Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
EMMA
Rich boys do it differently. That’s all I can think as we walk into San Pietro. Brooks’ hand pressed lightly against my spine as he leads me through the door. He has this innate ease to him, like he knows he can conquer anything.
Did I used to feel like that when my parents were alive and we had a lot of money? Honestly, I can’t remember. I was thirteen when they died and it’s like I blocked out most of the time before that. Maybe it was a necessary thing to do to protect myself.
He gives his name to the ma?tre d’ and we’re ushered to a table for two in the corner. Brooks pulls out my red velvet chair and when I sit down he walks around to the other side, his eyes on me as he takes the seat opposite me.
My phone buzzes in my purse.
“Sorry.” I shoot him an apologetic smile. “I’ll turn it off.”
But when I pull it out it’s his name on the screen. He’s sent me a message? How did he do that? I’ve been watching him this whole time.
From now on, we’re on public display. Show me how well you can act. – Brooks
My eyes catch his and he gives me a stupidly sexy smile. The kind that I can feel to the tips of my toes. God, he’s good.
I hate to think it, but he’s right. If we’re going to do this, I need to put more effort in. He’s the one who’s been carrying the both of us. I take a deep breath and smile back.
“How was your day?” I ask him.
“Hard. Too many meetings, too many demands. But it just got a lot better.”
My smile widens. “Mine did, too.”
He gives me an appreciative look. And I like it way too much. “Is that a new tie?” I ask him.
“No, an old one.”
“I like it. It matches your eyes.”
For a moment he says nothing. Just looks at me.
“Can I get you some drinks?” the waiter asks.
“Water for me,” Brooks says. Then he looks at me. “How about you?”
“Water sounds good.”
“Choose whatever you want. It’s on me.”
“Water is fine.”
“Two waters,” Brooks says. “And a glass of champagne.”
I lift my brow at him and he widens his eyes back at me.
“What are we celebrating?” I ask him sweetly.
“That you came out to dinner with me. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” He reaches out and takes my hand across the table, sliding his fingers between mine. “How was your day, sweetheart?”
His thumb presses against my palm, rubbing circles into it. It’s surprisingly distracting. I feel like I’m getting the full-on Salinger charm and I don’t know how to deal with it.
“Dusty.”
He grins. “I love the way you love your books.”
The waiter brings over our drinks. “A toast,” Brooks says, holding his glass of water.
“To what?”
“To us.”
Oh . I lift the champagne glass to my lips and drink. I can’t do this. I can’t keep playing girlfriend. I’m terrible at it.
“I’m just going to head to the bathroom,” I tell him. “You can order for me if you’d like.”
“Anything?” he asks.
“Just nothing with veal.”
“You worried about the baby cows?”
“Something like that.”
I hurry to the bathroom and close the door behind me. It’s one of those single cubicles, and the entire room is made out like a boudoir. Gold-framed mirrors, gold taps, even the light is a chandelier. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Rita really did a good job with my makeup. And the dress she chose is perfect.
But it’s all a sham. And I can’t even do it for a few minutes, let alone a whole long weekend. I’m going to make an idiot out of myself. I widen my eyes at myself in the mirror and shake my head.
I’m such an idiot. Why did I even agree to this?
I’m going to go back to the table and call it off. Tell him I’ll call Cassie and explain that we’ve broken up or something. Even if the thought of doing that makes me want to hurl.
With my mind made up I walk out of the bathroom and turn the corner, ready to tell him he’s off the hook. But then I see he’s not alone. A woman is standing next to him. A beautiful woman with the kind of dark glossy hair I used to dream of having when I was a kid and everybody used to call me carrot top. She’s wearing a black dress that stops just above the knee, and her face is perfectly made up. But that’s not what’s garnering my attention at the moment.
What I can’t take my eyes off is the fact that she’s holding his tie between her fingers. Almost stroking it.
It’s like a kick in the gut. I thought I was the one who couldn’t pretend we were together, but here he is, flirting with another woman. An elegant, suitable other woman. A wave of fury washes through me and it feels good compared to the not-good-enough vibe I expected to feel.
My jaw is tight as I walk back to the table. “Sorry, darling,” I say, my voice thick and husky. “I took a little longer than I expected. I hope you didn’t miss me too much.”
He looks up, a brow lifted. His expression is almost amused.
“Oh hello,” I say to the other woman as I sit down at the table and put my hand out on the cloth expectantly. When he doesn’t take it right away I wiggle my fingers. That brow lifts higher as he slides his hand into mine.
“Hi.” She offers me a smile and I don’t smile back. “Um, thanks for that,” she says to Brooks.
“No problem.” He gives her a warm smile and I want to wipe it off his face. “I hope it works out for you.”
“Well bye then.” She lifts her hand in a wave and walks back to a table of women. I turn to look at him, my eyes narrow.
“I can’t believe you.”
“What?” he asks, sounding confused.
“I was away for five minutes. Maybe even less. And you were already flirting with another woman.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe I thought this would work. I’m such an idiot.”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“She was holding your damn tie,” I tell him, my eyes wide. “I saw her. What would have happened if I didn’t come back? Would she have sat in your lap?” My throat feels tight. It’s stupid, but I almost feel worse now than I did when I saw Will’s bare behind thrusting into Mia’s cousin.
I’d trusted Brooks. And I shouldn’t have. I’m so bad at playing in the big pool. The kids are mean here.
It’s only when he squeezes my hand that I realize he’s still holding it. I snatch it back.
“Emma,” he says, his voice low. “Try to breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“Okay, try to breathe slower.”
That’s when I realize I’m hyperventilating. Don’t let me have a panic attack in the middle of the poshest restaurant in town. Not in front of this man who can’t even pretend he’s in love with me.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I say.
He presses his lips together, his gaze taking me in. “We weren’t flirting. She asked me where I got my tie from. She wants to buy one for her fiancé.”
I blink. “That’s a new one.”
“It’s true. There was no flirting going on. And even if she was trying to flirt with me, do you think I’d flirt back? I’m here with you. Nobody else.” His jaw is tight. “I’m not Will. I’m not going to embarrass you. If I’m with you, I’m with you.”
I inhale raggedly.
“And I get you were hurt by him,” he continues. “I saw how hurt you were that day. But you can’t blame me for what he did.”
My mouth feels dry. I take a sip of water and swallow it down. My face feels like it’s beet red, which isn’t the best combination with my hair.
“It is a nice tie,” I say and he laughs. “I’m sorry, I just…” I shake my head. “I’m so bad at this. It’s not going to work. I’m not a good actress.”
“Seriously?” He’s smiling again and it’s doing weird things to me. “You’re the best actress. The way you acted all jealous? It was perfect. Did you see the way she scurried back to her friends?”
“I acted jealous?” I repeat, mostly because he’s got it all wrong. I wasn’t acting. I was jealous. I wanted to rip her hair out.
“You did. You were great. And you’re going to be great at the wedding, you’ll see. Just keep acting like that and everybody will believe we’re in love.”
His eyes catch mine. And I know it’s an act, but the way he’s looking at me makes my breath catch. His gaze is soft, his lips open. He looks like he’s hungry and not for dinner.
“You really think we can do this?”
“Yes, I do.” He nods. “More importantly, I think you have to do this. For you, not me, or your granddad, or the shop. I think you need to do it to regain your confidence. To show Will and Jemima and everybody else that you’re way above them.”
“You think I’m above them?” I whisper.
“I know you are.”
He’s lying again. But I’m enjoying it. If he can be like this through the wedding – supportive, kind, fake loving, even – maybe we can make it through the weekend without everybody finding us out.
“I like you like this,” I tell him.
“Like what?”
“When you’re being nice to me.”
This time when he laughs, he takes my hand in his again.
“I can be so nice to you, you won’t believe it,” he tells me, his thumb making those soft circles again. A weird tingle snakes down my spine.
“I’ll believe it.” My voice is so throaty I sound like I have the flu.
He lifts my hand up to his lips, kisses the inside of my wrist and those tingles go haywire. Dear God are my nipples getting hard?
From one wrist kiss? Goddamn it. I need to focus here. This is all pretend. He’s only doing this for one reason. Because he wants us to move out of our shop and into some sanitized unit across town.
It’s business. He’s not into me, and I shouldn’t be into him.
I just need to remind my much-neglected libido about that.
brOOKS
“So hear me out,” I say to Emma when we pull up outside her apartment building after I drive her home from the restaurant. It took five minutes of heated discussions before she even let me drive her home.
“I’m listening,” Emma says, turning to look at me. I switch off the ignition and suddenly the atmosphere changes. Her blue eyes are on me, and there’s that little dip between her brow again, the one that appears whenever she’s thinking too hard.
And this woman always thinks too hard.
“We need to kiss.”
She blinks. “We do?”
“Yes.” It’s not even a ruse. I don’t want to be saying this to her, but if we’re going to make this wedding work, the woman needs to touch me without looking like she wants to tear her hair out. “You flinched when I kissed your wrist.”
“I wasn’t expecting it,” she protests. “You took me by surprise.”
“Yeah, but if we’re in a relationship every touch should be a pleasurable surprise,” I point out. “It shouldn’t make you look like you want to rip my balls off.”
Her gaze dips to my lap and back up again. “I don’t want to rip your balls off. I just… I’m not always good with touching.”
“Then you need to get good with it. Fast.” I glance at her lips. “We’ve kissed before. It shouldn’t be too different.”
“We’d been drinking whiskey then,” she pointed out. “A lot.”
I try not to take offense. “You’ve been drinking champagne tonight.”
“You haven’t.”
My lips twitch. “I think I can work through the pain of it with no alcohol.”
Emma frowns. “Well that’s rude. Why would I want to kiss you when you’re being like this?”
“Because we’re playing pretend,” I remind her. “If we’re doing this at the wedding I’m going to touch you. I’m going to kiss you.” I reach out to tip her chin up with my forefinger until she can’t help but look at me. And there’s that vulnerability again. She tries so hard to hide it, but I can see it.
And I’m not sure why it’s such a turn on, but it is. Like an angry lioness turning coy just for me.
“Without my consent?” she asks.
“Never without that. So I’m asking you now. Do you give me your consent for me to touch you?”
She swallows hard. “You already are.”
“You know what I mean,” I say, slowly removing my hand from her face. “If you say yes, it’s on. I touch you when I want. How I want.”
“With clothes on?”
I smile. “Yes. I’m talking about touching, not fucking.”
Her cheeks pink up. “Okay, I’m just making sure.”
“This is just about when we’re in public. And I’m not planning on bending you over and taking you in front of the whole wedding party.”
“You’d be surprised what people do at weddings,” she says wryly, and I realize I’ve touched the one nerve I should have avoided.
I wince. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you think of that. I’m not that much of an asshole.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Not really.”
She smiles and it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
“Good. I like it when you’re being an asshole,” she says. She looks more relaxed now. Like we’re equals. “And by the way, if we’re doing this, it goes both ways.”
“What does?” I ask her, but before I can even think a clear thought she’s unbuckling her seatbelt and clambering over me in that pretty dress like I’m a climbing frame.
“Emma?” The last syllable is swallowed. Not by me. Her mouth lands on mine as her hands cup my jaw, her lips so damn soft it feels like I’m kissing a cloud. I can feel her warm breath, the soft pressure of her small hands, the even softer pressure of her breasts as they press against my chest.
She feels primal, like she’s howling at the moon again. And I’m instantly hard as steel.
My mind is hazy as her tongue slides along the seam of my lips, and I part them, until it slides against mine. I can feel the throb of my dick as it fights against my zipper. It matches the racing of my heart as she reaches over me and pulls a lever.
The driver’s seat slides backward enough that she can properly slide between my body and the steering wheel. She hitches her dress up and slides her knees down on either side of my thighs until she’s straddling me. Sitting on me.
And I know for certain she can feel the thickness of me against her. Because I can feel the heat of her as she moves against me.
I rarely get taken by surprise. I’m a man who likes to be in charge. But it takes me a moment to get my brain – the one in my head – working at normal speed. And then I slide my hands down her sides, our mouths still connected, and cup her hips with my firm palms, mostly to stop her moving against my dick because it’s both enticing and incredibly embarrassing how turned on I am right now.
Once I regain control of my reactions, I take over the kiss. Reaching up to cup her face, to angle it so that I can deepen the kiss. My thumb slides along her jaw, my other hand moves to her back, my fingers tracing the line of her spine as I lose myself in her.
I reach the bottom of her spine and she makes a little mewing sound against my mouth. I stroke that spot again and she purrs. The tiger turns into a kitten and I’m so here for it.
So is my dick as I imagine pulling her clothes off and making her lie face front on my bed, as I kiss my way down her spine to that exact spot.
I’ve never needed to be inside anybody more in my life. If I wasn’t over thirty years old and completely in control of my impulses – well mostly – I’d be touching her all over right now.
In the best of places.
Finally the need for oxygen gets the better of us and she pulls away, her eyes wide. Her skin is so pink it looks like she’s on the verge of a fever. She touches her lips with her fingertips, her long eyelashes sweeping down as she looks at me.
“When we do that in public, try not to get so hard,” she tells me, climbing off my lap and getting back into the passenger seat. “I’d hate for you to embarrass yourself.”
I look down at my pants. Yes, the thick line of my aching dick is still visible.
“Good night, Brooks,” she says, pulling the passenger door open and climbing out. “Thanks for dinner.”
She walks toward the entrance of her apartment and I can’t take my eyes off her. Even from behind she looks like temptation in high heels. There’s a lamp above the doorway and as she steps into the pool of light it makes her hair shimmer like there’s gold laced through it.
I squeeze my eyes shut. What the hell’s wrong with me? Gold? Am I a toddler, reading Cinderella ?
No, I’m not. I’m a man. A man who is here for one thing. To sort out the mess that’s the building and her lease. Kissing Emma is a means to an end, that’s all.
Once she’s made it safely through the door I start the car engine up and adjust myself, because driving home with an aching erection doesn’t exactly sound like my kind of fun.
But fun isn’t something I know a lot about, anyway.