by Joanna Shupe
“Send her flowers and tell her I’ll be there,” he told Colin and pulled up his suspenders. Rogers slipped a green patterned vest over Emmett’s shoulders and came around to do the buttons.
“No need,” Brendan said easily. “I already confirmed for you.”
Emmett started to tell Brendan to mind his own damn business, but he was suddenly reminded of something. Today was Tuesday, the last day of the bet. Emmett reached for his pocket watch and then remembered he was changing clothes. “What time is it, Colin?”
“Just after four.”
Trading had closed an hour ago. Had she succeeded?
The two of them had planned to dine together this evening. At least, he’d asked Elizabeth to meet him again, and she had agreed. It was entirely probable, however, that she’d forgotten.
He shouldn’t see her. It was a fool’s errand. She wasn’t the type of woman he preferred. Actresses, whores, singers . . . those he could handle. Women up for a good fuck, who never wanted anything serious.
Elizabeth Sloane screamed serious. She was not the type to bounce between the sheets and then go along her merry way. Christ, he’d probably scare her the first time he whipped his cock out—never mind his scarred back.
“Colin, send a cable to Miss Elizabeth Sloane on Washington Square. ‘Unable to meet you tonight. Cable your results tomorrow. Yours, etcetera, etcetera.’” His secretary nodded, furiously writing on his pad.
“I’ll send it,” Brendan said, rising smoothly to his feet with the help of his cane. “You both have a lot to catch up on, and I have nothing else to do.” He plucked the paper from Colin’s hands.
“You are uncharacteristically helpful today.” Emmett scrutinized his brother. “Did something happen that I should know about?”
“Nope. Just trying to earn my keep around here.”
Rogers held up a brown frock coat, and Emmett waved him away. “No need for that. I’ll be up to bathe and change for dinner around seven thirty.” He rolled his shoulders, relieved to feel marginally human again.
Just as he was about to sit, Katie and Claire exploded into the room in a blur of churning legs and petticoats. “Emmett!” they called as they charged his desk. “You’re back!”
He grinned and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. “Hello, girls. I see you’ve slipped Mrs. Thomas again.”
“We had to see if you brought us anything,” Katie said, now shifting impatiently in front of him. “Did you?”
“We want candy!” Claire announced at her sister’s side. “You promised us candy.”
“Yes, I did. But only if you were very good for Mrs. Thomas.”
“We were!” both of them said loudly.
He began to slowly pull his hands out of his trouser pockets, the girls’ eyes growing wider by the second. “I went to a new place this time, the Clark Company. They make something called”—he withdrew his hands and opened his fists—“the Clark Bar.” The candy was wrapped in a dull red package with the name in yellow letters. “I think you’ll like them.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said a winded voice by the door. Mrs. Thomas, the governess, gripped the doorframe, her hair askew from chasing after the girls. “They promised me they would wait until dinner.”
Emmett lifted his arms—and the candy—out of the girls’ reach. “Katie. Claire. Did you lie to Mrs. Thomas?”
Katie avoided his eyes, and Claire’s lip began to quiver. “We couldn’t wait,” she whined. “Don’t take our candy away!”
“You may have the candy, but you both will do one extra hour of music lessons for lying. Do we have a deal?”
“Deal!” they both shouted, and he handed over the candy. The girls scooped up the red packages and darted out into the corridor.
“You are such an easy mark,” Brendan said with a chuckle.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Emmett snapped at his brother. “Saving lives, perhaps?”
Brendan raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll leave you to it. Have fun tonight.”
* * *
Lizzie tapped her fingers on the linen-covered tabletop, unable to sit still. She had arrived at Sherry’s early, too excited to wait. Even her trepidation over dining in a small private suite could not dim her joy.
She’d succeeded. She’d won Cavanaugh’s wager, doubled his money, and would soon be starting her own brokerage firm. Her chest seemed ready to burst with sheer happiness.
Filled with giddiness, she’d placed a call to Emmett this morning to confirm their dinner. She wanted to deliver the news in person. Emmett had been unavailable, but his brother, Brendan, had been very helpful.
“Oh, yes,” Brendan had said over the line. “Emmett told me himself that he plans on meeting you at nine o’clock, Miss Sloane. Said he’s looking forward to it.”
Apparently Emmett had arranged for the private dining room as well. What did that gesture mean? Heaven knew she’d contemplated the near-kiss in the carriage a hundred times since that night, wondered over what it would feel like to have his mouth on hers. And now they would spend the evening here, together, all alone. Her brother would be furious, of course, but Lizzie didn’t care about her reputation. Nothing could ruin this evening for her.
The red velvet curtain swept aside, and Emmett strode in. He drew up short, almost as if surprised, but then continued toward her. Lizzie sucked in a breath. He looked huge in his black evening clothes, larger than life. Chiseled jaw, stark cheekbones, long eyelashes, and the bedeviling dip in his chin . . . Her skin grew hot, her stomach jumping. The man was hazardous to female kind.
Lizzie stood and smoothed her violet silk Worth evening gown. She tried to contain her wide smile, her face aching with the effort. It would be silly, but she had the strangest desire to run and throw herself into his arms, to share the euphoria exploding within her.
“Miss Sloane.”
“Mr. Cavanaugh.”
He clasped his hands behind his back then studied her, his obsidian gaze dark and intense. “Your eyes are dancing. Can I assume you’ve good news?”
The grin broke free, and she clapped her gloved hands. “I did it! As of yesterday, your investment stands at twenty-two thousand, twenty-nine dollars and sixty-three cents!”
“And a day early. I am impressed, Elizabeth.” The lines of his rugged face softened, making him impossibly handsome. “This is cause for a celebration.”
He strode back to the curtain and spoke to a waiter in the hall. She resumed her seat and busied herself with peeling off her purple gloves. Emmett returned and took his place, the setting dangerously close to hers. In fact, along with the candles, the entire atmosphere screamed intimate.
She did not care. Tonight was for gaiety. Worries were for tomorrow.
“You must tell me how you did it,” he said, shifting toward her. A strong thigh slid close to her knee, and Lizzie felt her mouth go dry.
Thankfully, the waiter arrived and began pouring champagne, allowing Lizzie a chance to compose herself. Emmett affected her in the strangest way.
When they were alone again, he plucked a full glass off the table, handed it to her, then lifted his own in a toast. “To partnership.”
Lizzie beamed. Hard to believe she would soon own her brokerage firm—well, half own. Regardless, she would have the opportunity to use her gifts in a practical sense, not merely as an exercise by herself. Financial security was close at hand. “To partnership.”
They drank, and then Emmett said, “Will you tell me how?”
“Gotham Telegraph.”
His eyes widened. “The rumored sale to Astor. Impressive. No one saw that coming.”
“I know. I was in the right place to overhear a relevant piece of information.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Sometimes women share innocent things from their home life that can be used to gauge a company’s stock value.”
He studied her, stared with such fierce concentration, that she nearly squirmed. She couldn’t guess w
hat he was thinking. Just as she was about to ask, he said quietly, “You are entirely unexpected, Elizabeth.”
From his flat tone and serious expression, she couldn’t comprehend his meaning. “Is that good or bad?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
The moment stretched, their gazes locked, and her breath came faster, the air suddenly in short supply. Their faces were so close she could see every one of the dark lashes framing his eyes, the hint of whiskers along his jaw. She sensed a strange tension emanating from him, a barely leashed energy that filled the room.
A waiter returned, this time with the first course, and she reached for her champagne, downing it. Oysters again, she noted in an effort to focus on something other than the inscrutable man next to her. The plates were arranged, and Emmett murmured something to the waiter, who promised to return momentarily.
The next few moments were dedicated to the food. Lizzie enjoyed the oysters and tried not to dwell on Emmett’s nearness, or the way their arms nearly brushed with each movement. More champagne should help, she thought and reached for her flute.
“Have you considered where you will set up an office?” he asked.
Surprised, she put down her glass. She hadn’t yet contemplated the practicalities, like an office or hiring a staff. Winning the bet had consumed her thoughts. No doubt her brother had space to spare in the Northeast Railroad offices, but she couldn’t fathom having Will a few feet away each day. He would interfere, try to take over.
“No, I haven’t. Silly, I suppose, but I’ve been so focused on the wager. I’ll need to lease an office near the exchange.”
“I have plenty of available space in my new building on Beaver Street.”
“Oh, I don’t know—”
“I insist. At least until you start to turn a profit and can afford to lease a space on your own. The building is completely outfitted with all the latest conveniences.”
The waiter appeared, placed a crystal glass of clear liquid near Emmett’s right hand, and departed. Lizzie watched as Emmett took a long sip.
“Is that water?” She nodded toward his glass.
The side of his mouth kicked up. “No, it’s gin.”
“May I taste it?”
“Have you ever had gin? I’m betting they don’t serve it at any of your fancy parties.”
“Perhaps that’s why fancy parties are so ridiculously boring.” She held out her hand. “Please, Emmett. I had the impression we were celebrating.”
She stared him down, even when he frowned fiercely. For some strange reason, she wanted to know more about him, to learn as much about Emmett Cavanaugh as she could.
“And we are. Here.” He placed his glass in her hand. “By all means, see how the common folk drink.”
The crystal cool in her palm, Lizzie lifted the spirits to her mouth. The smell was strong and flowery. Potent. She put her lips on the rim. There was something thrilling about putting her mouth where his had just been, and the sleepy, intense way he stared at her intimated he might be thinking the same.
Emboldened, she took a healthy sip and swallowed. The cold liquid burned down her throat, a river of fire scorching everything in its path to her stomach, robbing her of the ability to breathe.
A large hand thumped her back, and the glass disappeared from her grip. “Breathe, Elizabeth,” his deep voice commanded, and she gasped. Her lungs desperately dragged in air, as a shiver worked its way down her body.
“My God,” she wheezed. “How can you stand that?”
“I’m used to it.” He put the crystal to his beautiful lips and, drink suddenly forgotten, her thoughts returned to kissing. The burn in her stomach spread to ignite other parts as she watched him swallow, the strong cords of his tanned throat working above his white shirt collar. The divot in his chin dipped and bobbed, mesmerizing her like a snake in a charmer’s basket.
“You should stop staring at me like that.”
“Like what?” She propped her elbow on the table and put her chin in her hand, leaning toward him.
“Like you want me to kiss you.”
The gin must’ve conspired with the champagne to take hold of her tongue, because she blurted, “And you don’t want to kiss me?”
“Wrong.” His eyes blazed as he brushed his bare thumb gently over the seam of her lips. “I would give everything I own for the privilege. But there would be no going back.”
Lizzie’s skin came alive, itching and crawling with restlessness at his light touch. The fervent pounding of her heart behind whalebone and cotton echoed in every pore and cell, so loud she was certain he could hear. He stared at her mouth, rough pad of his thumb continuing to trace her lips.
He broke away first and reached for his glass, and she was pleased to see his hand shake slightly. He was so cool, so composed except for that slight tremor in his hand. Could he be pushed? Could she break a bit of the heavy-plated armor he seemed to surround himself with?
“Everything you own? I’m told it’s considerable.”
His mouth quirked, and he took another sip. “It is.”
“Then I am flattered.”
“You shouldn’t be.” He set the crystal down with a thump. “You should stay away from men like me.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I’m not certain that’s possible. I’ve never been very good at doing what I am told.”
* * *
Was she flirting with him? Yet another surprise when it came to Elizabeth Sloane.
It had been a shock to find her here tonight. Clearly, Brendan had a lot to answer for. Emmett’s brother was the only explanation for Elizabeth’s presence in the private dining room. But as annoyed as Emmett was over Brendan’s interference, he was also strangely relieved. He hadn’t wanted to see Mae. No, the woman he desired was right here in front of him.
He reached for his gin in a desperate attempt to cool his growing desire. Elizabeth was beautiful, yes. And intelligent. That had been unexpected, the quick wit. Most women of her ilk only concerned themselves with parties and gossip. Elizabeth was different, and he’d always been drawn to uniqueness, things that stood out.
Yet she was like a package too pretty to open. Someone too fragile and pure for a man like him, a man who’d fucked more nameless women than ones he could recount.
So why was he lusting after her like a lad? He knew better. This could go nowhere beneficial.
“How was Pittsburgh?” she asked.
He frowned, certain he hadn’t mentioned his trip tonight. “How did you know I was in Pittsburgh?”
“Your brother told me, when I called.” She wiped her immaculate mouth with the linen napkin. “He seems very nice.”
Nice was not how Emmett would have described Brendan at the moment. “His patients certainly think so. And my trip was . . . productive.”
“I’ve never been to Pittsburgh. Will goes, though.”
“You might like it. Have you ever traveled west?”
“No, though I’ve always wanted to see San Francisco. With the hills and the water, it’s supposed to be beautiful,” she said, and her eyes turned soft and dreamy, like silver clouds. Holy hell, he couldn’t look away as lust flared to life deep in his gut. A man could drown in that swirling gray mist, and he wondered how that color would change when she was aroused.
Forcing his gaze to his plate, he swallowed and tried to bring his body under control. “I was there last year. I didn’t have much time for taking in the sights, however. In fact, I hardly left my hotel and the construction site.”
“Oh, Emmett. That’s a terrible shame.” Her hand suddenly clasped his left forearm where it lay on the table. They both froze, though likely for different reasons. He blinked, transfixed at the sight of her bare, slim fingers on his black evening coat, the heat of her body seeping through the thin cloth to reach his skin.
A flush crept over her face as she realized what she’d done, and he wondered how much of her brazenness had to do with the champagne she’d consumed. Not that he
cared. He liked her hand there, touching him. Liked it a lot. So he held still, waiting. The fire reflected in her gaze, the wide-eyed wonder at whatever this was between them, sent a white-hot jolt through his blood, straight to his balls.
He watched her throat work, and she started to pull back. “I apologize.”
His other hand caught her small wrist, holding her in place. “Don’t. I like your hand there.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“When have the rules ever stopped you, Elizabeth?”
“More often than you’d believe, most likely,” she whispered before dropping her focus to his mouth. She licked her lips, and Emmett lost the battle.
“Liar,” he murmured, and closed the distance between them.
He knew he should stop, or at least go gently, but the instant his lips touched hers, it was as if a dam burst free inside him. Desire kicked hard in his groin, and he could not control his reaction to the very first taste of her. Sweet. And pure. Like rain that washed the dirt and grime from your body after a long day in the sticky heat.
More, his mind whispered.
He cupped her jaw, his rough fingers spread wide over delicate, creamy skin, and he sealed his mouth tighter to hers. Soft and lush, her lips contained the heady hint of champagne and the gin he never should’ve allowed. The combination should have served as a reminder of how different they were, of the gulf that separated them, but he found it intoxicating. A strange mix of two things that did not belong together, yet were undeniably delectable.
Oh sweet Christ, she was kissing him back.
Instinct swiftly took over. He parted her lips with his tongue and delved inside. Tasted the warm, wet recesses of her mouth. Her tongue welcomed his with bold strokes. She was not shy, and her eagerness acted as a lit match to dry kindling, burning him alive from the inside. The soft pants of her breath, the feel of her slick tongue sliding along his . . . He thrust deeper, wanting to sink into that velvety richness, to let her lusciousness envelop him.
