He grinned then, slow and sexy. His untainted smiles were so few and far between, she couldn’t resist smiling back. His gaze settled on her neck. She touched the gold necklace at her throat.
“Thank you again for it,” she said breathlessly. “I’m not sure I should take it, though. It looks very valuable.”
“Of course you should take it,” he said, his expression sobering. “I thought of the artist who makes them by hand almost immediately when I met you. It’s a petit ange. Fitting for you.”
“Really?” she asked, her tone flat with incredulity, fingering the charm at her throat. “What does petit ange mean? It’s so pretty, but I wasn’t sure what it was exactly. A fairy?” she wondered.
His gaze flickered over her wistful smile. “Little angel,” he said quietly.
“I’m no angel,” she assured wryly.
His smile left her flustered. She grasped for a safe topic. “Did you have a good trip?”
“Good enough. I was a little preoccupied.”
Emma nodded in understanding. “Cristina isn’t any better tonight, but not any worse, either,” she said softly.
They stared at each other. Against her will, the memory of being pressed against his length, of his possessive mouth covering hers, coaxing . . . demanding, of shaking against him as he played her flesh like a master, entered her awareness. She moved restlessly on her feet as the subsequent memory of his harsh, crude words sliced through her like an ice pick.
She wasn’t used to feeling this level of uncertainty and intense awareness with a man. It seemed to encapsulate them in some sort of airless bubble.
“Cristina and I are not the best of friends,” he said. “We never have been. It’s . . . complicated.”
“I understand,” Emma said quickly. “Every family has their history. Their stuff. I’m not trying to intrude or judge. That’s not part of my job, and it’s not a part of who I am, either. You’ve provided for Cristina extremely well, despite this obvious . . . rift between the two of you.”
“A rift implies we were once close. Trust me, that’s never been the case,” he said, and once again, she sensed a razor-sharp edge to his tone.
“But when I told you she asked about you, you seemed—”
“I’ve left my number with the night nurse, and Mrs. Shaw will inform the day nurse. If Cristina says she wants to speak with me, I’ll come. Now I’ve told you as well. But just so you know, I’m not holding my breath for anything,” he said pointedly. Emma nodded.
“There’s something else I’d like to discuss with you. Would you like to go for a drive?” he asked, taking a step back.
She started and stared dubiously at the rows of cars. “I . . . yes.”
“Which car do you want to take?”
“I get to pick?” she asked, a grin breaking free. She couldn’t help it. An unexpected, giddy feeling of excitement rose in her.
His gaze caught on her smile. “Lady’s choice,” he assured quietly.
Chapter Nine
She eyed another sports car, perhaps swept away by the uncustomary feeling of euphoria she’d experienced on that other brief ride with him. She pointed hopefully at a fierce, fast-looking, dark red car. His small smile and raised brows seemed to say “nice choice,” which only enhanced her feeling of giddiness. The whole scenario took on the feeling of a waking dream when he opened the passenger door for her.
He slid into the seat next to her. The little car hummed to life, and as before, an unidentifiable thrill went through her. She had the strangest feeling when she was with him that anything could happen.
Anything would.
And that it could be heaven . . . or scary as hell.
He lowered the convertible top. Emma glanced cautiously sideways, admiring the virile, powerful image he made; the long, bent legs and strong, jean-covered thighs.
“How have you been doing?” he asked quietly once they had started down the dark drive. She thought he was referring to Colin.
“I’m fine,” she assured. “I had a talk with Colin. It’s over.”
He gave her a flickering sideways glance. “So you didn’t . . . I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Go ballistic on your boyfriend?”