6
The first taste of Emma’s lips propelled Trick from the reality of her porch to another plane of existence, where the only sensations were Emma’s wet mouth, Emma’s tantalizing perfume, Emma’s ragged breaths.
He didn’t need air. Emma sustained him. Angling his head, he brushed his tongue across her slightly parted mouth. She moaned, opened wider. His tongue plunged inside.
Sweet heat.
Involuntarily his fingers squeezed hers, gentled, squeezed again. Her tongue tentatively stroked his, and his knees weakened. Blood rushed to his groin. Air. He needed to breathe, after all.
He lifted his mouth and dragged in oxygen, leaning his forehead against hers. “Emma.” He realized that just the one word said everything he felt. Dazed, dazzled, dizzy. Emma was synonymous with upside down.
And right side up never seemed so unnecessary.
He kissed her eyelids, her eyebrows, tickled her temple with his tongue as he made his way toward her ear. She turned her cheek to give him access. He lightly bit her earlobe, then chased chills down her neck to the pulse point of her throat. He inhaled once, then again, drinking in her intoxicating fragrance.
Emma restlessly turned her head to the other side, then rested her cheek against his bent head. He licked the hollow of her throat and felt as much as heard her shivering moan.
Her fingers struggled for freedom, and he released them. His hands went to her waist, hers caressed his head. He lifted his lips to her mouth, and gently leaned into her, lightly pressing his aching erection against her warm body.
Trick groaned. “Baby, is this a dream?” Nothing had ever felt so good. His hands gripped her hips and pulled her to him.
“Don’t wake me,” she murmured.
Another kiss, his tongue sliding across her teeth, then playing with the wetness of hers. His hands moved behind her, under her vest, to travel up her smooth, smooth skin to the back strap of her bra. His fingers feathered across her delicate rib cage until his palms cupped the swells of her breasts.
He tore his mouth away, gulped in air. “Baby?” Her panting breaths caused her breasts to pulse in his hands and her nipples to push encouragingly against his palms.
Emma responded with her body, her hips pushing up, welcoming the answering thrust of his. Inside. Let’s go inside. He thought the words, but couldn’t seem to force them out. Part of him didn’t want to move. He’d discovered their personal reality, this bubble of bodyburning sensations, and he was afraid it might burst if they relocated.
He drew his thumb across one nipple, trailing his other forefinger down the center of her torso. He circled her navel, then dipped inside. Sweet shudders of response. Her mouth found his and her tongue thrust inside. His groin tightened, ached. We have to get inside.
He toyed with the drawstring of her pants. “Baby.” He drew his head back so he could look into her face. “Emma.”
She opened her eyes.
Trick’s heart clenched. She looked so damn sexy, her mouth wet, her eyes languorous. “Let’s go inside,” he urged.
She appeared not to have heard him. “This is good,” she said slowly. “Have you ever felt this way before?”
A warning chill trickled down his spine. “No.” He couldn’t control his truthful response, surprising himself. Scaring himself. He forced a grin. “I mean, I’ve felt this…” He pushed his hips gently against her.
Two little lines appeared between her brows. “No. I mean, did you ever feel…that a kiss could take you somewhere…somewhere else?”
A pailful of cold caution doused Trick’s heated body. Too close. What she said was too close to how he felt, and it was dangerous to be that connected to another person. That made it too easy to be hurt.
Determined to divert the danger, he grinned again. “Somewhere else? You mean the Isle of Desire? Peninsula of Passion? The Point of No Return?” He chuckled. “I’ve been there lots.”
She blinked as if waking up. “I suppose you have.” She edged back.
He immediately dropped his hands from her body. With a sigh, he knew they weren’t going inside. They weren’t going anywhere, literally or figuratively. And he felt a chaotic mixture of relief and disappointment.
Chaotic. Emma. He’d just discovered another synonym. “I guess I’ll go now.”
“You all do.” Her mouth clamped into as thin a line as lush lips, freshly kissed, could become.
“I’m going out of town in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be back for that dinner on Wednesday night.”
She looked at her feet. “Thanks. If you change your mind—”
Pinching her chin with his thumb and forefinger, he lifted her face. “I won’t change my mind.” My heart, either, he promised himself. It was stone cold, stone hard. Impervious to the pain of past loves, impervious, even, to Emma.
He stroked her cheek and turned to leave.
“Sorry,” she said softly.
Puzzled, he looked at her. “For what?”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then shrugged.
“Well, I’m not. I’m not sorry for anything.” He made himself walk quickly to his car. Otherwise he’d run back to her and do something he might really regret.
Trick settled back in the comfortable first-class seat on the nearly deserted morning flight to Portland. Hoping to catch up on some of the sleep he’d lost the night before, he closed his eyes, but a now-familiar image popped into his mind—Emma’s mouth, wet and inviting.
Hell.
Resolutely raising his eyelids, he grabbed the in-flight magazine from the pouch on the seat in front of him. The table of contents offered a range of entertaining reading, from “Orchids: Nature’s Art?” to “Dim Sum, Don’t Forget to Count the Dishes.” Despite these fascinating choices, he chose to quiz himself on the state capitals, using the map of the airline’s flight routes.
“Can I get you something, sir?”
“The capital of South Carolina?” he grumbled. Before Emma messed up his mind, he’d known it cold. He looked up, right into the face of Gary’s stewardess girlfriend.
They exchanged surprised greetings. Great, Trick thought, maybe with someone to talk to, he’d keep his mind off the night before, or more specifically, off Emma.
“Raleigh?” Gary’s lady poured Trick’s requested orange juice.
“That’s North Carolina.” He sipped the juice, glad the woman didn’t appear in a hurry to move on.
“Leaving town already?” she asked. “I thought Gary said you just started seeing someone special.”
Trick groaned inwardly. “Yeah, special.” Can’t we talk about something else? Emma was the subject he wanted to avoid.
“How’d you meet?” She wore the same determined expression Captain did when he demanded to know the skinny.
“On the beach.”
“Like Gary and me.” The stewardess sighed. “One minute we were talking, the next minute we were crazy in love. Was it that way with you two?”
People in love were like people with new babies. They wanted to yak and yak and yak about it. “Sorta. One minute we were talking, the next minute I was crazy.” He shook his head. There was no way to logically trace forward from their meeting to their kissing.
She nodded as if she understood. “Is it too soon, or do you two have some sort of agreement?”
“We have an arrangement.” He mentally counted. Six days until the wedding. A week from now he’d have said goodbye. No more confusing conversations. No more sleepless nights. No more reality-exploding kisses…
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and changed the subject. “Big date tomorrow night for you and Gary.”
“Uh-huh. It’s a big step for him to take that boat out.”
Trick’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know about that?” He didn’t think Gary would have shared the pain of the past with his new romance.
She shrugged, a soft smile on her face. “He trusts me.”
He hadn’t held out any hope
for Gary and his new love before this, but suddenly, surprisingly, he wondered if it might not turn out okay after all. “So you think this will last?”
She didn’t seem to mind the personal question. The soft smile didn’t leave her face, and she nodded.
“Good. Maybe you’ll be the exception that proves the rule.”
“What rule is that?”
Uh-oh. The gaze of Gary’s love had sharpened with suspicion, and she had that don’t-malign-the-sisterhood warning in her voice.
“Uh—” He couldn’t think his way out fast enough. “That women’s emotions change….” At the first sign of imperfection. Thank God he didn’t say that part, but he was happy he remembered it. Awareness of that certainty would keep him safe and sane when it came to Emma.
Gary’s lady frowned as she stepped to the center of the aisle. “You just haven’t found the right woman.”
Emma popped into his imagination again, staring dreamily at him, her lush mouth wearing a lovebefuddled smile. He hastily revised the image, redirecting that silly grin to his glass of o.j.
* * *
Emma peeked at her watch and wondered how much longer she must endure this party. Usually she enjoyed bridal showers. She’d even been known to make one of those corny rehearsal bouquets from a paper plate and ribbons from the gifts. But this shower…She tacked on a smile as someone squealed in appreciation of the present Pauline just opened.
“Ooh, beautiful,” said Becky, the company’s receptionist.
The teddy of sapphire blue was beautiful. Just the tiniest pang of envy pierced Emma’s midsection. Blue isn’t my color, she told herself.
Linda, the boss’s secretary and tonight’s hostess, crossed the living room to sit beside Emma on the couch. “How are you doing, honey?”
“Fine!” Emma kept her expression bright. “I’m really enjoying myself!”
Linda frowned. “I want you to know I didn’t put together this guest list.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wouldn’t have included you, but I was inviting all the other women from the company, and Ron convinced me you’re completely fine about the whole situation.” She looked anxiously into Emma’s face. “Are you okay?” Linda asked quietly.
More squeals and sighs as Pauline unwrapped a crystal sugar bowl and creamer. The bride-to-be appeared charmingly beautiful as she held them up. Cameras flashed.
Emma honestly didn’t know how to reply. From the first moment of the breakup, pride had taken precedence over her raw emotions. She’d put all her energy into saving face, and apparently had done a good job of it, because three months later, here she sat, smiling at the bridal shower for Michael’s fiancée.
Pauline pulled another gift into her lap and slid the card from beneath the ribbon. “This one’s from—”
“Open the card after the present,” Emma called out.
The thirty or so faces turned toward Emma, then quickly back to the bride. The room hushed. Several cameras raised, ready to catch this interesting moment.
The footed brass bowl received plenty of compliments. Then Pauline started revealing the other tissuewrapped items in the box. Emma smiled with true pleasure as she saw them again—life-size and lifecolored pieces of fruit, fashioned in delicate ceramic. Two apples, green and red. An orange, a lemon and a grapefruit. A banana, and finally, three exquisite, juicylooking strawberries.
Everyone agreed the brass bowl and the fruit would look perfect in a living room or a dining room table.
“Open the card!” said Becky.
Pauline obeyed, and before she could lift the card’s flap, Becky called out another order. “Read it out loud, now.”
Emma rolled her eyes, but shrugged.
“‘Have a happy life together,’“ Pauline read, “‘From Emma.’“ Her gaze darted to the couch, then back to the card. “‘P.S. Note, no grapes, sour or otherwise.”‘
The group, apparently stunned that Emma referred to the awkward situation, was momentarily silent. Then a couple of women applauded, a few more laughed, and the moment passed as Pauline was handed another gift.
Linda spoke beneath the renewed chatter. “I guess that’s my answer. You are definitely okay. As a matter of fact, if it was this easy for you to let go, I’m glad you and Michael didn’t marry.”
Emma blinked. “What?”
“Listen, honey, I’ve been with the same man for over twenty years. A marriage that easy to walk away from wouldn’t last.”
Emma studied the carving on her gold bangle. “You forget, Michael walked away from me. He said he’d found the perfect woman.”
“The perfect woman for him?”
Emma shook her head. “No. Just the perfect woman.”
“Poor Pauline.” Linda sighed. “I think Michael really loves her, but she can’t stay on that pedestal for long.”
Uncomfortable discussing the bridal couple, Emma shrugged and switched the subject. “How are things at the office?”
“Fantastic. Did you hear? We got the Complt account.”
“Great! I think the product’s terrific.”
Linda’s smile turned sly. “I think you’re going to know it well. A little bird—well, the big bird, actually—told me he’s going to have you head up the account.”
“What?” Excitement surged through Emma. “Ron said he’s going to give me Complt?”
Linda nodded. “Act surprised when he tells you, now.” She patted Emma’s hand. “He’s so pleased with the way you’ve handled this Pauline and Michael thing. He didn’t want to lose you over his daughter’s happiness, you know.”
Emma wanted to shout the news from the rooftop. “Maybe I should cut my vacation short…I have a hundred good ideas for Complt—”
“No, no.” Linda laughed. “Ron’s pleased as punch that you’re taking some time off and spending it with a new boyfriend.”
Emma’s heart slowed to almost normal. “But…” Her new boyfriend wasn’t even in the state, and Lord knew if he was coming back.
“No buts.” Linda smiled again. “I think the new man is what convinced Ron to give you the chance. He said, ‘That Emma has proven herself a good sport and a true team player.’“
“The new man,” Emma repeated slowly.
Another voice joined their conversation. “Yes, and we can’t wait to meet him Wednesday night.”
“We heard all about him,” said Jeanie from Accounting.
“Tall,” said someone.
“Blond,” added another.
Becky and Linda spoke together. “And handsome.”
Emma’s mind whirled. Until this moment, she’d thought if Trick didn’t show up, she could still attend the prenuptial events alone, or even develop a terrible case of shingles or sunburn or something. Thoughts circled wildly. Maybe she could find another blond, or—
“Ron can’t wait to meet him,” said Linda, tightening the screws.
“I’ve met him.” Pauline’s voice cut through the giggles and murmurs.
“What?” was the collective response.
Emma’s heart froze.
“His name is Trick Webster, and Emma will be the envy of every one of you.”
With a sigh, Emma clenched the phone and waited patiently for the beep as instructed. A machine, humanized by a voice, obviously Trick’s father’s, had answered her call.
Beep.
“Trick, this is Emma Thorpe. We need to talk.” She rattled off her number, thanked him and hung up.
Should she have said more? Please reassure me you’ll be back Wednesday night. I’m truly desperate for you as my escort. Call me, and I’ll convince you I’ve forgotten all about that—that incident against my door. We’ll go on as planned, strictly business.
She ran a hot, bubbly bath and peeled out of the green linen sheath she’d worn to the bridal shower. Armed with a small glass of Chardonnay and the cordless phone, she lowered herself into the tub.
Strictly business. Straying from that precept had been her big mistake
. By allowing herself to get caught up in—in sexual chemistry, she’d scared off Trick. Lost in passion, she’d opened her big mouth. “Did you ever feel a kiss could take you somewhere else?”
She groaned. Would she never learn? In the face of her emotion, Trick had retreated. Like her family. Like Michael.
She sipped her wine and eyed the bath bubbles through the half-full glass. She must restore Trick’s comfort level….
Got it!
They needed to talk money. A woman bought a lover ties and shirts. If she paid Trick for his time, he’d know she wanted their relationship to be strictly business. She did, didn’t she? Didn’t she?
She remembered the taste of his tongue and the slight roughness of his palms—
The phone rang. She brought it to her ear, still dreaming. “Hello?”
“Emma? Is that you?” Trick sounded like he called from the kitchen.
Involuntarily, her free arm crossed over her wet breasts. “Yes.” She couldn’t keep the husky pleasure from her voice. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
His voice held a definite note of relief. “Good. I’ve been thinking, too.”
“I think we should forget our present arrangement—”
“Me, too.” He exhaled a deep sigh. “For once we’re on the same wavelength.”
Pleased, Emma drained her wineglass and set it on the edge of the tub. This was going to be easier than she thought. “Terrific. Paying for your time will make me feel much better. Do you have a fair wage in mind?”
A long silence. “I don’t think we should talk about money. As a matter of fact, I don’t think—”
“You want to talk about Saturday night? Okay, I felt-”
“No, no. Let’s not talk about that,” he said.
Puzzled, Emma shifted the phone to her other ear, in the process knocking her empty glass into the water. “Darn!”
“What was that?” he asked.
“I bumped my wineglass into the bubbles. Back to Saturday night—”
“Really, I don’t think…are you doing dishes?”
“No.” She located the wineglass and moved it to the ledge beside a bar of soap. “If we could just talk about it, agree that—” The bar slid from its perch. “Oops, there goes the soap.”
The Wedding Date Page 7