The Reckoning Read Online Free PDF Page A

stiller, if that was possible. “I’m Emmett, do you remember?”
    â€œOf course I remember,” she scoffed, taking another step back into the bedroom. Then she slammed the door shut between them.
    She did remember who he was. But in the confusion of the move, she’d forgotten something else. She reached for her pencil and her notebook and sat down on the edge of the mattress. There, she scratched out some lines she’d written and wrote some new ones.
    YOU HAVE MOVED.
    You live in the Armstrongs’ guest house now WITH EMMETT JAMISON. Bathroom is across the hall AND REALIZE THAT HE MIGHT BE IN THERE AHEAD OF YOU.
    If it’s morning, get up, shower, dress.
    DON’T FORGET TO WEAR A ROBE.
    Her turn in the shower gave her time to reabsorb the fact that she had a housemate. The small tiled enclosure retained a masculine scent that she found not unpleasant, and she washappy to see that he hadn’t rearranged the various bottles that she’d set upon the high window ledge.
    After adjusting the spray and getting inside—making sure she was properly naked—she removed the red cap of the shampoo, the blue cap of the conditioner and the yellow cap of the finishing rinse. As she completed using each one, she’d replace the cap. That way, by the shower’s end, she’d be certain she’d completed her hair routine and not emerge with a head of soapsuds as she’d done a time or two before.
    The little ritual freed her concentration to focus on Emmett again. He was going to act as her net for her first four weeks of living in the Armstrongs’ guest house. If she “fell” in any way, he was supposed to be there to catch her. To that end, she’d given him permission to talk to her rehab counselors about what to expect during this transition period. It was embarrassing, but she’d had plenty of practice dealing with embarrassment in the last months.
    It wasn’t as if he was really a man. Not to her, anyway. To her he was a tool, that was all. While they lived together, she’d consider him like…another appliance. Blow-dryer, toaster, Emmett Jamison. An appliance that appeared incredibly sexy when he was half-naked, sure, but an appliance all the same.
    It wasn’t as if he appeared impressed with, or even aware of, her femaleness, which only made it simpler to overlook the fact that he was a living, breathing, very attractive male specimen. It made it easier to face him, too, when she found him in the kitchen after she’d finished her shower and changed into a pair of jeans, T-shirt and running shoes.
    â€œCoffee?” he offered, standing beside the countertop, a glass carafe in his hand.
    Appliance, all right, she thought, suppressing a smile. She took the mug he held out to her with a murmured thanks. Then they both sat down at the small kitchen table. He pulleda section of the newspaper toward him at the same time that he pushed a heaping basket of fruit toward her.
    She took a banana as he proceeded to read. Yes, her very own vending machine, one that dispensed coffee and fruit at convenient intervals. She could get used to this.
    Then she thought with an interior grimace, she was used to this. One of the reasons she was supposed to live independently was to learn to do for herself. To that end, she pushed back her chair to top off her coffee mug. Then she took the few steps across the room to refill Emmett’s.
    He looked up. “Thank you.”
    Not one appliance she’d ever been acquainted with had eyes as green as bottle glass. Nor those inky lashes that looked as soft as the matching dark hair on his head. Without thinking, she put out her hand and ran her palm over the tickly, upstanding brush.
    He froze.
    Too late, she snatched back her hand. Heat burned her face. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
    Those lashes dropped over his green eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” He turned the page of the newspaper,