Chapter 22
Two months of meticulous planning and precision execution led to a fifteen-minute ceremony that ended when Ella and Craig sealed their vows with a kiss. They stood for a moment to accept the applause of their wedding guests. Both of them beaming, they marched arm in arm back through the rose garden to the house while the string quartet played Ode to Joy.
Olivia stood aside and waited for the newlyweds to pass. These fifteen minutes, she decided, were an absolute anticlimax. She’d missed nothing by getting married in a town hall. She was an idiot to believe planning an elaborate weekend, an outdoor ceremony with over seventy guests and having a beautiful dress was something that could make any kind of difference to how a wedding felt. What had given that idea credence? Why had she bought into the hype? Her two weddings had led to disappointment.
And so had this one.
With a smile, Emerson offered Olivia his arm. She took it. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his jacket. He’d glanced at her so many times during the ceremony and felt a little tightness in his throat. He’d gotten a little misty-eyed. So had she. She’d watched Ella and Craig intently as they exchanged rings and vows and her eyes had filled with tears. When he caught her gaze, he knew by the way she didn’t let those tears fall, by the rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts, and the cadence of her breathing, she was holding back emotion too. He liked knowing now that the little quiver at his elbow was proof what she felt for him had affected her as deeply as it had him.
As they walked toward the terrace, his throat was still tight.
“Excuse me,” she said, and slipped her arm from his. She waved at Vivian, meeting the woman near the windows outside the sunroom. The housekeeper looked amused and then perplexed as Olivia spoke. Vivian glanced around at the guests milling about and then back to the woman giving her instructions. Then she nodded and hurried into the house.
A moment later, he was back at her side. His hand slid around her waist and Olivia stumbled, her very high heel catching in a skinny space between flagstones. He tried to steady her, but she’d already regained her footing on the steps. “I gather that was important?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “It’s probably the most important thing I’ll do today.” Testing cars was all about pushing the design to see exactly what a vehicle could do, how it handled in specific situations, and what its limitations were, but in racing cars, taking risks and finding an opening was part of the sport. Olivia had found her hole and made a decision to alter part of the course for the rest of the evening. She slipped from his grasp and moved swiftly, lifting her dress clear of her toes to go up the terrace steps ahead of him, glancing at the small gold watch on her small wrist. “It’s pre-reception cocktails for the next thirty minutes while the bride and groom have their photos taken. Then everyone moves down to the boat house for the receiving line.”
“Thirty minutes?”
She looked at him, her eyes narrow and intensely dark, her mouth twitching, her voice sensually dropping low as her palm pressed against his cheek. “Yes, an entire half hour is plenty of time for us to take the happy couple’s bags down to their car.”
He grinned. “You know I love the little talks we have in cars.”
People began to filter out of the rose garden and onto the terrace. The balls of her feet were aching in Ella’s compulsory shoes, but Olivia ignored the discomfort. A voice at the bottom part of her mind shouted something at her, but she ignored that too. She felt hot all over and she only got warmer when he moved behind her, his hand cool and possessive on the back of her neck. His trailing fingers sent a feverish chill down her spine. She inhaled slowly, steadily, keeping everything in check. When he leaned over, cupped a hand under her chin, and kissed her languidly she wanted to bite him.
Emerson felt Olivia stiffen. “I’m making you feel self-conscious, kissing you at the top of the stairs with all these people around, aren’t I?” he said, curling a strand of her hair through his fingers.
“Not really.”
“Your face is a little red.”
“Is it?” she half-whispered.
Emerson smiled and moved to kiss her again, but stopped when he noticed Karl beside them, a shapely blonde on his arm. “Ah, I see.”
The blonde was completely Martin’s taste and looked oddly familiar. It took a couple of seconds before Emerson realized he’d seen her on a calendar in his Lexus mechanic’s workshop. Miss January had been strategically soaped up, but her assets had been just as visible as they were in the canary yellow dress she barely wore now. “I think your ex’s got some rocks to actually show up,” he muttered.
“Some men think everything’s a sport,” she said. She turned and Karl stopped beside them with his pouting honey pot companion.
Karl took a step toward Olivia.
Was the man serious? Oh no, there was no fucking way in hell Karl was giving his ex-wife the same greeting he gave her last time and Emerson lowered his head and bared his teeth in something that wasn’t a smile as much as a threat that said try it dickwhistle and I’ll disembowel your Mercedes-driving German ass.
The smarter-than-he-looked ex-husband made no move to come any closer. He simply smiled handsomely. Emerson had to admit the guy was good-looking, if you liked that sort of blond Bavarian god kind of thing. “Hallo, Emerson and Olifia,” he said, “I vorgesst to make introductions. This ist DeeDee.”
DeeDee’s glossy hot pink mouth twitched.
Olivia lifted her chin. “Karl,” she said, “we need to talk.”
Emerson watched Karl bend forward. “Ja Katzchen?” he said, smiling beatifically and looking down at Olivia.
“You owe me this.”
“Ja. Okay, I owe you, but DeeDee—”
“DeeDee won’t mind, will you DeeDee?”
“Okay. Was word ist it you want?”
Olivia rattled off something in German and Emerson’s hand wandered over the bare part of her back. He played with the loose strands of hair at the base of her softly scented neck and wanted so much to nibble on that little sensitive spot he discovered she had just below her hairline.
He watched Karl’s expression change several times. The man glanced at him with his eyebrows hooked in surprise and he shook his flaxen head in amusement or disbelief. Emerson couldn’t tell which it was, nor could he guess what they were saying, but he thought he had a pretty good idea they were talking about him because Karl gave him the once-over, his blue eyes squinting before he turned his attention back to Olivia.
“Wirklich?” Karl said.
“Yes. Really.” Olivia nodded and paused a moment. Emerson felt her fingers brush the back of his hand, and she continued speaking in German until Karl stopped making faces and looked like he found something utterly hilarious.
The blonde centerfold in yellow looked bored and annoyed she hadn’t been included in the conversation. Karl’s girlfriend sighed heavily and shot Emerson a look that oozed sex. She put the tip of her finger into her pouting mouth and sucked to further her point.
Emerson rolled his eyes.
A moment later Karl nodded. “Ja. Okay, fine. Then I leave,” he said, snaked an arm around his mewling, finger-sucking girlfriend, and led her away.
Slowly, Olivia exhaled her breath, blowing it from pursed lips. Emerson shifted his hands and began to knead the tension from her shoulders. “So he’s going to leave?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
“You were very civilized about it. You’re always very civilized about everything. You’re civilization. I’m Cro-Magnon. In fact, I’m feeling pretty cave man right now.”
She looked back at him. “I never believe in making a scene. I prefer to take care of things quietly without a lot of fuss. You won’t believe how effective that can be.”
“I am very aware of how quietly you can manage a situation. Did you know DeeDee was a Miss January on one of those calendars auto mechanics like to hang in their shops?”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I don’t
think anything really does anymore.” She sighed.
“Did you really love that guy?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him about us?”
“Yes, I did. He thought it was a very funny idea.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that. Is that why you feel so tight?”
“Am I tight?”
“You’re coiled up like a spring back here. Good God, I love the feel of your skin.” His fingers ran down the back of her arm with a caress and he watched goose bumps bloom on her skin.
She gazed at him over one shoulder and tears flooded her eyes.
Emerson understood overseeing the wedding had kept Olivia busy and she had been committed to the event totally. He admired her dedication to the job and her loyalty to her best friend. He’d watched her watching Ella and Craig during the ceremony and wondered how a woman so devoted to those she loved could have ever been abandoned by the men she married.
Hadn’t they known the depth of her love was all-encompassing? Couldn’t they see how precious that was?
“Shall we check to make sure Craig and Ella’s bags have been brought out to the car?” she murmured. Her tears had disappeared, her tone turned devilish, and it filled his mind with the devilish things he wanted to do to her.
When he smiled, she took his hand, pulling him up the last step. Hand in hand, they headed through the empty kitchen for the rear stairs they had used so much in the last two days. Olivia stopped abruptly and Emerson bumped into her back. She looked at him and made a face. “Oh, shit, I think somebody’s there,” she said softly.
“I don’t hear anyb—” he began and then came an unmistakably feminine tittering.
“Nein, Nein, DeeDee don’t go jezt.”
“Damn. It’s Karl and Miss January!” Emerson whispered.
Before he could protest, Olivia wrangled him backward into the open butler’s pantry. His hand shot out to stop her before she shut them inside the dark cupboard completely. He left a four-inch gap and drew her back into his chest as they stood behind the door, his chin resting on her bare shoulder.
As he pressed against her, Olivia responded. She closed the door and turned to him.
“Olivia, no.” Emerson’s voice was choked with discomfort. “Open the door.”
“Shhh.” She slid her hand in between their bodies, down the front of his pants to brush over his fly. His arousal was instant, and she whispered thickly, “Trust me.”
In the barest, most faint hint of light that came from the crack under the door, Emerson looked into her warm, deep eyes; the kindest he had ever seen, and focused on her. He set a hand on her bare shoulder and swallowed.
“We were interrupted a little while ago, weren’t we? I want to finish what you started,” she whispered.
Eager and hesitant at the same time, he allowed her to shuffle him to the back of the pantry where the shelf was stacked with bottles and jars of various condiments. In the near darkness he looked about uncomfortably. The only light came from the thin line beneath the door, and fixed on that for a moment and waited for the compressing sensation to begin. He took a sluggish, deep breath and began to count to five. He got as far as two when Olivia slipped her hands up his chest and began to kiss him fervently, working his jacket from his shoulders. It fell to the floor and she tugged his shirt from his pants.
She untied his tie and unbuttoned his shirt before she pushed him into the far shelf, her mouth wandered over his bare chest, through the hair there, nipping and biting his distended nipples while her fingers slid to the waist of his pants. Breathing rapidly and very softly she slipped a hand down the front of his pants, cupping him, caressing him gently over the constrictive dark fabric.
Emerson exhaled a quiet gasp. In the splinter of light he saw her eyes, wild and full of desire. He liked her being assertive. Confidence was incredibly sexy and he liked knowing how much she wanted him. He liked it even more when she unbuckled his belt, undid the button inside the waistband of his trousers, and unzipped his fly.
She hooked her thumbs inside his pants and pushed them down over his hips, letting them puddle around his ankles. She took several steps back and began to lift her skirt. Her hands moved beneath the dark fabric, and she wiggled, slipped off her panties and shot them at him like a rubber band. He watched her step back again, closer to the door, her dress scooped over her forearms, but she paused suddenly, cocking her head as if she was listening.
Olivia stood stock still, holding her breath. Then she dropped her skirt and turned toward the door.
“I think they’re gone,” he whispered. “C’mere.”
Carefully, allowing just enough space, she opened the door and poked her head through for a peek.
“Katzchen?” Karl said, his accent thick as marmalade. “What machts du in dere?”
Emerson bit back a four-letter word.
Olivia looked back at him without any trace of feverish passion on her face. Then she stepped through the aperture she’d made and pulled the door shut, the doorknob rattling with a metallic clatter.
Emerson’s eyes fixed on the crack of light at the bottom of the door and the oddly-shaped illumination coming through an old skeleton keyhole. His heart began a little warm-up jog in his chest, but he breathed in, slowly and deliberately, and listened to Olivia speak entirely in German. With his trousers bunched around his ankles, he shuffled toward the rectangular block of light and the tiny odd-shaped blob of keyhole light, feeling just above it for the doorknob. He gripped the cool round globe in his clammy hand, acquiring a necessary sense of security from it.
“Bist du fertig?” the German asked.
“Yes, I’m finished,” Olivia answered in English. “Thanks for bringing those down. Please take them out to my car.”
As his mouth started to go dry, Emerson bent down and hoisted up his pants, buttoning them before he peered through the keyhole. Olivia’s arm crossed his obstructed line of sight as it moved out toward Karl. The violet of her dress flashed momentarily and he caught sight of DeeDee’s canary yellow ribcage. Then Olivia stepped back in front of the door. As his tongue ran over his teeth in an effort to make some saliva to moisten his mouth, he shifted from his right eye to his left, thinking he’d get a better view. He saw the edge of Karl’s dark coat and swish of DeeDee’s gauzy dress move off in the direction of the hallway.
After five seconds of breathing in, Emerson straightened and twisted the knob in his hand, pushing the door forward. Nothing happened. He tried again, twisting the knob the opposite way and pushing a little more firmly. Still, the door didn’t budge. “Olivia?”
“Yes?”
“Are they gone?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, you can stop leaning against the door now.”
“I’m not leaning against the door.”
“You’re not?”
“No.”
“Well, all right, but I can’t seem to get the door open.”
“M-hm.”
“What do you mean, m-hm? Help me open the door.” He bent again to look through the keyhole. One glance down and he could see the shadow of her feet move away from the crack at the bottom of the door. Back at the keyhole, he saw the purple crescent of her left side near the coffee maker on the long counter and heard her drop something metal on the counter. It landed with a clink on the white-tiled top. “Come on Olivia, I’ve had enough.”
“So have I,” she said and a moment later she was in front of the door. “Consider yourself set up,” she said acidly.
“What?” Instantly, his jogging heart skipped in a staccato rhythm in time with her heels traveling across the kitchen tiles. “Olivia!”
Her footsteps faded as she moved into the carpeted hallway.
“Olivia, what are you doing? Olivia!”
Prickles of sweat broke out on his forehead; he felt them on his upper lip too. Okay. He’d heard of this. Was it her idea he should face his fear and see nothing actually came from the anxiety, except the anxiety…and the h
eart palpitations and the python-like constriction beginning to loop tighter around his chest.
“Oh, Christ.” Emerson swallowed and rattled the doorknob. Over and over he rammed against the door with his shoulder to release himself. This old house was very well made and built to last, just like the old lock, and the door did not shift an inch.
Shouting, he yanked off his unbuttoned shirt, kicking and hammering his fists on the door until his breathing became shallow and rapid. Vainly, his arm pits sodden, his face dripping with cold sweat, he groped around in the darkness, feeling for an item he could lever between the door and frame, but what good was a bottle of brandy, a rolled up napkin or a bottle of Tabasco sauce?
She’d locked the door from the other side, dropped the key on the counter and left him trapped inside a dark mausoleum filled with lifeless condiments and table linens.
Olivia listened to him from the hallway, just outside the kitchen. From the inside out, she was a burning mixture of rage, unsatisfied desire, and shame. She was entirely exposed, open to every ugly element of human nature, without the benefit of undergarments or a man’s jacket to cover her nakedness this time. Her head and heart had been unrestrained and she’d smashed into Emerson Maxwell without any safety measures. There was no seat belt, helmet, roll cage, or fireproof suit, and the impact rattled every part of her body as if she’d been Maxwell’s personal crash test dummy.
Loathing how she kept associating circumstances to racing and test driving, she let her rage take over. She shut out his distressed pleas to be let out of his oversized coffin and marched outside to the curved gravel driveway.
Vivian had waited for her near the grassy area, almost in the exact spot where the heel had snapped off her sandal the other day. Olivia gathered a few of the frayed ends of her temper. “Thank you for putting my things together, Vivian,” she said. “Once I leave, I need you to go into the kitchen to let Mr. Maxwell out of the pantry—if he hasn’t found the key hanging on the rack and isn’t out already.”
Driving in Neutral Page 24