“You should go sometime.” The chocolate cake was improving her mood by leaps and bounds. “It’s sort of spooky, but then I enjoy spooky, as you can imagine, considering the books I write.”
“You mean pretend spooky.”
“Well, yeah, I guess so. It’s fun to scare yourself a little with imaginary things.” She dropped a glob of chocolate frosting, which landed on her napkin, fortunately. Next time it could land on the front of her turquoise suit jacket, though.
She studied the situation and decided she’d do better if she picked up the plate and held it closer to her mouth. She had about a third of the cake to go, and Barry had promised to drive carefully. She sliced off another chunk.
“Damn it!” Barry swore at the same moment he slammed on the brakes. “Sorry about that, Emma, but this jerk in front of me cut me off!”
“That’s unfortunate, Barry.” She put the empty plate back on the silver tray. “Because now I’m wearing the cake.”
Chapter 8
From the moment Emma had mentioned getting chocolate smeared all over herself, Aidan had wondered whether he’d pay for this ego trip. Now it seemed that he would pay dearly. She’d managed to get both cake and frosting all over the front of her turquoise suit jacket and the white lace camisole underneath. Worse yet, it was smashed into her cleavage.
The fantasy picture of her naked and smeared in chocolate had somewhat come true, but not in a good way. The erotic overtones were all there with no possibility that he’d be able to satisfy the lust they inspired. Double whammy.
She glanced down at the mess before looking over at him with a bemused expression. Then she began to laugh.
That made things worse. If she’d ranted and raved about her ruined outfit, or if she’d blamed him for coming up with the stupid cake plan in the first place, he’d have been able to bury his cravings under the weight of her anger. But no, she’d chosen to be a good sport about it, and he was a sucker for a good sport.
Now he wanted to laugh right along with her and then lick the chocolate from her cleavage. He might not be a big fan of chocolate. A rare steak was more his idea of a treat. But if he could be allowed to clean that chocolate off her breasts using only his tongue, he’d take that assignment in a heartbeat.
Just his luck, that wouldn’t be happening. Still, he had to help her figure this out. Barry was casting worried glances in the rearview mirror and sending out a stream of apologies, despite Emma’s amused reaction.
Aidan chose the solution that he would have wanted for himself. “Barry, reprogram your GPS and take us to the nearest Nordstrom.”
“Cancel that, Barry.” Emma gulped air and sank back onto the seat. “No shopping trips. I have something in my suitcase that will work fine. I just need a plan for changing out of this and into that.”
“Gas station?” Barry suggested.
Aidan shook his head. “No.”
“Yes, Aidan. A gas station restroom will work fine.”
He grimaced. “But it might be cramped and ...” He gestured dismissively.
“And dirty? It might, but you don’t have to go in there, and my sensibilities aren’t as delicate as yours. However, before I get out of the car, I should probably wipe some of the cake and frosting off. Otherwise I’m liable to get it on the upholstery, and then it’ll spread everywhere.”
His libido presented him with a graphic picture of chocolate everywhere on the seat because he’d proceeded to take what he wanted, spreading the chocolate, spreading her legs ...
“I’m afraid the napkin’s compromised, and I don’t have any tissues in my purse.”
Thankfully, she seemed oblivious to his mental state.
“Do you by chance have a pocket handkerchief that wasn’t hand-sewn by Swiss nuns?”
Maybe his sense of humor would save him. He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief. “I’m sure the Swiss nuns would approve of using it to aid a damsel in distress.”
“As Barry would say, nice comeback.” She took the handkerchief. “Thank you. Wow, this is really soft material.”
“It’s woven from the hair of sacred llamas cared for by extremely devout monks.”
She grinned at him. “Okay, okay. I’ll lay off the smart remarks. It’s just that I’m still thinking about that watch and shaking my head.”
He should concentrate on the intricate workings of his watch, Roarke’s watch, any damned watch. Something mechanical instead of a warm, willing, moist woman. He didn’t know whether she was moist yet, but she would be if he could have a few seconds of her time.
“This gas station looks as if it might be halfway decent,” Barry said. “If it’s not, we’ll go somewhere else.”
“It’ll be fine. Let’s stop.” Emma unfolded the handkerchief and glanced at the monogram. “What does the F stand for?”
“Faolan. It’s a family name.” A family name that meant wolf. Instead of giving first names that referenced wolves, the Wallace pack chose to give middle names with that meaning, to make the connection more subtle. There was nothing subtle about his wolf self right now, though. He was ready to howl with frustration, and he could feel hair sprouting on the backs of his hands.
“I like it.” She dipped her head and began wiping up some of the chocolate.
Barry pulled the car up to the convenience storefront, located beside the gas pumps. “I’ll get your suitcase out of the trunk.”
“Great, thanks. You know what I hate about this the most, Aidan?” She picked up a glob of icing from her cleavage and licked it from her finger. “I’m wasting almost a third of this luscious cake.”
He had to look away. His chest had begun to itch, and within thirty seconds, he’d have a start on his pelt. “I’ll wash out your handkerchief in the bathroom, but it’ll take more than a quick rinse to get the chocolate out, I’m afraid.”
“No problem.” He was trying to focus on something besides her breasts, but when he looked to his right, he was presented with the image of some guy shoving a gas pump nozzle into the tank of his car. Aidan had never thought of that behavior as particularly sexual, but in his present mood it didn’t take much to evoke the image of body parts connecting.
Barry opened the door on her side. “Do you want to take the whole suitcase in?”
“That would be easier.” She turned to Aidan. “Will you hold the tray for me while I’m in the bathroom?”
“Sure.” He took the heavy silver tray gladly. Maybe its weight would hold down his growing erection.
“I’ll be right back. We’re losing some of that spare time we had before the interview.”
“We’ll make it, right, Barry?”
“You bet we will, Mr. Wallace.”
“You can call me Aidan.” He smiled. “We’ll probably be old friends by Sunday.”
“It’s already starting out to be an interesting gig, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Barry sat sideways in the driver’s seat so he could look over into the back. “Sorry about that sudden stop. It was that or crash into him.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s really mine for ordering the cake delivered.” Aidan vowed to be less ego driven and more practical for the rest of the weekend.
“It was a very cool gesture, though. We had to hustle to make it happen, but it turned out well. Except for the last part, of course, when she slapped the plate against herself. That wasn’t so good.”
“No.” But in spite of it all, Aidan cherished the memory of Emma glancing over at him and breaking out into laughter. He’d never forget that.
From inside his suit coat pocket, his phone vibrated. He took it out and looked at the readout. Roarke, who no doubt wanted to know why in the hell Aidan had ignored all his warnings and headed out to Chicago with Emma. He’d deal with Roarke later, maybe during Em-ma’s radio interview.
“Someone from your office in New York express-shipped that flag over,” Barry said. “We received it early this morning with instructions to leave it on the
car all weekend.”
Aidan was so used to the flag that he didn’t think about it anymore. “It’ll keep you from getting tickets.”
Barry nodded. “Apparently so. I’ve never left a car in the loading zone that long before without getting one. The Wallaces must have some influence.”
“We have business connections with the Henderson family.”
Barry’s eyes rounded. “The Henderson family? The one that owns a chunk of the Magnificent Mile and most of Navy Pier?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“That explains a whole helluva lot. Pardon my French. But the Henderson name gets you a lot in this town. No wonder you want that flag on the rear fender.”
Aidan decided he might be wise to enlist Barry in the cause. He leaned forward. “There’s something you need to know.”
“What’s that?”
“Although the Wallaces and the Hendersons have a strong business connection, every family has a troublemaker.”
Barry blew out a breath. “You don’t have to tell me that. The Dinsmore family has more than one troublemaker. Is it the Wallaces or the Hendersons with the bad egg?”
“The Hendersons. His name is Theo, and he’s nineteen.”
Barry rolled his eyes. “Nineteen. The perfect age to cause problems.”
“The thing is, he might try to make contact with Emma this weekend. He’s concocted this story that he’s a werewolf and therefore she needs to meet him.”
“That’s the lamest pickup line I’ve ever heard. Is that what she writes about? Werewolves?”
“Yeah. She doesn’t believe in them, of course, but this crazy kid figures if he claims to actually be one, he has an angle. I’ll be on the lookout, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to be watching, too.” Aidan pulled a picture out of an inside pocket of his suit jacket. “This is his high school graduation photo, but I understand he’s let his hair grow. It’s down to his shoulders now.”
Barry gazed at the wallet-sized picture of a gaunt young man with dark hair and eyes. His expression was more of a sneer than a smile. “What do his parents think about him pretending to be a werewolf?”
“That’s where it gets tricky,” Aidan said. “I’m hoping to neutralize the problem without either of them finding out what he’s up to. They’re old family friends of my father’s, and he’d rather not embarrass them by exposing their son as a kook and a potential stalker.”
“Lots of luck with that.” Barry shook his head, which made his handlebar mustache wiggle. “In my experience, it all comes out in the wash. But I’ll keep an eye out for this character. Emma’s a nice lady. I’d hate to see her being bothered by some nutcase—no offense to your friends and their kid, of course.”
“None taken. He is a nutcase. And I intend to shut him down.”
“You like her, too, don’t you?”
Aidan decided the chummy conversation needed to be dialed back a notch. “She’s an assignment.”
Barry obviously picked up on his tone. “Sure, sure. I understand. And I’ll do what I can to help. Well, here she comes, all changed.”
Aidan looked toward the convenience store as Emma came toward the car pulling her orange suitcase. Barry hopped out and took it from her.
She still wore her black trench coat, which had miraculously not been baptized by chocolate, but she’d traded her turquoise suit for a snug black turtleneck sweater and gray slacks. Aidan liked this outfit as much as, or better than, the turquoise suit.
It occurred to him that it didn’t matter what she wore. No matter what outfit she chose, she’d look like someone he wanted to strip naked and take to bed. That was damned inconvenient.
She smiled as she climbed back into the car. “No big deal. I’m going to take advantage of your pull in this town to get my turquoise suit cleaned so I can wear it when I head for Denver.”
“I can make that happen once we get to the hotel.”
“I’m sure you can.” She fastened her shoulder harness as Barry pulled the car back into traffic. “I don’t want to get used to this level of service, but right now it’ll come in handy. Want me to hold that tray, now?”
“That’s okay. I’ll be in charge of it.” She’d brought her unique scent into the car with her. As his loins stirred in response, he settled the tray more firmly in his lap. It would serve as a reminder that he had to keep his johnson in check.
“I checked out your flag and your family crest before I got back in the car.”
“Okay.”
“The creatures on the crest look something like wolves.”
“That’s because they are.” He never had any trouble explaining the family crest because wolves were usually seen as noble animals.
She gazed at him. “Is that one of the reasons you picked up my books? Because your family’s crest has wolves on it?”
“In a way.” She was closer to the truth than she imagined.
She nodded. “I’ve always had a thing for wolves, myself. That’s why I was drawn to the werewolf concept. Sometimes I wish they did exist, although I’d want them to be like my werewolves and not the way they’re portrayed in some books, like ferocious beasts.”
“So why did you decide to portray wolves the way you did, instead of going with the ferocious beast concept?”
“I studied wolves in college, back when I thought I might go into wildlife management. They’re awesome creatures that mate for life, and so logically werewolves shouldn’t be that different. That’s if they were real, which they aren’t.”
“Right.” He couldn’t ever remember being so tempted to blurt out the truth. But that would be suicide. He was on this book tour to prevent Theo from revealing the existence of werewolves, so he could hardly blow the pack’s cover himself.
“Oh, I have your handkerchief.” She opened her hand, and it lay in the center of her palm in a soggy gray ball. “I tried to wash it in the sink, like I said, but—”
“I’ll take it.” He picked up the wet handkerchief and tried to think what he could do with it. If he shoved it back in his pocket—either the hip pocket or the front pocket—it would soon leave a damp spot. Finally he decided to drop it on the floor of the car.
“Don’t do that!” She looked horrified.
“Why not?”
“Because it was woven from the hair of sacred llamas cared for by extremely devout monks.”
“I made that up.”
“I know, but regardless of how it was produced, it probably cost more than half my wardrobe, so you can’t simply throw it on the floor of the car.”
He gazed at her. “Sure I can.”
“That’s wasteful.”
“Emma, you’re going to have to get over yourself, at least for this weekend.”
She lifted her chin in an adorably defiant gesture. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that we’re about to stay in a penthouse that would easily house an entire village in some third-world country. We’ll be the only two people in there, but I’ll probably turn the heat up to at least seventy-two degrees, thereby contributing to global warming and the depletion of fossil fuels.”
“Okay, but—”
“In addition to my unconscionable use of resources to heat those eleven rooms, I intend to take long, hot showers because I love those, especially in the winter.”
“Aidan, I’m not—”
“And if there’s some sort of Jacuzzi arrangement—which I would expect, but I’m not sure—I’ll be filling that tub and using those soothing jets to massage away any tenseness I might have developed in the past few hours.” He paused, and a devilish urge made him forget his common sense. “If you hate the idea of all that water for one person, you’re welcome to join me.”
She flushed. “You and I both know that wouldn’t be a smart idea.”
“Maybe not psychologically, but when it comes to sharing resources, that’s another issue, isn’t it?” He shouldn’t taunt her because it only made his own frustration level grow, but she was
so ... so juicy. He’d known she would tempt him, but he hadn’t factored in her overwhelming succulence.
She looked adorably righteous, but that didn’t detract from her desirability one iota. “As I’ve mentioned, I’ll be considering this hotel stay part of my research.”
“Then you’ll want to check out all the amenities. Breakfast in bed, champagne in front of the fireplace, your favorite movies on the flat-screen, a long soak in a bubble bath.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve made your point, Aidan. And I promise not to lecture you about wasting resources again this weekend.”
“Good.”
“But you may not have as much time as you think to lounge in the Jacuzzi. Have you checked the schedule?”
“I glanced over it.”
“Then you might remember that I have signings and interviews through this evening and all day tomorrow and tomorrow night, as well. This is a book tour, not a pleasure trip. Perhaps you’d rather stay at the Palmer House while I take care of my obligations?”
“I think not.”
“Then good luck with your resource-wasting plans.”
He sighed. She’d bested him. He resented the way she dinged him about his wealth, and he’d tried to tempt her with the possibilities luxury accommodations could provide. Instead of falling for that, she’d reminded him of his duties and insinuated he was nothing more than an idle rich boy.
That wasn’t true. He worked hard. But he played hard, too, and he hadn’t allowed himself to do that recently. Obviously, he wouldn’t be indulging in any play-time with Emma, though, and that was the wisest course of action.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t tempted by the possibilities, but he sure as hell was.
Chapter 9
“This is it.” Carrying three books, Aidan came toward the signing table. “After this, you’re sold out.”
A cry of dismay went up from the line.
“I’m sorry,” Emma called out. “I can sign bookplates for those of you who weren’t able to get the actual book.” She put down her pen and flexed her fingers. This kind of success was gratifying, validating, ego boosting, and a whole bunch more adjectives she’d be able to think of if her brain hadn’t shut down earlier tonight.
A Werewolf in Manhattan Page 9