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‘Hello.’ Emma stuck out her hand, which Stephen shook bemusedly. Emma was a force to be reckoned with, Larenzo thought, gazing down at her with bemused affection. She’d intimated that all of Ava’s forcefulness came from him, but he knew it came from her too. She was a strong person, even if she didn’t seem to realise it.
They chatted with Stephen for a while, and eventually a few other guests joined them. The conversation came in starts and stops, and Larenzo did his best to navigate its choppy waters, and ignore the occasional innuendo or sly glance, but each one rubbed him painfully raw.
Would it never end? Would he never be free from Bertrano’s treachery and his own terrible mistakes?
Emma, he saw, kept her chin up the whole evening, her voice bright as she chatted determinedly with every person in their circle. But he saw the way her eyes widened when someone made some oh-so-clever quip—How’s America, Cavelli? The food’s better than what you’re used to, eh?—and her body tensed. Larenzo ignored the sly innuendoes and the way people didn’t always meet his eyes. They were curious, perhaps even a little afraid. He could wait it out. The people who mattered believed him.
Like Emma.
Even so, he’d never wanted her to hear this. See this. After an hour of it he’d had enough. Taking her arm, he propelled her to the dance floor.
‘Let’s dance.’
Clearly startled, Emma deposited her half-full flute of champagne on a waiter’s tray before following him onto the floor. ‘I didn’t take you for a dancer.’
He wasn’t, not really. ‘No, why not?’ he asked as he pulled her into his arms, sliding his hands down to her hips, the satin of her dress slippery under his palms. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric. She draped her arms about his shoulders, her breasts brushing his chest. It was sheer torture to sway to the music and not pull her more snugly to him.
‘You’ve always seemed so focused on work. Even when you were at the villa, you usually had your laptop with you out on the terrace. You never really relaxed, as far as I could see, except maybe a swim, and that was for exercise.’
‘I know. I regret that.’
‘Do you?’ She tilted her head up to gaze at him, her golden-green eyes luminous, her eyebrows raised. ‘Why?’
‘Because I worked so hard and for what? It was all taken away in the end.’ He heard bitterness spike his voice and strove to moderate his tone. ‘I wish I’d enjoyed life more.’
Her lips pursed. ‘You seemed to enjoy it well enough, judging from the photos I saw of you in the tabloids with one blonde beauty or another.’ She glanced at him from under her lashes, waiting for his response.
His mouth tugged upwards in a smile. ‘Jealous?’
‘Hardly,’ she scoffed.
He wished she were jealous. He wished she felt as much for him as he felt for her, even though he knew he couldn’t act on it. ‘That was just a form of exercise too,’ he murmured, his breath fanning her cheek. He felt her shiver in response.
‘Then you’re obviously very fit,’ she returned tartly, and he actually laughed. Emma was the only person who had ever made him laugh.
‘Actually, I’m terribly out of shape. Do you know the last time I’ve...exercised, Emma?’
Colour washed her cheeks and he saw how her pupils dilated. This was such a dangerous conversation to have. He was flirting with fire, and yet he couldn’t stop. He felt intoxicated, giddy with desire, even though he’d only had a few sips of champagne.
‘I’m not sure I want to know.’
‘You,’ he said huskily. ‘The last time was with you.’
The colour in her cheeks deepened and she looked away. Larenzo touched the tip of his finger to her chin, turned her back to face him. ‘What about you?’ he asked. Suddenly it was important to know.
‘Me?’ She let out a shaky, little laugh. ‘I think the answer to that is obvious. In the nineteen months since—well, you know, I’ve been pregnant, had a baby, and been living with my sister. What do you think?’
A mixture of joy, pride, and overwhelming desire, the emotions primal and fierce, burst within him. ‘Good.’
‘Good?’ Emma searched his face. ‘Why exactly is that good, Larenzo?’ she asked quietly. ‘What...what are we doing here?’
He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, because he knew the only thing he could say was nothing and he didn’t want to say it. And Emma must have read all of that in his face for she stopped swaying to the music and broke out of his embrace.
