“It’s not your fault. It’s really mine for ordering the cake delivered.” Aidan vowed to be less ego driven and more practical for the rest of the weekend.
“It was a very cool gesture, though. We had to hustle to make it happen, but it turned out well. Except for the last part, of course, when she slapped the plate against herself. That wasn’t so good.”
“No.” But in spite of it all, Aidan cherished the memory of Emma glancing over at him and breaking out into laughter. He’d never forget that.
From inside his suit coat pocket, his phone vibrated. He took it out and looked at the readout. Roarke, who no doubt wanted to know why in the hell Aidan had ignored all his warnings and headed out to Chicago with Emma. He’d deal with Roarke later, maybe during Em-ma’s radio interview.
“Someone from your office in New York express-shipped that flag over,” Barry said. “We received it early this morning with instructions to leave it on the car all weekend.”
Aidan was so used to the flag that he didn’t think about it anymore. “It’ll keep you from getting tickets.”
Barry nodded. “Apparently so. I’ve never left a car in the loading zone that long before without getting one. The Wallaces must have some influence.”
“We have business connections with the Henderson family.”
Barry’s eyes rounded. “
The
Henderson family? The one that owns a chunk of the Magnificent Mile and most of Navy Pier?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“That explains a whole helluva lot. Pardon my French. But the Henderson name gets you a lot in this town. No wonder you want that flag on the rear fender.”
Aidan decided he might be wise to enlist Barry in the cause. He leaned forward. “There’s something you need to know.”
“What’s that?”
“Although the Wallaces and the Hendersons have a strong business connection, every family has a troublemaker.”
Barry blew out a breath. “You don’t have to tell me that. The Dinsmore family has more than one troublemaker. Is it the Wallaces or the Hendersons with the bad egg?”
“The Hendersons. His name is Theo, and he’s nineteen.”
Barry rolled his eyes. “Nineteen. The perfect age to cause problems.”
“The thing is, he might try to make contact with Emma this weekend. He’s concocted this story that he’s a werewolf and therefore she needs to meet him.”
“That’s the lamest pickup line I’ve ever heard. Is that what she writes about? Werewolves?”
“Yeah. She doesn’t believe in them, of course, but this crazy kid figures if he claims to actually be one, he has an angle. I’ll be on the lookout, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to be watching, too.” Aidan pulled a picture out of an inside pocket of his suit jacket. “This is his high school graduation photo, but I understand he’s let his hair grow. It’s down to his shoulders now.”
Barry gazed at the wallet-sized picture of a gaunt young man with dark hair and eyes. His expression was more of a sneer than a smile. “What do his parents think about him pretending to be a werewolf?”
“That’s where it gets tricky,” Aidan said. “I’m hoping to neutralize the problem without either of them finding out what he’s up to. They’re old family friends of my father’s, and he’d rather not embarrass them by exposing their son as a kook and a potential stalker.”
“Lots of luck with that.” Barry shook his head, which made his handlebar mustache wiggle. “In my experience, it all comes out in the wash. But I’ll keep an eye out for this character. Emma’s a nice lady. I’d hate to see her being bothered by some nutcase—no offense to your friends and their kid, of course.”
“None taken. He
is
a nutcase. And I intend to shut him down.”
“You like her, too, don’t you?”
Aidan decided the chummy conversation needed to be dialed back a notch. “She’s an assignment.”
Barry obviously picked up on his tone. “Sure, sure. I understand. And I’ll do what I can to help. Well, here she comes, all changed.”
Aidan looked toward the convenience store as Emma came toward the car pulling her orange suitcase. Barry hopped out and took it from her.
She still wore her black trench coat, which had miraculously not been baptized by chocolate, but she’d traded her turquoise suit for a snug black turtleneck sweater and gray slacks. Aidan liked this outfit as much as, or better than, the turquoise suit.
It occurred to him that it didn’t matter what she wore. No matter what outfit she chose, she’d look like someone he wanted to strip naked and take to bed. That was damned inconvenient.
She smiled as she climbed back into the car. “No big deal. I’m going to take advantage of your pull in this town to get my turquoise suit cleaned so I can wear it when I head for Denver.”
“I can make that happen once we get to the hotel.”
“I’m sure you can.” She fastened her shoulder harness as Barry pulled the car back into traffic. “I don’t want to get used to this level of service, but right now it’ll come in handy. Want me to hold that tray, now?”
“That’s okay. I’ll be in charge of it.” She’d brought her unique scent into the car with her. As his loins stirred in response, he settled the tray more firmly in his lap. It would serve as a reminder that he had to keep his johnson in check.
“I checked out your flag and your family crest before I got back in the car.”
“Okay.”
“The creatures on the crest look something like wolves.”
“That’s because they are.” He never had any trouble explaining the family crest because wolves were usually seen as noble animals.
She gazed at him. “Is that one of the reasons you picked up my books? Because your family’s crest has wolves on it?”
“In a way.” She was closer to the truth than she imagined.
She nodded. “I’ve always had a thing for wolves, myself. That’s why I was drawn to the werewolf concept. Sometimes I wish they did exist, although I’d want them to be like my werewolves and not the way they’re portrayed in some books, like ferocious beasts.”
“So why did you decide to portray wolves the way you did, instead of going with the ferocious beast concept?”
“I studied wolves in college, back when I thought I might go into wildlife management. They’re awesome creatures that mate for life, and so logically werewolves shouldn’t be that different. That’s if they were real, which they aren’t.”
“Right.” He couldn’t ever remember being so tempted to blurt out the truth. But that would be suicide. He was on this book tour to prevent Theo from revealing the existence of werewolves, so he could hardly blow the pack’s cover himself.
“Oh, I have your handkerchief.” She opened her hand, and it lay in the center of her palm in a soggy gray ball. “I tried to wash it in the sink, like I said, but—”
“I’ll take it.” He picked up the wet handkerchief and tried to think what he could do with it. If he shoved it back in his pocket—either the hip pocket or the front pocket—it would soon leave a damp spot. Finally he decided to drop it on the floor of the car.
“Don’t do that!” She looked horrified.
“Why not?”
“Because it was woven from the hair of sacred llamas cared for by extremely devout monks.”
“I made that up.”
“I know, but regardless of how it was produced, it probably cost more than half my wardrobe, so you can’t simply throw it on the floor of the car.”
He gazed at her. “Sure I can.”
“That’s wasteful.”
“Emma, you’re going to have to get over yourself, at least for this weekend.”
She lifted her chin in an adorably defiant gesture. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that we’re about to stay in a penthouse that would easily house an entire village in some third-world country. We’ll be the only two people in there, but I’ll probably turn the heat up to at least seventy-two degrees, thereby contributing to global warming and the depletion of fossil fuels.”
“Okay, but—”
“In addition to my unconscionable use of resources to heat those eleven rooms, I intend to take long, hot showers because I love those, especially in the winter.”
“Aidan, I’m not—”
“And if there’s some sort of Jacuzzi arrangement—which I would expect, but I’m not sure—I’ll be filling that tub and using those soothing jets to massage away any tenseness I might have developed in the past few hours.” He paused, and a devilish urge made him forget his common sense. “If you hate the idea of all that water for one person, you’re welcome to join me.”
She flushed. “You and I both know that wouldn’t be a smart idea.”
“Maybe not psychologically, but when it comes to sharing resources, that’s another issue, isn’t it?” He shouldn’t taunt her because it only made his own frustration level grow, but she was so ... so
juicy.
He’d known she would tempt him, but he hadn’t factored in her overwhelming succulence.
She looked adorably righteous, but that didn’t detract from her desirability one iota. “As I’ve mentioned, I’ll be considering this hotel stay part of my research.”
“Then you’ll want to check out all the amenities. Breakfast in bed, champagne in front of the fireplace, your favorite movies on the flat-screen, a long soak in a bubble bath.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve made your point, Aidan. And I promise not to lecture you about wasting resources again this weekend.”
“Good.”
“But you may not have as much time as you think to lounge in the Jacuzzi. Have you checked the schedule?”
“I glanced over it.”
“Then you might remember that I have signings and interviews through this evening and all day tomorrow and tomorrow night, as well. This is a book tour, not a pleasure trip. Perhaps you’d rather stay at the Palmer House while I take care of my obligations?”
“I think not.”
“Then good luck with your resource-wasting plans.”
He sighed. She’d bested him. He resented the way she dinged him about his wealth, and he’d tried to tempt her with the possibilities luxury accommodations could provide. Instead of falling for that, she’d reminded him of his duties and insinuated he was nothing more than an idle rich boy.
That wasn’t true. He worked hard. But he played hard, too, and he hadn’t allowed himself to do that recently. Obviously, he wouldn’t be indulging in any play-time with Emma, though, and that was the wisest course of action.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t tempted by the possibilities, but he sure as hell was.
Chapter 9
“This is it.” Carrying three books, Aidan came toward the signing table. “After this, you’re sold out.”
A cry of dismay went up from the line.
“I’m sorry,” Emma called out. “I can sign bookplates for those of you who weren’t able to get the actual book.” She put down her pen and flexed her fingers. This kind of success was gratifying, validating, ego boosting, and a whole bunch more adjectives she’d be able to think of if her brain hadn’t shut down earlier tonight.
She wouldn’t trade this experience for anything, except maybe, at this very moment, a long soak in the Jacuzzi that Aidan had been so happy to dangle in front of her earlier today. She hadn’t even seen the inside of the hotel, let alone the eleven-room penthouse he’d described. They’d been on the go all day, hopping from her radio interview to a TV gig at WGN, to a cocktail reception put on by a local library, to this book signing.
The ill-fated chocolate cake was the last thing she remembered eating, although Aidan had brought her food at various points, food she must have eaten at least some of. She couldn’t remember any of it. The cake, though—that would remain a memory forever.
She wondered whether Aidan had any sort of clue as to the fantasies that had bloomed in her active imagination the moment she accidentally smashed the cake onto her chest and thick, creamy frosting had worked its way between her breasts. That experience would rank as one of the most sensual of her life. Gooey frosting sliding against her skin and sending chocolate fumes upward as it warmed to her body temperature ... Life didn’t get much better than that.
Only one thing would have improved the sensation—having a man like Aidan lick it off. In her fantasy world, Barry would have been somehow taken out of the picture, snatched by aliens or something, so that she and Aidan could be alone in the backseat of the town car.
Then she could have unfastened her seat belt and turned to Aidan, who would also be out of his seat belt. Giving him a searing glance, she’d ask whether he could help her out. She seemed to have chocolate smeared all over the place.
“Emma?” Aidan’s voice snapped her out of her reverie.
She wondered how long she’d stayed there staring at the book in front of her, which Aidan had helpfully opened to the title page. “I’m sorry.” She glanced up at the teenage girl standing in front of her. “How do you want this autographed?” She snagged her pen and poised it over the page.
“It’s for this guy I know named Theo.”
Emma’s hand trembled, and she took another look at the teenager, who resembled all the others traipsing around the store—dark hair cut short, a black parka thrown over a snug white T-shirt, and ripped jeans. Maybe it wasn’t the same Theo, but she’d felt Aidan stiffen at hearing the name, too.
Emma decided to get this over quickly. She’d written
To Theo
when the girl started talking again.
“He’s a huge fan, and he wants you to write something special in the book. He wanted so bad to be here tonight, but he had to work, so he asked me to come instead.”
Emma had a bad feeling about this. “I’ll just say,
Thanks for your support.
” Emma started to write but the girl laid a hand on her arm.
“He told me what he wanted in there. Here it is.” She handed over a crumpled piece of notebook paper with a message scrawled across it that completely ignored the lines. The message said,
I’d love to meet you.
“I’m sorry.” Emma gazed at the girl. “I can’t write that. My time in Chicago is very limited, and writing that would indicate that I planned to—”