Page 56 of The Price of Scandal

“I burst in here because you didn’t feel the need to explain to me that you needed a break. I would have worked it out. If you need something, tell me. I will get you anything that you want. If you can be bothered to be honest with me.” I capped the shaker and wrapped it in the very expensive hand towel.

“If I need something, I take care of it myself.”

“Ah, but, Emily darling, we’re a team. Remember?” The cheerful sound of ice and alcohol melding filled the kitchen.

“I can’t watch you shake that,” she said, turning away to take in the ocean view, ignoring my flexing pecs and abs.

“Then how will I earn my tip?”

“I’ll give you a tip. A sharp one plunged into your chest,” she offered. This was not the cucumber-cool, pristine flower petal that the rest of the world saw. This was the real Emily Stanton, and I was enamored.

“You’re a little mean on your night off. I quite like it.”

“Sometimes I really, really want to punch you. Just one shot in the middle of a sentence. I fantasize about it,” she mused.

“Yes, let’s talk about fantasies,” I said, conversationally as I poured the martini into her waiting glass then slid it toward her.

She stared at it for a beat, too stubborn to taste it and tell me what a magnificent bartender I was.

I opened the fridge and dug around for a beer.

“Are you purposely tensing your ass cheeks right now?” she demanded.

“Oh, you noticed? Perhaps you’re not dead on the inside after all.”

“I’m going to go watch the sunset,” she said. “You can let yourself out. Or I can call Jane and have her stun gun you for real this time.”

I found a Belgian beer on the door. “Promises. Promises.” But she’d already left the room and was climbing the stairs in the foyer.

I followed her.

The stairs went up another tastefully decorated level before leading out onto a rooftop deck.

“Very nice,” I commented, appreciating the view of Biscayne Bay.

Emily glared at me. “Why are you here?”

“If I’m being honest,” I said. “I find you annoyingly irresistible.”

Her eyes flitted down to my groin again. “For the love of God, would you please put on a pair of pants before I get a call from Cam next door? The woman’s got a telescope.”

I glanced down in mock contemplation. “You’re certainly not saying she’d need a telescope to see this, are you?”

A beach towel hit me in the face.

“Cover up, Mr. Confidence.”

I obliged, wrapping the blue and white striped towel around my hips and taking the seat next to her. To be obnoxious, I scooted it closer to her.

“I really don’t like you right now,” she said.

“Unfortunately, that seems to do nothing to my attraction to you,” I observed.

19

Derek

Emily said nothing, sipping her martini and quietly staring off at the horizon.