by Joanne Rock
She tipped her head against her brother’s chest. “There’s a good chance I misread what happened.” Levering away from him, she looked up into his eyes, which were reflecting the bright lights of the airstrip. “And I like him enough that trying again is a gamble I’m willing to take.”
“I just wish you were having dinner here. Close to home.”
Stubborn, stubborn man. She peered past him to see Logan showing Emma something on his phone. Still, she couldn’t leave him to make small talk all evening. She looked her brother in the eye.
“I need this break, the distraction. Do you know the kind of pressure I’ve been under at home lately, Carson? My mother’s been in a coma and I’ve barely left her bedside. She’s weak and confused, freaking out when I try to ask her about her past. Plus the stress of not telling Dad about that note is tearing me up inside.” She clenched her hands in frustration. “I feel like it’s all my fault he wasn’t told to start with, and every day we keep it from him—”
“Hey.” Carson took her hands in both of his. Held them. “It’s not your fault. We decided as a family that’s what was best. For now. I will be the one to tell him when I get back tomorrow.”
“You would do that?” Scarlett hadn’t realized until just now how much that task weighed on her. But having Carson lift it away made her feel lighter. Relief rushed through her.
“Of course. This is on me.” He hugged her shoulders and turned her around, back toward the metal steps leading up to the jet. “Take the weekend to recharge, but I want to hear from you if you learn anything from this guy who passed you the note about Mom, okay?”
“I will,” she promised, keeping pace with him as they headed back toward their companions. “And I hope you’re extra nice to Emma tonight now that she’s seen your overprotective side.”
“Was I that bad?” he asked, his eyes glued to the tall brunette.
Interesting. Women always noticed Carson, but he’d never given his heart to anyone as far as she could tell. Dates came and went for her brother, whose attitude toward women had always been easy come, easy go, and Scarlett had comforted more than one of his disappointed ex-girlfriends who’d thought there was a chance with him.
That he was concerned what Emma Layton thought of him—heck, that he was taking her somewhere on a plane, for that matter—meant she was special.
“She had to sprint like an Olympic runner to keep up with you when you were storming over to me,” Scarlett observed lightly, taking just a little sisterly pleasure in his obvious worry. “But I’m sure you’ll woo her well.”
He grumbled something about Emma not being “like that,” but by then, Scarlett had reached Logan’s side.
She was more than ready to think about the night ahead as her absurdly handsome date turned his green gaze her way. Her heartbeat stuttered, her breath catching in her lungs. She knew she needed to be very careful around him if she didn’t want to get burned a second time.
Still, as he reeled her closer, sliding an arm around her waist and dropping a kiss on her temple, she knew it wasn’t going to be easy to stay strong.
“I missed you,” Logan whispered into her ear while Carson led Emma toward the McNeill family jet parked nearby.
Tamping down the desire to lean more fully into him, Scarlett straightened and met Logan’s gaze, determined to hold him to their bargain. He’d find the man who passed her a blackmail note if she shared a meal with him.
“I believe you promised dinner?”
* * *
Midway through an exquisite meal served by the private wait staff on the deck of Carson’s mountainside home just outside Jackson Hole, Emma was still trying to shake off a sense of foreboding.
The evening had been picture-perfect, starting with their timely touchdown in Jackson Hole after the short flight from Cheyenne. A driver had greeted them at the airfield, and delivered them straight to the chalet Carson kept for weekend getaways, a beautiful property with breathtaking views of the Teton Mountains. Even by moonlight, the vista from the back deck was impressive.
The huge patio had been stocked with extra outdoor heaters in deference to the dip in evening temperatures here. But Emma wasn’t the least bit cold, between the warmth from the heaters and the fire burning in the outdoor fireplace. And, of course, the ever-present burn of awareness for the man seated beside her. Carson had appealed to her in denim and boots when they had worked side by side at the Creek Spill. Tonight, she saw another side of him: the worldly business mogul whose holdings stretched far beyond Wyoming. From the tuxedo he wore with casual ease, to the multiple homes and staffers, Carson McNeill was an influential man who could order the world to suit him.
He had the meal catered by the local Four Seasons, and Emma had her choice of entrees prepared in the kitchen on-site. The wait staff had greeted them formally, ushering them to the outdoor table laden with candelabra and hors d’oeuvres.
Emma’s salmon had been delectable, then their waiter had recommended the pistachio mille-feuille and lavender ice cream for dessert. Emma had no clue what a mille-feuille might be, but she was game to try it, especially if it helped take away the sense of unease brewing inside her ever since they’d run into Carson’s sister Scarlett and the actor Logan King.
“Are you enjoying everything, Emma?” Carson asked, leaning forward in his chair. “You seem quiet.”
They sat next to each other at the round patio table draped in white linen. They’d moved aside the candelabra—each flame housed in a tiny hurricane lampshade—to clear their view of the shadowed mountains and the dark hiking paths that Carson said would be ski trails once the weather turned.
“The meal is wonderful.” She appreciated the effort he’d gone to for her. “I can’t imagine a more extravagant celebration for today, and I am truly grateful to you for helping me keep my job.”
A breeze off the mountain threaded around her legs, tickling the silk of her skirt against her calf.
“And yet, you’ve been lost in thought.” He seemed to have heard the unspoken reservation in her voice. He reached across the table to claim her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “Are you worried about anything?”
Her mother’s texts. A niggling fear that the McNeill family might have more in common with the domineering Venturas than she’d first thought. But she knew that wasn’t fair to Carson, who had been kind and thoughtful, extending his home and protection to her during a stressful time in her life.
“I’ve been thinking about your sister, actually,” she hedged. It was partly true, at least. “Scarlett.”
He shook his head. “She told me I needed to make it up to you for coming across like a Neanderthal tonight.”
“She said that?” Emma couldn’t help laughing.
“Not in those exact words, but close enough,” he admitted. “In my defense, I’ve been worried about her. She had a relationship with that actor before and the guy—” Carson huffed out a breath between his teeth. “I don’t know what happened, but I know she was hurt.”
“So you had reservations about her taking off with him for the weekend. I can see why.” Emma thought back to her conversation with Logan. “Although if I had to guess, based on the way he kept glancing over at her, I would say he genuinely likes Scarlett.”
Carson didn’t appear reassured. He leaned back in his chair as the waiter returned with their desserts. Hers was a culinary work of art, the pastry layers delicate and flaky looking, with whipped mascarpone and pistachio between the layers. Carson had a pavlova—a meringue cake with Chantilly cream and berries. As the waiter left them to enjoy the treats, Emma picked up her fork to try the pistachio filling.
Carson watched her, his blue eyes following the movement of the silver tines as she swirled them through an airy layer of her dessert. “May I ask what made you think of my sister?”
“Oddly enough, a text message from my mot
her.” She put her fork back down, unsure how to convey her concerns. “My mother is a perpetual worrier, and she’s been messaging me often this week—as you can imagine—wanting to be sure I’m all right.”
Carson gave a half nod. “I can see why she’d be concerned for your safety. But what does that have to do with Scarlett?”
Absently, Emma adjusted the diamond horseshoe pendant where it fell on her neck, a reminder of Carson’s thoughtfulness, which gave her courage to share some of her mother’s personal battles.
“My mother suffers from a combination of bipolar disorder and anxiety, so her fears can be excessive. But she’s scared I’ll get sucked in by the McNeill world once I have a taste of the finer things.” The note from her mother did seem prescient, given the over-the-top private celebration Carson was treating Emma to tonight. “I know it’s because she had an affair with her wealthy employer long ago, and there was a time when she thought it meant something to him.” As a young child, Emma had seen her mother fall into a deep depression and it had been terrifying.
Carson listened patiently, even though she hadn’t yet made the connection to his sister that he’d asked about. Drawing a deep breath of the clear mountain air, she leaned forward in her seat.
“I guess she thinks that power and influence can seduce people who’ve never had either.” Like me. “And maybe she has a point. But I keep thinking your sister Scarlett grew up in that world of wealth and privilege. Yet she’s been drawn in by someone like Logan King.” It was true enough, Emma thought. And now that she was knee-deep into the conversation, she had to acknowledge she’d waded in with the hope of voicing her worries for herself, too.
Was she in over her head with Carson?
He studied her for a moment before he swiveled on the seat of his chair, turning fully toward her. Covering her hand with his, he squeezed her fingers gently.
“Scarlett has always wanted to be an actress. I think that’s some of the reason Logan’s world fascinates her. But Emma, if I’ve made you uncomfortable tonight, or if you feel like I’ve made any kind of assumptions about where this is headed, I apologize.” His gaze was steady. And, if she had to guess, sincere. “We can get back on that plane anytime and return to Cheyenne. No harm, no foul.”
“No.” It surprised her how much she didn’t want to go home tonight. Now that she’d allowed herself to think about going through with this—being with Carson—she didn’t want to back out of it. “I mean, I may be having a few jitters about tonight, but I definitely want to be here.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss along the knuckles. She would have never thought of knuckles as an erogenous zone, but...wow. The sizzle of awareness hit her bloodstream like a whiskey shot.
“I’m glad to hear it. And I’m sure Scarlett can take care of herself.”
Emma wanted to believe him. But something Logan had said in those long minutes when they’d been alone kept coming to her mind.
“You’re not worried they’re trying to find a blackmailer this weekend?” she finally ventured.
* * *
Carson shouldn’t have been surprised.
He’d left Emma alone with Scarlett’s actor friend while he spoke to his sister. And Logan probably assumed that Emma already knew about the blackmail note. Still, he hadn’t expected to discuss this with anyone outside of the family. Particularly not before his father knew about it.
Briefly, he summed up the events of the last weeks, starting with Scarlett’s receipt of the note, to his mother’s out-of-character road trip to Yellowstone Park to do some hiking, followed by her fall and coma.
“So Scarlett is going with Logan to find the man who delivered the letter?” Emma asked.
“Logan thought the man looked familiar.” Carson didn’t trust the actor after what he’d done to Scarlett, but he should have some faith in his sister’s judgment. If she trusted him, that had to be good enough.
Even if Carson hated it.
“I’m sorry to ask about it. I know it’s none of my business, but ever since Logan used the word blackmail, I’ve felt uneasy.” Emma tried a bite of her dessert, and he realized he’d forgotten all about his.
He picked up his fork and tried to join her in enjoying the last course.
“With good reason. My whole family has been on edge waiting for our private investigator to come up with something.” Carson didn’t give any details about Paige’s mysterious past, since that wasn’t his story to share.
Whatever secrets his stepmother was hiding, they were hers to reveal when the time was right. He hadn’t asked Scarlett if Logan knew the contents of that note, but maybe he should have.
Either way, the pressure was on to speak to his father as soon as he got back to Cheyenne.
“You were probably looking forward to getting away from those worries tonight,” Emma observed. “And then I had to kick the hornet’s nest to stir it all up again.”
“You didn’t know. My family has been a target for scandalmongers, gold diggers and business rivals in the past. That comes with success.” He’d escaped some of that during his years in the rodeo, but successful bull riders were targeted in other ways.
For their fame. By hangers-on who liked the thrill of the sport.
“Still, I’m sorry.” She twirled her fork through the merinque. “I’ve been looking forward to this. Our time together tonight.”
His gaze flicked to hers. His unspoken question had somehow been answered, because he knew she was thinking about the same thing as him. His pulse shifted into high gear.
“As have I.” He gave up trying to eat any dessert. It was Emma he wanted to taste.
Her lips quirked in the ghost of a nervous smile.
“I—” She set aside her fork. Her elbow bumped against the table slightly, making the candle flames jump inside their tiny hurricane shades. “You should know, I haven’t been with anyone since...that whole debacle in my past.”
How many years had that been? He couldn’t remember, but he knew it had been a long time. He reminded himself to keep that in mind. To take care with her. Of her.
“We can go slowly.” He skimmed a touch up her arm, liking the flare of reaction in her eyes as much as the feel of her skin. “You set the pace.”
He felt a shiver run through her, the subtle tremble igniting a fierce need of his own.
Emma pivoted on her seat to face him, the thigh-high slit in her skirt giving him a delectable glimpse of her bare leg. “Actually, if I’m being totally honest, three years is sort of feeling like a lifetime right now.”
Eight
Sensation tripped through her hot under Carson’s steady gaze. Emma wasn’t sure how it transpired, but the fog of half-formed fears dissipated when he touched her, his fingers falling on her bare knee where her silk skirt had fallen aside. She wanted to see his hand on her, to watch him touch her and see the magic of his caress at work. Yet she couldn’t tear her gaze from his.
“Would you like to come inside with me, Emma?” he asked.
His eyes asked much, much more.
A bolt of longing speared through her. White-hot. The sparks from it set fire to any lingering fears. She wanted to climb into his lap and kiss him. Wrap herself around him.
“Yes.” She forced a jerky nod, her body feeling oddly foreign under the weight of her self-restraint. “I’d like that.”
Taking her hand, he drew her to her feet. Her legs tingled with awareness as the cool night breeze fluttered the silk against her skin. There was a scent of applewood in the air from the outdoor hearth.
Carson’s warm hand palmed the small of her back, one finger landing on the narrow patch of bare skin between the high-waisted skirt and cropped blouse. Her breasts ached to be touched, the sensitive peaks beading in response to his touch on her back. As he guided her through the French doors and into the living area, sh
e had a vague sense of the cathedral ceiling and a loft area above, the gleaming natural wood walls giving the whole place a dull glow in the dim light from the heavy bronze sconces.
Once he closed the door behind them and stepped briefly into the kitchen to dismiss the wait staff, Carson returned to her side. She let him lead her deeper into the house, past the huge staircase to the hallway that led to the master suite. There, he closed and locked the double doors that separated his quarters from the rest of the home. Emma could see a fire already crackling in the hearth shared on one side by the den and the other side by the bedroom. Carson never hesitated as he drew her left—toward the large bed with a padded leather headboard that rose halfway to the ceiling.
A cream-colored duvet was half pulled back, revealing layers of cream and tan blankets, sheets and a spill of pillows in every size. She only had a moment to take in their surroundings before Carson was there, eye-to-eye with her, his hands cupping her shoulders.
“Are you sure?” He tipped her chin to see her face in the firelight.
She appreciated his concern. Trusted him all the more because of it.
“Completely certain.” Dragging in a breath of air tinged with a hint of wood smoke and his aftershave, she felt safe sharing what she wanted. Needed. “I wish tonight would be all about us. A chance to be in the present. Forget about the past.”
Understanding lit up his eyes. He curved his palm around her cheek, cradling her face as he stepped closer, narrowing the space between them to the smallest fraction of an inch.
“You can’t imagine how much I’m going to like that.” His thumb stroked down her cheek.
Once. Twice.
Her lips parted as she leaned into him, sealing her body to his until the only part of them not touching were their lips. She heard his sharp intake of breath and it gratified her to think this attraction affected him as much as it did her.
He threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of her neck. Angled her head for his kiss.
When their lips finally brushed, Emma thought she would come right out of her skin.