Emily's Affair (27 page)

"Hello, Emily."

"—chance to call, because I had meetings all day long and… I'm so sorry."

"Hey," Jake said. "Don't be. It's business. I understand."

Emily hesitated. What did he say? He didn't understand last night. Last night, he'd been angry. Very angry. "You do?"

"Yeah." He paused. "Maybe we can get together some other time. When you're not so busy."

Emily frowned. He didn't sound mad or upset. In fact, he sounded entirely too calm for a man who had been stood up for the fourth time this week. "I'm not busy tonight? I could—"

"You know I'd love to, babe, but I'm beat. It was a long day."

"It's not that late."

"It's eleven o'clock and I'm looking forward to turning in before midnight."

"Oh. I see. Well… what about tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow's Friday. I'm scheduled to open and close."
"Oh. I suppose Saturday is out of the question."

"Yeah. I'm expecting to be slammed on Saturday. I doubt you'll be awake by the time Alex and I close up."

"How about Sunday," Emily asked.

"I promised Mom I'd help Colonel Jed do a few things around the house on Sunday."

Emily drummed her fingers on the bedspread. "What time will you be done with them?"

"Around four."

Her fingers stilled. "We could meet at—"

"At six, I'll be at The Brigade. Alex hasn't had a night off in a couple of weeks."

Emily exhaled a sharp breath. "Are you purposely trying to make me feel guilty for not showing up tonight? Because if you are, it's working."

"I'm just telling you my schedule."

"Well, your schedule bites."

"Ditto, babe."

Emily sighed. "You're mad."

"No, sweetheart. Last night I was mad. Tonight, I don't care."

"Liar. You do care and you are mad."

"Whatever. Listen, babe, I'll talk to you later. Probably next week sometime."

"Next week? Jake, I told you I was—"

"G'night, Emily. Sweet dreams."
Click
.

Emily stared at the phone for a long hard minute. "Insufferable man." She sat up and slammed the phone down on the stand, then threw her legs over the bed and stood up. "
Last night I was mad, but tonight I don't care
," she muttered in mocking tones. "You, Jake Grayden, are a big, fat liar. You do too care. At least, you did last night."

Emily folded her arms over her chest and glared at the phone. "Well, fine. If you want to play that game, then that's just fine. I'll just find someone else. So there."

The phone sat motionless on its stand.

Emily made a frustrated noise, then threw her hands up in the air and stalked back into the living room. She unlocked the balcony door, then went out to look across the courtyard and spy on Jake's condo.

"Oh, you're exhausted, are you?" Emily fumed as she saw Jake, clad in jeans and no shirt, stroll in front of his balcony door. He dropped into an arm chair and propped his bare feet up on the coffee table, then, after slipping on a pair of glasses which Emily didn't know he needed, picked up a book and settled in to read it.

"He really doesn't care," she whispered.

Emily's shoulders fell. He wasn't acting like he was mad. He looked like he was enjoying a night off. Without her.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake. What am I doing? This is just his way of getting back at me for not calling."

That's what he was doing, punishing her for being so inconsiderate that she didn't call at three o'clock this afternoon, when she'd realized that she wouldn't make it out of out the office until very late.

She should have called. Jake deserved that much.

No, he deserved more.

Emily pushed off from the railing and went back into her condo. She closed and locked the balcony door, then found her shoes and keys.

The least she could do was apologize in person. And while she was at it, she could look deep into his eyes and see for herself if he was lying about not caring.

Jake lowered his book as someone pounded on his front door. "Right on time." He grinned and took his time rising from his chair, then very carefully creased the upper right corner of his page into a perfect right triangle.

The pounding increased in volume and frequency.

Jake arched his back and stretched, then meandered towards the door. He rested his hand on the door handle and waited until the door rattled from both pounding and kicking, then, wiping the grin from his face, yanked the door open. "May I help you?"

Emily glared up at him. "You took long enough."

Jake shrugged. "I was in the middle of a good scene." Of course, he'd been in the middle of that particular good scene since she'd called. But Emily didn't need to know that. At least, not yet.

Emily, looking adorably disheveled in her wrinkled blue blouse and skirt, arched a brow. "Well? Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. It's kind of late and I have to be at work pretty early—"

Emily muttered a curse under her breath, then shoved the door open wider and sailed past him into the living room.

Jake caught himself before he started to grin and closed the door, then took his own sweet time throwing the dead bolt. He strolled into the living room and found Emily standing in the middle of the room with her arms folded over her chest and the toe of one high heel tapping rhythmically on the light beige carpet. "Care for something to drink?"

"Anything without caffeine would be greatly appreciated."

Jake walked around his chair. "Orange juice, ginger ale, or water?"

"Ginger ale."

Jake dropped into his chair. "It's in the kitchen. On the counter. Glasses in the cabinet to the right of the sink. Ice in the freezer." He propped his feet up on the coffee table, then opened his book and pretended to read.

"Oh no, don't get up. I don't want you to go to any trouble just for little ol' me."

"You're all heart, babe." Jake bent his head and buried himself in the book.

"You're all heart, babe," she mocked, then marched into the kitchen.

Jake swallowed hard, desperately trying not to laugh. She handled his supposed indifference about as well as he'd handled her go-ahead-and-dump-me speeches. "Sweetheart, while you're at it, can you fix something for me?"

"What would you like,
sweetie pi
e," she asked in a bitter voice. "Orange juice, ginger ale, or water?"

"Kool-Aid."

"Kool-Aid," she repeated in scathing tones.

"The pitcher's in the washer, the sugar's in the canister, and the flavor pack's in the pantry."

"I have to make it?"

"Thanks, babe. I'm parched."

Emily growled, then spun around and stalked back into the kitchen.

Jake flinched as she slammed the dishwasher shut.

"Oh,
pookie
," she called in a deadly sweet voice.

Jake winced. Pookie? "Yeah, babe?"

"What flavor would you like?"

"Grape."

"Pick another flavor."

"We're all out of grape," he asked.

"Yep."

"Aw, man. I was really looking forward to some grape Kool-Aid."

"Well, that's just too bad, because you're all out of it."

"How about black cherry?"

"Fine," Emily snapped. "Black cherry it is." After much cabinet slamming, drawer banging, and loud muttering, Emily returned to the living room and thrust a glass of black cherry Kool-Aid under his nose. "Enjoy."

"Thanks, babe. You're the best." Jake took a small swallow, then set the drink on the end table and turned the page of his book. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the toe of one high heel tap with increasing frequency on the floor.

Emily huffed, then smacked his leg. "Get your feet off the furniture."

Jake pretended not to hear her.

Emily heaved an exasperated sigh and shoved his legs off the table. "I said, get your feet off the blasted furniture."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered absently tilting the novel to blindly read another page.

A couple of minutes passed where Emily paced away from him and yanked the cord, closing the blinds over the balcony door, then walked back his way and towered over him. "Is the book good?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Is it better than…
this
?"

"Better than…
whoa
." Jake raised his head and his fingers tightened on the book while his jeans shrunk two sizes.

Emily watched him from under veiled lashes as she freed the last button on her blouse and then—in a slow, fluid motion—parted the silky blouse to reveal first one perfect breast, then the other. "Does your book have a scene like this, Jake?"

His mouth watered and his fingers itched to touch her. "No, ma'am."

Emily licked her lips and, sliding her slender hands behind her, arched her back to unzip her skirt. She moaned and pinned him with a heated gaze. "I can't reach. Can you help me?"

Jake swallowed. "Oh, yeah. I can help you."

Emily smiled and rotated, presenting her back to him. "Jake?"

"Hmm?" He slipped his hands under the hem of her shirt and spanned her waist. His fingers flexed, testing her softness, then he eased the zipper down.

"I'm sorry I didn't call."

His eyes traveled up the length of her and he wondered how he ever got so lucky. She was magnificent. And all his.

Emily pulled the clip from her hair and the long, wavy strands cascaded down her back, assaulting him with her erotic peach scent. "It was inconsiderate of me. I won't do it again." She turned in one spot and looked at him with those beautiful indigo colored eyes. "Forgive me?
Please
?"

Jake wasn't about to make this easy for her. She'd stood him up four nights in a row and used his annoyance with her behavior to try and make him dump her. He didn't want to see her on her knees—well, he did, but that particular fantasy had nothing to do with groveling for forgiveness—but he had to know that she was serious about not forgetting about him.

He opened his mouth and had every intention of telling her how her actions had made him feel, but no sound came out.

Her skirt chose that moment to shimmy down her sleek body and pool at her feet.