~ Dangerous Chemistry ~

by

Nina Davies

One

“Who the hell are you?”

Amelia jerked at the sound of the rough, male voice behind her. The wet, oversized dish she held in her hands crashed to the floor and shattered. Her heart pounded. Her mind froze.

“Don’t move,” the voice commanded.

Acting on instinct, Amelia slipped her hand into the sink and fished through the warm water until she felt the ivory handle of her grandmother’s carving knife. Settling the knife in her palm, her thumb along the handle, she took a quick breath and turned to face the voice.

The intruder stood ten feet away, his hand still on the door. He was at least six inches taller than her five feet eight. Early thirties. Muscular. Her heart sank. He was too big for her to handle, even with a weapon.

An image of her daughter Katy’s curly hair flashed through her mind. Tightening her grip, she brought the knife out from behind her back. “Stop right there.” Her arm shook a little, but she kept the quiver out of her voice.

The man’s eyes flickered to the knife, and he stilled. Slowly, he raised his hands, palms facing forward. “O-kaay.”

The inane chatter of the radio weatherman filled the room as Amelia stared at the intruder, not sure what to do next. The man’s clothes didn’t match her expectations of a desperate criminal. He wore a dark blue suit, a crisp white shirt, and his indigo tie hung off-center as if he’d pushed it out of the way. His drawn eyebrows suggested concern rather than aggression.

Her fear ebbed a little and doubt replaced it. Oh God, had she pulled a knife on a door-to-door salesman? Or the minister?

The stairs to her left squeaked. She risked a glance. Her five-year-old daughter Katy stood on the bottom step with her Tigger clasped to her chest.

Amelia fought the nauseous panic that rose in her stomach. She faced the man again and gripped the knife tighter. “Don’t come any closer.”

Katy piped up from the stairs, “Are you going to hurt my mommy?”

The intruder’s gaze slid towards her daughter, and his hands dropped an inch. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” The side of his mouth lifted in a half-smile as he pointed at Amelia. “She’s the one with the knife.”

Katy nodded as if this were a perfectly reasonable answer. She looked over towards Amelia and pursed her lips. “Mommy, you broke your favorite plate.”

“I know, sweetie.” Amelia swallowed, her throat sandpaper dry. She took a step towards her daughter, but a shard of broken plate dug into her heel. She yelped and halted, furious that she’d shown the weakness of her position. “Go back upstairs, Katy. Now.”

Katy ignored her and turned back toward the intruder, inspecting him. Still staring, she stepped down onto the kitchen floor.

Amelia inhaled sharply. “No!”

She tiptoed in place, steeling herself to leap across the glass.

With a frown, the man dropped his hands and strode across the kitchen, the glass crunching under his shoes. He glanced over at her and waved her back. “It’s okay. Don’t move.”

She hesitated for a moment.

The man reached Katy and picked her up under her arms and placed her back on the stairs. His voice softened as he spoke to her. “Stay there, now. You don’t want to cut your pretty feet.” He pinched Katy’s toes, and the girl giggled. With a smile, the man tilted his head towards Amelia’s feet. “Same goes for you.”

Distracted by the man’s easy manner, Amelia glanced down at her feet, calloused and rough from long days standing in the store. It had been a long time since she had pretty feet.

The man stepped to the right of the stairs, yanked open the cupboard door, and pulled out her broom. She frowned at his familiarity with her kitchen. “Who are you?”

“Chris Brooks.” He motioned with the broom and, at her nod, began cleaning up the glass.

“Brooks?” A wave of relief flowed through her. “As in Brooks’s Books? Are you James’s...?”

Chris nodded as he did a quick sweep in front of the stove. “He’s my dad.”

The resemblance was obvious now. This man was a younger, more mischievous-looking version of his kind father. Chris’s hair was dark but, like his father, it had the appearance of being rumpled one too many times by an impatient hand. They possessed similar broad, open faces and sharp cheekbones. But the key was the eyes. They were the same dark, deep-sea green. On the son they were delicious, enticing.

With each rhythmic sweep of the broom, her breathing eased, her pulse quieted. She reached behind her and put the knife on the bench. She wouldn’t need to defend herself against the son of James Brooks.

He worked efficiently, coming closer. Closer. The aroma of his aftershave teased at the edge of her senses. The broom whisked over her toes and scooted behind her heels, the rough bristles bringing goose bumps to her skin.

“And you are?” Chris prompted, stopping inches from her.

She licked her lips to give them moisture. “Amelia Dawson. We moved in here two months ago.”

Chris crouched and swept the glass into the dustpan, then glanced up at her “Yeah. I forgot Dad mentioned that. Sorry for bursting in on you. Usually this place is empty.” He stood, dustpan in hand. “Bin?”

She pointed towards the sink and tiptoed over the now-safe floor to Katy. She gave her daughter a hug. “It’s okay, sweetie. He’s James’s son.”

He emptied the dustpan into the bin under the sink, then turned to face her and Katy. “Hi, Katy. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

Katy beamed. “I’m not scared now.” She sat down on the stair, placed Tigger next to her, and squinted at Chris, her brows furrowed. “You look like Uncle James.”

“Uncle James?” Chris raised his eyebrow at Amelia. He pulled at his tie and loosened the knot, his action momentarily molding the suit jacket to his shoulders.

She glanced away, her pulse spiking. It’s the adrenalin, she justified. It was completely out of character for her to notice the breadth of a guy’s shoulders. Or the smile marks at the corner of his eyes. She hadn’t done that since she first met Dan, when she was young and foolish. It shouldn’t happen now that she was old and... widowed.

“He asked Katy to call him that.” She brushed her hair behind her ear before continuing, feeling a little down-home compared to the man standing before her. “We’ve been seeing so much of him with all our discussions about taking over the bookstore.”

Chris’s eyes had followed her hand as she brushed her hair away. But now they snapped back to her face. “Taking over? What are you talking about?” His eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you the assistant he hired about two months ago?”

“Yes,” Amelia began, surprised at how the green of his eyes had cooled. “But I just bought the store.”

“You what?”

She pointed at the connecting door joining the bookstore to the small cottage she shared with Katy. “Your dad wanted me to buy the store. I finally agreed today.”