In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(81)

“I’m guessing I would,” he said, stepping closer. “I had a nice time with you in Malibu. I liked sleeping with you. I’d like to see more of you.”

“Shit, Jack, knock it off.”

He laughed. “What did I say?”

“Nothing! You’re just hard to argue with.”

“So don’t argue.” There it was again, that deep, velvety voice. “Just say yes.” Em swallowed.

If she were honest, she’d say, “Here’s the thing, Jack, I want a devoted husband and three extremely well-behaved but delightfully irrepressible children. You up for that? Because otherwise, let’s skip dinner, since I’d probably fall in love with you in twenty, twenty-five minutes, then spend months resenting you for not feeling the same about me.”

He reached out and touched her earlobe.

Good God. She was halfway to Planet Orgasm because he touched her ear. Get a grip, Neal. You own adult toys for a reason.

“Come on, Emmaline. Say you will.”

Then again, who was she to tell him he didn’t want to date her? Of course, he wasn’t talking about dating, not really...it was just “dinner,” which probably would lead to sexy time, and in this case, sexy time probably meant “I’d rather do you than have a flashback and also use you to make my ex-wife jealous” and that, friends, was where stupidity lay, but his finger really knew what it was doing, and who knew earlobes were directly connected to other parts of her anatomy?

His phone chimed with a text.

Em stepped back. “Bet I know who that is,” she said. Her voice sounded normal, she was almost sure.

“Would you like to have dinner with me sometime, Emmaline?” he said.

“Check your phone.”

“As soon as you answer, I will.”

“Nah,” she said. “I’d rather you take this first.” Da-da-ling. “Ooh. Another one.”

“You’re tough,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, looked at it and put it back. “My sister.”

“Which one?”

“Faith.”

“Liar.”

“Fine,” he said. “You’re right. It’s Hadley.”

“I bet she needs something, and you’re the only one who can help.”

“Well, I need something, too, and you’re the only one who can help.”

“See, that’s just it, Jack. I don’t think that’s true.”

“You have a terrible self-image.”

“Wrong. But I can tell the difference between someone who really likes me and someone who needs a distraction from—”

He was kissing her all of a sudden, and how the heck had she gotten against the wall? The clever man had backed her right against it, and holy bleep, Jack could kiss. His mouth was insistent and warm and his hand cupped her face, and she was kissing him back without even thinking about it, and her arms went around his lean waist, and whoops, yes, she might’ve been grabbing his ass, but come on, he was completely irresistible.

He pulled back a little, then kissed the corner of her mouth. Em was dimly aware that she was breathing hard.

Jack took her hand and put it over his heart; she felt the hard, solid thumping.

Damn, he was good.

“Please have dinner with me,” he whispered.

“Okay.” She cleared her throat.

“Saturday?”

“Okay.”

He smiled. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

Not put off by her one-word vocabulary, he kissed her forehead and then walked off, just like that, leaving Emmaline shaky and flushed and...and worried.

It didn’t look like she’d need twenty or twenty-five minutes to fall in love. It looked like she’d just needed that kiss.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“YOU NEED A thong, darlin’.”

The statement was delivered by Allison as they stood over Em’s pathetic wardrobe, the nicest piece being a cashmere sweater with a hole in the sleeve, courtesy of Sarge, who was surreptitiously trying to reclaim it. Allison’s thumbs flew over her phone. “Yep. Caroline concurs with my professional opinion.”

Was it wrong that Allison was consulting her child about slutty underwear? Granted, Caroline was on the elderly side of “child,” but still. “Well, Jack’s not going to see my underwear,” she said.

“Sure, baby doll,” Allison said. “They all say that.”

“Who’s they? Is Jack a slut? Tell me the truth.”

“Hell, no! Maybe I could’ve gotten me a little some-some if he was. That being said, he was the best date I’ve ever had, and don’t think I didn’t call Charles to gloat about it.”

“How is Charles?” Emmaline asked.

“Oh, fine. We’re probably getting back together. He’s given up the cookie jars. Don’t tell anyone, though. I want to lord that over his little bald head the rest of our natural days together. Anyway, back to you. Thong. Let’s go. The bridal store has some real nice trashy underwear. Don’t you make that face at me! I assure you, that ex-wife of his wore thongs all the time. Tramps like that give us Southern girls a bad name. And you’re wearing a dress.”