“You sure?”
“Yes! I’m sure. It was crazy and stupid.”
“I thought it was exciting and satisfying.”
She knew it was those things, too. But that didn’t change the fact that it couldn’t happen again.
“Just out of curiosity,” said Alex. “What is your objection to it happening again?”
“This is a business deal.”
“It’s also a marriage.”
She shook her head. What they were doing bore no resemblance whatsoever to a marriage. He was looking out for his interests, and she was looking out for hers. It was as simple as that.
“If we mix things up,” she said. “If we get confused. One of us-and by one of us, I mean me-is going to get hurt.”
Her hair lifted in the breeze, and he reached out to brush it back from her cheek. “I won’t hurt you, Emma.”
Despite the lightness of his touch, she knew it was a lie.
“Yes you will,” she said. “Let’s face it. You’re not marrying me because, of all the women in New York, I’m the one you want to spend time with.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Heck, even when you narrowed the pool down to
“You did not.”
“Alex. Don’t rewrite history.”
“I’m not-”
“At least do me the courtesy of being honest. You want my hotels. Well, you’ve got them. And that means you’ve got me for a while, too.” She was falling for Alex. There was no point in denying it any longer. But the idea that Alex might also be falling for her was laughable. He could have any woman in New York City, probably any woman in the country. And he liked them glamorous, sophisticated and fashionable.
He was being kind right now, because deep down inside he really was a decent guy. And he seemed to like her. Sometimes, he seemed to like her a whole lot.
But she wouldn’t delude herself. She wouldn’t set herself up for heartache. They both knew he wasn’t about to fall for plain old Emma McKinley just because he happened to be marrying her. Her chest burned as she forced herself to voice the bald truth. “But don’t pretend it’s anything other than a business deal.”
He was silent for a full minute, his eyes dark as a storm-tossed sea, and just as unreadable.
“Fine,” he finally said, a sharp edge to his voice. “I’ll pay for the party. You live at my house. And we’ll both bring our laptops on the honeymoon.”
Then he turned from the rail and marched down the stairs.
Emma was glad. She’d said what needed to be said, and cleared the air between them. It was the only way to move forward.
Really.
Alex knew he had to back off. He was pushing Emma too hard and too fast. But he had a burning need to figure out what was going on between them. Truth was, at this moment, he had a feeling he’d pick Emma over anybody anytime anywhere. And that scared him.
From the moment they’d made love, he knew things had gone way past a business deal. They had something going on, and he needed to figure out what it was. To do that, he needed to talk to Emma. But she didn’t want to talk to him. She especially didn’t want to talk to him about them.
Them.
What a concept.
Alex stopped at the edge of the rose garden and gave his head a quick shake. His brain couldn’t wrap itself around the idea of a them. He liked her. Sure. And he respected her, and she definitely turned him on. But what did that mean?
Did it mean he should give their marriage a chance? Or did it mean he was getting too caught up in the whole wedding charade?
He turned toward the balcony where she gazed out at the ocean, her hair lifting in the breeze. His heart gave a little hitch at the sight of her, and he knew one thing for sure. He wouldn’t be getting any perspective at all while Emma was around.
Backing off was probably a good idea, for his sanity if nothing else. Besides, they’d ridden the publicity wave about as far as they could. From a business perspective, there was nothing left to do but get married.
And then they’d be together on the honeymoon, and maybe things would start to make sense. And, if it didn’t, they’d have plenty of time to talk things out. After all, Emma had made it pretty plain they wouldn’t be doing anything else.
Once Philippe and Mrs. Nash joined forces, the wedding plans shifted to high gear, barely leaving Emma time to take a breath. She stopped asking questions along about Wednesday, seeking sanctuary in her business problems instead. It was less stressful to worry about the proposed tourist tax regime in France than the music to which she’d say “I do.”
Yesterday, Mrs. Nash had couriered a set of cardboard index cards, telling her where to go and what to do over the two days of festivities. Tonight the rehearsal dinner kicked things off. She and Katie were to dress at Alex’s mansion in Oyster Bay. Then a limo would pick up the wedding party at seven. Alex’s cousin Nathaniel would host a dinner for fifty at the Cavendish Club.
Afterward, the women would stay over at the mansion. Where, tomorrow morning, a veritable army of hairdressers, manicurists and makeup artists were due to arrive.
For the moment, Emma’s stomach did a little flip-flop as her car rounded a curve and the mansion came into view. What the neatly typed index cards didn’t cover was her reaction to Alex.
Katie popped forward in the passenger seat. “
“Only on weekends,” said Emma, her voice firm with conviction. “And only for a few months.”
Over the past week, she’d refocused her priorities. Her mind was on business now. Alex was simply a means to an end.
She wouldn’t picture them together-not in his breakfast nook over a cup of coffee, not on his deck sharing a bottle of wine, and definitely not in his bedroom, in a tangle of sheets, his hot, naked body pressed up against hers.
“Can I come visit?” Katie asked, twisting her head as they passed the front rose garden.
Emma sucked in a bracing breath. “Sure,” she said with determined cheer. Then Katie’s phraseology penetrated. She’d said
Beneath her gauzy, mauve blouse, Katie shrugged her shoulders. Her lips pursed every so slightly. “He’s been working a lot of hours lately.”
David’s job interfering with his personal life?
“He works for you,” Emma pointed out.
Katie tossed her head and let out a chopped laugh. “Never mind. It’s nothing. Sometimes he hangs out with the guys at the club.”
Emma pulled to a stop in the round driveway, turning to peer at her sister. “Is everything okay?”
Katie stared straight back. “Everything is great.” She gestured to the wide staircase and the towering stone pillars. “Everything is fantastic! The Cavendish Club tonight, and the wedding of the year tomorrow. Now get your luggage and let’s move in.”
Emma nodded sharply in agreement. She could do this. She was ready for this.
Her cell phone buzzed, as two of Alex’s staff members trotted down the stairs. She flipped it open and saw the Paris area code. Business before marriage. As it should be.
Nine
Alex stood at the bottom of the mansion’s main staircase and listened to the hustle and
