The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

“I’m good at reading people. And I think I’m especially good at reading you.”


She mentally stumbled. She’d been labeled aloof and distant; no one had ever claimed to read her. The idea made Emma laugh unsteadily. “I’m going to bed, detective.” She dropped the dish towel onto the bar and walked past him.

Cooper didn’t try and stop her. Emma faltered at the door, not wanting to leave it like this, not knowing how else to leave it. Cooper Jessup had knocked her off her game completely, and Emma couldn’t help but look back at him.

He was watching her go, just as she knew he would be. But his expression was not what she expected. It wasn’t predatory. It wasn’t the least bit wistful. It was . . . kind. Kind. Emma was used to disdain, to confusion, to lust. Not kindness! She hadn’t asked for that, and in fact, she’d sort of asked him for anything but kindness. She nervously pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Good night,” she said.

“Good night, Emma.”

She fled up the stairs before she did or said something stupid. She felt completely out of her league now, confronted by a man she didn’t know how to handle. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he playing this game with her? It felt as if it had gone far beyond Carl’s medal.

It also felt as if something soft was growing in her.

For some reason, Emma thought of Grif, the one true relationship she’d had in the last eight years. Grif . . . God, Grif. Three years ago she’d met him, and she’d known he was bad news before he ever said hello to her. He was a beautiful man, handsome and rough, and he could charm a woman right out of her bra with merely a look, a touch. Emma had known Grif would be attracted to her. She’d known he would want her. He was the sort of conquest she enjoyed, a man who was so sure of himself that she took perverse joy in walking away.

But Emma hadn’t counted on wanting Grif. Once she’d realized it, it was too late; she hadn’t known what to do with herself. So she’d strung him along, teasing him, and enjoying every moment of their dating life. It went on for weeks, the give and take, always holding herself just beyond his full reach. She liked Grif. She thought he was funny and thoughtful, and vaguely dangerous.

At last, Emma let him catch her fully. Grif wasn’t like the men she generally pursued. He was young, he was hot, and he knew his way around a woman’s body. He liked his sex a little rough, and Emma, well . . . she was up for anything. The sex had been explosive, perhaps the best set of orgasms she’d ever had. For a week, they’d existed like animals, unable to keep their clothes on for more than a quick trip to the store.

And then . . . Grif was done. He was completely done with her. Emma hadn’t been surprised because she’d known Grif was just like her—it was all about the chase. After the prey had been caught, the rest of it was meaningless and empty.

Emma had known that would happen; she had known from the beginning she was nothing but another piece of ass to him. And yet, she’d allowed herself to be swept along by some ridiculous fantasy of love all the same because she’d been so physically attracted to him. She had presented herself to him as he wanted, had become exactly what women were to her father—a bird to be caught, and then mere flesh and bone, a port with a hole—and it had hurt no less than her father’s betrayal.

Grif was different from the older men Emma chased, who “chose” her instead of some other blonde at that given time. Grif was different because Emma had really wanted him, and somewhere along the way, she had wanted him to want her, too.

It was a strange, crazy world in Emma’s head when it came to sex.

Now she was confronted by a more complex problem. Cooper was like Grif in some respects. He was a beautiful man and Emma was strongly attracted to him. But she wasn’t going to make the same mistake as she’d made with Grif. Because when Cooper had what he wanted from her—that damn medal—he’d be done with her, too. Any hint that he was interested in more than her body was just a ploy. And the more Emma dragged this out, the worse it would be for her.

In her room, Emma pulled out her tote bag and unzipped it. She turned it upside down and watched her prizes tumble onto her lumpy bed. She picked up the box with the medal and held it in her hand. She didn’t bother to open it; she knew the medal was inside. She didn’t want to see it, because that medal was all she really was to Cooper, and all she ever would be. That was all Carl had been to her. A thing. A trophy.