The Wedding Date

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The Wedding Date Page 9

by Christie Ridgway


  Trick grunted. Was she in mourning for Michael?

  “Do I look like I’m going to a funeral?”

  Trick glanced her way, his gaze taking in smooth golden shoulders, slinky black dress, long expanse of exposed thigh. “Honey, the way you look would make the corpse sit up and take notice.”

  She let out a whistle of air. “Thanks,” she said, smiling. “I needed that.”

  He patted her thigh with a casual hand, then left it resting there. Did he imagine it, or did she breathe a little faster?

  He exited the freeway and followed Emma’s verbal directions to the beachfront hotel where the party was being held. So of course they didn’t end up at the correct location right away, not until he made her dig out of her purse the invitation, which luckily included a map.

  Their detour made them twenty minutes late. They slowly ascended the steps to the banquet room. The two-story building, separate from the hotel, sat on a cliff above the ocean, but even over the breakers they heard the syncopated rhythms of a steel band and a babble of conversation from the room’s long balcony.

  Five steps from the door, Trick took Emma’s hand. Her unusual quiet and cold fingertips told him she was nervous. “Worried?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I really need to pull this off. If people suspect we’re faking it…”

  He squeezed her hand. “They won’t. I personally guarantee no one in the room will doubt how you make me feel.”

  “And how’s that?” Her lashes swept the pink softness of her cheeks.

  “I—” From below came the clatter of more feet on the stairs. “Let’s talk later.” He moved toward the door.

  “Wait!” Emma lowered her voice. “We need to discuss strategy.” She looked up, her green eyes serious. “Just follow my lead in the conversations.” Her gaze darted toward the couple coming up behind them. “And don’t leave my side.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  She squared her shoulders and smiled. “All set?”

  “One last thing.” He tilted her chin. “It’s important to look just kissed,” he murmured, then gently pressed his lips to hers. Zap. Electricity charged him from lips to soles.

  He lifted his head and inspected with satisfaction her dreamy eyes and softened lips. “Good?” he asked.

  She smiled and reached up, rubbing her lipstick off his mouth with her thumb. “Very good.” She tugged him toward the door. “You keep this up, and I’ll pay you more than minimum wage.”

  He braked. “What?” He’d put real feeling into that kiss.

  Instead of answering, she pulled open the door. Music, people and conversation immediately swallowed them up. Emma waved to someone across the room, and a youthful, gray-haired man in his fifties strode up.

  “At last! I’ve been watching the door for you, Emma.”

  She smiled and introduced Trick to her boss, Ron Northrup, the founder and president of her company.

  Without releasing Emma, Trick shook the other man’s hand. “Thank you for including me.”

  Ron’s smile widened. “You don’t know how glad I am to meet you.”

  Obviously, Emma’s boss genuinely liked her, and her new romance probably made it easier for him to enjoy his daughter’s wedding. Ron turned to Emma. “Do me a favor and track down Marcia. She’s anxious to meet Trick, and it will give us a chance to get acquainted.” He explained to Trick, “Marcia’s my wife.”

  Emma lifted her brows at Trick, a rueful smile on her lips. “Okay?”

  He released her fingers, but brought his hand to her nape, giving it a light squeeze. “Come back soon?”

  A light flush pinkened her face and she hurried away. Trick watched her retreat, the short hemline of her dress flouncing against her gorgeous thighs.

  “Trick Webster,” Emma’s boss said thoughtfully. “Do I know you?”

  Trick had forgotten about Ron, now staring at him with a puzzled expression. “I got it! Trickwear, right?”

  Damn, damn, damn. Trick slid a hand in his pocket and made a fist. “That’s right.” He eyed Emma, still crossing the room. He didn’t want her to find out who he was. Not tonight.

  Ron smiled, his pearly whites glinting as only an adman’s can. “It’s great to meet you. Why didn’t Emma tell us?”

  Because I’m a suspicious SOB who wants to be appreciated for myself. Trick merely shrugged. Across the room, Emma spoke to a polished-looking woman, probably Marcia. Together, they headed toward Trick and Ron.

  “Who’s doing your ad work?” Ron still wore that toothpaste smile.

  Trick glanced Emma’s way again. She and the older woman passed through a small knot of people and came out the other side with Pauline and Michael. “We have a small in-house department,” Trick said quickly, hoping to end the conversation.

  Ron stepped closer. “Have you ever thought about going with an outside firm?”

  His eyes on the advancing foursome, Trick’s fist tightened as he watched Michael sling a light arm over Emma’s shoulders. “Oh, well, sure,” he answered absently.

  That glowing smile of Ron’s grew to a full-fledged blaze. “You should think of us, then. We’re expanding our client base to include products besides high tech. We have a new man you must meet. He handled the accounts for—”

  Trick’s heart hammered as Emma et al closed in. “You don’t want to talk business at your daughter’s party,” he interjected.

  Ron’s professional smile turned sheepish. “My wife tells me I don’t know when to stop the shoptalk.” He turned to speak to the blond woman who came to his side. “Marcia, look who’s here—”

  Emma, thank God, took over the introduction, and Marcia said a few nice words before she dragged her husband away to greet some other late-arriving guests.

  Ron gave Trick a small salute. “We’ll talk later,” he said, a promise in his voice.

  Trick groaned inwardly, but met Emma’s curious glance with raised brows and a shrug. Then his eyes narrowed. The most immediate threat gone, now he noticed that while one of Michael’s arms held Pauline close, the other still lay casually across Emma’s shoulders.

  Trick bared his teeth in a smile, and with an equally casual touch circled Emma’s wrist and pulled her to his side. But the arm he draped across her shoulders was heavy and possessive.

  She looked at him, an approving message in her eyes. Trick tightened his arm. God, just a look from her green eyes could get his blood heating…. Staying close to her side was the easiest order he’d ever received.

  A passing waiter took drink orders, then Michael sent Trick a smile, definitely smarmy. “Good seeing you again,” he said to Trick. “You seem a little morelively than the last time we met.”

  Trick felt Emma’s shoulders stiffen under his arm. He looked into her face, smiled reassuringly, then said to the other man, “Emma has a way of mesmerizing me.”

  Michael’s eyebrows came together and he grunted. “Yes, well, Emma has a lot of friends who care about her.”

  As Trick opened his mouth to respond to the subtle warning, over Michael’s head he saw Ron bearing down on them, shoulder to shoulder with another ad type. Oh, hell. Looked like Ron was bringing over the man Trick just had to meet.

  He picked up Emma’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Excuse me for a minute, sweetheart?” Without waiting for an answer, he hurried away to head off Emma’s boss.

  Five excruciatingly slow minutes passed listening to the ad guy’s credentials. Trick dodged any further business talk by expressing a dire thirst for a beer from the bar across the room. While slinking toward Emma, one wary eye out for Ron, Trick promised himself he’d tell her his true employment situation.

  Soon. Right after he’d assured himself that she liked him for himself.

  He found her still making small talk with Pauline and Michael. He walked up behind Emma and pulled her back against his chest.

  “Right where you’re supposed to be,” she commented, smiling sweetly but significantly at him.

/>   “Right where I want to be.” His hand cupped the warm curve of her hip. “So—what’d I miss?”

  “We were talking about how you two met,” Pauline began.

  Michael cut in. “But we’ve heard Emma’s side. Now why don’t we get your version?”

  A trap. Its jaw hung over him, sharp and ready to trip at the slightest misstep. What had Emma said? Had they met at the beach, or at a coffeehouse, or had they been introduced by a mutual friend?

  He took a breath. “I don’t remember the details.” He felt Emma tense up, but he gave her hip a soothing stroke. “When I met Emma, I entered a hazy dream. And I hope I never wake up.”

  Not to his surprise, Pauline appeared confused. But Trick could see that his explanation made perfect sense to Michael. The dark-haired man grinned a been-there smile, and for the first time, Trick felt the guy might be okay.

  People started taking seats at the large round tables scattered throughout the room. Pauline and Michael left for the head table, and Trick followed Emma as she searched out the place cards with their names.

  They were the first to sit at their table. Emma toyed with her water goblet, and Trick reached over to play with the tendrils around her face, pulling them taut, then letting them go to spring into curls.

  “Alec Baldwin couldn’t do better,” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “You know, the suave actor.” She smiled at three other couples advancing on the table. “Don’t forget, though, stick by me.”

  “Like glue.” He smiled, too, while the others seated themselves, though he wanted to shake the table in frustration. He wasn’t getting anywhere in convincing Emma that he had true feelings for her. He’d stick by her, all right. Until she realized he meant business.

  Three-quarters through his entrée of seafood pasta, though, Trick realized Ron meant business, too. From the corner of his eye, Ron’s flashing pearly whites caught Trick’s attention. This time, he towed a wellgroomed woman toward Trick. Emma had already introduced the woman to him. She was the vice president of accounts.

  Hell. Trickwear can’t come out tonight.

  He inched his chair back, but at that same moment Emma clamped her hand on his arm and brought him into the conversation. “Trick just flew in from Oregon, where he visited his parents.”

  Darting a glance to his right, he saw that Ron and the lady VP were held up, too. No, now they were on the move again. Straight for him. He gulped a breath, completely forgetting what Emma’d just said and that the attention of the table was focused on him.

  “Oh, hell,” he muttered darkly, thinking of the two bearing down on him. “I wish they’d just drop off the face of the earth.”

  His words fell loudly into the bubble of quiet around their table. He remembered Emma had just mentioned his parents. Great, meet Emma’s date, the ungrateful, possibly homicidal son.

  The eyes of his dinner companions were wide and fixed on his face. The eyes of Ron and the woman with him, however, were boring into the back of his head. He slid out of his chair. “I can’t believe I said that.” He pointed to Emma. “It’s her fault. She does it to me.”

  He strode away, in the direction of the bathroom, and let Ron’s hail stop him when he was a safe distance from the table.

  They kept him captive for ten minutes, maybe an hour. When Trick finally returned to his place, after another slink in the area of the bar, Emma had eaten half her dessert.

  “Like glue?” she muttered through her teeth.

  Trick could only smile apologetically.

  Within minutes, people started mingling again. The steel band played louder, and Trick drew Emma from her chair and out to the dimly lit balcony.

  A cool breeze blew her hair across her mouth, and he gently brushed it away. He pulled her loosely into his arms. “You mad?” he murmured.

  She shook her head. “Where’d you keep disappearing to?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” The breeze plastered a curl across her mouth again, and he couldn’t keep his attention off her full lower lip. He picked up the curl and wrapped it around his finger, then slanted his head and touched his mouth to hers.

  The heat of her mouth entered his body and pooled in his groin. He wanted more but, groaning softly, he knew this wasn’t the time or place for anything beyond the softest of kisses. He allowed himself to lick her bottom lip, then lifted his head.

  Her wet mouth parted to take in a couple quick breaths. He noted with satisfaction that he’d stolen her air, too. Maybe he was getting somewhere.

  “I’ll double it,” she said, and her voice even sounded a little dazed.

  “Double what?”

  “Whatever your hourly wage, I’ll double it.” She drew in a deep breath. “Take a look.”

  Without moving his head, Trick slid his gaze around the balcony. They hadn’t been the only ones drawn out here, and they’d definitely been noticed. He even saw one woman flash Emma the thumbs-up sign.

  “You did it.” Emma’s voice was quietly jubilant. “Despite your disappearing act, I think you’ve convinced everyone.”

  Everyone but you, Trick thought. And he knew he must, tonight, before Trick Webster, unemployed surfer, was revealed as Trick Webster, retired entrepreneur. “Can we leave soon?”

  She smiled happily. “Any time.”

  He led her from the balcony. The unemployed surfer needed to know he attracted the lady. Tomorrow, he’d tell her the rest. But dawn was hours away.

  8

  Mission accomplished! Relief poured over Emma as she walked hand in hand with Trick into the banquet room. She surreptitiously surveyed the people watching. A variety of glances came their way—interested, amused, indulgent—but none disbelieving. Finally, an end to the pitying looks and well-meaning pep talks. Finally, an end to the uncomfortable meetings when she couldn’t disagree with Michael without people questioning her motivation.

  She squeezed Trick’s hand and rubbed her cheek against his arm. All thanks to him! At last, she’d truly found the perfect man!

  He’s just a loaner, an internal voice cautioned.

  Her happiness went flat. Emma stopped dead in her tracks and stared down at their tangled fingers, struggling to remind herself.

  This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

  “You okay?” Golden brows drawn together, Trick studied her face. His big palm caressed her cheek, lighting sparklers of sensation down her neck and arms. Euphoria started bubbling again.

  But it feels real.

  Just a fantasy, taunted that internal voice.

  Emma ran her hand over Trick’s chest. He felt real enough to her. Solid, strong, sexy. He captured her hand and brought it to his mouth. Blue eyes staring into hers, he kissed her fingers. Lightly. Caressingly. Like-Like a fantasy, said the internal voice once more. This is all just pretend.

  He kissed her hand again, and her heart leaped and pirouetted and refused to settle back down. Hypnotized by his eyes, mesmerized by the warmth of his hands and tingling from the touch of his lips, Emma finally agreed with that nay-saying voice.

  Okay, okay. But I’m pretending as long as he does.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  Driving his VW Bug, Trick rattled Emma toward San Diego. He wished for his other car, which had an automatic shift and would leave his right hand free to stay connected to Emma. He needed to touch her.

  Finally, he hit the freeway and could settle his unoccupied hand on her thigh, just above the knee. She jumped a little at the contact, but somehow he knew it wasn’t a don’t-touch-me flinch, but rather a sensual greeting from skin as sensitive as his own now felt.

  His palm absorbed her warmth, and the feel of her silky leg beneath his hand sent his blood speeding through his body. Her tantalizing perfume filled his head, and his little finger lightly stroked the inside of her thigh.

  Her uncharacteristic silence further charged the atmosphere in the car. Maybe she felt like him, under a spell he didn’t want reversed.

  He st
ole a glance at her. The sight of his finger disappearing between her black-stockinged thighs shot his blood pressure skyward and caused his hands to tremble.

  Thud-thud-thud-thud. The tires rode the lane bumps.

  “Damn!” Trick tightened his grip on the steering wheel and straightened the car. He inhaled a great gulp of air.

  “You okay?” Emma asked loudly, over the rattle of the car.

  He didn’t dare look at her. Just thinking about the sight of his hand and her thighs made it hard to keep driving. “Fine.” He groaned to himself and casually shifted in his seat, trying to ease the tight fit of his pants.

  Minutes later, he groaned again, still to himself, as he recognized the garage door of his beach house. Hell. While his hormones had driven clear thinking from his head, he’d driven here on automatic pilot.

  Emma, suddenly animated, sat forward in her seat. “You live here?”

  Her action slid Trick’s crucially placed pinkie two inches north. He gulped. “Uh, yeah.”

  “But how can you—” Her head whipped toward him and she broke off. Maybe she mistakenly read his expression as embarrassment instead of turned-on-to-the-point-of-overcharge, because she found her own conclusion. “You’re house-sitting.”

  Trick put off answering. “Do you want to go inside?”

  He held his breath. God, it felt like the whole world held its breath.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  He had to release her thigh, of course, and walk into the salty night air toward the passenger side of the car. Emma being Emma, she didn’t wait for him to come around and open her door. And Emma being Emma, even the damp breeze didn’t cool his body’s response to her.

  The walkway was dark, he’d forgotten to leave a light burning, and he fumbled with his keys at the front door. Maybe he should tell her about himself, Trickwear, the house. But he wanted her to see his home with eyes unaffected by the fact he owned it. He wanted her to want to be with him, her heart unaware of anything beyond the man she already knew.

 

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