It all sounded good. Except one thing. Trying to curtail his hurt, Joe crossed the distance between them. He sank into a chair and pulled her down onto his lap. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
As she shifted over him, he realized she wasn’t wearing any panties.
Emma looked down at his chest. She stroked her fingers through the mat of hair on his pecs. She shrugged and continued in a small voice laced with regret, “I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case I was wrong. I was trying to protect you.”
Joe frowned, not sure where to start, she was so out of line here. “Emma—”
She lifted her chin and regarded him petulantly. “Well, you protect me!”
Joe laced his hands around her waist. “We can’t have secrets between us. I thought we had settled that.” Her keeping the fact she was Saul Donovan’s daughter from him was what had split them up in the first place!
“I’m sorry.” Emma looked down again.
Joe was silent. The desire he felt for her was only growing. He could feel it in the blood diverting steadily to his groin. But his connection to her—the bonds they had been forging—those were a little shaky.
Emma studied him. “I’ve hurt your feelings.”
Joe shrugged. He didn’t want to fight with her, but he couldn’t see the benefit in not stating what was on his mind, either. “It bugs me that you could go to Mac—a man you hardly know—instead of me,” he said resentfully.
“Actually,” Emma revealed, looking as if she felt her actions had been only natural, “I’ve had a lot of dealings with Mac since I started working at the Inn. He’s always dropping by to check on your mom, or grab something to eat.”
The sibling rivalry Joe hoped had been long buried reared its ugly head. “Even better. You’ve spent more time with my brother than me.”
He started to lift her off his lap.
Emma refused to cooperate and stayed put. Smiling now, she looked into his eyes in a way that insisted he could not—would not—remain ticked off at her. “And Janey—because she bakes the cakes. And your mom.”
To his surprise Joe found he wasn’t staying mad at her. “Not Cal?” he asked curiously.
Emma drummed a lazy pattern on Joe’s chest. “He’s always at the medical center.”
Aware he was beginning to get aroused again, Joe prompted, “Fletcher?”
Beginning to look as if she were enjoying herself, Emma blew out an exasperated breath. “I swear the only time that man leaves the vet clinic is to go out to the farms to tend the animals there.”
“Well, at least I’m ahead of two of my brothers,” Joe said with real feeling.
Emma reached down and untied the belt of her robe. The satin kimono fell open, revealing lush curves and breasts that were already pearling. She looked at him sweetly and revealed in a low, teasing voice that was all temptress, “You’re ahead of all of them, where it counts, in my heart.”
Joe grinned as he felt her shifting, and knew she was aroused, too. “You wouldn’t by any chance be trying to sweet-talk your way out of trouble now, would you, Miss Emma?” he said as her silky dampness flowed over his building heat.
Emma shifted a little more, so the tip of his sex was pressing against the widening juncture of her thighs. “I might.” She eyed him. “Will it work?”
Aware he hadn’t even kissed her yet and he was already ready to take her, Joe shook his head. “But I know something that might.”
Picking her up by the waist, he shifted her around so she was facing him. As he set her back down on his lap, she straddled him, her knees on either side of his thighs. Joe didn’t think she could be ready. But she was as she opened herself and slid over top of him. For the first time there was no foreplay, no long preliminary kisses, just hot, reckless, incredibly lusty, mind-blowing sex. With neither of them holding back. When she climaxed, which was, for the record, all too soon, he followed, fast and fierce. And as they clung together, shuddering, Joe knew the simple truth.
He loved her.
He didn’t know what he was going to do about it, or even if she loved him, but that didn’t change a thing.
These feelings he had weren’t ever going to go away.
“NOT TOO HARD TO FIGURE WHAT’S been going on here, is it?” Joe teased Friday morning as they headed downstairs to the kitchen in search of coffee.
Emma stepped over Joe’s trousers and a high-heeled sandal. One of Joe’s socks. His boxer briefs. Her peach silk panties. And over there, on the chair, her claret-red silk kimono.
She was glad they were already showered, and she, at least, was dressed and ready to go to work. Otherwise she might be tempted to dally.
“Definitely a trail of some sort,” she murmured, blushing at the memory of their passionate lovemaking the evening before. They exchanged grins that brought to mind a rather wild rest of the night, and early morning. Joe had demonstrated stamina—and an appetite—wilder than Emma’s most romantic and outlandish imaginings.
“So what’s your schedule like today?” Joe asked as he poured water into the coffeemaker.
Emma measured coffee into a filter. “I won’t be home all day or evening.”
“Not even to change?”
Emma shook her head in disappointment, even as she relished the homey intimacy of the moment. “The Snow-Posen rehearsal dinner is this evening. Tents are going up on the lawn for the ceremony tomorrow. There’s a lot to supervise.” She didn’t have to explain further. Joe had grown up at the Wedding Inn. He knew all about the business. “What about you?” she asked, thinking how handsome he looked in just a pair of athletic shorts, his golden-brown hair all rumpled, the sexy week’s worth of beard on his face.
Joe hit the on button on the coffeemaker, then turned to face her. He lounged against the counter, watching while Emma poured them both a glass of orange juice. “I’ve got a conditioning session later this morning. Team meeting this afternoon. The interview with Tiffany Lamour sometime this evening.”
Emma frowned at the mention of the female piranha.
Joe flashed her a soothing half smile, unabashedly confident as ever. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
When he talked like that and looked at her like that, she could almost believe it. “Okay.” Emma took a deep breath. Okay. She swallowed hard around the knot of uneasiness in her throat. Moved on.
Joe closed the distance between them and took her into his arms. He held her near, nuzzling her hair, the shell of her ear and the sensitive place on her neck. “What time will the rehearsal dinner be over with?”
Emma could feel him wanting to make love to her all over again. If only they had the time! She looked into his eyes, wondering all over again at the fateful events that had brought them together again. “It should wrap up around 10:00 p.m.,” she said.
Joe smiled, content. “How about I meet you there, then,” he suggested gently. “We can head home together.”
Emma kissed the U of his collarbone. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll see you tonight.” He gave her a long, lingering kiss that had her spirits soaring.
Emma looked at him, all the love she felt and had yet to hear him lay voice to, in her eyes.
“Until tonight,” she said.
JOE HAD JUST DONE THE DISHES and picked up the clothes they had left lying everywhere when the doorbell rang.
Tiffany Lamour was on the other side. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
Joe frowned. This was the last thing he needed or wanted. “I’m about to leave for the arena,” he said brusquely.
Tiffany’s shrewd gaze lingered on his bare chest and legs. “Without your shirt or shoes? Come on, Joe,” she wheedled softly. “It’ll just take a minute. I want to talk about the gist of the interview.”
If only Saul and Margaret Donovan weren’t forcing him into this, Joe thought. Making no effort to hide his resentment, he opened the door for her. He had to be polite, but that was all. He led the way back to the family room, leaving her
to follow at will. “No questions about my marriage or Emma.”
Tiffany watched as Joe located his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. “You don’t get to call the shots here, Joe.”
“The hell I don’t.” Joe snatched up his socks and sat down to put them on. “I’m doing you a favor appearing on your show.”
Tiffany smirked. “Isn’t it the other way around?”
Joe knew he was supposed to capitulate, start minding his manners now, kiss up to Tiffany, but he had no intention of bowing to her demands and instead kept up the don’t mess-with-me attitude. He’d spent his entire hockey career fending off intimidation, both physical and mental. As far as he was concerned, Tiffany Lamour was just another “goon,” out there solely to undermine his concentration and his determination. The trouble for rabble-rousers like her was that Joe could not—would not—be bullied. If he had a soft spot at all, and some times he still doubted that, it was Emma.
Tiffany perched on the sofa, showing a helluva lot more leg than Joe had the desire to see. As she rummaged around in her handbag for a pad and pen, she let her knees fall open a tad too far.
Joe turned his glance away. He didn’t care what kind of panties she was wearing, or wanted him to see.
“I’m going to ask you whatever I please once the tape starts rolling,” Tiffany said as Joe walked around, making sure all the doors and windows were locked.
Joe secured the sliding glass doors to the deck. “Then you better be careful,” he retorted, just as slyly. “Because I just might have a few questions of my own, too.”
At the edge in his tone, Tiffany cocked a challenging brow. “For instance?”
Joe picked up the pile of clothes on the kitchen counter, carried them into the laundry room, out of Tiffany’s view, and dumped them on top of the washing machine. Returning to the family room, he said, “Like exactly what role did you play in Stan Haysbert’s divorce?”
Tiffany tensed in a way that let Joe know he had just scored one against her. They both knew her father’s money had barely kept her out of court on that one.
Tiffany regained her composure. Standing, she lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug. “I can edit any way I want, once the taping is over.”
“True,” Joe agreed just as cordially. “But it helps to have something usable there in the first place. And, oh, by the way, I’m bringing Ross Dempsey, my attorney, with me to the taping this evening. He’s looking forward to seeing you in action.”
That quickly, all the fight went out of Tiffany.
Joe didn’t trust her sudden capitulation any more than he trusted Tiffany.
“You must really love her,” she murmured, still searching his face.
Joe did. But he wasn’t going to get into that with Tiffany. Or anyone else, for that matter.
The silence between them strung out interminably.
“Fine,” Tiffany said grudgingly at last. She threw up her hands and put her pen and pad back in her handbag. “We’ll do it your way, Joe, as always. And skip the personal stuff. Although—” she leveled her cynical gaze on him “—if you ask me, you’re skipping a huge opportunity to tell the world how it really is—and was—with you and Saul Donovan’s daughter. As well as how you got forced into this.”
The only thing Joe had been forced into was the interview with Tiffany.
Her manner becoming suddenly matter-of-fact, almost defeated, as if she had given up trying to talk sense into him, Tiffany said, “You need to be at the hotel at seven. We’ll probably go for about two hours, then my producers and I’ll whittle the footage down to the twenty-four minutes we’ll eventually use. Thirty minutes, minus commercials.”
Joe could have cared less about any of that. He glanced at his watch, then started herding her down the front hall, toward the door.
“Mind if I use your powder room before I leave?” Tiffany asked.
Joe hesitated. He didn’t know why. The request had him on edge.
Tiffany rolled her eyes and looked down her nose at him. “Honestly, Joe, it’ll just take a moment. Unless you would prefer I drive until I find a gas station?”
Actually, Joe would. But manners, and a sense of southern hospitality long ingrained by his mother, had him nodding his assent, however privately grudgingly. “Where—never mind, I’ll find it.” Tiffany took off up the stairs. “These tract houses are all alike.”
Witch.
Joe returned to the family room to grab his cell phone and keys and to make sure the coffeemaker was off. By the time he got back to the front hall, the commode upstairs was flushing. Seconds later she came back down the stairs.
To his relief, this time she avoided his eyes.
“See you tonight.” Her manner brisk and businesslike, she departed.
EMMA WAS OVERSEEING THE last of the cleanup from the Snow-Posen rehearsal dinner when Joe arrived to pick her up. He said a brief hello to his mother, gave her a hug, then headed straight for Emma. Still wearing the clothes he had put on for his television interview—a handsome charcoal sport coat and silvery blue shirt and tie—he was at his most appealing. While she, with her heart on her sleeve, was at her most vulnerable. She closed the distance between them, as normally as if they did this every day. Deciding what was the use of being married to one of the most attractive athletes on the planet if you couldn’t take advantage of it, she stood on tiptoe and brushed a kiss to his cheek. “How did it go?”
Joe wrapped a possessive arm about her waist and touched his lips to the top of her head. “Fine.” He gave her waist another squeeze, then let her go. “What about you?” He searched her eyes. “How was your day?”
Emma sighed just thinking about it. “About as you would expect.” She continued collecting the centerpieces from the tables, brass pots filled with an eclectic assortment of wildflowers, flown in specially from the greenhouses at the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center in Texas. “Gigi Snow found fault with everything and let us know about it.”
Joe helped her load the centerpieces on the serving cart, while around them the Inn’s formally attired wait staff cleared dishes off tablecloths and tossed fine linen tablecloths and napkins into laundry hampers. “Isn’t the rehearsal dinner the responsibility of the groom’s family?”
“Yes, but since Benjamin’s parents live in California, they left all the details to him, and because they aren’t financially well off enough to afford what went on here tonight, Benjamin is paying for it.”
Joe handed the cart over to one of the help. “Did he have any complaints about the decorations or meal?”
“No. None.” In fact, Emma thought, Benjamin Posen had been quite complimentary after he and Michelle had made up over high tea, which in turn had made Emma feel all the more guilty about suspecting the marketing exec of anything illegal.
Joe paused, his thoughts obviously going the same direction as hers. “Did you hear from Mac today?”
“No,” Emma admitted reluctantly. “Not a word.” She looked at him hopefully. “Did you talk to him?”
Joe shook his head, disappointment shining in his eyes. “He wouldn’t discuss an ongoing investigation with me, anyway. It would be unprofessional. He’ll listen to what we have to tell him, then take it from there. But until something definite happens to establish Posen’s guilt or innocence, he’s not likely to tell anyone outside the sheriff’s department what is going on.”
Emma nodded. As the formal dining room was cleared, two large vacuum cleaners were brought in. She had been hoping Benjamin would have been vindicated by now. The fact he hadn’t…well, it just made the whole situation a little more nerve-racking. It was like presiding over a wedding on the deck of the Titanic.
Joe frowned as the vacuums were switched on. The noise made it imperative Emma and Joe find somewhere else to talk. He took her by the hand and led her out one of the side doors onto the flagstone sidewalk that encircled the Inn.
Joe nodded at a self-conscious woman in an inexpensive yellow dress, and the tall, thin
man beside her in the ill-fitting tan suit. They were standing next to a rental car in the guest parking lot under the lights. “Are those the parents of the groom?”
Emma nodded, her heart going out to Benjamin’s mother. “Poor Mrs. Posen. She’s had a rough evening. First, Gigi Snow was, well,” Emma sighed, “let’s just say rather snotty to her, then she sobbed through the entire rehearsal with the minister. I guess it didn’t hit her that Benjamin was actually getting married until just now.”
Joe clasped Emma’s hand consolingly. “How did her husband react?”
“Awkwardly. He didn’t seem to know how to comfort her. Anyway, I’m hoping a good night’s sleep will help them get through tomorrow.”
Joe shot a look at Michelle Snow, who was now climbing into the back of a limousine with her parents. “And the bride and groom?”
Emma shot a look at Benjamin Posen, who was standing at the curb, lifting his hand in an uncertain wave. “They’re both very nervous.” Very nervous.
Joe studied her in a way that made Emma think he wasn’t really thinking about the wedding, but something else, something much more intimate. “Do you think everything will go okay tomorrow?” he asked casually, as the other members of the wedding party and the minister departed, too.
Emma shrugged at the storm clouds gathering overhead, obscuring both moon and the stars. “I hope so, but seeing as how we have a sixty-percent chance of showers overnight, I imagine there will be some snafus.”
“The wedding isn’t until…?”
“Two o’clock, tomorrow afternoon.”
“It may have cleared up by then,” Joe soothed.
The way her luck was going, when it came to this wedding, Emma doubted it. And speaking of bad karma…what was she doing here? Emma wondered resentfully.
Tiffany Lamour strode briskly toward them, lifting her hand in a joyous wave. “Joe, honey! Glad I caught you!” She dashed up to them breathlessly, coming so close she practically crashed into Joe. “You left the hotel before I could give you a tape. The whole two and a half hours of questions and answers, uncut. I thought you and Emma might want to watch it this evening. Together.” Tiffany turned and smiled slyly at Emma. “Your husband did such a great job. Really. You should be so proud.”
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