As she gathered up some linen cocktail napkins from a nearby drawer, she frowned at them, thinking they might need a freshening with a hot, steamy iron. Then the doorbell rang.
Her head turned. Not him, not unless he’d left behind his house keys along with his cell phones and then forgotten to have her bring those to the office as well. It was too early for him, too, she assured herself, instructing her jumping heart to calm. She had a while longer before their awkward conversation was due.
Stella and her fiancé, Aaron, stood on the doorstep. Emmaline welcomed them in, and the younger woman explained she thought she might have left the book she was reading for her book group on the premises.
Emmaline frowned. “I haven’t seen it.”
“I thought you would have mentioned finding it,” Stella said, glancing around as she made her way toward the living area. “But I can’t think anywhere else it could be.”
Aaron sauntered behind her. “She’s a featherbrain,” he told Emmaline. “Honest to God, I think I might have to put her on a leash in case she wanders off and gets lost on the honeymoon.”
Stella flushed. “I misplaced a book, that’s all.”
“I keep telling you to bow out of that little club. Once we’re married you won’t have time for chick lit.”
I keep telling you to quit volunteering at the library. Once we’re married you’ll have better things to do than to read to toddlers.
Enzo’s voice echoed in Emmaline’s head, and a chill rushed over her skin, which doubled down when she noted the anxious expression on Stella’s face.
“It’s just one night a month,” the younger woman said.
Her fiancé shrugged. “Of course I’m not ordering you to quit, baby. Your choice.”
But Emmaline heard the subtext, or at least imagined she did—You’re expected to do as I say. Projection? Aaron wasn’t Enzo, she reminded herself. But God, it sounded uneasily familiar.
Then Aaron caught up to the bride-to-be and slung a casual arm around her neck. “I’ll help you look for it,” he said, smooth as silk.
Too smooth?
Emmaline tried to shake off the thought as they scattered to peek in drawers and behind cushions.
“Got it!” Aaron finally said, pulling the bright-covered novel from deep beneath the sofa. Then he glanced across the room and spoke to someone just entering the space.
“Lucas, my man, you’re going to have to censure your butler for not cleaning under the couch.”
Emmaline stiffened. The deep-cleaning crew moved all the furniture once a month on the day they washed the windows inside and out as well. She, however, ran the vacuum every morning, though only around the furniture, it was true. The incipient anxiety she’d been keeping at bay moved in and cast a vice around her forehead.
Mr. Curry spoke up then. “I have no complaints about Emmaline or her work,” he said mildly.
“Of course you don’t,” Stella rushed in to say, then made her way to her brother to kiss his cheek. “How are you?”
He smiled at her and ruffled her hair as if she were still a child. “Good. What’s up with the visit?”
“I lost a book.” She slid a smile at her fiancé. “But it’s found.”
“Ah,” Mr. Curry said, “that’s good.”
“How about offering a man a drink?” Aaron suggested. “I could use a V & T.”
Her boss threw Emmaline a quick glance then looked at his sister. “Can you stay a while?”
They could. Emmaline took herself into the kitchen to add to the canapé tray, not sure whether to be sad or glad about the turn of events. On the one hand, it postponed her discussion with Mr. Curry. On the other, she couldn’t avoid the bad feelings she got watching Stella and her fiancé interact.
He corrected her more than once, over little things like what variety of doodle dog an acquaintance had just adopted or the exact starting time of the matinee they’d attended. He tsked when her hand gesture knocked over a melon-and-prosciutto appetizer from the tidbit plate Emmaline had set in front of her, calling Stella “clumsy” in an amused way that sounded less than affectionate. With a blush, the young woman leaped to clean the tumbled food off the floor, but Mr. Curry—his preoccupied gaze glued to the setting sun—didn’t seem to notice either his future brother-in-law’s condescension nor his sister’s fretful movements.
God, Emmaline thought, moving swiftly to remove the small mess herself, that overblown concern she’d done something to displease was just too familiar.
As was the bruise she spotted on the younger woman’s inner arm.
“Stella,” Emmaline said, catching her narrow wrist. “What happened?”
“Oh, that,” she replied, offhand, pulling free of Emmaline’s hold. “I don’t even know.” Then she slipped back into her chair and engaged her brother in talk of the seating arrangements at the wedding reception.
As the minutes wore on, Emmaline couldn’t evade the growing pain throbbing in her head. She considered making her excuses and retiring to her rooms, but she also felt compelled to keep her eye on Stella. Aaron didn’t do anything overtly out-of-line, but casual criticisms were sprinkled into the conversation that Emmaline eavesdropped upon as she moved between the ocean terrace and the kitchen. The young woman was talking too fast, he said, and the TV show she was binge-watching was overrated. By the way, he thought Stella needed some private tennis lessons before they challenged his friends to mixed doubles again.
Mr. Curry continued to be oblivious, and though he managed to respond to his sister’s questions, Emmaline could tell he’d retreated to his own inner world—until suddenly he snaked out a hand to grab hers as she gathered up some empties. The tray she carried in her other hand wobbled, and he rescued it from danger by placing it on the table.
“Emmaline,” he said in a quiet voice, his gaze searching her face. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
The concern on his face seemed to unleash more pain in her head that sent a rush of nausea to her belly. Dark spots swam in her vision.
He was instantly on his feet, a strong arm around her waist as he guided her inside to the soft-cushioned couch. When she made a low sound of protest, he tightened his hold on her. “I’ve got you. Nothing to worry about.”
Emmaline closed her eyes as he lowered her onto the cushion. “Do you say things like that on purpose?” she asked, her tone plaintive.
“What?” He drew a throw over her and then brushed her hair off her brow.
Without the energy or inclination to explain, Emmaline shook her head, then winced at the wave of pain that rushed over her scalp to squeeze her neck.
Stella rushed over. “Is she sick? Does—” She broke off. “Oh. She looks nearly as bad as you did after your last European trip. I hope it’s not that same awful flu.”
Your last European trip.
Though her head felt over-stuffed and muzzy, her brain latched onto the phrase. “You had the flu?” she murmured.
“Oh, a terrible flu,” Stella answered for him. “Came home without his luggage but looking like he’d carried his suitcases on his back all the way home from LAX.”
“Stel,” Mr. Curry said, “you made me that great concoction that helped my headache. Can you do that again for Emmaline?”
“Coming right up,” she said, cheery.
Emmaline struggled to sit up. “I can get it myself.”
Mr. Curry pushed her back down, his hand on her shoulder. “Let us take care of you.”
“But I’m the butler—”
“Shh,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
And at the repeat of those magic words, Emmaline stopped resisting and let him have his way with her.
Chapter 7
In the dim living room, on a chair adjacent to the couch, Lucas watched Emmaline stir in her sleep. The sun had set a couple of hours before, and the only light he’d switched on was in the kitchen. Its low glow allowed him to make out his butler’s form beneath the light blanket.
After swallowing some pain relievers along with a carbonated stomach-calmer mixed with an electrolyte replacement beverage, a combination Stella claimed to have learned from a party-hearty girlfriend in college—“guaranteed to work on hangovers, menstrual cramps, and pre-finals tension headaches”—Emmaline had dropped into sleep. Once his sister and her fiancé had left, Lucas had considered moving the butler to her bed, but she’d looked so zonked that he’d decided against disturbing her rest.
He’d watched over her instead.
It was the oddest thing. Usually too restless during his off-hours to be without television, music, or conversation in the background, he’d let the sound of the ocean fill the room as he took his fill of Emmaline Rossi in sleep. She was astonishingly beautiful, which was not a new revelation to him, of course. Not to her, either, and she seemed unimpressed by the perfect arrangement of her features.
He liked that about her.
He liked everything about her.
Thinking back to their conversation in his office that morning, he remembered her confessing her heart’s desire didn’t reach beyond wanting to care for someone. Oh, so not a free spirit, he thought again, though he guessed she’d still insist on it. With a frown, he remembered how quick she’d been to pack her bags. He’d almost lost her…why? Why was she so damn skittish?
A mystery, he thought. A mystery to solve.
A mystery that included why she held such a fascination for him.
She stirred again, her legs restless beneath the light fabric. With her hands, she pushed at the blanket until her lower limbs were exposed, skin bared from the feet he’d freed from her sandals to the hem of her dress, now pushed high on her thighs. Like the rest of her, they were beautiful, too, and his cock roused.
Shifting in his chair to get more comfortable, he saw her lashes lift. She glanced around, clearly unsure where she was. Then her gaze landed on him.
Her hand pushed her hair from her face, and she moved to half-sit on the cushions. “I…”
“How are you feeling?”
She seemed to take an internal assessment.
“Good?” Her expression continued to show confusion. And vulnerability.
Lucas suddenly wanted to take her into his arms and promise her all the strength and certainty she’d ever need. Shit, he thought, struggling to rein in the impulse. Had it gone that deep so fast? It wasn’t like him to be rash, but from their first chance meeting she’d inspired the impulsive in him.
He pulled in a breath and remained in place, reminding himself of her wariness. “Your head’s feeling better?”
She put her fingertips to her temple. “It’s fine,” she said, sounding surprised.
“Good. You recovered a hell of a lot faster than I did when I had that flu.”
“It was just a headache,” she said. “Maybe I had too much sun when I was weeding the herb garden this afternoon.”
Lucas had seen her do that before. On her knees in the dirt, her hands in the soil, looking like some kind of Italian goddess coaxing life into seeds and leaves. His cock shoved against his zipper, and he sucked in another deliberate breath, trying to set aside the image.
Emmaline on her knees…
She cleared her throat. “You recently had the flu?”
He twitched, coming out of his reverie. “Yes.” He studied her face, deciding she did indeed appear to be without pain. So then, he thought, the time had come to talk about the night in the hotel.
With the truth finally explained and acknowledged, they’d be able to put that initial encounter behind them. He cleared his throat and reached to turn on the floor lamp beside his chair.
They both blinked at the new brightness in the room. “I’d been running on empty the final few days of my business trip to Brussels,” he said.
She swung her legs off the couch and sat up, prim and proper, on the cushions, her bare knees pressed tightly together. Her fingers fussed with the hem of her dress, pulling it lower. “And…”
“I caught a bug there, or maybe on the hellishly long plane ride back to the States.” He hesitated. “Something certainly infected me in the missing luggage line.” Lust for you.
She glanced down at her lap, then back up at him. “When…we met.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t seem sick.”
He smiled a little. “Got a little jolt of adrenaline when I caught a glimpse of the face of the woman standing in front me. It managed to mask the worst of the symptoms for a while.”
She licked her lips. “I’m sorry you were ill.” His butler, so polite.
“No sorrier than me, who ran out on you in that hotel room.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I should have spoken to you or left a note, maybe a message with the front desk, something. But I’d mistakenly taken sleeping pills instead of pain meds at the airport, and when you slipped into the bathroom…I thought I was going to topple to the floor like a redwood any second.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “You really were ill.”
“And not thinking clearly.”
She nodded sagely. “You were under the influence, then.”
Lucas narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Even in the low light, he could see she blushed. “That was why…”
Could she be thinking he’d followed her into the taxi because his immune system was on the verge of failing?
“The ‘why’ was all you, Emmaline,” he said, frowning. “Or more precisely, you and me together. That chemistry we have.”
“Okay.”
But she sounded unconvinced. He stood up, strode to the couch, sat down beside her. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
Eyes downcast, she hesitated.
He took her chin in his hands and turned her face toward him. “Emmaline Rossi. What story did you tell yourself about that night beyond the one where you believed I somehow managed to forget you?”
She pressed her lips together then opened them again. “I thought…”
“Yes?” He stared into her eyes.
“I thought you’d lost interest,” she said quickly.
“What?”
Her skin went hot beneath his hand. “I thought I did something wrong or not good enough or…”
“What?”
“Kissing…or whatever. I thought maybe I was bad at it. He said so.”
Her face crumpled, and he saw tears spring to her eyes. His narrowed. “What did this ‘he’ exactly say?”
“He always told me I was too cold or too shy or too dry, so he had a hard time enjoying himself.”
Shit. Fuck. Damn. How had Lucas screwed this up so badly? He wanted to punch this anonymous “he” in the dick and then punch himself in the face. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, reaching for her. “Don’t cry.”
But Emmaline avoided his arms to pop to her feet. She paced a few steps away, paced back, then halted in front of him, her body vibrating with tension. “It wasn’t me? I didn’t somehow turn you off that night?”
“Emmaline…no. You were heat and sweet and anything a man could ask for in my arms.” As for being too dry, well, his fingers had briefly touched her panties in the cab and felt the wetness seeping through them. She’d been drenched.
“Damn him.” Her fingers curling into fists, she paced again. All signs of her tears disappeared as her temper began to heat the air. “And damn me for letting that stuff he said get under my skin like that. And letting it still be there after all this time.”
“Emmaline—”
“I thought I had it figured out, all the little ways he undermined me and shook my confidence.”
“This ‘he’…?”
She slashed out a hand. “Never mind. Forget him.”
“I don’t think we should, Emmaline.” Clearly the bastard had left a wound that needed lancing.
On the move again, she marched past Lucas’s knees, then turned and marched back. As she passed, with a quick movement he reached out and caught he
r around her waist, hauling her into his lap.
“Mr. Curry!” She squirmed.
Mr. Curry. The woman was going to kill him. “About this other man—”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” she said, her tone furious.
Suddenly Lucas didn’t want to talk about him, either. Or to talk at all. Emmaline was in his arms, her hot little ass grinding against his cock as she tried to rise. Lust burned like a shot of whiskey in his blood.
“I’m just so mad,” she said, her face flushing. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Lucas gave his common sense a second to win the battle against his hunger for her. But when it failed to even make an appearance, he tightened his hold on the heated body in his arms.
“I know what to do,” he said, his groin going heavy as he thought of tasting her again. Touching her. “I think we need to find a way to put that other man and our first unfinished encounter entirely from your mind.”
His low, suggestive tone must have made its way through her haze of temper, because suddenly she stilled, then turned her head to look at him. “Mr. Curry?” she whispered.
With her weight in his lap and her beautiful face just inches away, it was like that night in the back of the cab. Their chemistry bubbling and spitting, her eager willingness and his dizzying sense of good fortune making the back seat of that pine-scented taxi paradise.
“What do you think?” he murmured. Sliding his fingers into the back of her hair, Lucas brought Emmaline into position for his kiss. Her warm breath panted across his mouth, her breath hitched in anticipation. He caressed her scalp, making her wait as he gazed into the dark depths of her eyes, wanting her on fire for what would happen next. “What do you think, Emmaline?”
A heartbeat of silence passed. Two.
“Mr. Curry,” she finally whispered, the words just puffs of sound. “Please.”
The Seduction (Billionaire's Beach Book 5) Page 10