The Price Of Scandal(65)

Alone in some tropical paradise. As far as trysts went, this one was going down in my history books. Though I wished Emily would give me some clue as to how she felt about last night.

Our romantic seclusion was interrupted by a pink jogging-suited senior holding hand weights and puffing hard as she speed-walked toward us. There was a significantly younger, muscled man following her in a golf cart, shouting instructions through a bullhorn.

“Morning, Mrs. Esteban,” Emily said.

“Looks like someone had a good night,” the woman said with a knowing smirk. She had a flower bandana tied over her pewter curls. Ten-karat diamond studs bobbed in her ears.

Emily gave her neighbor a guilty smile. Mrs. Esteban peered over her bifocal sunglasses and gave me a saucy wink.

“Less flirting. More walking,” the tanned trainer shouted.

She picked up the pace, and the golf cart whirred past us.

“You live in a very strange neighborhood,” I said.

Emily laughed. We were quiet for a few minutes as we wandered in the direction of her home. My muscles were warm, and my body felt deliciously loose and well-used.

“About last night,” she began.

Finally. My patience had run its course, and I’d been thirty seconds away from demanding to have a “let’s label this thing” conversation. “Yes?”

Emily stopped on the path and tentatively wound her arms around my neck. “It was good. Great.”

And or but. I couldn’t tell which way she was leaning.

“And?” I prodded, hopefully.

“And I think I’m onboard with revisiting it.”

I picked her up, lifting her feet off the path. Relief was a bright beacon of light in my chest. “I’ll pencil you in,” I teased.

“You do that, Price,” she said with a laugh.

“What are we doing today?”

She bit her lip. “I think I can afford to be a little late to the office this morning.”

“Working on a Saturday, love?” I tsked. “I seem to recall insisting that you take your health more seriously.”

“Thanks to you, I’ve had two of the best nights’ sleep in recent memory. And I’m willing to allow you to feed me breakfast,” she said magnanimously.

I kissed her. Less gently this time. More demanding. Letting her body skim mine, I set her back on her feet.

“Last night,” she began. “When you said I dazzled you?”

“Yes?” I kissed her again.

“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” she confessed.

“Does that mean you’d be open to labeling this… thing?” I asked, skimming her jawline with my thumbs.

“Always negotiating,” she sighed.

“This is something special, Emily.”

“Neither one of us has time for special,” she reminded me.

“We’re idiots if we don’t make time,” I warned.

“Oh, hey there, Emily,” a voice sing-songed.

“Shit,” Emily hissed.

Luna and Cam, in pajamas holding what appeared to be mimosas, sat in a tricked-out golf cart. They were grinning maniacally.

“Uh, hey, guys,” Emily said lamely. “Everyone knows Derek, right?”

“Hi, Derek,” the girls purred.

“Ladies,” I said, refusing to allow Emily to escape my grasp.

“Fancy running into you here, Emily,” Luna said with a wicked grin. “Cam and I were just talking, and we’re calling an emergency DQB tomorrow.”

“Be there,” Cam insisted.

Emily winced. “Yeah, that should be fine.”

“Great! Toodles!” Luna said, whipping the wheel of the golf cart and spinning around.

“Your friends certainly know how to make an entrance. What’s a DQB?”

“Drag Queen Brunch.”





30





Emily





This was a mistake, I thought as I watched Luna and Cam tool off in the golf cart. But, at the very least, it was one that I was intentionally making. This wasn’t an accidental misstep. This was an on-purpose disaster. And I planned to enjoy every moment of it, I decided, as Derek laced his fingers through mine.

I was taking an early morning stroll through Bluewater with the man who had delivered so many orgasms to me last night I’d lost count in a fog of boneless satiation.

The board would be furious. My mother would be appalled. My friends would demand details. And I just wasn’t nearly as worried about all of it as I should be.

“How did our little ‘not-so-faking it for the cameras’ charade play last night?” I asked him. Not keen on exposing myself to the sharp troll talons, I’d yet to look at my phone. I also didn’t want to deal with my mother’s morning-after debriefing. If there was a god, the woman was still dead asleep and would wake up with a raging hangover that would render her unable to call me.

He freed his phone from his pocket again and thumbed over the screen while we walked.

I liked him like this. Casual gym clothes, messy hair, irresistible stubble. Yes, there was shower sex in my immediate future.

“Very flattering,” he mused, squinting at the screen.

He turned the phone to me.