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It was Jodi’s business and he’d done his best to stand by his sister’s request. Had held back, done nothing, but now he couldn’t do that any more, not when he sensed there was something wrong, that Jodi needed help. And this opportunity to take action had come along. But if Jodi didn’t want to confide in Luca or Therese, she’d definitely recoil at the thought of Emily knowing anything. In which case he owed it to Jodi to try and find the answers on his own; he’d bring Emily in only if he needed to. So there was no need to tell her anything now. For a second discomfort edged him and he dismissed it. He’d tell Emily if and only if it became necessary; in the meantime, he was employing her to do a genuine job.
‘Great. I’ll get a contract drawn up.’
She held her hand out and he hesitated, told himself not to be an idiot. What did he think would happen if he shook her hand? He’d combust? His hand would light up? He reached out and took her hand in his, resisted the urge to instantly drop it. Because the simple touch did affect him, pulled back the memory of their dance yesterday, enough to conjure desire right back up.
Dropping her hand, he cleared his throat. ‘Right. I’ll try and get you on the same flight.’ He pulled his phone out of his pocket and a few minutes later nodded. ‘As luck would have it there is a seat free. We can travel together. Can you meet me in the first-class lounge tomorrow afternoon?’
‘I’ll be there.’ Emily’s voice seemed taut and, in all truth, Luca couldn’t blame her.
* * *
Emily walked through the busy airport lounge, pulling her suitcase behind her, gripping the handle so hard it hurt as she battled the sense of surreal. Until now she’d focused on packing, on getting here on time, but, now that she had made it, as she approached the meeting point her nerves fluttered and she tightened her muscles to counteract them, felt the insidious flick of panic.
She braced herself against the fear that she couldn’t do this job. Somehow when she’d been with Luca it had all seemed possible. The ideas had buzzed, caught up in his own clear enthusiasm for the project and his equally clear strength of feeling for the product and for his company. This man would expect the best, deserved the best, and now all of Howard’s jibes rang and danced in her brain, told her she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
Emily gritted her teeth. This was the only job on offer. Striding forward, she raised an arm in greeting, forced herself to project a confidence she didn’t even feel a flicker of.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
‘Shall we head to the departure lounge? We’ve time to grab a coffee before boarding.’
‘Sure.’ But she could feel her steps lag as they started to walk, as the flutter of nerves turned into a pirouette. For the past months she had spent nigh on every waking and sleeping minute in the sanctuary of her home. Now here she was about to embark on a global trip. And now the panic began to build, to twist and layer itself into knots of tension that tangled inside her.
She tried to focus, found her gaze riveted to Luca and decided to give in and be shallow in the hope his sheer aura would exert a soothing calm. So as they walked she studied him as she would a model, the jut of his jaw, the swell of his biceps and the tantalising strength he exuded. The kind of strength that would blanket and cocoon you in safety. And, politically correct or not, that carried her through the process of boarding, finding their seats and getting settled. Allowed her to try and suppress the growing, escalating swoosh and whoosh and pound of irrational dread.
Until the flight actually took off and the anxiety whirled in her head, turned and twisted her stomach in a nauseating spin. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her breathing, on slowing her pulse rate.
‘You OK?’ Luca turned to her an
d she tried to speak, her hands gripping the arm rest as she forced her vocal cords to work.
‘Fine.’ The syllable sounded strangled but she hoped it would be enough.
‘Hey. It’s OK.’ His deep voice held concern but also a calm reassurance that at least didn’t escalate the numbing fear that had sent her fight-or-flight response into deadlock. ‘I’m guessing you have a fear of flying.’
It was a fair assumption but not true; this was a panic attack, brought on by the inescapable knowledge that she was heading away from the sanctuary of home, coalesced with the sudden realisation and guilt that she had taken this first step to moving on with life. All she wanted was to go back home, to the almost comfort of the abyss of despair that kept her close to her lost baby. What was she doing? How could she move on from him, the being whom she had loved so much?
None of this was anything she could or would share with Luca, even if she could speak, which right now she couldn’t. All her effort was concentrated on staying put, and not running up and down the plane in an attempt to get out.
He continued to speak, his tone soothing and almost conversational. ‘Jodi used to be terrified on planes—she’d hold my hand as tight as she could during take-off. She said it helped, stopped her from running to the pilot and begging him to take the plane down. We can try that, if you like.’
And so she gripped his hand, with all her might, focused on the cool reassuring strength of his grasp, the scope of his palm, the feel of his fingers encircling hers, closed her eyes and tried to think soothing thoughts. Time seemed to slow and ebb, but slowly the wave of panic stemmed and then subsided, as if his touch somehow soothed the tangle of chaos inside. Unknotted her insides and now, instead of panic, a different sensation pervaded with a gooey warmth, invaded her veins with a liquid heat. Now his hold encircled her with awareness, charged her with desire and she released him as tell-tale heat flushed her cheeks.
A sideways glance revealed an expression of shock flitting across his face as he looked down at his hand and she wondered if he’d felt something too.
Quickly she burst into speech. ‘Well, that was embarrassing. Especially when I said I didn’t need hand-holding.’ She tried a smile, hoped it didn’t wobble too much and he smiled back, the smile full wattage, and it curled her toes.
‘Don’t worry about it. Truly. How are you feeling now?’
‘A lot better. Thank you—I didn’t hurt you, did I?’ She studied his hand and again a frisson ran through her; his fingers combined strength with a masculine beauty that fascinated her, the breadth of his palm, the compact sturdiness of his wrist. This had to stop. All she could think was that this was some sort of aftershock, a reaction to her panic, but her awareness of the man next to her had grown exponentially.
Her gaze roved upwards; she saw the shape of his tanned forearm, the curve of his biceps, the width of his shoulder. Continued to take in his face, the angle of his cheekbone, the jut of his determined jaw and now her eyes lingered on the shape of his mouth.
Oh, God. As she forced herself to meet his gaze she saw something in his expression, a spark, and she sensed he had clocked and understood her scrutiny.
‘No. You did not hurt me at all. Please feel free to make use of my hand again.’ The deep undertone had a layer of suggestion, just the smallest hint of a double entendre, and she looked at him with a small question of wonder. Had she imagined it?
