning out to be the signature Hawthorne grin. When a smile wasn’t in place, all three were gruff, hard edges, almost angry, but their smiles changed the landscape of everything. “Gage Hawthorne. You must be Emmaline.”
No. Tonight she was dirty girl. Emmaline was all but ashes in a sand-doused fire. She inhaled, keeping herself from pushing the breath from her lips. “That’s me. Nice to meet you.”
So nice. Everything was so nice tonight. This time, she held out her hand, pushing her gaze toward Gage’s—successfully meeting it—crushing the ugly impulse to pop open the passenger door, push Jax out, floor it, drive straight to her house and dive for cover under the fluffy new comforter on her bed.
Gage thumped Tag on the shoulder with a square hand that matched his brother’s almost identically. “I found it, knucklehead. Told you I would if you just waited ten seconds. Leave them alone and come back in.”
Jax’s face was different now, too. He had on his Maizy face. Concern lined it, determination, too. “Guys, it’s okay. If Maizy’s sick, I want to be there.”
Warmth fizzled and bubbled in her stomach. He loved Maizy the way a little girl should be loved by her daddy. Loosening her stiff lips, Em shooed him with her hand. “You should really go. Say hello to Maizy for me, okay?”
Jax’s eyes searched hers, but she managed a warm smile that said all was well, and flicked her fingers again in a gesture to dismiss them all. “Go, before Maizy comes lookin’ for you three out here in the cold. You don’t want her to get worse.”
He was so obviously trying to protect her shredded reputation by not saying anything that not saying anything was making everything worse.
Which made for the perfect escape. “G’night, Jax.” She hitched her jaw toward the door, watching his fingers pop it open and his big body slide out. The gravel beneath his feet crunched in time with her tires as she began to pull away. “Nice meeting you both,” she managed, before driving the window upward with a flick of her finger, blocking out any sort of response from the trio of men.
Eyes on the winding road leading back to her place, Em began the tedious process of overthinking.
Every word. Every hot caress.
Mercy.
Seven
“Dixie?”
“Yes, Emmaline?”
“Coffee, sunshine.” Em handed the cup to her over the back of the couch without meeting her eyes. She stepped over Dora’s—her enormous Saint Bernard’s—body, stooping to give her ears a quick rub.
Dixie struggled to sit up—as gorgeous as ever, even this early in the morning and a night spent on her narrow couch. “You’re a treasure.”
No. I’m a dirty girl. The crass might even call me a slut. But never a treasure. “You’re welcome.”
Dixie’s yawn made the guilty half of her jump. “Boys still asleep?”