“Oh.” Emma tried on a properly aghast expression. “That big C.”
All the men but Gary looked mournful. Gary surveyed the group, obviously abashed. His tone became defensive. “But she’s a stewardess.”
“There is that.”
“Well, okay.”
A third man just nodded, as if the stewardess occupation explained everything.
“I wish you luck, man.” Trick shook his head. “Be careful.”
Emma decided to interrupt before the party turned into a wake. She tugged on Trick’s shirtsleeve and gave him a significant look. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to these other gentlemen?” In the dim light of the yard, she tried to gauge their hair color.
Trick looked at her, then narrowed his eyes and moved his gaze around the circle of faces. “No,” he said shortly. “We’ll do better. Follow me.”
He stalked toward the house, giving an acknowledging wave as Gary yelled for them to make themselves at home and be sure to try the jungle juice. With a smile for Gary and the rebuffed men, Emma hurried after Trick.
People and fast-paced rock music strained the walls of the house. To follow Trick, Emma was forced to sidestep from the entry to the living room, where he halted.
Stopping beside him, she found a paper cup of fruit punch in her right hand and a woman’s bikini top draped over her left wrist. A hasty glance back didn’t give a clue as to the source of either.
She surreptitiously let the bathing suit slide to the coffee table as she sipped at the punch. It tasted sweet and quenched her thirst. She quickly drained half of the small cup.
“Oh, my God.” Trick plucked the cup out of her fingers. “Be careful with that.”
“Huh?” She reached for the punch, but Trick held it over his head.
“I mean it. This is Gary’s famous jungle juice. Twenty percent fruit punch, eighty percent alcohol, and one hundred percent headache in the morning.” He swallowed the remainder, crushed the cup, then pitched it over the heads of the crowd, where Emma hoped a trash can awaited. “Not to mention the regrets for what you did under its influence. If you can remember.”
“Sounds like the voice of experience.”
He brought his mouth close to her ear. “Sweetheart, my whole body has experience.” A slow smile broke over Trick’s face and he lifted his eyebrows in an obvious leer.
His warm breath touched Emma’s skin, unleashing pinpricks of sensation that ran down her neck, goosefleshing her arms and hardening her nipples. Goodness gracious. She jerked her head away and crossed her arms over her chest. “Let’s get to work.”
A frown replaced the humor on Trick’s face. “Okay, okay.” He looked around the room. “Point out someone that looks right, and I’ll give you the lowdown. If he’s decent, I’ll introduce you.”
The music changed to a slow, seductive song, its blood-thumping drumbeat resonating the floor. Many of the people around them coupled off and began dancing, bodies pressed close together. Those not dancing were pushed to the edges of the room. Emma only had a clear view of Trick, and the backs of two other men, one dark-haired, one blond.
Emma gestured casually at the blonde, looking at Trick with eyebrows raised. He shook his head and his mouth came toward her ear again. She made herself hold still. “Married,” he said. “Two kids. Actually, he’d probably do it—”
She shook her head vigorously. No, thank you. She knew how it felt to be cheated on.
Between the shoulders of the two in front of her, a couple danced into view. The male partner, blond, twirled a dark-haired woman. They were both laughing.
Emma looked at Trick, and his gaze left the same dancing couple to meet hers. “No,” he mouthed. The distasteful expression on his face told her enough.
Half an hour later, worry set in. Trick had found something wrong with every blonde in the front yard and in the house. Now, she and Trick sat side by side in rusted beach chairs on the patio bordering the sand, as he assassinated the character of each man in sight.
“Forgot his mother’s birthday and Mother’s Day?” Emma repeated Trick’s latest condemnation. “You’re absolutely right, Trick. He couldn’t possibly escort me to a few functions.” She rolled her eyes.
“You don’t understand.” The legs of his chair scraped the sandy cement as he turned toward her. “These guys will trample a woman like you.”
“A woman like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re too…open. Too…honest.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You’ll show a man your heart and he’ll feed off it.”
Emma blinked at his vehemence. “You get my Cynic of the Year award.” She waved away his concern. “But you’re getting too serious. I’m looking for a guy for a couple dates, for goodness sake.”
He sat back in his chair, shaking his head.
“And I’m going to find him. As a matter of fact, I’m choosing the next blonde that walks out on this patio. If you won’t introduce me, I’ll introduce myself.”
She watched the doorway expectantly, and sure enough, within minutes a fine specimen of blond manhood walked onto the patio. Raising her eyebrows, she stared at Trick.
“I don’t know him,” he mumbled, before turning to look over his shoulder, apparently to inspect the surf.
“Trick!” The man came forward, his hand outstretched.
Emma smiled sweetly at her companion. “He knows you.”
Trick stood quickly and stepped in front of Emma, his palm grasping the other man’s. “Mac. How’ve you been?”
“Just fine, mate.”
Ooh, terrific, Emma thought. An Australian accent. Trick had yet to bring her into the conversation, however. He’d even edged over farther, so that his body completely shielded her.
“How’s retirement?” Mac asked Trick.
Emma warmed even more to the Australian. How nice to refer to Trick’s unemployment as “retirement.” She decided to stop waiting for Trick to draw her in.
She stood. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” She asked Trick the question, but slanted her smile at Mac.
The Australian grinned and raised his eyebrows at Trick. “Hiding her, were you, mate?” His gaze returned to Emma and ran over her. “I can see why.”
Emma stared at Trick. “We’re just friends. Aren’t we, Trick?”
“Yeah. Sure.” His tone lacked conviction, or even good grace.
“Really?” Mac’s admiring gaze brought a heated flush to Emma’s cheeks. “Would you care to join me for a drink?”
Emma saw Trick’s frown and couldn’t resist smiling as Mac slid his arm through hers. “I liked that jungle juice.”
“Oh, really?” Mac led her toward the house. “I bet I can find a clean cup and a quiet place.” He looked back at Trick. “G’night, mate.”
Trick watched wave after wave crash into phosphorescent foam, waiting for the relief he should be feeling. Emma was someone else’s problem. Mac’s.
Emotion surged through him, hot and discomforting, like a bad sunburn. What was his problem? Shrimp brain. Chowderhead.
For distraction, he headed inside. Not, he reminded himself, to check on Emma. In the kitchen, he found a woman he’d met once before. But her lips were too thin, her conversation too easy to follow, and her big hair blocked his view of the living room.
Emma and Mac were dancing there.
His gaze caught on Emma’s free hand first, the one not being clutched by Mac’s. She clutched a paper cup, not sipping size, but the extra large variety. If that cup was full of Gary’s jungle juice, the lady bore watching.
The tempo of the music sped up, and the swing of her hips changed with it. Mac threw back his head and laughed. A loud, braying, Aussie laugh. But Emma appeared to find it pleasing. She laughed back, then took a long gulp from the cup.
Trick’s companion wandered off, and Gary wandered in. Trick mumbled something to his host, his gaze not leaving Emma. She performed a little hop-turn and caught him staring. She did th
e turn again, her eyes narrowing as she saw he still watched.
Catching the hint, Trick repositioned himself so he faced Gary and his back was to the living room. “What’s she doing now?” he asked.
Gary swigged from a bottle of beer. “Who?”
“The woman I came with.”
“Oh.” Gary went on tiptoe to peer over Trick’s shoulder. “Uh…it was kinda dark out in the front. Which?”
Trick rolled his eyes. “The one dancing with Mac.”
Gary’s eyes widened with obvious appreciation. “Oh. You mean Hot Hips?”
That uncomfortable, scratchy-hot emotion resurged. Trick rotated his shoulders, trying to shrug it off. “Is Hot Hi—I mean Emma still slurping down that damn juice of yours?”
Gary’s gaze cut to Trick’s. “Isn’t this batch one of my best? I cut down on the fruit punch ratio. I think my lady will like it.”
Trick gritted his teeth. “What about my lady? Is that cup of hers empty yet?”
“Your lady?” Gary’s eyes went round. “If she’s your lady, then why’s she dancing with Mac?” Gary went on tiptoe again. “Correction. If she’s your lady, then why is Mac leading her out to the dark and deserted patio?”
Trick whirled, catching sight of Emma’s backside following Mac out the sliding glass door. Unlike before, the patio was empty. Mac drew Emma behind two large potted palms. The last Trick saw of her was the oversize white cup in her hand, glowing in the moonlight.
“What have I done?” he whispered.
“You’ve lost the lady, that’s what,” Gary answered.
Trick stared at Gary. “Tell me. Would you trust Mac with a woman?”
Gary retrieved a bottle cap from the counter and thoughtfully scratched his chin with it. “In the moonlight? After a couple of sips of my special recipe?” He shook his head. “Nah. Right now he’s asking to put his shrimp on her barbie.”
Despite his concern, the image made Trick laugh. He shook his head. “It’s really none of my business. Emma can take care of herself. She’s a big girl.”
“That little thing?” Gary sucked his beer down to backwash. “I don’t know. They don’t call him Maulin’ Mac for nothing.”
Heat surged into Trick’s fists. “Maulin’ Mac? I thought he got that nickname surfing.”
“Nope. Girls gave it to him.” Gary’s empty bottle clanked onto the counter. “Not surfing girls.”
Shrimp brain. Chowderhead. Those were the mildest names Trick called himself as he hurried to the patio. He paused on the steps, Emma’s voice coming clearly to him from beyond the screen of the overgrown palms.
“My sister taught me that kick when I was fourteen years old. Her name’s Chloe. She plays the piano. I’d leave you alone out here, but I really think we should go in together. When you’re able to stand up straight, we’ll walk inside. You’ll smile. I’ll smile. People will think we watched the surf.”
Trick heard a masculine cough and grunt.
Emma kept talking. “I don’t want anyone to know what I had to do to you. Particularly the guys. If it gets around that I kneed your…ahems…to the vicinity of your throat, I’ll never get an escort to the wedding.”
More coughs.
Emma’s voice turned solicitous. “Aren’t you feeling any better?”
Trick decided it was time to intervene. “Emma?”
A little pause. “Yes, Trick?” her voice sounded bright as a daisy.
He kept his sugar sweet. “You ready to come in now?”
More silence. “Well, I believe I will. Mac needs a little more…air.”
She sashayed from behind the palms, her attitude as casual as you please, but the first button on her top was missing and her lipstick was smeared.
That sunburn feeling Trick had been fighting erupted into a full-blown lava flow of emotion. He ran forward. “I’ll teach him—”
Emma held up her hand. “I taught him.” She gave a small smile. “The White Knight’s not needed.” She marched past him toward the living room.
“Emma.”
She turned, framed in the open doorway. “Hmm?”
“What now?”
She held out her open palm to display the button from her blouse. “Repairs. Then—another blonde, I guess.” She sighed, looking over his shoulder toward the screen of palms. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to the wedding by myself and let my pride take the beating.”
“I’ll be your escort.” Trick felt as surprised by his offer as Emma looked. What have I done now?
4
A thrill went through Emma. “I thought you were going out of town?”
Trick mounted the steps to stand beside her, his mouth a little tense. “I’ll rearrange my schedule.”
“Can you do that?” she asked. He hadn’t said why he was going out of town. She couldn’t let him miss something important like a job interview.
“Sure. I was planning to spend a week in Oregon with my folks, but I’ll take off early and be back in time for…”
“A prenuptial dinner on Wednesday.” Emma clasped her hands together. Hallelujah! Problem solved!
“Okay, I’ll fly out first thing on Sunday—”
“You can’t weasel out that easy, Webster.”
Emma started at the sound of Gary’s voice. He stood behind her, leaning against the doorjamb and grinning.
Trick frowned. “Damn, you’re right, Gary.” He looked at Emma. “I promised Gary I’d help him clean the hull of his boat this weekend.”
“Promised!” Gary shook his head. “You lost a bet, buddy. A pair of deuces against my three cowboys.” An anxious expression wiped the smile from his face. “I’d let you off, but Monday night…you know…”
Trick frowned. “Yeah, yeah.” He paused. “I could start tomorrow while you’re at work.” He shot Emma a considering look.
“I can help,” she said eagerly. “Then you can be sure to get it done in time.”
Now Gary frowned. “It’s hard, grungy work.”
“How hard can it be?”
The men exchanged looks. Trick spoke. “About as hard as Gary took the breakup with his last love.”
Gary groaned. “Do we have to talk about it?”
“Emma will appreciate the story.” Trick smiled grimly. “Picture this. Gary. The bay, the boat, the diamond. The woman. But before Big Gary can pop the question, she pops up with, ‘See ya.’“
“Ouch.” Emma gave Gary a sympathetic smile.
He rubbed his chest as if soothing some residual pain. “It wasn’t so bad.”
Trick snorted. “Bad enough that you pulled the boat from its slip and parked it in your front yard as a reminder.”
Emma glanced back and forth between the two men. “Reminder of what, exactly?”
“Beware of lo-o-ove.” Trick ground out the last word.
Gary grinned, holding up his hands. “And see, it worked.”
Trick rolled his eyes. “How can you say that? Three months later and you’re at it again.”
“But this is love, not lo-o-ove.”
Emma met Trick’s gaze. She saw there her same dubiousness. “And how do you tell the difference?”
Gary opened his mouth, closed it. A hint of red crawled up his neck. “When I’m with her, I’m riding the wave of my life. Tubed, you know? Water all around me, the ultimate.” He sighed. “Then we touch, and the wave crashes over me. Wipeout. I go under, I’m drowning. And I don’t care.” He shook his head, as if still struggling with the idea himself.
“Hey, Gary!” Over the crowd and the music, a voice from inside the house reached them. “Someone’s looking for you!” Catcalls and hoots followed the announcement.
Gary’s face lit up. “She’s here,” he said unnecessarily and rushed into the living room.
Trick snorted again. “He doesn’t move that fast when the surf’s up at Cardiff.”
Behind them on the patio, Emma heard the sound of a chair scraping and the palms rustling. Apparently Mac was ready to make his re
appearance. Trick’s gaze shifted toward the noise, then to her face. “Shall I take you home now?”
She nodded. “Please.”
They couldn’t find Gary, but they shouted goodbyes to him anyway and tramped side by side to Trick’s VW. He opened her door, stepping back to allow her to slide in.
She moved forward, but jungle juice or darkness or just plain bad luck caused her to trip. Trick’s hands shot out and gripped her upper arms. The backs of his fingers grazed her breasts.
Sizzling heat raced to her nipples then took neuron superhighways back to where his flesh fused to hers. Emma’s senses tumbled—she smelled his warmth, tasted the pounding beats of her heart, heard the crackling awareness in his eyes. Wipeout.
With a deep breath and slow, deliberate movements, she pulled her arms from his grasp and looked at him warily. “Unless we have an audience, I think you’d better keep your hands to yourself.”
Emma inspected the label of the aspirin bottle from the medicine cabinet of her aunt’s guest bath, wishing it claimed a cure for embarrassment as well as headache. She groaned. “‘Keep your hands to yourself.’ How could I have said such a stupid thing?”
Her mirrored reflection didn’t have an answer.
She tossed back two grainy tablets, gulped some water, then began removing her makeup. I will never again touch a drink called jungle anything. Obviously the potent stuff caused her overreaction to Trick’s kind, polite gesture.
He should have let me fall on my butt.
Poor Trick, right now he probably regretted his offer to be her escort, even though they’d set a time in the morning to meet at Gary’s for the boat cleaning.
I’ll make it up to him. Cutting short his visit to his parents meant at the very least the loss of a few free meals. Tomorrow, they’d agree on fair payment for his services.
Once they put their arrangement on a business footing, maybe he’d forget her dumb reaction to his touch.
And she’d forget the sensation of his hands on her skin.
Maybe.
No. Never. Forgetting such a feeling would be absolutely impossible.
I should have let her fall on her butt. The thought came to Trick again, just as it had several times in the night and several times already this morning. It wouldn’t have been gentlemanly, but touching Emma had obviously spooked her.
The Wedding Date Page 4
