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T wo very quick hours later, Emma felt a little like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman ( well, she amended, minus the whole prostitution thing ). She looked at herself in the mirror, smoothing her hands down her sides for the umpteenth time, unable to believe her own reflection.

The cerulean blue, one-shoulder, floor-length Valentino gown shimmered as she moved, and strappy, blinged-out sandals gave her an extra three inches.

Howard had tamed her hair to within an inch of its life.

It was twisted around her head in a complicated but oh-so-elegant way, and dotted with small silver pearls.

On each wrist she wore a set of four thin silver bracelets, and an additional small diamond bracelet of the same size (“to give an elegant touch,” Tess had declared).

Emma’s earrings, also silver, were inlaid with tiny diamonds, and each had a small silver pearl drop.

I could really get used to job perks like these , Emma thought, feeling the giddiness rise inside her.

She let out an excited breath and grabbed the matching clutch on the counter.

If only for tonight , she amended quickly, remembering the entire wardrobe set to be delivered tomorrow morning.

Tess refused to divulge the amounts, but from the designer names she was dropping, Emma had a sinking suspicion the numbers were in the thousands.

She glanced around the bedroom, giving a last-minute check that she had everything she needed.

The suite was incredible. Every inch of it was decorated to a standard she’d never seen.

It was truly a home away from home. Yeah, about two thousand square feet larger than my home.

It must have been amazing to live this way every day.

Perhaps Aidan’s home in Ireland was even bigger.

A crash made her look to her right as she stepped off the bottom stair; Cian was staring at her, openmouthed, and a cup was rolling on the floor at his feet.

Aidan was on the phone, his back to her as he stared out over the Manhattan skyline.

He turned at the sound of the crash and, catching sight of her, ended his call abruptly.

“You look stunning,” Aidan said, striding forward. She noticed he was in a tux; his bow tie was slightly askew. It made her smile.

“Thank you,” she replied as he reached her. Self-consciously licking her lips, she reached up and straightened the tie, then felt her cheeks flush. She ignored the reaction; he was a client again. She was just making sure he appeared professional.

“Ready?”

“ Réidh .”

A slow smile crossed his features, and Emma blushed. She quickly explained, “Like I said in the office, I only know a little Gaelic. I’ve tried to learn it for years, but it’s one of those languages that I think I’d have to be immersed in to fully learn.”

“Perhaps I can afford you the opportunity in the future,” he replied smoothly, causing her heart to jump in her chest. “But, for now, we must go; I want you to have a good look at the items before the auction begins. ”

“Have you seen them in person yourself?” she inquired as they stepped out.

“Aye.”

“Which item do you want the most?”

He didn’t answer her immediately. As he slid into the limo behind her, he immediately removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves before reaching for a champagne flute. “The sword.”

Her heart stuttered, but she recovered quickly. “Why do you want all of them? Why not just go for the sword?”

He smirked at her. “Because, until about seven years ago, they were all mine to begin with. I’ve come to take them back.” He offered her some champagne.

Emma’s mind raced as she silently accepted the glass. How did he amass millions of dollars’ worth of artifacts? Why did he sell them? Why does he want them back now?

He started to laugh—a wonderful, rich sound that jolted Emma out of her own thoughts. “Emma, lass, if you wonder any harder, your eyebrows will fall off your face.” He relaxed, stretching his long legs out in front of him, and rested his chiseled arm across the back of the seat.

She took a sip of the champagne to avoid responding. He was grace, sex, and alpha male personified. And she was not above admitting that he was overwhelming in a tux.

“I had—and have—a very large assortment of artifacts from the Middle Ages. I sold many of them once I realized they were actually worth something. With the help of some very trusted sources, I found investing to be a rather interesting way of making money.”

“So, other than restaurants and medieval artifacts, what do you invest in?” she asked, rolling the champagne flute between her fingers.

“I have a stake in a swordfighting school outside of Dublin. That’s gaining in popularity with all these Hollywood types. Also some green technologies and real estate. ”

He was looking at her so intimately, so intensely, she thought she might combust on the spot.

“Fascinating,” she murmured, her mind racing. How was it that she’d never heard of him before? He was stunningly handsome, richer than Croesus, and unmarried. How had he avoided the paparazzi?

“No.” He leaned forward, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s fascinating is what is going on in that beautiful head of yours. You’re overthinking something.”

She drew her eyebrows together, a protest on her lips.

“Emma. I’m good at spotting a lie, so don’t waste your time with one.”

She put the champagne down and sat up a little straighter. “All right, then. I can’t figure out how you’ve avoided the spotlight,” she admitted.

“And?”

At his raised brow, she reluctantly added, “And you are overwhelming me with your generosity. I’m in a completely different place than I was yesterday, and I’m not adjusting very well.”

Aidan placed his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his hands. Shaking his head slowly, he replied, “Emmaline Perkins, I had no idea you thought so little of yourself.”

“That’s not it at all.” She bristled, immediately defensive.

His smile was slow and seductive. “First, there’s never reason to be nervous—or defensive—when you’re with me.

I understand and accept that you don’t trust me yet—you shouldn’t trust anyone except yourself right now.

Second, I don’t know anyone—man or woman—who would have dealt with your situation with as much grace; your entire world has been turned around, yet here you are, the consummate professional, going into the most anticipated auction with the world’s wealthy elite, as if you’ve been doing it the whole of your life.

After being sacked, then ransacked…here you are.

Funny, witty, refreshingly direct, beautiful, poised, and co nfident.

” He sat back and raised an eyebrow at her. “Swan. How apt.”

“Swan?” she asked, thrown.

He nodded slowly. “What your makeup man said earlier. You are indeed a swan. Elegant grace, gentle beauty. But when you try to scare it, it fights back with everything it’s got.”

Emma simply stared at him, transfixed. A delicate shudder ran up her spine.

Aidan glanced out the window as the car slowed. “Smile for the cameras, Emmaline. Show the world that it can’t take you down.”

He pushed opened the door before she could formulate a response.

“Go for one-twenty.” Aidan’s voice, low in her ear, was confident and calm, contradicting the nerves jumping within Emma. She raised her small paddle as inconspicuously as possible, but, as she was quickly learning, there was no such thing as inconspicuous at an elite, closed auction.

“We have one hundred twenty thousand dollars. Do we have one-twenty-five?” the auctioneer asked. “One-twenty-five. Do we have one-thirty?”

“Aye,” Aidan said in her ear, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Doing great, Emmaline. Keep going. Our competition has some sweat on the back of his neck, so I think we’re close to his breaking point.”

Emma nodded, her palms damp. This kind of money was unlike any she’d seen.

Aidan had already dropped over a million dollars.

But this—the sword with the same etching as was on The Colcannon’s door and napkins—was what he’d come for.

While they had perused the artifacts before the opening bid, Aidan had confessed that it was a special sword his late brother had given him.

Before Emma could offer her condolences, his face had shuttered, and he’d moved on to the next item.

“We have one hundred thirty thousand dollars. Do we have one-thirty-five?” the auctioneer called. Her competition kept his paddle firmly in his lap, and Emma felt a rush of jubilation. We did it!

“One-fifty,” someone suddenly called out from the back.

Emma turned in surprise, her gaze falling on the back wall, which was lined with telephones. One of the men on the phone held his paddle high.

Aidan swore, then apologized. “Keep going, Emma.” She raised her paddle, and the bidding continued. “I’m going to get that sword, come hell or high water.”

And, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars later, Aidan MacWilliam was once again the proud owner of an authentic, mint condition medieval Irish sword.

She couldn’t wait to touch it.

Aidan excused himself to speak with the auctioneer, and she sat back in her chair, letting the breath whoosh from her body. Someone tapped her shoulder, and she half turned in her seat…and came face-to-face with her as-of-that-morning ex-boss.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing.” Mr. Price’s smile didn’t match the anger in his low voice.

“Mr. Price,” she managed to say.