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She sat back.
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “There’s no reason for either of us to share the stories of our lives.”
Jake’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t say that.”
“I’m saying it.” Emily put her napkin on the table. “It’s late. And I really do have to get home.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
“But I thought—”
“I know what you thought,” she said, with a momentary flash of anger. She could feel her hands shaking and she pushed her plate aside and folded them neatly on the table. There was no reason to be angry. She was the one who’d made all the mistakes. “I know,” she said carefully. “You thought we’d spend the night at your house. That we’d make... That we’d sleep together again.”
“And you’re about to tell me I thought wrong.”
There was a cool edge to his words. Oh, Jake, Emily thought, Jake, get out of your chair. Come and pull me into your arms. Tell me you don’t just want to sleep with me, that you love me...
“Yes,” she said, “as a matter of fact, I am.”
There was a long silence. When Jake spoke again, the coolness in his voice had turned to ice.
“In other words, the weekend’s over.”
“Well, it is. Saturday, Sunday...” Emily forced a smile to her lips. “Tomorrow’s Monday, Jake. There’s no way to turn back the clock.”
Jake’s lips tightened. How could she sit there and look at him that way? With eyes as cold as stones on a winter morning, with a polite little smile on her mouth.
He could change that smile, that stony look. All he had to do was take her in his arms and kiss her until she melted with desire, until she begged him to take her, to bury himself within her. Because that was all he was, to her. A damned walking, talking version of the Kama Sutra.
All right. It was what he’d signed on for. And that was fine. It was a relief that she understood that some good sex—okay, some incredible sex—was all that it was.
He wasn’t a forever kind of man.
“I’m not interested in turning back the clock,” he said. “I just figured we could have a little more fun before the weekend’s over.”
Fun, Emily thought, and felt the swift, stupid press of tears behind her eyes. Don’t you cry, she told herself, don’t you dare cry!
“Ah. Well, that would be nice, Jake, but really, I have a lot of work waiting at the office. And you have that trip to San Diego scheduled for tomorrow.”
Jake frowned. What was wrong with her? How could she talk about work, how could she look so calm, when he wanted to—when he was going to...
Wait a second. Maybe she figured it was up to her to end things. Maybe she was doing what she figured was the proper thing, after a weekend spent in a man’s bed.
“Emily.” He reached across the table and caught both of her hands in his. “Listen to me.” He gave her the kind of smile he knew always worked on women. “I know this was supposed to be a temporary arrangement but we didn’t put a deadline on it. So let’s not worry about tomorrow. We’ll stay the night, drive back early. As for that trip... I have a great idea. You’re my exec, aren’t you? Come to California with me.”
Emily felt her heart shatter. And wasn’t that stupid? She’d known how this would go. Hadn’t she begun the day by telling herself as much? And really, what Jake was suggesting was better than she’d expected. He didn’t want to end things immediately. He just wanted to keep a good thing going until he wearied of it.
The bastard.
Emily’s chin rose.
Just looking at him made her angry. The sexy smile, the was-it-as-good-for-you-as-it-was-for-me glint in his eyes? And to think she’d been on the verge of tears.
“Sparrow?” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. “Let’s not spoil it, hmm?”
“Spoil it?” Emily tugged her hand from his and shoved back her chair. “Spoil such an interesting weekend? I’d never do that.”
Jake’s smile slipped. “Is that the best you can do? Call this ‘an interesting weekend’?”
“I meant it as a compliment. You said you’d teach me to be a woman and you did. I’ll always be grateful.”
His smile disappeared completely. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s my way of saying thank you. For the hair. The clothes. For everything.”
She could see him trying to figure out what was happening. No way would he believe she was kissing him off but it was better to be the kisser than the kissee. Something like that, anyway. Her anger was giving way to despair; her heart felt heavy and she knew, oh, she knew, that she’d been too quick to tell herself she wasn’t going to cry, too quick to tell herself she hated Jake McBride...
