I know,” he said, grinning and taking a forkful of turkey from his plate.
Emily blinked. “I’m not head over heels in love with you is what I’m saying.”
“Good God.” He sounded horrified. “I’d hope not!”
She finally shook her head. “Okay, apparently somebody slipped acid in my Christmas punch, because I’m having a hard time tracking here. Weren’t you trying to date me a second ago?”
“I do think we should date. And if everything works out, I think we should get married,” he said as easily as if he were picking an item off a lunch menu. “This is political, Em, not personal. I’m not looking for somebody I’m madly in love with—assuming I could fall madly in love. Which I seriously doubt I’m capable of, by the way.”
She tilted her head, surveying him. She’d always seen him as a good guy, maybe a little too ambitious and nose-to-the-grindstone but still overall decent. Now she realized that there was something sort of melancholy about him…something he kept carefully hidden.
“You’ve never been in love?”
“Thankfully, no,” he said. “But you have. And you’ve been hurt.” He smiled, and it was genuinely kind. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Em. I’m just saying let’s be partners. Give it a try. What have you got to lose?”
She thought about it. What did she have to lose?
Again Colin blazed through her mind, almost overwhelming her senses even in the comparative dimness of memory.
I need passion, she thought.
But did she really want to fall madly in love again?
Emily started fidgeting with her linen napkin, crushing it into a wad on her lap.
It was so much easier when all I wanted was sex. She got the feeling that sex with Tim would be…
She wrinkled her forehead, trying to visualize it. Actually, she couldn’t even imagine sex with Tim. Whereas she could imagine weeklong scenarios of sex with someone far more inappropriate. Like, say, Colin.
Oh, give it a rest, you idiot.
“Trust me. It’s a cliché, but passion fades,” Tim said quietly. “Good friendships, a relationship based on partnership and mutual goals—now that’s got staying power.”
“Hmm.”
“Man, you’re stubborn,” he said, leaning back. “You’re going to the New Year’s Eve ball, right?”
She nodded.
“Flying solo, I’ll bet. Well, why don’t you go with me? Dinner here beforehand, and then the limo will drive us there and back.” He winked. “Don’t look at it as a date. Look at it as a ride share with a free meal thrown in.”
She laughed. “You’re charming, I’ll give you that.”
“Got me elected two terms in a row,” he replied smugly.
She focused back on her meal, but she was still thinking about passion. And Colin.
He’s leaving, anyway.
The thought came unbidden. He’d said he was leaving the morning after Christmas, which meant tomorrow morning. She’d only have one more night with him. Then it’d probably be years before she ever saw him again.
Technically he really is an out-of-towner, her subconscious suggested conspiratorially.
So where did that leave her?
“Merry Christmas, everybody!” Tim called out, raising his glass.
“Merry Christmas,” she echoed. If she married Tim, this would be her future—formal dinners, companionable friendship, a partnership made with the town in mind. Comfortable, idyllic, picture-perfect. It wouldn’t be all that bad, considering.
If you slept with Colin, even if you never felt passion again, at least you’d have an incredible memory to live with.
Emily blinked. Sleep with Colin? Ava Reese’s son? The guy Tall Pines loved to gossip about?
Who would ever know besides the two of you?
The thought caused a wave of heat to curl through her. He wasn’t even going to see his family afterward if they did spend the night together. He’d just go straight to the airport and that’d be the end of it.
No one would find out.
“There. Now you look happy,” Tim said.
She nodded. She was happy.
Or at least she would be happy…as soon as she got home.
IT WAS AROUND ten o’clock when Colin got back to Emily’s place. He entered quietly, wondering if maybe she was asleep. He wished he were. He was exhausted. He loved visiting with his family, but still, he’d be glad when his cab came and took him to the airport in the morning.
All he needed to do was avoid any contact with Emily, leave her a nice thank-you note and he’d be home free.
The fire was lit, he noticed, and there was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. His scented candles were lit, as well, making the room smell like autumn, with subtle hints of pine, nutmeg and cloves.
He glanced around, puzzled. “Emily?”
She stepped out of the bedroom wearing the robe he’d seen her in his first night at her apartment. Her feet were bare, her hair was loose and tumbled wildly around her shoulders. She smiled. “Colin,” she said, and her violet-blue eyes were dark with promise. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” She looked like a present—waiting to be unwrapped.
“I thought since you’d be missing New Year’s, maybe you’d like some champagne.” She nodded to the bottle. “If you’d do the honors?”
His gaze went from the champagne to her loosely belted robe, then back to the champagne. Then, furtively, back to her robe, which opened up into a tantalizing V of creamy, exposed skin.
Things were not going to plan.
In fact, things were going to hell in a hurry, and he’d be in too deep in a matter of moments if he didn’t take action.
Ah, but what a way to go.
He shook his head, trying to clear it of his prurient thoughts. “Um, Emily…this may not be all that swift a decision.”
“What do you mean?” She sat down on the couch, and the hem of her robe shifted to reveal a very shapely leg. Her feet were small with high arches, and her toenails were painted crimson, like ripe cherries.
It took him a second to remember her question. “We’ve been through this once already, remember?” he said, referencing his very spontaneous—and very rejected—kiss.
She smiled, a slow, deliciously wicked smile. “I’m simply asking for champagne,” she purred, leaning back. The motion caused her breasts to press against the robe, forcing the neckline open a few fractions farther. “At least, that’s all for right now.”
Colin almost knocked the bottle over in his haste to turn away from her tempting display. He opened it and slowly poured two glasses, keeping his back to her.
She’s hot, no question. But she’s trouble. Remember?
No matter how tempting Emily Stanfield might be, sleeping with her would open a can of worms.
“So,” he said slowly, handing her a champagne flute and carefully sitting as far from her as the couch would allow. “I take it you’ve reconsidered my out-of-town status, then?”
He closed his eyes. He shouldn’t have asked, but he was curious as to her change of heart. She laughed, and the sound warmed his bloodstream like brandy.