But no matter about that, because right now it hurt.
A clatter at the door had her stiffening and then shrinking against the damp brick wall as she blinked in the gloom, drawing in an unfortunately audible gasp when she saw who had come into the courtyard with a plastic bin full of empty bottles.
Owen.
Chapter Six
Owen heard her before he saw her—a quick, breathy gasp, a sound of fear. He squinted in the sodium-lit gloom of the courtyard, looking for the source of the sound.
A sniff had him turning around, and then he saw her, shrinking into the shadows, a look of fear, no, terror, on her face.
Emily David.
“What the blazes are you doing back here?”
She straightened, eyes flashing so Owen thought he must have imagined that look of fear. “I just wanted some air.”
“People who want air usually go out front.” He’d meant to sound friendly but somehow he didn’t. Goodness, but this woman rubbed him raw, especially when she was looking down her nose at him as she was now.
“I’m sorry not to stick to the norm.” Now she sounded positively frosty.
“It’s a bit manky back here, that’s all.” Balancing the bin on his hip, he raked his hand through his hair, expelling a quick breath. “Everything all right?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?”
“Sorry.” Owen dumped the empties into the recycling bin. Then he wiped his hands on the tea towel tucked into the waistband of his jeans before he turned back to his unexpected guest. “I just thought something must have happened, to have you cowering back here.”
“I’m not cowering. You just startled me.”
Owen planted his hands on his hips as he surveyed her, or as much as he could see of her in the dark.
“So what happened?” he asked. “Did someone hit on you? Because I can have a word—”
“What?” Emily looked shocked and even disgusted by such a suggestion. “No, of course not.”
Of course not? She was a beautiful woman in a rowdy pub. Owen wouldn’t have been surprised if every geezer in the place hadn’t taken notice of her. He certainly had, when they’d seen each other across the room. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was, prissy or not, with her hair falling about her shoulders in soft brown waves, her slate-coloured eyes fringed with luxuriant lashes. She was wearing a jumper that was soft and clinging, and she looked far more approachable than she had the other day, with her briefcase and business suit, although she certainly seemed prickly as hell right now.
“So what are you doing back here?” he asked. He took a step closer to her, and saw the tears sparkling in her lovely blue-grey eyes. The sight of them made some vital organ inside him twist in a way he hadn’t expected. He could be a softie, yes, but that was usually with kids and dogs. Old people, too. Not a sexy, prickly woman who had looked down her nose at him the last time they’d met, and was still trying to now. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice full of a gentleness he hadn’t meant to feel, never mind reveal.
“Nothing’s wrong.” Again with the affront, as if he was insulting her. “Like I said, I just needed some air.”
Riiight. Owen didn’t believe that for a second, but he had a feeling getting information out of Emily David was akin to blood from a stone, and really, quite similar. There was something cold and closed-off about her that he didn’t entirely understand, but he still got the message loud and clear. Back off.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he told her with a shrug. “But if someone in my pub has done something they shouldn’t have, I’d like to know about it.”
“It’s nothing like that.” She let out a huff of sound that he supposed was meant to be a laugh but wasn’t.
“What it’s like, then?” Because clearly something had happened, even if she didn’t like to say, and prickly or not, Emily David was hurting and Owen wanted to help her. More than he should do, perhaps, considering how prissy she was. Totally not his type, not that he was even letting himself think that way.
“Nothing, really. And in any case, it’s not your concern.” She straightened, giving him what he suspected was meant to be a quelling look, but she couldn’t quite manage it. “I should go back in.” She sounded as if she’d rather stick an oyster fork in her eyeball.
“You don’t have to,” Owen replied. “There’s a gate over there.” He nodded towards the far wall. “It leads out to a lane behind the green, by the river. If you need a getaway.”
She looked tempted, her teeth sinking into her lower lip in a way that made Owen want to groan. Did she not realise how alluring she was? He had a feeling she didn’t, which seemed crazy. Most women as gorgeous as Emily David were well aware of it. Take his former barmaid, Ava. She knew the precise nature of her charms, and used them to full, laughing effect. Owen had been immune, but his friend Jace Tucker hadn’t, and now he and Ava were happily married.
But Emily wasn’t anything like Ava. Ava was tough and knowing, while something about Emily seemed fragile. Breakable.
“I can’t just leave,” she finally said, her voice filled with regret. “It would be rude. Besides, I left my bag out there.”
“I could get your bag.” Who, he wondered, was she afraid of? Belatedly Owen remembered who he’d seen her with—a bunch of relative newcomers to the village—Ava, Harriet Lang, and a couple of others. Not the handsy date as he’d been half-envisioning. “What happened, anyway?”
“Nothing. I’m being ridiculous.” With an elegantly manicured finger she dabbed the corner of her eye. “I need to go back in. I know that.” She let
