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There’s another long whistle and the sound of sparks crackling outside. We don’t speak. We stare at one another, both of us doing a lazy perusal as if we not only grant permission for the intrusion but welcome it. From this close, I can spy the subtle details in his eyes, the slightly lighter brown that rings his pupils before it turns to an almost inky black. I study his mouth, the delectable curve of his upper lip and the taunting fullness of his bottom lip. I take in his closely shaven jaw and the way the muscle ticks there as he swallows. I’m an artist studying her living subject, trying to determine how it’s possible for a person to make me feel as much as he does.
He doesn’t look happy as he takes me in. He’s troubled by something. Maybe it’s the wrongness of the situation. The fun has seeped out of us, and now we’re just two exposed souls. Outside, the fireworks continue, a cascade of explosions.
Having had enough, Emmett lets go of my legs and starts to extricate himself from the tub. He reaches for my hand, but I’ve already taken ahold of the side to lift myself out. Not wanting to be rude, I shift my weight to take his offered hand instead. It all happens so fast then: I accidentally lose my footing before I have his hand, gripping anything I can find, which happens to be the faucet knob. It twists easily, as it’s meant to, and suddenly cold water splashes out onto my lower back and legs.
I squeal and hurry to turn it off, but it’s too late. The damage is done, the back of my dress completely soaked. That’s what I get for playing in a bathtub.
Emmett curses under his breath and impatiently grabs for me, swiftly lifting me up and out like I’m filled with feathers instead of bones. On the marble floor, I drip water, too stunned to be much of any help. He’s the one who finds a towel to dry me off. He’s the one to turn me around to assess the damage. He sighs heavily and shrugs out of his jacket.
“No—”
The protest isn’t even fully formed before his warning gaze meets mine.
“It’s cold out and I won’t allow you to stand on deck shivering.”
His commanding tone is so unlike anything I’m used to. This is the man who was just tickling the backs of my knees in the bathtub…
“People will wonder.”
“And you’ll tell them nothing. It’s no one’s business. You’re hardly the first person in history to borrow a jacket.”
And with that, the argument is over. Emmett has won.
He confirms I’m comfortable and dry enough, and with a nod, we start to head back toward the party neither of us seems all that eager to rejoin. He keeps me in front of him with a comforting hand on my shoulder, and then as we ascend the narrow staircase to the main floor, he shifts it down onto my lower back.
The moment we’re at the top, he pulls away, and I’m left to make do with the warmth of his borrowed jacket. I love the weight of it. The heady scent of cedarwood and geranium feels luxurious—a scent I’d want to linger, a candle I’d burn all night. The hem is an inch longer than my dress on the bottom. If I stopped to button it all the way up, it’d look like I was wearing nothing at all underneath, and when I peer over at Emmett, it’s like he’s just had the same thought.
I brace myself for the impending awkwardness of seeing party guests again, but the main salon is empty. As suspected, everyone is gathered on the deck watching the fireworks show, save for a few crew members positioned near the bar and the sliding doors. Expertly trained in the art of being discreet, they act as if they don’t even see us. The sliding door sweeps open and a spray of fireworks lights up the sky. A few people exclaim in excitement, but my gaze is fixed on Victor, who hovers near the back of the group, turned away from the gathered crowd. He watched us walk through the salon, maybe even caught our ascent up the stairs, and his impish wink makes me sick to my stomach.
Chapter Eighteen
Lainey
We’ve gone too far, that’s for certain. Whatever Emmett’s aim in pursuing a friendship with me, we’ve crossed a boundary I’ve been careful to protect. There’s no way people haven’t noticed us together. Last night on the yacht, wearing his suit jacket felt like I was wearing his varsity letters. I might as well have had his promise ring twinkling on my ring finger. My grandmother wasn’t pleased.
I’m careful the next day. I avoid him, totally. I eat breakfast tucked between Florence Carmichael and my grandmother. I accept an invitation to go out in a speedboat with Royce and a few others, and then I slip away from dinner quickly while most everyone else moves on to the sitting room for late-night drinks. I don’t look at Emmett once the entire day. It’s my sole mission to take account of where he stands in a room and avoid that area like the plague.
