“Josh, wait.”
He pressed his forehead against her back, his breathing harsh. “What?”
“We. . . .” Her voice cracked again. She stopped, cleared her throat, then started over. “We forgot the champagne.”
Josh groaned. “You’re kidding, right?” He ran his tongue briefly along her spine. “I promise I don’t need you to be covered in champagne to lick every inch of you. And I don’t mind if you only concentrate on a few key parts of me,” he added with a rough chuckle.
She shuddered, but didn’t release his hands. “Please?”
He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly, and took several long, deep breaths. If he was quick and quiet, he could slip down the back stairs, sneak into the kitchen, snatch a bottle of champagne from the cooler and be back in less than five minutes. He took another deep breath, sighed, and tugged his hands free.
She let out a long sigh of her own. He was pleased she at least sounded somewhat regretful at the loss of his touch. “You’re sure?” he asked. But he was already rising to his feet.
She nodded. “I need you to get me that champagne. And when you get back. . . .” Her voice trailed off. Josh’s heart, already thundering, nearly stopped as he filled in the rest of her sentence himself.
“I’ll be just a minute. Don’t move.”
Her back was still to him, her hands still clasped to her breasts. Her brown eyes were intense and dark as she inclined her head toward the bed. “I’m going to move,” she said, voice soft, low and steady now. “But I promise, you won’t mind.”
Josh took another deep breath, gripped her chin in his hand, and crushed his mouth against hers. One of her arms flew up, curling around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him tightly as she kissed him back, moaning. When he drew back, she brushed a closed-mouth butterfly kiss across his lips in parting.
“Champagne,” he said firmly, stepping back.
“Champagne,” she whispered. Josh gritted his teeth, spun on his heel, and strode out the door.
Ignoring the sting in her eyes, Emma began to pull the straps of her dress back into place the second she heard the click of the door latching. Her hands were shaking so badly that it took her several attempts to retie the halter behind her neck. Her whole body was trembling, heat burning in her cheeks, her belly, and between her thighs. Blood pulsed in her veins like molten lava. She had thought she was up to the task of almost-seducing Josh Owens. She’d expected to kiss him. She’d anticipated she might have to go a bit further, maybe some light fondling. Just enough to get into his bedroom, so she could access the watch.
She was wrong. She had not been prepared at all. That kiss in the hallway had immediately melted her synapses with its sensual heat. The feel of his firm, warm lips and the wet glide of his tongue had chased every coherent thought from her mind. How could she possibly think, pressed into his bedroom door while he simultaneously ravished her mouth and rocked the hard length of his impressive erection against her quickly moistening cleft? Her mind had very little say when her body was so desperately clamoring for something. And at the moment, that
something
was Joshua Owens.
If her mask hadn’t begun to slip when he pushed open the door. . . . She shivered, finally tugging the knot of her dress tight. It didn’t matter what would have happened. Her mask
had
slipped, and she’d taken the moment to regain a sliver of self-control. She’d nearly lost it again, when he kissed his way down her spine. The touch of his big, hard hands on her breasts had felt divine.
It had been so long since she’d felt anything like the erotic heat of Josh’s kisses and caresses. In fact, if she were honest, nothing she’d ever experienced before had come close to matching the volcanic fervor she’d felt in those few minutes in his arms. Sending him away had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
But she had a job. She was here for a reason, and it wasn’t to fall into bed with a gorgeous millionaire Hollywood producer whose kisses set her on fire, no matter how much she might wish that were so. Emma took a deep breath and hurried to the side door, which opened, into the office. She gripped the knob with one shaking hand and twisted it slowly, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps.
She found herself almost wishing Josh would return sooner. She could keep her mask on the whole time. He’d never know it was her. She could wait until he was deep in a post-coital slumber and then sneak into the office.
“That’s just your hormones talking,” she chastised herself under her breath. “Apparently, you really need to get laid.”
Her hormones responded with a resounding ‘
Yes! Now, let’s just wait for Josh to get back with the champagne, and we can take care of that!
’ Emma did her best to ignore them, biting her lip and pushing open the office door.
The light was off. She flicked it on, hurrying now. She didn’t know how long Josh would be gone, or how long she had stood in the doorway arguing with her libido. She scanned the room quickly, absently noting that the furniture was masculine, but not heavy or overpowering. Last time she’d been in here, she’d hardly noticed; she’d been trying not to stare at her father’s watch.
She made her way toward it now, in the glass trophy case behind Josh’s desk. She perused the shelves of sports trophies and awards until her eyes rested on the mellow gold of an antique pocket watch. If the case was locked, she was screwed—and not in a pleasant, champagne-soaked kind of way. Her fingers trembled as she grasped the small brass knob and tugged. It didn’t budge. Emma’s breath caught, and her heart climbed into her throat.
“No, no, no. Come on,” she whispered at it, as if she could persuade it to open. She pulled harder. Her blood pounded in her ears so loudly, she wasn’t sure she’d hear Josh coming back. Tears stung her eyes. She was so close. To be thwarted now. . . . Her gaze fell on the lock, and she choked on a hiccupping laugh.
The silver of the key gleamed in the overhead light, shining like a sign from Heaven. With her free hand, Emma turned the key and tugged the small knob again. The door opened with a soft click. Muted light glinted off the polished gold case of her father’s pocket watch. She wrapped her fingers around it, drew it out and clenched it in her hand. She couldn’t waste any more time. She had to get out of this room and out of the house before Josh started looking for her. She could only pray he wouldn’t discover the theft until later.
She turned off the light in the office and scanned the bedroom. She didn’t want to leave anything behind that could be traced back to her, no matter how unlikely that might seem. The only thing in the room was Josh’s bright red half-mask, lying on the floor. She stared at if for a second, remembering how he’d looked when she first saw him tonight. Like a superhero in disguise. A smile curved her mouth.
She bent and picked up the mask without thinking, tucking it beneath her arm. She opened the bedroom door slowly, peeking out to make sure no one was coming. Although coming out of the host’s bedroom would probably not seem so much suspicious as somewhat risqué, she didn’t want to be remembered leaving. Luckily, the hall was empty.
She slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind herself, and hurried down the hall toward the ballroom. The doors opened just as she reached them, spilling out a group of giggling, chattering guests, most of whom were clearly several sheets to the wind. With her heart in her mouth, Emma slipped in among them, wrapping her hand around one very drunken gentleman’s arm and smiling demurely up at him. He blinked down at her, then grinned woozily.
“’Lo there, sweetheart. What’s your name?”
She steadied him as they moved down the stairs in the crowd, watching for Josh from the corner of her eye. “You already asked me that.”
The man, who Emma belatedly realized was Sheila McNamara’s husband Sean, frowned. “I did? And you told me?”
“I did.” She scanned the living room as they stepped off the last stair but caught no sign of Josh’s wavy blond hair. He was easy to spot in a crowd, as tall as he was.
Sean McNamara suddenly slid his arm around her waist to pull her closer. “Hey yeah! You’re Bertram’s latest bit of skirt.” He leaned down to nuzzle sloppily at her ear. “The wife says you’re one of those trashy girls, used to work at a strip joint. What d’ya say? Can I buy a dance?” His hand dipped down to her ass, squeezing. Emma jerked out of his grasp.
“No. And your wife is a vicious twit who should keep her judgments to herself,” she hissed, trying not to draw attention to herself. “Oh, and she has terrible taste in decor, too!” She spun on her heel and wove her way toward the front foyer. She heard Sean muttering, “Geez, Bertram’s new wife is a bitch,” to someone as she stalked away.
She gripped the watch with white knuckles as she collected her wrap from one of the footmen. Once she slipped the heirloom into her purse, she felt slightly better. She was nearly home free. With a small sigh, she dropped Josh’s bright half-mask into the purse, as well, and snapped it closed.
Outside, she resisted the urge to tap her foot and chew her thumbnail as she waited for her driver to bring her limo around. She forced herself to stay in character, flirting with one of the footmen, swaying a little as if she’d had a bit too much to drink. Emma guessed she was convincing, because the footman helped her into the car when it arrived and told her to get home safely. He also slipped her a card with his number on it. She took it with a wink at the young man. He couldn’t be older than twenty-one.
She watched out of the limousine’s tinted rear window as they drew away from Josh’s house. Emma wasn’t expecting him to run out after her, shaking his fist, or anything. Still, she watched the front door until it was out of sight.
As soon as they made it down the long driveway, she tossed the footman’s card out the window and slumped back against her seat. “How quickly can you get me back to my own car?” she asked the driver. Now that the surge of desire and adrenaline had faded, she felt exhausted, drained, and curiously empty.
“Be about thirty minutes at this time of night, ma’am.”
She rubbed at her temple and at the headache beginning to gather there. She should be feeling triumphant. She usually did, after pulling off one of Todd’s mad ideas. But not this time. “That’s fine, thank you.”
She just needed to get home to her brother. Once she recounted the night to him, the thrill of her achievement would kick in. Well, maybe she wouldn’t relay the whole night. Her baby brother hardly needed to know that she’d practically let their mark make love to her against his bedroom door. That part could just remain her little secret.
Emma opened her clutch again, pulling the watch out and cradling it in her palm. She opened it, tracing her finger lightly over the engraving on the inside. The watch had originally been a gift from their great-to-the-nth grandmother to their just-as-great grandfather on their 60th wedding anniversary. Their initials were inscribed inside, along with the date of their wedding and a piece of poetry. She’d memorized the poem as a young girl, weaving romantic fantasies about her ancestors. She rubbed her fingertip over the words again, speaking them softly into the darkness.
“Only our love hath no decay; this no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday, running it never runs from us away, but truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.”
It was John Donne. She’d looked it up. And while she’d never been terribly interested in poetry, she’d always liked this bit of verse. It had appealed to a lonely, sentimental girl who’d dreamed of a fairytale Prince Charming who would fall in love with her and sweep her off her feet. Of course, she didn’t believe in any of that now. Not that it mattered.
What mattered was that she’d done it. She’d recovered the watch that their father had passed on to her brother, just as his father had once passed it on to him. The watch was where it belonged. It was a reminder of the only family she had left, and that was worth whatever she’d had to go through to get it. Wasn’t it?
“Yes.”
“Pardon, ma’am?” the driver asked.
“Nothing,” Emma replied, closing the watch and tucking it back into her purse. “Just talking to myself, is all.”
The car drew to a halt. “We’re here,” he said, unnecessarily. Emma leaned forward, passing him a handful of bills as a tip.