The Righteous and The Wicked Page 9

  He wants her to understand why he can’t touch her the way he wants to. He can’t give her what she craves, because his soul is at stake.

  “Emma, have you ever needed something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Has there ever been something you had to have, or you just couldn’t keep going? Something you couldn’t resist?”

  “Yes. I mean, I have to have coffee every day. I can’t live without it.”

  He laughs and runs his hand over his jaw. Her attempt at identifying with him is adorable. There is no way she could ever imagine how damaged he is.

  “Well, sometimes people need things that aren’t good for them and they have to work very hard to stay away from those things, no matter how much they want them.” He’s saying too much. If he reveals his true self, she’ll run. She will be disgusted by him, the way he’s disgusted with himself. He will never see her again.

  He lets go of her hand. “Emma, I have to go. I have a lot of work to do in the morning.”

  Her face falls and she looks at her lap. He’s hurting her, and he can’t stand it. He should let her go, he should stay away from her, but he’s selfish, and he won’t.

  “When can I see you again?”

  She looks at him, and her expression is strange. There’s passion in her eyes, but it’s mixed with something else. It’s like she really sees him. It’s like she knows. He has never had a woman look at him this way before. She reaches up and touches his face. He should stop torturing himself, he should just stay away, but her touch is so soothing. He closes his eyes and allows himself to enjoy it.

  Emma cradles his jaw and traces his mouth with her thumb, but instead of kissing him, she leans in and presses her lips to his forehead. She mirrors the chaste touch that he gave to her. She’s giving him just what he can handle, just what he can take. He breathes her perfume; he feels her skin on his. His fingers brush against her neck. He wants to take her right here and now. To carry her inside the house. His fiendish desire is rising up, threatening to break through its chains. He caresses her slim neck, her delicate shoulder.

  “Eric . . .”

  He can’t take a breath, he’s drowning. He has to have her naked in front of him, to unleash his frenzied need, to let it explode. He wants to make her body his.

  “Tomorrow. Come tomorrow,” she answers, and gets out of the car.

  Emma walks away from Eric’s Jeep and fights the urge to look back. She passes over the rotten wood of the porch; it creaks and threatens to give way beneath her feet. As she ascends the stairs, the idea that has been rising up in her brain takes shape. What if she told him she knows? He wouldn’t have to pretend anymore. If he knew Emma was unfazed by his addiction, he would be able to behave freely. But would his shame overtake him? She doubts he would even want to be with her that way, but she has felt his skin on hers, rigid and unrelenting. The way it felt just can’t be a lie.

  Maybe he wants to be with anonymous women. No commitment, no strings attached. Just sex—whenever he wants it, however he wants it—with someone he’ll never see again. The idea of that weighs on Emma’s heart. She gets into bed and pulls the covers over her head, falling into a deep sleep filled with unfathomably dirty dreams of Eric.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The National Weather Service has issued a severe thunderstorm warning for all of Ridgefield County, including Pine Lake . . .

  Eric slams his hand down on the clock radio, silencing the object that has awakened him. He grunts and rolls over in his sunlit bed. Running his hand over his bare chest, he’s faced with the enormous and painful reality that he hasn’t given in to his need for what feels like a very long time. He touches himself and thinks about trying to take care of his addiction without help from another, but he knows it won’t work. He has tried that before, and it doesn’t bring the same deliverance. It doesn’t give him the thrill of watching someone else’s body tremble and quiver at his hand. The thrill of penetrating and possessing. The thrill of entering the blackness that he tries to resist. The total loss of control. Submerged in vile sin.

  He closes his eyes and sees Emma’s face. He fantasizes about her body taking that dark journey with him. For a moment, he imagines that she’s the kind of girl he needs. Wicked and immoral, bent in unholy positions, screaming and sweating and begging. It’s been a struggle to suppress his grim urges, and he’s facing the cruel reality that it’s just a matter of time until he surrenders. Whether it’s with her, or someone else, he has to get some kind of relief.

  He needs a distraction. He sits up and the sheet slides down his torso and rests at his hip. He picks up his cell. “Nate? It’s Eric. I need you to come out here today. There’s something I want you to do.”

  Submerged in his blueprints once again, he walks through the hardware store, thinking that this is the safest place he could be. Old, working men are the only people that should be here. But, of course, Eric is wrong. A blond housewife catches his eye. She’s beautiful, covered in jewelry, and pretending to look at fixtures. In reality, Deborah’s looking for someone just like him. She’s gift-wrapped. She smiles, and it’s an invitation. Eric doesn’t smile back. He walks away.

  The gas station is very busy in expectation of the coming storm. The pumps are ancient. After Emma fills her tank, she impatiently waits in line to pay the attendant.

  “Hi, George. I have twenty-five dollars on pump three.”

  “How’s that old car treating ya, Emma?” He smiles with an almost toothless grin.

  “It gets me where I need to go.”

  A mason jar rests on the counter, filled to the brim with lollipops, and Emma’s flooded with memories of being a little girl. On Sunday mornings, her grandfather used to take her with him to get the paper, before anyone else had gotten up. He would buy her a lollipop, and warn her not to tell her mother. She had to eat it in the car before she got home, so they wouldn’t get in trouble. Staring at the bright cellophane wrapper, she remembers the simple innocence of a time when the only wrong she ever committed was eating a lollipop before breakfast. Riding in the backseat of her grandfather’s Chevy without a care in the world. A life so much simpler than her current predicament of contemplating adultery with a depraved sex addict.

  She grabs a strawberry lollipop. “I’ll take one of these, too, George.”

  She removes the wrapper as if she’s handling a fragile object and licks the red circle with reverence, enjoying it as she drives home.

  The door of the car creaks open and Emma’s high-heeled foot meets her driveway. She flings her purse onto her shoulder and slams the door, still enjoying the sweet candy. She looks up at the blue-black clouds that are threatening rain, and thunder rumbles in the distance. The familiar and ungodly sound of the bulldozer assaults her ears, and she looks toward Eric’s property. She’s surprised by what she sees. The gigantic yellow machine has cleared a path between her yard and his.

  Time slows down to a crawl as Eric emerges through the woods. He walks toward her, covered in mud from foot to knee, his white shirt soaked with sweat. His face becomes clear as he gets closer. He’s smiling. Her appetite for him has reached a fever pitch. She takes the lollipop out of her mouth.

  “Hey.” She points toward the bulldozer. “What’s with the path?”

  “Nate and I cleared it today. I thought it might be easier for us to get back and forth—you know—because my driveway is so long and muddy.” He says it like it makes perfect sense, and Emma blushes, flattered that he wants to make it easier for her to get close to him.

  “I’ve never even been to your house, Eric. Maybe you could show it to me sometime?”

  He nods, but doesn’t say anything, then turns his back and walks away. Emma’s baffled by his behavior. She must have offended him.

  He stops and turns back around. As he smiles at her, his eyes twinkle and his expression makes her knees weak. “Well, are you coming with me, or what?”

  Eric’s envious of the lollipop in Emma’s mouth as
he walks beside her toward the new-formed path. She’s in her work clothes. Pencil skirt, silk blouse, hair up. He steals a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and she’s sucking and licking that lollipop like a pro. The sun glints off the silver cross on her neck and his filthy thoughts are disrupted. He looks away, struggling to find something normal to say.

  “I heard there’s going to be a big storm tonight. They say we may be flooded and lose power.”

  “Yeah, I heard that, too.”

  They reach the edge of her yard. Emma looks at her feet and stops. “I think I should go change my shoes. Heels and mud don’t mix.”

  Eric looks at his work boots and feels stupid for not considering this. Without thinking, he scoops Emma up in his arms.

  “Whoa, what are you—”

  He looks into her eyes and she stops protesting. She’s staring at his mouth and he knows what she’s thinking. He wants to kiss her, too.

  “What kind of lollipop is that?”

  “Strawberry.” She raises her eyebrow. “You want a taste?”

  She holds it out and he opens his mouth. He licks it, and she watches him do it. Her skin is flooded with pink, and he’s harder than he has ever been. He carries her down the path with the lollipop in his mouth, and they don’t speak. She wraps her fingers around his neck, fondling the back of his head. He delights in the way she fits into his arms. He runs his hand over her silk stocking-covered legs and she shivers at his touch. He wants to tear them from her body.

  He sets her down as Nate, Eric’s contractor, gets out of the bulldozer and approaches them. Eric doesn’t like the way he’s looking at Emma, like she’s free for him to ogle. He moves in front of her.

  “Thanks, Nate. That’s all for today.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be back with the flatbed to get the dozer tomorrow. I want to get home before the storm hits.”

  The frame of the house Eric’s building is enormous, even though just the foundation and first floor have been completed. Emma thinks that this could be a home for a family, not just one man. She wonders why he’s building such a large structure for himself. The trailer he’s living in seems miniature compared to the incomplete creation.

  He opens the door to his trailer with a jerk, and holds it for her. “After you.”

  It’s not messy, but it’s not clean either. The only places to sit are a kitchen stool or the bed. Emma chooses the bed. He sits down next to her and thunder rumbles in the distance. The dangerous storm that has been predicted is making its way closer and closer toward Eric and Emma. He leans back on the bed, supported by his elbows. Emma sits on the edge, with her legs crossed. He reaches past her and presses play on his sound dock. His arm brushes against her back and the rain starts to fall, pitter-pattering on the tin roof.

  “Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat.” He pushes a tendril of her hair from her shoulder. The gentle yet erotic touch pushes Emma to submit to the idea that’s been eating at her.

  “Eric, what’s going on here?”

  His azure eyes are locked on hers. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this.” She gestures between them.

  In response, he raises his hand and cradles her cheek. Emma’s need for him is crushing her, she can’t fight it. She’s compelled to surrender to it. She kneels on the bed and then straddles Eric’s lap. What she craves presses against her, just where she wants to feel it.

  “Shit,” Eric says.

  She moves her hips against his and caresses his face with her fingertips. Then she kisses him. It is a sublime and blissful indulgence. They acquiesce to what their bodies have been begging for, as their lips and tongue taste and consume. With this kiss, she tells him how much she desires him—and he hears her.

  “Eric, I want you. I want to be with you,” she pants.

  He groans as he slides his hands down her back and grips her hips. He lifts her and shifts her down on the bed, descending on her petite figure. Any will to withhold has vanished. He grinds against her and whispers in her ear, “I want you, too, Emma, so much.”

  He kisses her neck and she fists her hand in his hair. Her heart races. This is happening so fast, but giving in feels so good and so right. The veil is lifted and she can be honest. “Eric, I know about . . . the way you are . . . and I want you to know, that I don’t care.”

  He jerks up. “What did you say?” He moves away and sits up on the bed, confused.

  Emma pulls her skirt into place and takes his hand in hers. “I know about what you do. I’ve seen you . . .”

  “Wait, what?” He shakes his head and anger creeps into his face, erasing the passion.

  “That night I ran into you at the bar, I stopped there because I saw your car. I know you were . . . with someone . . . in the bathroom.”

  He pulls his hand away from hers. His eyes are once again barbaric and savage, a human storm. “What the fuck, Emma? Were you following me?”

  “No. I mean, not that time . . .”

  He shakes his head. “There were other times? What the hell is wrong with you? Are you some kind of stalker or something?” He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Emma knows.

  “Eric, no. I just . . . I saw you at the club, and then I followed you once, and then I came by here once, and I heard you with the girl from the coffee shop, and then, when I passed the bar that night I saw your car and . . .”

  Embarrassment and shock seize him. He can’t comprehend this. His antidote, his remedy, is just as wretched as he is. A voyeur. Everything he thought was true is false. He stands up and grabs her elbow, yanking her off the bed. “And what, Emma? That gets you off? Listening to me fuck other women? That gets you wet?”

  “Let go of me.” She whimpers.

  When he realizes how hard he’s gripping her, he lets her go. His demon has surfaced. He’s face-to-face with the reality that she knows how twisted and perverse he is. His disgrace is reflected back at him through her eyes, and he can’t handle it. He has to get away. There is no one on earth who knows his secret. He flings the door open and is soaked by the merciless rain.

  Emma chases after him. “Eric! Where are you going?”

  He doesn’t answer or look at her as gets in his Jeep, revs the engine, and peels out of the driveway.

  “Eric!” Emma weeps where she stands, paralyzed by what just happened. He rejected her. She never dreamed that he would react this way. Soaked and freezing, she runs barefoot up the muddy path to her house. Lightning cracks and flashes, snaking across the sky, followed by an earth-shaking, thunderous boom. She shivers as she climbs her porch steps and then collapses once she’s inside. She buries her head in her hands, sobbing and moaning. She’s embarrassed, ashamed, and utterly destroyed.

  Thunder rumbles again, shaking the old house. Emma doesn’t hear the sound of screeching tires or the thud and crunch of metal as Eric’s car swerves off the slick road and crashes into a tree.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sunlight wakes her. Emma sits up. Her head is heavy, and her heart broken. She let herself feel. She let someone in, and it was a mistake. Her life was empty before he came. Empty, but easy. Sleep was all she lived for. Numb and alone, with nothing and no one. The emptiness was pleasurable compared to the agony and anger she feels now.

  The wound Aaron left her with had been healing; she was accepting a new path. But now that wound has been ripped open, and the path she chose has been closed to her. Eric doesn’t want her. She feels worthless. Forgettable. She sinks back into bed, picks up her phone, and calls in sick to work. She stares at the stark ceiling and falls into a dreamless, barren sleep.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  A chill ripples over Emma’s skin when she hears the knock at the door. It’s four in the afternoon. She’s still in her robe and hasn’t showered. She peeks through the peephole, hoping to see blue eyes, but instead she sees mascara-coated eyelashes batting back at her. She opens the door a crack.

  “Abby. Hey.”

  Abby pushes past Em
ma, her arms filled with brown paper grocery bags. “Okay. I got OJ, tea, some soup, and some ginger ale. And why the hell didn’t you answer your cell? I called you three times today. You never miss work; I figured you were half dead. What’s the matter with you?” She unloads the groceries.

  “I’m just . . . I don’t feel well.” Emma flops into a chair at the table.

  “Well, you look like shit.”

  “That’s nice, Abby. Thanks.”

  She places the back of her hand on Emma’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

  Emma looks down at her fuzzy-slipper-covered feet.

  “Wait. Hold on, is this a bum-out? What happened? Was it Aaron? Or your mother? Did one of them call you?”

  “No. No, nothing like that.” Emma looks out the window at Eric’s house, and Abby sees her do it.

  “Wait. Is this Sexy-Neighbor-Guy drama? You better tell me, Emma.”

  “No. It’s nothing , Abby. It’s just a cold. I’ll survive.”

  He’s cold. Something sticky is clinging to his eye, gluing it shut. Eric tries to lift his head, and then the searing, throbbing ache in his skull bombards him. It smells like burnt rubber and antifreeze. He licks his lips and tastes blood. He forces his one good eye open. The front of his Jeep is crumpled around an elm tree. The force of the impact broke the bark off the trunk, and the morning sun makes the pale pink of the lumber look like flesh. He’s disoriented, and has been unconscious for hours. The collision caused his unbuckled body to collide with the windshield. The cracked glass looks like spider webs.