She bent forward, propping her forehead in her hands. A hot tear burned its way down from her tightly closed eyes. “I knew he was trouble,” she muttered. “But did I pay attention? No, of course not. That would’ve been too smart. Too sensible.”
She wiped her cheeks and lifted her head. She couldn’t even be angry with Kyle. For what had he done? Been generous with his home? Offered security for Chandler that she could’ve spent years trying and failing to achieve? Shown her that she wasn’t dead inside, the way she’d thought, after being betrayed by Jeremy and the rest of the St. James family?
She sniffed and swung around on the piano bench, automatically lifting the lid. She stroked the surface of the keys with her fingertips.
When had she begun falling for him?
Had it been when he’d brought her warm blueberry pie with ice cream melting all over it? When he’d walked Chandler to sleep that one night?
Perhaps it had been the day he’d shocked Flo and Blanche by telling them she was his wife.
Or maybe it had been that very first day. When he’d looked at her with his mesmerizing green eyes and said he was looking for a wife.
It didn’t matter when. It just was. And if she’d been unsuitable for the St. James family, she was really unsuitable for the position of Mrs. Kyle Montgomery.
Taking a shuddering breath, she found the only solace there was just then. Playing the piano.
Kyle heard the haunting notes as soon as he opened the door to the suite. The sight of Emma, her head bent over the piano as she drew a painfully bittersweet tune from the instrument, was unobstructed from where he stood.
He closed the door quietly, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d made more noise. She was lost in the music.
He could see it in the angle of her head, in the vulnerable curve of her neck. In the fingers that seemed to become part of the piano, making it a part of herself.
God, did she weep inside the way the music wept?
He crossed the room. “Emma.”
Her shoulders stiffened and she pulled her hands off the keys as if she’d been caught with her fingers in the cookie jar. She pressed her hands to her lap until they disappeared among the fluffy white stuff of her wedding gown. “Has your brother gone?”
“Probably.” Kyle didn’t want to talk about Jake.
“What does he do?” she asked after a moment.
“Keeps everyone and everything at a comfortable distance.”
“He’s like you, then.”
Kyle frowned, but couldn’t quite deny it. “Perhaps.” He pressed his thumb against the underside of the unfamiliar gold band he wore. “Tell me about Chandler’s father.”
He heard her audible intake of breath. “What for?”
He waited a few moments before responding. He didn’t want to make yet another false step. Blunder more than he already had. He didn’t want to be the reason she played such sad notes on the piano.
He didn’t want the memory of an old love to be the reason, either.
“You were in love with him.”
She slowly replaced the lid over the keys, and his body tightened at the way her fingers lingered over the gleaming black finish. “I thought so,” she admitted after a moment.
“Where did it go wrong?”
Her lips twisted. “He didn’t love me.”
Kyle found that hard to believe. “He said that?”
“He didn’t have to. He already had a fiancée. Who wasn’t yours truly. That made it pretty clear.”
If he’d only heard her dry tone, he might have believed that her heart hadn’t been wounded by the jerk’s actions. But he saw her face. Saw the wounds that hadn’t yet healed. “His being engaged to someone else doesn’t necessarily mean he didn’t love you.” Kyle made himself say the words, for they were true even if he found them unpalatable.
“Well, it’s all water under the bridge now. Last I heard, the wedding is expected to be the summer’s society event for Colorado Springs.”
“He comes from money,” Kyle murmured.
She nodded, her palm slowly caressing the surface of the piano.
“And his family didn’t approve of the music student for a wife.”
Emma stiffened, looking up at him with surprise. Then her soft mouth turned down at the corners, and her cheeks flushed. “I guess it’s not a particularly original story. But I suspect it was my Tennessee background they found particularly embarrassing. Goodness knows they spent enough time investigating what they termed my welfare roots.”
“It’s their embarrassment, Emma. Not yours. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She pressed her palms flat on the curved keyboard cover. “Are you so sure?”
Her voice was low and he could barely hear the question. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I am sure.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she looked at him, her eyes dark and so full of emotion that his gut ached. She moistened her lips. “Thank you.”
Their eyes held for a moment that stretched a little too long for comfort. Kyle’s comfort, anyway. “I’m hungry,” he announced abruptly. “Think you can trust Mrs. Schneider long enough with Chandler to join me for dinner?”
“Oh, I don’t…Is she still here?”
Kyle was glad she hadn’t completed her immediate objection. “I arranged lodging for her here, too.” He hadn’t allowed for a single thing to interfere with his plans to get their wedding album under way. “We can have dinner right here at the Crest. There are a couple of restaurants.” He held out his hands, palms up. “It’s been a long day, Emma, and we might as well have a nice dinner. What do you say?”
“I’ll need to change first.”
“Take as long as you need.” He smiled slightly. “I’m starving, but I guess I can wait a little longer.”
“Ah, no—” her cheeks went pink “—that’s not what I meant.” She rose, smoothing her graceful hands down the folds of her sweeping dress. “The gown,” she said. “I, well, I can’t reach the buttons. Mrs. Schneider helped me earlier.” She turned, showing him her back and the long line of tiny round pearls that ran from the base of her neck to below her hips.
He curled his fingers. “I’ll get Mrs. Schneider.”
“Oh.” She didn’t look at him. “Actually, if you could just, ah, undo the top few, I can get changed while you make sure she can watch Chandler. It’ll save a little time, since you said you were really hungry.”
“Starving,” he murmured. He uncurled his fists and stood, walking up behind her, nudging his boots under the folds of the gown so he didn’t damage the fabric. He smoothed her shiny hair away from the nape of her neck, exposing the top buttons.
She reached up and held her curls out of his way.
Kyle’s jaw tightened and he reached for the first button. His pulse roared in his ears and his fingers felt too big and clumsy as he tried to slip the round little button through the narrow loop.
“There’s a hook at the top,” she said.
He looked. Unfastened it and then managed to unfasten the top one. And the second. And the third. Her skin was pale and smooth as dairy cream. The fourth. The fifth. Her shoulder blade where a tiny mole taunted him, sassy and sexy as hell. The sixth. The lacy edge of a corset-looking thing. The seventh. Eighth.
The little cap sleeves slid forward from her slender shoulders, and Emma lifted her hands to hold the gown against her breasts.
He drew in a long breath. More buttons. Her corset was clearly visible now, hugging her slender back. Her narrow waist. The seductive flare of hip. He worked free another button, his knuckles grazing the slick fabric that molded her skin. He went still for an agonizing moment. Then moved his hands from temptation and stepped away. “There’re still some buttons left, but it looks like you can—”
“Yes,” she said quickly, turning, holding the dress up, avoiding his eyes. “It’s fine, Kyle. Thank you.” With her free hand, she gathered up a fist of skirt and headed for her bedroom.
; Close the door, Emma, he commanded silently.
She looked back at him as if she’d heard his thoughts. She let go of her skirt and slowly closed the door, hiding her creamy skin and satin-clad curves from view.
Kyle blew out a long breath and yanked at the studs on his shirt.
“Kyle?” Emma peeked at him from behind the door, but he could see her bare shoulder.
Torturing himself wondering what else was bare, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yes?”
“I should probably wear the outfit I came in rather than jeans, right?”
Jeans. Snug ones that hugged her hips and outlined her legs. Which Baxter had delighted in describing a time or two, but which Kyle had not had the pleasure to witness himself. He’d been too busy at ChandlerAIR. Too busy with finding one reason after another to stay away from his house.
Or the classy number she’d worn on the plane. Either one was fine with him.
Nothing at all was fine with him.
“The skirt and jacket,” he suggested gruffly. “That’ll be more than fine for the dining room.”
She nodded and softly closed the door.
Kyle raked his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to think he could keep things strictly business where Emma was concerned.
Subdued lighting, soft music, lowered voices. Linen tablecloths, heavy silver and gleaming crystal. That was Emma’s hazy impression of the dining room at the Crest. Despite the fact that it was summer, a fire flickered in an enormous stone fireplace across the room. Yet it didn’t seem to add undue heat.
Every table was placed for optimum privacy, and the waiters anticipated the needs of their patrons almost before the diners were aware of any.
What Emma was most conscious of, however, was not the elegant décor, the intimate atmosphere, the impeccable service or the perfectly prepared meal. It was the man seated across from her. The man who’d turned her world on end from the moment he’d entered her hospital room that fateful day.
The man who had turned the simple task of undoing a few buttons into a wholly sensual experience, which still had her nerve endings jangling.
“How’s the dessert?”
She looked down at the fluffy concoction of cream and kiwi and ten other things that the waiter had described but that Emma couldn’t recall. “Delicious.” She set down her dessert fork, though. “But I’m afraid if I eat another bite, I’ll burst a seam.”
His eyes crinkled. “That might be an interesting sight.”
Emma smiled and shook her head. It was safer looking around at the other diners than at him, so she did. “Have you been here before?”
“Once.”
“With a beautiful sophisticated woman on your arm, no doubt,” she said lightly.
His lips twitched. “I’m sure my sister Sabrina would appreciate the description. I brought her here for her twenty-fifth birthday.”
Emma absently rotated the stem of her water goblet between her thumb and forefinger. “She lives in Denver, too?”
“Yes. So do Bolt and Trev and Felicia when she’s not traveling around the state. Gillian is in Europe with her ballet company.”
“My goodness. How exciting.”
“Grueling, actually. At least that’s what she said in her last letter.”
Emma propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm, looking right at him, because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help it. Her gaze just naturally wanted to rest on him. “You keep up with them all, don’t you? I admire that. The perfect big brother.”
His lips twisted. “Jake would disagree.”
“You said you’ve reconnected with your other birth brothers and sisters?”
He nodded.
“And they all know one another, as well? Your birth family and your adoptive family?”
“No. Let’s dance.”
Emma blinked, sitting up straighter. Looked beyond his shoulder to the small dance floor where a few couples were lazily circling in time to the strains of a lone guitar. What an appealing idea. But she knew that the idea of holding her in his arms wasn’t what prompted his abrupt suggestion.
“You know, Kyle,” she said softly, “sometimes talking about the past helps put it to rest.”
“And sometimes, Emma, talking about the past leads only to unrest.”
“In other words, don’t ask you why Jake called you PJ?”
He looked at her, then shook his head and smiled wryly. “Yeah.”
She smiled, too. It was hard not to when he was this way. Relaxed—at least as relaxed as she’d seen him, his remarkable eyes glinting with humor. “If you have brothers and sisters living right here in Denver, why are you staying at the Crest? Having dinner with me? Don’t you want to see them while you’re in town?”
“I’d just as soon they not get too big a whiff of what I’m doing.”
“Having fake wedding photos created, pretending to be married, you mean?” She pulled her elbow from the table and folded her hands in her lap. “You don’t want to lie to your family, but it’s okay to lie to Mr. Cummings. To my friends in Buttonwood.”
“Emma.”
Sharp disappointment was coursing through her, and no matter how badly she’d like to be sophisticated and capable, she couldn’t. “That’s not an accurate take on the situation?”
“I don’t want the rest of my family to know what I’m doing because word would get back to my adoptive parents about the deal with Cummings.”
“So?”
“So they’d try to stop me. And I won’t be stopped. Not about this. Not when I’m so close.”
“But why? You said yourself that it’s good business sense for ChandlerAIR. And if Mr. Cummings wants the deal, as well, what could your parents possibly object to?” If he could only explain it to her so she’d understand, then perhaps she could justify her foolish fascination for him.
Kyle just shook his head, then subtly motioned for the check. Emma sat back, sighing. So much for the lovely dinner they’d just shared. All because she couldn’t keep her tongue under control. She looked at the dance floor, wishing she’d had the nerve to dance with him when he’d suggested it. “You’re a complicated man.” She’d thought as much before.
The waiter appeared silently beside Kyle, then disappeared just as silently after Kyle had scrawled his name on the check. Kyle looked at Emma, one brow raised slightly. “Not really. I have a goal and I don’t want any more hitches in the plan to achieve it than necessary.”
“And my pretending to be your wife is all part of the plan.”
“Essentially.” He rose and held out his hand to her. “Except you’ve thrown a few unexpected hairpin turns in the road.”
Emma looked at his hand. Long blunt fingers. Wide square palm. He had hard little pads of callus that she wouldn’t have expected from a man who was the employer rather than the laborer. “Hairpin turns? I can’t imagine what you mean.”
He wrapped those long blunt fingers around her wrist and pulled her to her feet. “You know, sweetness,” he murmured. “You know damned good and well what I mean. You have a tiny little mole on your shoulder blade,” he said for her ears alone.
“I know.” She tugged her hand from his. “Chandler is probably hungry by now.”
“Right here,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. They walked through the quiet lobby toward the elevator and he pressed his palm against her shoulder blade. It seemed to burn right through her jacket to her flesh. “I’m going to be thinking about that tempting little spot for the rest of my days. Wondering if your skin is as soft as it is creamy. If it’s as sweet as the honey that flows in your voice.”
And now she’d be thinking about his lips on her shoulder blade, too.
But nothing had changed between them. Not really. He might be able to send her from amusement to hurt to heaven within the blink of an eye. But Kyle still believed the end justified the means. And he’d made his priorities perfectly clear. His
business came first with him.
It always would.
Chapter Thirteen
Chandler was crying.
It was nearly two in the morning, and Kyle was still sprawled on the couch in the living area of the suite, where he’d been since Emma had gone to bed hours earlier. Still staring at the television screen.
He didn’t want to listen to the television any more than he wanted to listen to the voice inside him that kept insisting he was heading down the wrong path.
He picked up the tumbler of scotch he’d been nursing since midnight and stared into the liquid. He wasn’t much of a drinker. The booze only reminded him of his first mother, Sally, and as such had about as much appeal as swallowing glass shards.
Chandler continued crying.
It would be risky to go into Emma’s bedroom, though. Particularly after the day they’d had. His resistance was shot to hell. Emma was still recovering from the jerk. It was a combination that spelled disaster.
He could too easily take advantage of Emma’s generous spirit. God, he already was. Using her need to provide for her son in order to obtain her help in closing the deal on CCS. Kyle didn’t want to hurt her even more. He couldn’t give Emma what she deserved any more than the jerk had.
Families and forever were for the young and idealistic. Kyle was neither. He was thirty-nine and a little too jaded and a lot too committed to his work to even think about starting out on that life course.
Yet still he wanted Emma. Wanted to run his fingers along her lovely cheek. Wanted to see her shiny dark hair spread across his white pillowcase. Wanted to draw her floaty feminine skirt slowly up from her ankles, over her curvy calves and above her knees…
With an oath Kyle set the glass on the cocktail table. Thinking that way would only ensure he’d spend the rest of the night as sleepless as he was now.
Chandler’s crying had grown more fretful. He rose and crossed to Emma’s closed door. Pressed his palm against the wood and told himself he wasn’t going in there.
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