“How’s work? How’s everyone there?” she asked quickly.
“Fine, fine,” Michael answered. “So this is the one.”
“The one?”
“The new man of yours Becky’s told everyone about.” He smiled at Trick, a wide, superior smile.
Emma couldn’t blame Michael. She wouldn’t blame a mushroom for feeling superior to the man beside her. “Sure is,” she agreed.
Trick grunted again.
Emma winced, then turned to the other woman with a bright smile. “Well, Pauline. Are you all ready?”
Pauline dipped her shoulder and swung her fall of deep black hair. “Ready for what?” she asked, her expression puzzled.
Emma repasted on her smile. “For your wedding. Next Saturday?”
“Oh, yes.” Pauline dipped again, and the other side of her hair left her shoulder to ripple smoothly onto her back.
“Well, good.” Emma scuttled closer to Trick, hoping to engage his brain so he’d start doing the loverly bit again.
“It’s a lot of work, though, planning a wedding.” Pauline’s china blue eyes were earnest. “You know how it is.”
Emma consciously unclenched her jaw. “Yeah, I do know how it is.” And it’s even more work to unplan a wedding. She shot a look at Trick. I could use some help here.
“Emma,” he said gruffly.
She felt a little twitch of hope. Yes, she thought, he’s coming alive now. He’ll sling his arm around me, call me sweetie, make some small talk and show these two what we really mean to one another.
Wearing a little smile, she looked at him expectantly.
“Let’s go.”
Inside, her smile died, but she kept her teeth bared. “Okay, honey.” She turned to say goodbye to Michael and Pauline.
“So long, you guys. Have a nice evening.” She exchanged a few more words with them, all the while sending Trick the same telepathic message. Hold my hand as we walk away. Hold my hand as we walk away.
The last goodbye said, she turned to Trick. Empty space. She whirled. Empty there, too.
“That way.” Michael pointed behind her. She glimpsed Trick rounding a rack of sports coats at the far end of the department. Grabbing the shopping bags, she hurried after him.
Emma caught up with Trick on the down escalator. “This isn’t going to work,” she said.
“Hmm?” With a faint smile on his face, he looked at her.
She snapped her fingers in front of his nose. “Wake up. We weren’t winning any Oscars back there.”
“I wasn’t acting.” He stepped off the escalator and strode toward the main doors.
She rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s some comfort,” she muttered. Almost jogging, she regained his side. “I don’t think we convinced them.”
“We will.”
“I think we should forget it.”
He halted, but her momentum took her a few steps ahead. “What?” Trick caught her arm and spun her around. “We just need some practice.”
“No kidding.”
“So we’ll practice.” He started walking again, still holding her arm.
“You’re going out of town Sunday.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
Emma tried to catch her breath. “You’re working with Gary all day.”
“We’ll practice tomorrow night.” His voice was certain. He ran his hand down her arm, transferred the shopping bags she carried to his outside hand and laced their free fingers.
Their palms came together, and Emma’s insides tightened then unfurled in an echo of the explosive combination of their lips. She rubbed her temple. “I’m confused.”
Trick squeezed her hand. “Join the club, baby.”
Trick closed his front door behind him with a profound sense of relief. In the safety of his own home, he was out of range of the slings and arrows of life with Emma. He dumped the shopping bags in the entryway and crossed into the living room.
“What’s the skinny?”
Trick laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Captain. No surprises.” He flopped onto the couch and ran his fingers through his hair. “Unlike our friend Emma.”
“She’s foxy.”
“She’s more than that. One kiss, and she turns me into a—”
“Chowderhead! Shrimp brain!”
Trick nodded, silently replaying her command. He hadn’t understood her urgency, but obedient to her request for a kiss, he’d tasted her….
God, her taste. Cinnamon and sunshine. Vanilla and roses. Domestic and erotic. Evocative.
She tasted perfect.
He wanted more.
“Polly wants a cracker!”
Trick ignored the parrot, still concentrating on Emma and the moments he held her in his hands. Just the memory set his blood pumping heavily.
Captain rummaged around in the food dish, running his beak through the seeds. Apparently unsatisfied, he jumped to the bottom of the cage then stomped around, kicking up husks, his movements setting his perch swinging and ringing the bell that hung from a small mirror.
The bird twisted his head to stare at the jangling bell. “Stop that racket!”
“What’s the matter, Captain?”
He turned his beady eyes on Trick. “Polly wants a cracker!”
Trick obligingly tossed some sunflower seeds through the bars of the cage. Captain inspected them, then eyed Trick again. “Polly wants a cracker!” the parrot screeched.
Trick shook his head. “We can’t always have what we want, big guy.” Like more of Emma’s taste. Like five minutes alone with that ex-fiancé of hers.
If he hadn’t been so dazed by that kiss, he’d at least have found a few choice words for that guy. Smooth and cool, Michael was not the man for Emma.
“What’s the skinny?” Captain had settled for the seeds. He tilted his head right, left, then hopped closer to the bars of the cage. “What’s the skinny?”
Trick remained silent, mentally cataloging annoying details of Emma’s former fiancé.
“What’s the skinny?”
“But I’m not the man for her, either,” Trick told the bird. “As a matter of fact, I probably should have grabbed at her offer to back out of our deal.” He hadn’t been thinking clearly at the time, however. Instead, he’d still been under the influence of the dizzying afterburn of that kiss.
Trick leaned back in the cushions, staring straight ahead through the bars of Captain’s cage. As if taking Trick’s posture as rapt attention, Captain tromped around, dramatically reciting his repertoire of phrases and sounds.
“What a hunk! She’s foxy!” A salacious whistle. A dog bark. Three curses in Spanish. A short list of nautical phrases—“Anchors aweigh! Land ho! Rocks ahead!”
Finally Trick noticed the performance, and had to laugh. “You’re good for me, Captain.” He chuckled some more. “I’m taking this Emma situation much too seriously.”
“She’s foxy,” Captain answered. He whistled again, long and appreciative.
“You’ve got that right. And I need to lighten up about it. What’s the big deal? I’m going out with a pretty woman.” It wouldn’t get serious. They’d both agreed on the day they met that the perfect mate didn’t exist.
“Anchors aweigh!” Captain encouraged.
“We’ll have a little fun.” And, he must admit, the fun would be more special because Emma appeared to like him for himself, unemployed beach bum or not.
“What could happen?” he asked Captain.
“Land ho!”
“I know exactly the things I want to practice. As I see it, at the very worst, I’ll enjoy the good-night kiss.” Now totally relaxed, he grinned at the thought.
Captain squawked. “Rocks ahead!”
After two days of squatting and stooping while cleaning the hull of the Always Up, Trick had to concentrate on a smooth, even gait as he made his way to Emma’s porch. At the first rap of his knuckles, she opened the door.
Along with an uncertain expression, Emma wore pants
and top in a black and gold tropical print. The pants were loose-legged, and the sleeveless shirt, shaped like a vest, possessed three buttons. He noticed, because only the top two were done up, so as she moved across the threshold he glimpsed the golden skin from below her breasts to the waistband of the pants.
He stared and instinctively retreated, so to his delight and despair, he got an even better look as she moved farther into the light of the August evening. Just exposing her navel, the pants rode the edge of her hips, fastened there by a drawstring like on men’s pajamas. A quick-jerk-and-they ‘re-down drawstring.
He took a very deep breath and forced his gaze to her face. “Hi.”
She smiled a little, and two gold bangles clanked together as she pushed a curl behind her ear. “I was going to call you and cancel. But I didn’t have your number, so I couldn’t reach you. Well, of course I could. I knew you were at Gary’s. I remember where that is—”
“Emma.” He held up a hand.
She stopped babbling and inhaled. “Tell me again. Why are we doing this?”
Trick thought he’d had an answer before seeing her in that now-she-flashes-now-she-doesn’t outfit. He tried remembering. “To practice?”
Her brow wrinkled. “There’s no point to it. I wasn’t thinking clearly yesterday. There’ll be no one to see us tonight.” She stepped backward, as if she might return to the house.
Practice suddenly became an imperative need. Trick stepped forward. “It’s better to train without an audience. This way we can get it right before Wednesday.”
She worried her lower lip for several seconds. “Maybe you’re right. You don’t learn tennis on the center court at Wimbledon.”
Trick nodded, relieved she understood.
“Yes.” She stepped forward. “You don’t prepare to be a cordon bleu chef at McDonald’s.”
Trick blinked, not sure he saw the connection.
Emma passed him and proceeded down the walk. “Uh-huh. The longest journey begins with a single step.”
Trick followed, aware he’d entered Emma-land. Next time, remind me to make her write down the directions.
They drove in his white Bug to Del Mar, where he’d made reservations at a small restaurant and bar so close to the water that in winter storms the surf washed over the outdoor patio. Thanks to a buddy of his, they were shown outside to one of the umbrella-topped café tables. Tonight, the breakers crashed yards away. The sun was only minutes from setting.
They ordered a bottle of wine and hors d’oeuvres, and then settled back in their seats. “Shall I hold your hand?” Trick asked.
Gaze on the lowering sun, she extended her fingers, then dropped them to the table and looked at him. “I feel silly.”
“Why?”
She rolled her eyes.
Trick grinned. “Hey, look at it this way. You’ll be doing me a big favor. I’ll find out what a woman wants.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe you have trouble with women.”
“Every man has trouble with women.”
“You’ve never been married?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Engaged?”
He shook his head. “Close once.” He held up a hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger together. “But I…lost my job. I guess she didn’t think much of my prospects.”
Emma clucked her tongue. “Terrible. Obviously, she didn’t really love you.”
He remembered how he’d watched the flowers she brought to the hospital wither and die. Each day they’d gotten browner and more shriveled. He hadn’t let anyone throw them away. Like Gary and the boat in the yard, he’d wanted the reminder. “Or she did love me-as long as I and the future were perfect.”
Emma’s hand moved to cover his. He turned his over, tangling their fingers and pressing his palm to hers. Hot, sweet sizzle. Her green eyes sizzled, too, probably catching the farewell flame of the sun.
A waiter broke the moment by coming over to light the candle on their table. Without letting go of Emma’s hand, Trick tried shaking off the sensual connection. Have fun, he told himself, be light.
When their dinners came, Trick noticed an entwined, obviously enraptured couple at the next table. “Hey, look at those two,” he whispered to Emma, with a slight nod.
She casually looked over her shoulder, then turned back, smiling. “Lovers.”
Trick grinned. “It’s perfect. I won’t have to ask you for a blow-by-blow. You tell me if there’s something you don’t like, or if there’s something additional you want, but for the basics, I’ll just follow his lead. What do you say?”
She peeked over her shoulder again. “They do look like they’re in love.”
“Right. And so into each other, they won’t notice we’re copycats.” Squeezing Emma’s hand, he sat forward to begin on his dinner of grilled swordfish.
“Damn.”
Emma looked up from her first bite of salmon. “What’s the matter?”
“How’s he do that?” With his right hand occupied by Emma, Trick had picked up his fork in his left. It felt completely unnatural. “He’s eating, she’s eating, but they’re still holding hands.”
Emma peered over her shoulder, then laughed. “He is proficient.”
Trick frowned and tried spearing a bite of fish. The morsel fell off his fork into the rice pilaf. “That guy’s gotta be a goofy foot.”
“Huh?” Emma asked, still quietly laughing.
“A leftie.” He tried again, and the bite fell into his lap. “This isn’t going to work.” This time he laughed with her. Good going, Trick, he congratulated himself, you’re back to the light and easy.
Emma sighed noisily. “Well, I guess we only have a couple choices.” Another sigh. “Either I feed you, or…”
“Or?”
“Or—” she wiggled her fingers “—we let go and…” She peered over her shoulder. “Let’s just say he’s not the only one with smooth moves. His date’s got a few of her own.”
She freed his hand, and with a demure smile went back to her salmon. Trick watched her, puzzled, then felt something move under the hem of his slacks to caress his bare ankle. Not something, Emma’s toes. Heat shot up his leg and pooled in his groin. He struggled for a breath.
Afraid if he made a sudden move she’d halt the blood-boiling caress, he gingerly leaned back in his chair and slanted his gaze under their table.
Another zing of heat. He’d never seen anything as erotic as the sight of Emma’s empty sandal and her foot disappearing up the leg of his pants. He groaned softly.
“Emma.”
“Mmm?” That demure smile again.
He couldn’t muzzle the truth. “You drive me crazy,” he whispered.
Her foot stilled and her nostrils flared. A couple of heartbeats, then she lifted her head and met his gaze. A breeze whispered through, making the candlelight flicker in her eyes and her perfume dance around his head.
“Sweet nothings are good, too.” Her toes stroked his skin again.
“Sweet nothings?”
“Yes. At the dinner, or at the wedding. Murmur a few, like that one, loud enough to be overheard. Perfect for the act.” Emma bent her head to her plate.
“Yeah,” he responded. “The act.” Listen up, Webster.
Emma told Trick she wanted to dance. She needed to do something to get rid of this restless energy that had welled up inside her from the moment he’d appeared on her doorstep.
Trick drained his coffee cup and placed it beside his empty dessert plate. “Dancing?”
Emma pointed through the windows to the bar area of the restaurant. “There’s a band and a dance floor inside. That other couple is dancing.”
Trick grimaced. “Dancing,” he stated flatly.
She nodded. “The perfect man dances.”
An uncomfortable expression crossed Trick’s face. Giving herself a mental kick, she realized perhaps Trick didn’t like to dance, or didn’t want to dance with her. “We don’t have to,” she sa
id hastily.
“The perfect man dances,” he answered.
He slowly led her inside and threaded through several gyrating couples to the raised stage. He spoke into the ear of the keyboardist, who nodded. They found a less crowded spot on the dance floor, and the music changed from fast dance music to a love song with a pulsing, sensuous beat.
Holding both her hands, Trick turned her to face him. A quiver of panic raced through Emma. She’d tamped down her worries all night, fluffing off the flirtatious, sexual edge to their exchanges.
His eyes glittered, his arms looked rigid, but his fingers were gentle. Was it she who had wanted to dance? Foolish woman.
“Let’s go home,” she said, but she already swayed toward Trick, pushed by the persuasive music.
“Too late.” Without hesitation, he gathered her to him and held her against his chest, resting his cheek on her hair.
The drumbeat of the song pulsed through the soles of Emma’s feet, up her legs. She felt it in Trick, too, and heard the matching rhythm of his heart. They danced that way, in complete connection, and somewhere in the first few chords of the song, she left behind her usual caution.
The song lasted three minutes, or maybe thirty-three. Either way, the notes faded away too quickly as did the feel of Trick’s body against hers.
He looked at Emma from a disappointing step away. “Another dance?”
“I…” Emma licked her lips.
His eyes focused on her mouth. “Let’s go,” he said abruptly.
He drove her home quickly, his hand on her thigh keeping her body humming. They walked to her porch, fingers entwined.
On her doorstep, he turned her toward him, both her hands in his, as on the dance floor. His eyes still glittered. Involuntarily, Emma took a step backward, and her shoulder blades met the solid expanse of the door.
She rested her head against the wood, too, staring into Trick’s shadowed face. Slowly, slowly, he lifted their laced fingers to either side of her head so that the backs of her hands were against the door. He leaned close.
“No acting,” he muttered.
His mouth took possession.
The Wedding Date Page 6
