Emily: Sex and Sensibility

by Sandra Marton

  At least she wasn’t experiencing the joys of the subway system anymore.

  Now, tonight, Marco was telling her that he was sending her home alone.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “Because I don’t mind staying.”

  “Positive. Is that OK?”

  “OK,” she said, and, rat that he was, it pleased the hell out of him that she sounded not just confused but unhappy at the prospect of not being with him.

  Promptly at 6 p.m. she knocked politely at his door, then opened it. He looked up from the papers he was pretending to read.

  “I’m leaving now.”

  He nodded, waved his hand. The distracted CEO at his best.

  “Fine.”

  She didn’t move. He knew she had to be waiting for him to get up, come over and kiss her. Instead, he kept his eyes on the papers. After a few seconds, the door closed.

  Marco looked up. Plan A was underway.

  He counted to ten. Then he shot from his chair, grabbed his suit jacket, stepped into the hall and checked to make sure Emily was not in sight. His heart was pounding. What if she wasn’t ready for Plan A? Even worse, what if she didn’t like Plan B?

  Stop thinking, he told himself. Just run.

  The receptionist looked up as he skidded past her desk.

  “Mr. Santini? Is there something I can—”

  Marco pulled open the heavy glass doors. Dio, his timing was off! The elevator was directly ahead and the doors were staring to shut.

  He flew. Stabbed the call button. Jammed his hand between the doors.

  They opened.

  Emily looked at him and blinked.

  “Marco?”

  “Emily,” he said, and he stepped into the car and took her in his arms.

  “Marco! What are you—”

  “Kissing you goodbye,” he said. “And kissing you hello. And do not tell me about mixing business with pleasure, cara, unless you have forgotten that I make the rules here.”

  She raised her face to his. For one awful instant, he couldn’t read her eyes. Then she laughed and he laughed and he gathered her close and kissed her.

  He heard the receptionist, who had a clear view of things from her desk, gasp. He heard the doors swish shut. He heard them open again on the lobby level, which would be crowded with his employees at this time of day.

  It was just the audience he wanted, and he took all the time that kissing Emily deserved.

  “You are mine,” he said when, at last, he raised his head.

  The look on her face turned his knees weak.

  “Of course I am,” she whispered, and he lifted her off her feet and swung her in a circle while she threw her head back and laughed.

  ******

  He considered taking her with him to Tiffany’s. Letting a woman pick out her own engagement ring was probably the modern way to do things, but there was nothing modern about falling in love.

  So he told Charles to drive them home and he told her a small lie.

  “I have to make a stop,” he said, as she sat curled against him in the back of the Mercedes. “I promised a guy I’d meet him for a quick drink and the only way I’m going to get through it is to think of you on the terrace, wearing something that’s going to make my blood pressure soar.”

  “It’s too cool for the terrace,” she said, running her index finger over his bottom lip. “I won’t have any choice but to wait for you in bed.”

  The privacy screen was up. That meant he could slip his hand under the very businesslike skirt of her very businesslike suit. Beneath it, she wore very unbusinesslike thigh-high hose and an even more unbusinesslike silk thong.

  The Mercedes pulled to the curb. She caught her breath as he skimmed his fingers under the thong.

  “Don’t be gone too long,” she whispered.

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  “Because—”

  “Because you’ll miss me?”

  She smiled. “I will. But—” Her smile tilted. “But we have to talk. About—about me. And my family. I haven’t told them about us. About you. I haven’t told you about them. And there’s so much to tell you—”

  “Your great-great-grandfather was a horse thief.”

  His tone was solemn but his eyes were filled with laughter. How could she not laugh, too?

  “No?”

  “No. But there are things—”

  “Sweetheart.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “What do I care if the Texas Madisons are not perfect?”

  Emily flinched. “See? Even calling them that—”

  “Not good?” He grinned. “Don’t worry. I promise to mind my manners. I will speak properly to… I don’t even know their names.”

  “My brothers are Jacob, Caleb and Travis. My sisters are Lissa and Jaimie. And—” she swallowed. “And my father—”

  “I will salute your father,” he said, trying to chase the serious expression from her face. “Shake hands with your brothers. Kiss your sisters.” There was no answering smile. Was she worried about how he would deal with her family? Had she forgotten that he had not always lived in penthouses and ridden around in Ferraris and limousines? “Emily. Stop worrying. Everything will be fine.”

  “They won’t be what you expect.”

  “They will be if they’re like you.”

  Emily swallowed hard.

  Why had she put off this moment? It wasn’t as if she’d really lied. Lying by omission wasn’t a lie…

  Was it?

  Besides, the truth wasn’t so awful. So what if her brothers were rich, not just average working guys? If her father was a four-star general? If she’d been raised in luxury in what was, in effect, a private kingdom?

  So what if he believed she was the one person in his life who’d always told him the truth?

  Her heart lodged in her throat.

  “Marco,” she said quickly. “Cancel your meeting. Can you do that? Come upstairs with me instead and—”

  His cell phone beeped. A text message. He pulled it from his pocket and read it.

  Hell.

  Tonight, of all nights, when he wanted to be alone with his Emilia…

  “What’s the matter?”

  He looked up. “Nothing. Just a text from an old pal. He’s in New York with his wife. An unexpected layover. Mechanical troubles with their plane. He thought it would be nice if we got together for dinner.”

  Emily nodded. “Of course,” she said softly. “You go ahead. Take the meeting you had planned and then meet up with your friend. I’ll—I’ll catch up on some reading.”

  “I have a better idea. I’ll run my, ah, my errand. And I’ll phone my friend and tell him and his wife to come to my place—to our place, cara. I want you to meet them. We’ll have drinks and then we can go out for dinner or order in. How does that sound?”

  It sounded like yet another night when the truth would have to wait. Still, it had waited this long…

  “Sweetheart? You’ll like them, I promise.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She forced a quick smile. “It sounds like fun.”

  “Si. It will be.” He cupped her cheek as Charles pulled the Mercedes to the curb in front of the condo. “I won’t be long.”

  The doorman opened the rear door. Emily stepped on to the sidewalk. Marco leaned up. She leaned down. They shared a soft kiss.

  He waited until she’d gone through the door and into the lobby. Then he put down the privacy screen.

  “Charles? We are going to Tiffany’s.”

  Charles looked in the mirror and smiled.

  “Congratulations, sir.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “It’s been that obvious for a while,” Charles said.

  Yes, Marco thought as the limo pulled away from the curb, it definitely had.

  Why had it taken him so long to see it?

  Traffic was heavy. He had lots of time to plan what would happen tonight once he and Emily were alone. He’d have the ring he was about to buy in his pocket.
He’d take her out on the terrace—it was cool but he wanted the stars and the city lights to add their own magic. Then he’d get down on one knee and ask her to be his wife.

  They were almost at Tiffany’s. Marco took out his phone and hit a speed dial button.

  “Hello?” a slightly-accented male voice said.

  “Khan, you desert reprobate, what are you doing on my turf?”

  His Royal Highness Sheikh Khan ibn Zain al Hassad, Reigning Prince of Altara, laughed.

  “It’s good to hear your voice, Marco. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Actually, I’m great. And you?”

  “I am happier than I have ever been,” Khan replied. “Marriage agrees with me.”

  “I’m sorry I missed your wedding.”

  “I am, too, but I understood. You were in South America, as I recall.”

  “Yes. Brazil. So, how is your bride?”

  “Laurel is pregnant,” Khan said, his voice rich with pride. “And here’s your chance finally to meet her.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. How about coming for drinks and dinner? You know my address. Say, about eight?”

  “We don’t want you to put you to any trouble.”

  “It won’t be any trouble; it’ll be a pleasure to see you again and to meet Laurel.” Marco cleared his throat. “There will, ah, there will be someone with me.”

  “Truly, we don’t want to inconvenience you. If you have a date tonight—”

  “She’s not my date. She is—” What? Emily was no longer his lover. She was the woman he was going to marry, but how could he say that to his friend when he had not said it to her? “I want you to meet her. Her name is Emily. Emily Madison. She’s from Dallas.”

  “Well. Emily and Laurel will have something in common. Laurel’s from there, too.”

  “Right. I remember that.”

  “For all we know, they might even have friends in common. You know that six-degrees-of-separation thing.”

  “Anything is possible.”

  “Well,” Khan said, “we’ll see you at seven.”

  He ended the call, turned to his wife and took her in his arms.

  “We’re going to Marco’s place.”

  “Mmm,” Laurel said. “That’s nice.”

  Khan lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.

  “There’s a new woman in his life.”

  “Something serious?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s never serious about women. Besides, he sounded nervous mentioning her.”

  “Do you think we’ve come on the scene at a bad time?”

  Khan sighed. “What I think,” he said, “is that we’re better off not speculating. All Marco said is that she’s from Texas. From Dallas.”

  “Really? What’s her name?”

  “Emily. Emily Madison.”

  “Nope, I don’t know her. The only Emily I know is Emily Wilde.”

  Laurel rose on her toes and looped her arms around her husband’s neck.

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Just under two hours.” His eyes darkened. “Why? Did you have something you wanted to do first?”

  She put her lips to his ear. Khan listened, gave a sexy growl and swung her into his arms.

  “Impertinent female,” he said, and kissed her.

  “Damned right,” she said, laughing as he carried her into their bedroom.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Had the elevator to the penthouse always been so slow?

  Emily tapped her foot impatiently as the mirrored car made its climb. She’d been so caught up in Marco’s kissing her in front of all those people, then in all that talk about her family that she was already in the elevator before she realized the importance of what was happening tonight.

  Marco had invited an old friend and his wife to join them for drinks and dinner.

  Such a simple thing.

  Except, it wasn’t.

  She’d met lots of his business acquaintances, but this was Marco’s friend. His old friend. He was bringing his wife and they were coming here, to the home Marco and she shared.

  The world, her life, everything was changing. She’d met a man, gone to work for him, fallen in love with him and now they were a couple.

  So much had happened in only—what?—six weeks.

  And nobody knew about any of it. She’d spoken with her sisters a few times, with her brothers, even with her father. They all led busy lives; keeping in touch by telephone had long ago become important. She’d spoken with Nola, too.

  But not once had she mentioned Marco.

  They all knew she had a new job at a company called MS Enterprises, but that was it. She hadn’t said anything more.

  Now, she wanted them to know all about him. The man she adored. She just had to tell him a few things about herself first, but she wasn’t going to think about that now.

  There was too much to do, getting ready for the first visit they’d had as a couple.

  Well…not really. In fact, there was hardly anything to do.

  Everything was shiny and spotless. Emily reached for a throw pillow on one of the white linen sofas, fluffed it and put it back. She straightened a lampshade. A cleaning service came in three times a week to dust and polish and clean. Marco’s housekeeper came in those same three days to do the laundry, fill the fridge and freezer, cook meals and freeze them.

  Travis called it living the bachelor life.

  Damn. She wasn’t going to think about Travis or her brothers tonight.

  She plucked another pillow from the sofa and punched it into shape. She had to get all that stuff about her family out of her head. Think about tonight. What snacks to serve with drinks.

  Better still, what to wear.

  Dinner wasn’t a problem.

  Marco had said they’d go out or perhaps order in. Either way would be fine. He could always get an excellent table at any of the best restaurants in the city, even when he didn’t have reservations, and those restaurants would gladly deliver to their door.

  It was the same for her brothers.

  Emily stood still, tossed the pillow on the sofa and took a deep breath. Slowly, deliberately, she let it out.

  She was turning herself into a nervous wreck.

  Meeting his friends was scary enough. Knowing that her charade was about to come to an end was worse.

  What was she going to say? Marco, I have something to tell you. My father isn’t just a soldier; he’s a general. And I’m not really from Dallas; I’m from a half-million-acre ranch called El Sueño. I grew up pampered and rich and I never stood on my own two feet until I got to New York. Or maybe she should simply say Here’s the thing, Marco. There is no Emily Madison.

  Her cell phone rang. Emily jumped at the sound, then dug for the device in the depths of her shoulder bag.

  “Hello?”

  “Cara.”

  Edgy as she was, just hearing his voice made her smile. “Hi.”

  “I’m on my way home.”

  “Good. That’s good. I’ll be showered and dressed by the time you get here.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Shower and dress.” His voice was low and husky. “Wait for me.”

  “But your friends…”

  “Wait for me,” he said. “Just another few minutes.”

  She heard the sound of his phone disconnecting. Disconsolate, she stared at hers until the screen went dark.

  She remembered all the times she, Jaimie and Lissa had talked about men. Agreeing that guys were a good thing to have around had been easy. For sex and heavy lifting, Jaimie or maybe Lissa had said, and they’d all laughed.

  They’d never mentioned love.

  The truth was, she hadn’t thought about love. It had always been something way, way out there in the future, kind of like death and taxes and whether or not you’d ever use Botox.

  And now here she was, not just in love but desperately in love. With the only man she woul
d ever want, the only man she hoped to spend her life with. And everything he knew about her was untrue.

  Wrong.

  The details were untrue.

  She wasn’t.

  She was the woman he’d fallen in love with. She was Emily no matter what her last name was.

  He would see that, understand it, accept it.

  The sun dropped lower. The sky began to darken. And just when she knew she was going to weep, she heard the elevator give its soft sigh as it rose toward the penthouse.

  She swung around. Never mind that guests were coming. Never mind anything but the truth. She would confess right now…

  The doors opened.

  Marco came out of the elevator with his suit coat off, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes blazing with passion.

  “Amore mio,” he said, and she went into his arms and forgot everything, everything but him.

  ******

  Marco paced through the big living room, back and forth, back and forth, the ring he’d bought damn near burning a hole in his pocket.

  It was perfect.

  It was, wasn’t it?

  He had looked at enough rings to make his head spin, all of them beautiful, some of them spectacular, none of them The One. The saleswoman had done her best to help. What size stone did he want? What shape? What kind of setting? Logical questions but his only answer was that he’d know the right ring when he saw it.

  And, finally, he had.

  It was a flawless blue-white three-carat diamond set in platinum and flanked by cornflower-blue sapphires. Beautiful yet modest and with a fiery heart. Just like his Emilia.

  He grinned as he took it from his pocket and looked at it.

  OK. Maybe the ring wasn’t so modest, but Emily was. And beautiful. And fiery.

  He could hardly wait to slip the ring on her finger. He’d had to guess at the size but why worry about that when it suddenly hit him that what he really had to guess at was whether she would say “yes” to his proposal.

  She loved him but the only certainty in this life was that Emily was the missing half of him.

  He loved her in bed. He loved her out of bed. She was smart, she was fun, he could discuss absolutely anything with her, and she wasn’t afraid of standing up to him.