As Ethan said, there was no taking it back.
“I’m a fool,” he muttered.
Ethan smiled now, a light of empathetic understanding in his eyes. “That’s another thing about true love.”
Emmaline answered the door, an eager smile already stretching her lips.
“Come in, come in,” she said to Sara and Joaquin, stepping aside. “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life.”
One of Sara’s golden brows rose over a bright blue eye. She glanced at her fiancé. “That’s quite a greeting.”
“I’ve been starved for company,” Emmaline said, trying to tone down her effusiveness a notch. “It will be fun to have you for the afternoon, Sara.”
Joaquin waved the hanger he carried, the garment on it shrouded in opaque plastic. “Where should I put this?”
“Hand it to me.” Emmaline headed toward the laundry room where the sewing machine was set up. After hooking it on a metal rod, she returned to the kitchen where she found the couple wrapped in each other’s arms.
Joaquin had his mouth to Sara’s ear, and from the blush on her cheeks, whatever he was whispering made her friend either embarrassed, amorous, or both.
In order not to disturb them, Emmaline swallowed her sentimental sigh. Their obvious devotion brightened the already sunny afternoon. They’d been so distrustful of romantic partnerships until they found themselves in one. Sure, they carried baggage, but the two had learned to help the other bear their burdens.
“She’s staring at us,” Sara said to Joaquin, without taking her eyes from him. “I feel like we’re in the zoo.”
“I suppose we better give her a good show then,” he answered with a grin. With a dramatic flourish, he bent Sara over his arm and laid a movie star sort of kiss on her.
Emmaline applauded.
They came up for air laughing, and Sara shooed her man toward the door. “You go now. We’re having girl time, during which I’ll hint at all your manly virtues—”
“Actually, she’s promised to give real measurements,” Emmaline put in.
Sara shot her a scorching look. “—and Emmaline will spill all about…what will you spill about? It better be juicy if I’m going to speak in inches.”
“I’ll tell you about my date with Roland Finch,” she said, and waited for their reactions.
Both Sara and Joaquin turned to stare at her, and she smiled at them innocently. They were so easy.
“You had a date?” Joaquin asked. “You never date. I’ve tried to fix you up numerous times, and you always turn me down. Which, by the way, has cost me. I’ve got men trying to slip me cash to get your cell number.”
“Oh, you,” Emmaline said.
“It’s true.” Then Joaquin looked at his fiancée. “You have fun, baby. Mix Emmaline some of your famous mojitos and get all the gritty details to share with me later.”
“You’re a terrible gossip,” Emmaline said, trying on a repressive frown.
“It’s the Hollywood in me,” he replied, which reminded her he’d grown up in the TV business. “But the only one with whom I’ll whisper about your secrets is the beautiful lady who shares my bed.”
He yanked Sara toward him for another hard kiss.
She finally managed to get the man out the door.
Emmaline sighed again as her friend turned around. “You’re perfect together.”
“You’ll find your perfect.” Sara strolled back into the kitchen. “Is it Roland Finch?”
Shaking her head, Emmaline went to the refrigerator and pulled out a wrapped platter of tea sandwiches she’d prepared. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat. And drink. Mojitos sound all right to you?”
“We should alter your dress before I get anything alcoholic in me. You don’t want to go to Las Vegas with your hem uneven.”
Joaquin and Sara had planned a quick getaway, and her butler friend had found the ideal dress that needed just a few alterations—ones the boutique’s seamstress couldn’t promise to have done in time. It didn’t take long for Emmaline to adjust the bustline so it wouldn’t gap and to hand stitch a few of the beads that had begun to loosen.
Modeling the ice-blue dress, Sara looked at herself in the mirror while Emmaline circled her, needle in hand, ready to take on any wayward piece of minuscule crystal. “I’ll probably be dropping beads like Hansel and Gretel’s crumbs all over the city that never sleeps.” She brightened. “But then Joaquin will be able to find me if I get lost.”
“Looking like you do in that dress,” Emmaline said, “I don’t think he’ll let you out of his sight.” The color made Sara’s eyes stand out like sapphires, and the style hugged her slender figure like a glove.
A secret smile curved her friend’s lips.
“What are you thinking?” Emmaline demanded. “I know that face. It means you’re keeping something from me.”
“Well…” But before Sara could get out another word, sound came from the direction of the front door.
“Emmaline?” Stella’s voice. “I’m here with Valerie.”
“Go see to them,” Sara said, waving her away. “I’ll get changed and start mixing those mojitos.”
As it turned out, another plastic-wrapped dress had been brought to the house that day. “I didn’t want to leave my gown at the wedding salon any longer,” Stella explained. “I’ve been having nightmares about overnight fires.”
“And she can’t store it in her apartment.” Valerie carried a huge hatbox that held the hairpiece and veil. “Because her roommate has a cat.”
“It has a tendency to pee on new things.”
“I had a boyfriend like that once,” Valerie said. “You know what, Stella? I think you should move in with me. I have an extra bedroom in my Santa Monica place.”
“I’m moving in with Aaron right after the wedding,” Stella said.
“Oh, that’s right.” Valerie nodded, then cocked her head at the sound of a blender’s whir in the distance. “Do I detect cocktails?”
After stowing the gown and hatbox in one of the guest rooms, Emmaline, Stella, and Valerie trooped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Introductions were made and frosty glasses were dispensed. Emmaline gathered more food onto a tray, and they took everything to the back deck, where they stretched out on lounge chairs and contemplated the surf.
The lazy afternoon wore on in the best possible way. More food, more mojitos. “Where’s my brother?” Stella asked, idly.
“Oh, here and there, I suppose,” Emmaline said, not wanting thoughts of her boss to intrude on her alcohol-tinged pleasure. “He’s not been around much.”
“I thought he was going to spend more time away from the office now that the merger’s complete.”
Emmaline shrugged. The truth was, while she’d been grateful for his absence, the solitude had begun to wear on her. It left her too much time to contemplate High Power Couple and gorp recipes, and why Lucas hadn’t even tried to get her into bed once more.
Not that she would be his partner in that, anyway.
“I’m never having sex again,” she vowed, then realized she’d spoken the words out loud. With a slight slur.
But the half-inebriated company didn’t seem the least surprised by the sudden sentiment.
“It sure would simplify things,” Valerie said, sighing. She wore dark glasses with a cat’s-eye tilt at the corners. “I’m one of those people who do dumb things like marry a man because he gives a good orgasm.”
“Well, you shouldn’t marry a man who gives a bad orgasm,” Sara said.
“What’s an orgasm?” Stella asked.
They all half-sat up to stare at the younger woman.
“Kidding, kidding,” she said.
They returned to position and sipped at their mojitos.
After a few more relaxing minutes, Valerie drew down her sunglasses to look at the group over their frames. “I think we should move to an island.”
Emmaline swept a sloppy hand in the direction of
the bay. “Catalina is just over there. Abrigo Island too. Take your pick.” Hmm. Maybe someone at those resort destinations needs a butler.
“I mean an island without men,” Valerie clarified.
Sara cleared her throat. “I have a fiancé who looks like a movie star and who treats me like he needs my presence in order to breathe. I don’t think I’m going anywhere he can’t go too.”
“That’s all true.” Emmaline nodded. “About the movie star looks and the can’t-live-without-her attitude. If I was a mean person I’d find it insufferable.” But instead, she envied it, even more because if she ever found a man who needed her to breathe, the woman he loved would be Emmaline Rossi…who didn’t actually exist.
“Hear me out,” Valerie said, settling back on her chaise. “At our island without men, mojitos come out of the faucets, and sandwiches and cookies like these ones that Emmaline provided are available all day long.”
“Okay, but let’s have some men live there,” Emmaline said, getting into the spirit of the thing. Valerie was beginning to grow on her. “We don’t have to actually see them, however. They’re just there to mix the drinks and make the food.”
“Anthony Bourdain,” Sara said. “And we do actually get to see him.”
Apparently she’d forgotten about Joaquin for the moment.
Stella sat up to reach for another sandwich, making Emmaline glad. She looked as if she’d lost another pound or two.
“Is Anthony Bourdain the famous chef whose ex had a ‘Cheater’ banner flown overhead when he was getting his star on the Walk of Fame?”
“No,” Valerie said. “Bourdain is the silver-haired one that makes us all realize we have latent daddy issues.”
With a giggle, they all considered this while Sara went into the kitchen to blend another round of drinks.
On Sara’s return, Valerie held up her empty glass to be filled. “I definitely think we should move to the island. Sara, you can visit. But Emmaline, Stella, and I practically have our bags packed.”
“I’m moving in with Aaron right after the wedding,” Stella said again.
“Oh, that’s right.” Valerie toasted her glass in the younger woman’s direction. “I don’t know why I have a hard time keeping that thought in my head.”
A while later, Sara spoke up. “How does one say drunk without having it sound quite so…crude? I need to call Joaquin and explain why I’m going to jump him the instant I see him.”
“Drunk sounds quite refined with your English accent,” Emmaline said, closing one eye and looking at the sky through her goblet.
Sara frowned. “I don’t have an accent.”
They all scoffed.
When she started to sputter in protest, Stella interrupted her. “Angeschickert,” she said. “I learned it from a German exchange student.”
“It sounds like a sneeze,” Sara said, dismissing the word. “But there’s always boiled like an owl.”
“Lit like a Christmas tree.”
“Piss-eyed,” Valerie offered.
“Not classy,” Sara judged.
“And ‘boiled like an owl’ is upmarket?”
“Good point.” Sara crossed her legs at the ankle. “Stewed?”
“Well-lubricated.”
“Thrashed.”
“All tacky,” Sara declared.
“How about cucumbered?” a new voice said.
“Mr. Curry.” Emmaline jackknifed to a sitting position. Her head spun, and she blinked rapidly to uncross her eyes. “You’re home.”
“I am.” He strolled onto the terrace, in ancient jeans and a T-shirt that she’d ironed just yesterday, its blue the exact shade of his eyes and devastating against a new tan. He reached down to pluck a sandwich from the tray.
Emmaline rose to her feet, hoping in this position all the alcohol would drain from her head. “I can get you something else. A real meal? A drink? Your favorite beer?”
“I’m good, Emmaline,” he said. “Take it easy.”
But she couldn’t because the mojitos had wrought upon her the same effect that had come over Sara. She was—well, to put it crudely—suddenly horny. Very horny. Just looking at Lucas had her blood slowing to a sluggish crawl in her veins even as her heart started speeding in a clackety, train-on-the-track rhythm. She watched him chew and swallow, the muscles in the strong column of his neck moving, and her skin prickled everywhere.
“I think I’ve been sunburned,” she said to no one in particular.
“You were lying in the shade,” Lucas pointed out, peering at her closely. “Though you do look a little flushed.”
“She looks beautiful,” Valerie said, in the musing tone of the tanked-up. “The truth is, I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful. I was going to hate her for it, and I really tried, but it’s like trying to hate something painted by a Grand Master. Or a McDonald’s hamburger.”
Stella burst out laughing.
“What?” Valerie asked. “Everybody loves McDonald’s hamburgers.”
“Yes,” Stella said. “The flat buns, the gray round of meat, those little bits of what I think is supposed to be onion.”
“Okay, so she doesn’t look like something on the menu at McDonald’s, but she’s making my mouth water, and I don’t play for that team. Emmaline makes me think I might want to—though just with her.”
Lucas was laughing, crinkling the corners of his eyes in that oh-so-attractive way. “What do you think about that, Emmaline?” He cupped her chin and drew a thumb over her cheekbone. “You’re not just turning heads, you’re turning someone’s life in an entirely new direction.”
But she couldn’t speak, because she felt his touch everywhere, flaring across the skin of her arms and torso and legs like contrails in the sky.
Suddenly, the humor left Lucas’s face. He could see what she wanted, she thought, panicking. He could see how much she wanted him.
His voice lowered. “Emmaline.”
It was the snake’s voice, offering an apple. She swayed toward him, knowing she shouldn’t, knowing it was imperative that she keep barriers between them so she’d stay out of his bed.
“Tell me something.” Valerie was talking again, though it sounded as if from far away. “Tell me one thing to make me dislike you, Emmaline.”
She swallowed to lubricate her dry mouth and said the thing she supposed would be certain to turn Lucas away from her. “I cheated on the man I was engaged to marry.”
Chapter 11
As darkness fell, Lucas managed to get the extra bodies out of his house. Joaquin came by for Sara and volunteered to drive Stella and Valerie home. His sister had refused the ride, saying she was quite capable of driving—all four women had sobered up with an early supper that Emmaline managed to put together with his help. Pots of strong Earl Grey tea, scrambled eggs with a light dusting of freshly-grated parmesan cheese and minced parsley, along with toasted and buttered slices of black olive-dotted artisan bread. For dessert there’d been a dollop of sheepishness.
“Don’t worry darlings,” Joaquin had said, passing out aspirins and pouring more tea. “White rum and afternoon sun…they can take anybody down.”
“I wanted them to take me away to a man-less island.” Valerie had put her fingertips to her temple, as if recalling the details of some strange dream. “And I think I propositioned Emmaline.”
“Most everyone does,” Sara had answered cheerfully. “I’ve offered her sex for her marinara recipe on numerous occasions.”
“Oh, really?” Her fiancé had instantly switched directions to approach his woman. “How come this is the first I’ve heard of it?”
Sara had clapped her hand over her mouth. “I might still be a little drunk,” she said, her voice half-muffled. “Forget I said that.”
“I don’t think I can,” Joaquin had answered, sneaking an arm around her. “No un-ringing that bell, eh, Lucas?”
“Those offers have dwindled severely since she met you,” Emmaline had told the other man. “I think she’s now mo
re interested in your inches than my marinara.”
“Do tell,” Joaquin had murmured into Sara’s ear, and soon after the pair were dreamily winding their way out the front door.
Stella and Valerie followed, leaving Lucas alone with his butler.
Sliding onto a stool pulled up to the island, he watched her retie her apron around her waist. “What are you doing now?”
She crossed to the oven and turned it on, then reached into a cupboard for a pair of pans. With their guests on the road, he’d thought he’d have a chance to engage her in real conversation. The kind that led to them having a real relationship, one in which Emmaline finally let down her guard.
One in which she didn’t lie to him.
Because that shit about cheating on the man she was going to marry—he’d eat his BMW piece-by-piece if that were true.
“I’m baking red velvet cupcakes,” she said over her shoulder as she started putting pastel paper cups into tins with the characteristic round indentations. Had those pans been in the house when he bought it, right after Stella went abroad junior year in college? The place had come with some furnishings and a lot of kitchenware—it had been a complete teardown, rebuilt then purchased as a corporate retreat for a company that had gone belly-up before the over-compensated CEO or any of the board of directors had spent a single night inside.
It had been soul-less but functional, sort of like him for the past few years as he took his company to a new level.
Until the arrival of his butler.
“I don’t know that I need any more baked goods, Emmaline,” he said. “I’ve started running again, but there aren’t enough miles of Malibu beach for me to work off two-dozen of anything, not to mention red velvet.”
“They’re not for you.”
“Oh. Well.” Then he bristled. Was she making them for that…that Roland?
“They’re for Wells.”
Lucas closed his eyes, annoyed with himself for the momentary spurt of jealousy. Was this kind of reaction going to be the norm for him? From now on would he be susceptible to swings of mood depending upon Emmaline’s smiles, her attention, her cupcakes?
The Seduction (Billionaire's Beach Book 5) Page 16
