“Coming.”
“You’re going to help the competition?” Emma teased.
“Under this chest of steel and ink is a heart of gold,” he said, sweeping by them. “Let’s break for ten! Somebody probably needs a lesson in how to do a plié.”
He disappeared out the door…but Mark and Emma were still body to body.
“You’re on fire today, Em.” He didn’t let her go. The room still crackled, and both of them worked to steady their breath, a sheen of sweat on their skin, hearts hammering in perfect unison.
Dancing. Who knew it was just like sex?
“I’m on something,” she agreed. “Someone planted big ideas in my head last night.” And kisses on my lips. She looked up, not at all opposed to the idea of another one while they were alone.
“When do you want to talk to Lacey?” he asked. “There’s a committee meeting this afternoon I was hoping to avoid, but if you come with me, you could get some time with her.”
“Today?” she almost choked.
“Well, you only have a week,” he said. “And you’re here on the property. You could put some ideas together and pitch them to her before the reunion.”
But would that mean an end to this lovely interlude? Maybe not if they convinced Lacey to keep their secret. But if she refused…
She stomped the thought away, refusing to allow anything into her head that didn’t fit with today’s sunny optimism.
“Today is so soon.” She started to pull away, but he was having none of it. In fact, he drew her closer.
“Are you scared?”
Only of losing this. Of the inevitable solitude of a Brooklyn apartment after dancing days and moonlit nights. “I love the idea of starting my own business and getting Casa Blanca as an account,” she said, sticking to the subject and not her mental copywriting.
“You could spend more time down here, since you love it so much.”
“I do, and I’d like that.” She’d love that, in fact.
“Then come with me to the meeting and talk to Lacey.”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
He angled his head and looked at her. “What the hell do you have to lose, Em?”
She let that breath out on a whoosh. “We’ll see.”
His expression changed enough for her to know she’d disappointed him and that bothered her. She wanted to impress him.
Which was just crazy. Almost as crazy as hitting a soon-to-be-former East End Marketing client up for business. But there it was…motivation so strong she could taste it.
“I’ll go to the meeting,” she said. “And take it from there.”
He lowered his head and got his mouth near her ear. “And after you set up a meeting with her, we’ll celebrate by conquering the champagne popping fear and…”
And drink it naked, she hoped.
He didn’t finish the sentence, but placed his mouth over hers, taking a soft, slow kiss.
“Mmmh.” She sighed into him, sliding her hands into his sweat-dampened hair and lifting up on her toes to get the full effect of a perfect kiss.
“That’s it!” Jasper’s exclamation, and the smack of his hands nearly threw them apart. Except Mark didn’t let go, holding her firmly in place, close to him.
“That’s what?” He ground out the question, clearly not happy with the interruption.
“That’s how we’ll start Endless Love.” Jasper marched over. “You come together at the end of Power, then we do a hard break in the music, perfectly silent while you kiss, then…we start Endless. Now, do not move. Not one muscle. Not one hand. Not one little tippy-toe, Miss Emma. And do not, for the love of Isadora Duncan, take your eyes off each other. Stay exactly like that. Frozen.”
They obeyed, except for their lips, which twitched and threatened to smile as they endured the scrutiny and demands of their dance instructor.
“You know where we are now, don’t you?” Jasper started to circle them, slowly.
“In a dance studio?” Emma asked, still looking into Mark’s blue eyes.
“In the story!” Jasper almost cried in frustration. “We’re in the middle of a love story, 1980s style.”
Mark blinked a little, a quick move that Emma would never have noticed if they weren’t supposed to be statues at the moment.
A love story, 1980s style?
Sometimes she forgot what he had to be experiencing, here on this island, with this music, and all the memories. He was so adept at hiding it. She gave his neck the tiniest stroke of one finger, a silent move of sympathy, and his eyes flashed a little. Again, nearly imperceptible, but she knew…they’d just communicated in utter silence.
And that was somehow sexier than his hard, warm man’s body pressed against her.
Jasper moved in closer. “So we’ve had Call Me when this whole thing started, and then your kiss was on his list. Are you following me, kids?” He circled to the other side, staring at their joined bodies. “Then, things got serious, and we realized we wanted to know what love is, followed by our celebration of what a feeling it is. Are you with me? Do you see where this thing is going?”
Yes, Emma nearly cried out. She could see where it was going and, God help her, no matter how quickly it ended, she wanted to take this ride. Mark never moved his gaze, but his hands pressed a little harder…and they did it again.
Oh yes, everything was different. Because not one time in her whole life, not in the most intimate of moments with any man, had she ever had that kind of full and silent communication.
Jasper clapped, breaking the spell. “And at the end of this anthem to the power of love, we are going to move into the big, romantic, physical, sexual celebration of love that does not end!” His voice was echoing through the sound chamber of the studio, drowning out the thumping blood in Emma’s veins.
“Endless Love is our next song, and that, my dear engaged couple, is what it is all about! Our story is about to reach a climax, if you will please excuse the pun.”
They just exchanged a look, and Mark’s brow twitched in a flash of a tease, an inside joke…another silent bond.
Jasper circled again, putting his hands on their backs. “You two are going to open this segment exactly like this and like I found you, kissing—full open mouth with tongue, please—and then you will slowly, slowly melt apart and then come right back together again as if being apart is just too painful to bear.”
Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing at the crazy dance man, but Mark’s expression stayed perfectly serious. Like…he was buying this story. Feeling it, even.
“Then you will come close again just when the note goes really high on ‘endless’.” He stuck one hand high in the air and sang. “Ennnnnndlesss love. And yours will be endless,” he insisted. “You will be there on the dance floor, showing everyone that love has no time—they’ll love that—and space and ending. This is it. Soul mates forever.”
She heard Mark suck in a tiny breath, as if the words hit him a little too hard.
“Perfect!” Jasper said, pirouetting away to start the music. “Stay just like you are.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked softly.
For a moment, he didn’t answer, and all she could see in his eyes was something…something like what she sometimes saw in her own. Fear.
Oh yes. Everything was different now.
* * *
Mark recovered with a cold shower and a long stare-down in the mirror. What the holy hell was going on, he demanded of the man staring back at him.
A man who’d had his chance…his one chance.
It happens only once in a lifetime.
Wasn’t that what he and Julia believed? From the beginning, when they were teenagers, just a couple of kids in the same algebra class, they knew. They knew they were different, they knew they would make it, they knew no one else could ever be their soul mate.
They’d talk about it late at night out on her back patio after her parents went to bed. They’d lay
pressed against each other and the hard plastic straps of a cheap chaise lounge by the pool, admitting that they didn’t care if they never kissed another person as long as they lived.
And they meant it.
Even then, they knew they weren’t just love-struck kids. Their love was the real thing.
Then they built a life on it, and a business, and the idea of Mark feeling anything beyond sexual attraction for another woman, beyond the appreciation of good company, was impossible. Unthinkable. Preposterous.
Yes, he’d dated since Julia died. Gone through the motions and gotten friendly with a few women, some for weeks or even months at a time, if he was in one place that long. But none—not a single one—had had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting inside his heart.
That space that belonged to Julia Coulter Solomon.
But he couldn’t deny that something really unnerving was happening with Emma DeWitt. It had to just be chemistry; from the moment he’d met her, they’d had a nice connection. And lust. Obviously, the woman hit him hard below the belt, and a lot of this would simmer down once they stopped fighting that and spent the night in the same bed. It was the right time, right place, right music, right atmosphere…but it was not the right woman.
Or was it?
He shook his head, gave a swipe of the towel over his hair, and dressed, as he’d gotten used to doing now, from the pile of clothes he’d brought into this second bathroom when he magnanimously gave up the Moroccan-style master bathroom big enough for two.
Maybe tomorrow he’d shower in there. With her.
That would get things back into perspective, wouldn’t it? Or would sex just make it all more complicated and worse?
“Hey, doesn’t your meeting start soon?” Emma’s voice came from the other side of the door, making him realize how much time he’d wasted thinking.
“I’ll be right out.” He took one last look in the mirror, seeing himself as she did. A single man, feeling like he was certainly damn close to the prime of his life, willing to help her improve every aspect of her life.
She looked at him like…she was falling for him.
And normally that made him run for the highest rock to climb and escape. But nothing about this situation was normal.
He opened the door and did a little double take, so used to seeing her in beach cover-ups and dance clothes. “You look pretty,” he said, not even bothering to edit the truth.
“Not too obvious?” She gave a little twirl, and the peach-colored skirt fluttered just above her knees, showing off what he already knew were excellent legs, accented by low-heeled sandals. Her top was white and draped loosely over her breasts, professional and feminine and…nice.
“Perfect,” he said. “I’d give you any job you wanted.”
“Well, I’m not pitching today, remember. Just checking out the situation and seeing if there might be a chance…maybe.”
He leaned closer, taking a whiff of peppery perfume. “Think big, Em. If you have her attention, pitch her. She already loves your writing.”
She smiled up at him. “You’re incredibly good for me, you know that?”
He searched her face, trying to come up with some easy joke, some simple banter that would keep this thing right on the fun, casual, even secretive track it started on. But all he could do was think about how much he wanted to taste that shiny lip gloss.
“And you’re good for me,” he said quietly.
“I will be,” she promised, taking his hand and leading him to the door without further explanation of what that meant. But he thought about it while they walked down the brick path toward the main resort building.
In the lobby, he spotted Law and Ken talking outside the hall that led to the conference room, deep in conversation. Law looked over and gestured for Mark to join them.
“Let’s go talk to those guys,” Mark said.
“You go,” Emma replied, stepping away toward the frosted-glass doors of the spa. “I know Eucalyptus was the centerpiece of the latest ad campaign, but I didn’t get to work on it. I did write the brochure before I left, but I’d really like to get a feel for what it looks like in person.”
“That’s a great idea. Go ahead. I’ll be with those guys.”
She gave him a quick smile and slipped away and…he watched, damn it. Couldn’t take his eyes off her for half a second.
Ken approached with a sly smile. “Man, you make it look so easy.”
“Make what look easy?”
“Women.”
This, with Emma, was easy, he thought. Surprisingly easy. He shifted his attention to Ken and the comment. “Not making it happen with Beth Endicott, I take it.”
“She’s so cold I need a jacket when I see her.”
“You only have yourself to blame,” Mark said.
Ken gave him a quick look. “What do…how do you know that?”
“I meant if you’d signed up to dance, you’d get the benefits of forced intimacy choreographed by a dancing toucan.”
Ken smiled. “There’s no way she’d dance with me. Not that I’d blame her.”
Mark didn’t follow the comment but before he could ask for an explanation, Law joined them. “Where’ve you been the past few days, Lawless?” Mark asked. “Still hitting the local hot spots?”
“What I’m hitting is roadblocks,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’ve talked to everyone in this town, and no one knows who bought the Toasted Pelican. Just that it’s sold.”
“When you hit a roadblock, you have to move it,” Mark said.
“Sure thing, Mr. Motivation. Is that a result of all that dancing, too?”
“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. What’s on the agenda for Planning Hell today?” He glanced toward the conference room. “I mean, other than Cav’s report on the flower-arranging program.”
Ken laughed. “Flower people haven’t met yet. And I’ve been on duty at the station since the last time I saw you.”
“How many kittens did you rescue?” Law asked, but then he spotted something more interesting over Ken’s shoulder. “Speaking of kitties, there’s Chesty.”
“The woman’s name is Libby. Would it kill you to use her real name?” Mark asked.
“Seriously,” Ken added. “You sound like you’re thirteen and just realized what your dick can do.”
“But she hasn’t realized what my dick can do. Damn, that woman’s hot for forty-five. Look at her.”
Neither man turned to look at Libby Chesterfield, by silent agreement and the fact that they weren’t thirteen.
“Screw you two,” Law said. “Captain Cav would spin like a top if I said Beth Endicott walked in.”
Ken snorted. “Twenty bucks says she’s not coming.”
“She’s missing it, then,” Law said with a shrug. “Because I’ve got the kitchen bringing up samples of my killer apps, and can I just say that the walnut puffs will bring you to your knees?”
“The only caveman I know who makes walnut puffs,” Ken said with a laugh.
“Fell free to scorn, son, but my nut puffs would melt Iceberg Endicott. Want the recipe?”
Ken almost looked like he’d take it. “No,” he finally said. “I have a plan.”
“What is it?” Mark asked.
After a second, Ken smiled. “I don’t know yet, but there are no puffs involved.”
“Chill, Cav.” Law gave him a nudge. “She’s just a babe, my friend. There are fifty more like her around the next corner.”
“And there are twelve-step programs for idiots like you,” Ken said.
“Not for idiots, but for everything else,” Law replied. “Trust me, I’ve been through them all.”
One of the women on the committee joined them and started talking, but Mark shifted his attention in the direction of the spa, waiting for Emma to come out. He wanted this to succeed for her. Wanted her to find her direction and beat that little prick who broke her heart.
Except, if she found out he knew the trut
h and didn’t tell her? He’d be the next prick to break her heart.
Chapter Sixteen
“Can I help you?” The woman behind the reception desk at Eucalyptus gave Emma a friendly smile.
“I’m just checking out the facilities,” she said, taking in the giant cut-glass mirror that covered one wall and the simple furnishings on gleaming wood floors. The reception area was bright, welcoming, and smelled faintly of the very plant it was named for.
A glass dispenser seeped a tendril of silvery air and another aroma, drawing Emma closer for a whiff.
“Bergamot and frankincense,” the woman said with a smile. “One for your heart and one for your head.”
Emma gave her a quizzical look. “How’s that?”
“Bergamot helps circulation, and frankincense cleans out the synapses in your brain.”
She sniffed again. “Definitely could use some of that.”
“It’s part of our aromatherapy treatment. Would you like a brochure of our services?”
Meaning the one Emma had written? “Yes, please.”
The woman lifted a trifold from her desk and, of course, Emma recognized and remembered every fight creative had had with account management.
“Looks nice,” she said, glancing at the glossy stock and the image she’d fought so hard to make the cover. The outdoor massage table with a lithe model draped over it, the postcard view in the background.
Kyle had wanted the doors to the spa to capture the Moroccan feel of the place, but when given the option, the client had chosen what Emma liked. Kyle had been pissed about it, Emma recalled, remembering how the subtext of his rant was all about how a copywriter should write copy, not choose art.
The day after he made her feel subpar for not being in management yet.
It was all so different from the man who was encouraging her to start her own business and seize her own day.
The woman at the desk tapped the scheduling book. “We just had a cancellation for our Ayurvedic massage and oil treatment later this afternoon,” she said. “It’s a—”
“Ancient toxin-removal system,” Emma said, remembering how fascinated she’d been by the concept when she wrote the brochure. “And that herbal scrub afterwards sounds divine.”