Emily moved to stand between him and the mirror, and lifted her fingers to the tie. She wiggled it a little, straightening it, though it had been perfect to begin with.
It was a rouse to be close to him.
An excuse to touch him.
The truth was, now that he’d dressed into his corporate clothes, he didn’t feel like her Sabato anymore. She sucked in a deep breath. “You’re so elemental. So animalistic. Kind of wild.”
He arched his brows at the description. “Am I?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “And this is so conservative.”
“So you said,” he flicked a gaze towards her. “What do you think I should wear to my meeting, cara? Those boxer shorts and nothing else?”
She smiled. “Now that would certainly get everyone’s attention.” Though Emily doubted he needed help with that. Sabato Montepulciano was the kind of man who would command the attention of any room he walked into. Effortlessly, and completely.
Sabato was late, and yet he was very, very reluctant to walk out the door. He put his hands on her bare shoulders, almost exclaiming at the feeling of her silken skin beneath him. “I will be as quick as is possible.” He was reassuring himself, as much as her.
“What is it, anyway? The meeting you’re going to, I mean.” She asked, trying to sound cool and disinterested when inside she was quivering with the hope of keeping him for a moment more.
He stepped away from her, instinctively knowing that the longer he touched her, the harder it would be to leave. “I’m buying some apartments over at Docklands.”
“What for?”
“Redevelopment,” he said simply. He was becoming more business like by the moment.
Emily nodded, but inside, her mind was littered with questions, and hope. “Redevelopment you’ll be needing to oversee?” Inwardly, she winced at the transparency of her request. She wanted so badly for him to say yes. They’d spent two nights together, and had only one more left. It was in the back of her mind, and she needed to know that it wouldn’t be the end.
Sabato’s smile was kind. It was without hope. It was gentle, but it was also dismissive. “I have a UK project manager. His name is Jonathan Scott. He’ll take over once I’ve secured the site.”
Emily’s smile felt false on her lips. He had answered her question. The real question. Would she see him again? Did he want to see her again? And the answer had been no. She wouldn’t focus on it then and there. There would be time, when the weekend was over, to deal with the reality of what she’d done. For the moment, she just wanted to exist and enjoy.
“Well, good luck,” she said, aware it was a lame conclusion to the conversation.
“Thank you.” He kissed her forehead. If he did more, he suspected he’d pull her into his arms and miss the damn meeting altogether. “I’ll see you soon.”
She followed him to the front door, and watched him walk down the long corridor. Then, she shut the door to his suite and leaned against it.
For the first time in days, she was alone.
Alone with her thoughts and her memories.
She smiled as she pulled her phone from her handbag and loaded up her facebook. She scanned some friends’ recent photos of a trip to the Greek islands and sighed wistfully. Again, the holiday she’d planned for Andrew’s birthday came to mind, and she felt a small jab of self-pity. Only very small, because it did her no favours to dwell on her situation. She had Andrew, and their apartment, and besides, the art show might lead to new opportunities for her. It was, in and of itself, a great opportunity.
Exhaustion was a weight in her veins, but she didn’t want to indulge in sleep. She was too wound up. Instead, she moved through the suite, tidying as she went, making the beds up, folding towels, and restoring order. She realised, after twenty minutes of rushing around, that she was distracting herself from thinking about Sabato.
With an angry sigh, she moved back to the lounge area and lifted her phone up once more. She dialled Ewan’s number by heart.
“Well, well,” he drawled, his Irish accent thicker than normal. “It’s Cinderella.”
Her pulse doubled its speed. “What do you mean?”
“Disappearing into thin air, never to be heard from again.”
“Oh, right.” So not the rags to riches love affair part then. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. The bug that had laid everyone down cleared up quickly enough. We coped. I just didn’t know what had happened to you …”
“No.” Spontaneously, she said, “Are you at work?”