by Leanne Banks
“How were you planning to get home?” he asked.
She paused, then smiled. “Didn’t think of that.”
“I’ll call my service and you can ride with me. Slide in,” he said, unlocking the passenger door and pushing it open.
Emma hesitated, looking at the door with what appeared to be trepidation in her eyes. He wondered what could be going through her brain.
“Come on,” he said. “You’re just getting wetter.”
“Okay,” she said and he called his car service as she slammed her hood shut. He hung up just as she scooted into the leather seat. “Yikes, now I’m getting your seat wet.”
“It’ll dry,” he said with a shrug and noticed her gaze lingering on his shoulders. She quickly glanced away, but he couldn’t prevent a quick surge of pleasure at her admiration, although he suspected it was reluctant. She’d seemed remote to the point of skittishness this week. He’d thought it was due to her antipathy at his role in cutting jobs at MD. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Her cell phone rang, interrupting the silence. She grabbed it from her bag and winced. “Oh, no.” She pressed the call button. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I got stranded with car problems. May I reschedule?” She paused. “As late as possible,” she said. “Next Wednesday at six-thirty, thank you so much.”
“You sure I can’t get you there tonight?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. It’s a gift certificate for a birthday present I never used. Hair, makeup, a makeover kind of thing. I decided I should finally take the plunge.”
“Why? You look beautiful,” he said.
Her cheeks flared with color. “Thank you. I just thought it was time for a change. You and I talked about how we don’t have much of a social life, so I decided maybe I should try to get one. A social life,” she clarified. “But don’t worry. I won’t let it interfere with my job.”
“I’m sure it won’t,” he said. “Is Brad finally going to get a break?”
Emma shook her head. “No, but Mallory Megalos has been trying to set me up for ages. I may regret it. We’ll see,” she muttered and looked out the window. “Oh, look. The car service is already here.”
“Do you have a garage you regularly use?” he asked, pushing open the driver’s-side door.
“You don’t have to go out there. You’ll just get wet,” she protested.
“I’ve been in worse situations. Give me your keys and stay where you are. I’ll handle this. What is the name of your garage?”
She oozed reluctance, but he felt a spurt of victory when he saw her cave. “Ray’s Auto Service.”
Emma sat in the car, stewing over her predicament. If her goal was to stay as far away from Damien as possible and to squelch her hyperawareness of him, she’d just lost what little progress she’d made over the last week.
Everything about him felt sexy and forbidden to her, and sitting so close to him in the car just made it worse.
He ducked inside the car and slid his fingers through his damp, dark hair. Droplets of water clung to his high cheekbones. She knitted her fingers together to keep from reaching to wipe the water from his tanned cheeks. Mere inches from him, she couldn’t help staring at the sensual shape of his mouth.
She took a deep breath to clear her head and instead inhaled the combination of leather, rain and just a hint of his cologne.
He turned to meet her gaze. “It’s all taken care of. You should get a call from the garage tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking another deep breath in an effort to curb her frustration.
“Have you had dinner?” he asked.
“No, but—”
“I haven’t either. Would you like to grab a bite?”
She bit her lip. “That’s not necessary. You’ve already done enough.”
“We may as well eat,” he said. “Unless you had other plans.”
“No,” she said reluctantly.
“Okay. Do you like seafood?”
“Love it,” she confessed.
His mouth turned upward into a sexy smile that made her stomach dip. “Good. I do, too.”
He drove to one of the most exclusive restaurants in Vegas and pulled his car to the valet at the entrance. Three young men stepped toward the car, appearing to salivate at the chance to drive the vehicle. One opened the door for her. “Welcome, miss,” he said.
Rising from the car, Damien nodded toward the young man who had greeted Emma. “You,” he said and tucked a large bill in the man’s hand along with his key. “The name is Medici. Treat her nicely,” he said.
The young man smiled and handed Damien a valet parking ticket. “Like a baby.”
Damien stepped beside Emma and escorted her through the door. “How did you decide which one should take your car?”
“Easy,” he said. “The one with the best manners. He helped you out of the car.”
The maître d’ took her coat and handed it off to an assistant hostess.
“Hmm,” she said, impressed. “I feel a little under-dressed,” she said. “When you said a bite to eat, I didn’t expect this.”
“You don’t like it?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that,” she said, glancing around at the chic, sophisticated décor and the chic, sophisticated clientele. “I’ve never been here.”
“And you live in Vegas?” he said in surprise. “Even I knew about this place and I’m new to town.”
She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. “You forget. I pack my lunch.”
“Ah, well, not tonight,” he said. Seconds later, they were guided to a table for two next to a window with a view of a fountain.
“This is lovely,” she said. “I feel guilty.”
“Don’t. It will be nice for me to look at something besides reports while I eat dinner at my desk.”
“I don’t think you would have a difficult time finding someone to fill this chair,” she said.
“But they wouldn’t fill it like you do,” he said, then glanced at the wine list. “White or red?”
“Either,” she said, still hanging on his comment about how she filled the chair. What did he mean by that? “Whatever you prefer.”
“What do you prefer?” he asked, meeting her gaze across the candlelit table.
“White,” she said.
“Good,” he said, and the candlelight glinted off his scar. Although she didn’t want to stare, the jagged line captured her attention and curiosity. She caught his quick glance and tried to look away.
The waiter arrived and she forced herself to look at the menu. After they placed their orders and the waiter returned with their wine, Damien lifted his glass to her. “To a rare rainstorm, car trouble and a mutual appreciation for seafood.”
She smiled and nodded, lifting her glass to clink against his. “Here, here,” she said softly and swallowed a sip of the fragrant Pinot Grigio. “Very good.”
“Yes,” he said as she took another sip. “I noticed you staring at my scar.”
The wine caught in her throat and she coughed. She cleared her throat several times, wishing he hadn’t seen her looking at him so intently. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “That was rude.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he said. “Natural curiosity.”
She couldn’t think of a good response, so she said nothing and didn’t attempt to push any more wine through her tight throat.
“You wonder how it happened, don’t you?”
She sucked in a quick breath. “It’s none of my business.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a cryptic smile. “But you still want to know. How do you think I got the scar?”
She blinked at his question. How in the world should she know? But she had imagined. She’d visualized several scenarios. Dare she share them?
“Your mind is turning a mile a minute,” he said, far too accurately. “Go ahead, tell me how you thought I got the scar.”
Emma closed her eyes for a second, then for some wild, un
reasonable reason, she decided to play along. “You were in a bar fight and a drunk went after you with a broken bottle.”
He cocked his head to one side and lifted his wine-glass for a sip. “Who won the fight?”
“You, of course,” she said. “Or, you were a pirate on a ship and someone cut you with a sword.”
He chuckled. “I like that one. How did I get off the ship?”
She shrugged. “You swung on some ropes and swam ashore. I loved Johnny Depp in his pirate movies.”
He nodded. “Any other scenarios?”
“You faced a shady guy in an alley outside a nightclub. He went after you with a switchblade because you’d stolen his girlfriend.”
“Interesting,” he said. “How come I wasn’t the shady guy?”
“Well, in a way you were because you stole his girlfriend,” she said.
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “You think I’m shady?”
She winced, realizing she’d gone too far. “This was all supposition. Crazy scenarios.”
He nodded and took another sip. “Your first scenario was closest. I got into a fight with one of my foster fathers. He was beating my foster mother. I was thirteen. I had my fists. He had a beer bottle. My foster mother stayed. I was reassigned.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling the weight of that moment on her chest. “That’s horrible.”
He shrugged. “I survived my childhood. Not everyone does.”
Emma couldn’t help wondering what other scars he carried as a result of his upbringing. His effort to protect his foster mother had been heroic, but it hadn’t been rewarded.
“Now I’ve frightened you,” he said.
“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “The thought of you going through that as a young man,” she said, taking a quick breath. “It hurts.”
“You have a tender heart. Your mother must have loved you well.”
“She did the best she could,” Emma said.
He wrinkled his brow slightly as he studied her and she felt compelled to explain. “You know how some people have a drinking problem?” she asked and he nodded. “She had…has a gambling problem.”
He gave a slow nod. “That must have been tough.”
“It was. Sometimes, it still is. But she doesn’t live in Vegas anymore, so that’s a good start.” Emma felt uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny. “Enough of that. Where did you live before you came here? How are you dealing with our lack of humidity?”
“I had a long-term assignment in Minnesota, so I find this a nice change. I build houses for charity,” he said.
“Really?” she said. “I’d wondered where you got those calluses on your hands.”
“You noticed,” he said, his dark eyes glinting with sensuality again.
Her breath stopped somewhere in her chest. “Yes, I guess I did,” she reluctantly admitted.
“With my job, I strip away the excess. To balance that, I help build up. The combination keeps me balanced.”
She was caught off guard that he would feel the need to build anything. Ruthlessness seemed to come so easily to him.
“Your face is so easy to read. You look surprised.”
Irritated that he seemed to have the ability to read her thoughts, she frowned, blurting out her thoughts. “Yes, I’m surprised. I thought you were a descendant of one of those pirates we were discussing a moment ago. I wouldn’t have thought someone who cuts the livelihood of dozens of people without batting an eye would be interested in any kind of charity.” She was horrified that he provoked her so easily. “I can’t believe I just said that to my boss.”
Damien gave a low chuckle. “I was told you’re discreet and respectful. Is this how you talked with your previous bosses?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m extremely discreet. Ask Alex Megalos or Max De Luca. And I’ve always been respectful. It’s you,” she said. “You bring it out in me. This is crazy. I shouldn’t be here. Perhaps I shouldn’t be your assistant.” She rose to her feet because she couldn’t stand embarrassing herself further.
“Sit down,” he said. “Our dinner is on the way. There’s no need to waste a good meal just because you think I’m the kind of man to eat small children for breakfast.”
When she didn’t immediately comply, he lifted an eyebrow.
Sighing, she sank into her chair. “I wouldn’t have said small children.”
“Okay,” he said. “Pretty assistants who tell the truth.”
He’d just called her pretty. She felt a rush of pleasure. Heaven help her, this was crazy. She felt like a double agent. She’d prejudged Damien and he was scrambling her preconceptions of him. He was scrambling her hormones, too. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and more.
The waiter served plates with presentations of gourmet fish and vegetables.
“Tell me more about you,” he said. “You’ve made me curious.”
She felt a clench and swallowed. “No need to be curious. I’m boring. Really boring.”
“Favorite music,” he countered.
She shrugged. “Maroon 5. Fergie. Michael Bublé. Van Morrison. Delbert McClinton.”
“Van Morrison and Delbert McClinton,” he echoed. “They don’t fit.”
“They’re wonderful. They don’t need to fit,” she said, unable to squelch a smile.
He slowly lifted his lips in a return smile. “I like that.”
He said it as if he found her interesting, perhaps even alluring. The notion was as heady as three glasses of champagne, but Emma was determined not to sink further under his spell. Focus on the meal, she told herself. Not the man.
Two hours later, with the rainstorm at an end, Damien drove her home to her safe, modest apartment complex on the outskirts of town.
“Maintenance should repair that light,” Damien said as he pulled to a stop just outside her apartment.
“I’ll remind them tomorrow. Thank you for everything,” she said. “Rescuing me in the rain, dinner. Thank you.”
He cut the engine. “No problem. I’ll walk you to your door.”
Surprised, she shook her head. “Oh, that’s not necessary. My door is in sight.”
“I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t walk you to your door,” he said.
“I thought we had established that you are a pirate, not a gentleman,” she whispered.
He chuckled. “I’ll walk you to your door,” he said and got out of the car.
Emma sighed, wishing he weren’t so attractive, wishing she weren’t fascinated by him. He opened her passenger door and helped her out. His hand was strong, his body emanated a heat that tempted her to lean into him. She resisted the urge.
Feeling the light touch of his hand against the small of her back, she walked toward her door. Rattled by his effect on her, she rummaged inside her purse for her key, finally locating it. She jammed it into the lock and turned. It took a few tries, but the lock finally released and her breath did the same.
She opened the door and turned to him. He was far too close. “Thank you again,” she murmured, hyperaware of his tall, muscular form. “For everything.”
“My pleasure,” he said.
Eager to escape his effect on her, she scrambled forward, falling. She was certain she would land flat on her face, but Damien caught her. His strong arms wrapped around her, drawing her back against his muscular body. Her breath stopped in her chest.
Whoa, girl. Get yourself under control. She put her hand on one of his forearms to remove it, but was immediately distracted by the way his muscles rippled beneath her touch.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his mouth inches from her ear. The sound was low and intimate, filling her with instant heat.
Emma swallowed over her dry throat and nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. I just lost my balance.” She deliberately stepped away from him and turned around. “Thanks,” she said. “Again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Not unless you have another ride,” he corrected. “I
can pick you up. Is seven-thirty okay?”
Emma blinked, remembering that her car was in the shop. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I can—”
“Do you have another ride?” he cut in.
“Not at the moment, but—”
“Then there’s no reason for you to reject my offer, is there?”
His gaze could melt steel, she thought, and heaven knew she wasn’t steel. “I guess not. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night,” she said, closing the door and leaning against it, praying for sanity.
Four
The next morning, Damien barely pulled into the parking lot just outside Emma’s apartment before she opened her door and strode toward him. As usual, she wore a suit, this time dark slacks and a jacket with a white blouse underneath. Her silky light brown hair was tugged away from her face in a ponytail, emphasizing her delicate features and the contrast of her rosy lips with her pale skin.
Although he suspected her pantsuit was designed to disguise her long legs and feminine curves, he could see the promise of her feminine form beneath the business attire…creamy pale shoulders and breasts with rosy tips just a shade darker than her lips, a slender waist, round inviting hips and long, lithe legs that would wrap around a man’s waist while he…
Putting his car in park, he got out and opened the car door just as she reached the car. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she said, her gaze skimming over him in appreciation before she glanced away and slid into the car. “Thank you.”
Returning to the driver’s seat, he felt her assess him again before she turned her head. It was as if she had a hard time resisting the urge to look at him. The knowledge shot through him with a secret pleasure.
Emma Weatherfield intrigued him more with each passing day. He’d already intended to get information from her regarding Max De Luca and Alex Megalos. Now that he knew she was attracted to him, he’d decided to satisfy his curiosity and hers in bed. MD had no rules against fraternization among employees, so there was no reason the two of them couldn’t indulge.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, putting the car into gear and driving out of the parking lot.
She slid a quick sideways glance at him, but kept her head facing forward. “Well enough. I don’t require a lot of sleep.”
