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She told him and ten minutes later they reached her slightly decrepit building. Emily shrugged off the blanket and stepped onto the sidewalk before either Marco or his driver had moved.
“Well,” she said briskly, “thank you for—”
Marco held out her shoes. “You forgot these.”
“Oh.” She reached for them but he shook his head as he got out of the car.
“I’ll carry them for you.”
“No. I mean, you don’t have to.”
“A gentleman always escorts a lady to her door.”
Was he making fun of her? She couldn’t tell, not from his voice or from his expression.
“Really, that isn’t—”
“And I can collect my jacket at the same time.”
“Your jacket. Sorry. I forgot—”
“No, keep it on. You can give it to me after we get to your apartment.”
“Really, Mr. Santini—”
“It’s Marco.” His hand closed on her elbow. “What floor?”
“The fourth. And it’s a walk-up.”
“I expected nothing less,” he said dryly. “Keys.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your keys I am assuming the front door is locked.”
It was, and how could she balk now after he’d driven her all the way home? Emily dug the keys from her purse and handed them over.
The stairs were narrow; they climbed them single file, he in back of her. At the fourth floor landing, she swung toward him.
“Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome. Which door is yours?”
“Mr. Santini—”
“Marco.”
“Marco. It isn’t necessary to—” She took a breath. “That one.” He moved past her, unlocked her door, then took her hand, pressed the keys into it and folded her fingers over them. She looked at her hand, then at him. A wash of pale pink rose in her face. “I’m not going to ask you in.”
He laughed softly. “I didn’t think you would.”
“Good. Fine. Because—”
“Because you think, now he will demand recompense.”
Emily blushed. “No. I just—”
“Yet, you must admit, you do owe me something.”
