“Finally,” her mother exclaimed the next moment. “My God, if I didn’t start making threats, I wouldneverget to talk to you. So—what’s this about an inappropriate man, and when will we get to meet him?”
When Emily hung up ten minutes later, she felt such a potent mix of conflicting emotions that she had to retreat to the bathroom, splash cold water on her face and order herself to get a grip. Dying wasn’t a likely outcome. The whole point of her assignment was to go unnoticed.
Still, she couldn’t easily excise the image of parents heartbroken over the idiot daughter who simply vanished. She wasn’t about to back out now, so what she needed was a distraction.
She made a beeline for Hartgrave. “Can we practice?”
He looked up from his hands, taking her in with a concerned frown. Perhaps her voice had sounded just a tad strangled.
“It depends,” he said. “Do youwantto be upset?”
“Well, when you put it that way ...”
He reached for her hand, still gloved, and pulled her onto his lap. They sat like that for a moment, her head tucked under his chin, his arms around her. Then he said, “Would you like to fly?”
She sat up, heart fluttering.“WouldI!”
“You’ll need to get calm first,” he warned.
“Right.” She hopped to her feet. “But I think I’ll help things along just a bit.”
She buttoned her coat to her neck, pulled her hat from a pocket and yanked it so far onto her head that it half-covered her eyes. “How’s that?”
“Ridiculous,” he said, sounding wistful, and leaned in to kiss her—which turned out to be a mistake.“Ow.” He rubbed his lips. “Sorry. More evidence in favor of my adrenaline theory, though.”
She groaned. “Can’t I have any strong emotion without polluting the atmosphere?”
“I hope so.” Nothing about the way he’d said it suggested innuendo, but her mind went there anyway, and she could feel her cheeks go rosy. “You just need to focus, Daggett.”
Yes, on something other than sleeping with him. She was still five days away from the one-month mark.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
Okay. Closed—check.
“You can feel yourself calming down,” he said with the exaggerated delivery of a cut-rate mesmerist.
She swallowed a snort.
“Your mind is a still pond ...”
She shouldn’t, shereallyshouldn’t, but: “Dirty, eh?”
Did his breath just hitch? “Your mouth,” he murmured, closer now, making her heart beat faster, “is taking a cue from your eyes.”
She almost made a comment about how that was such a polite way to sayshut up. But then he touched her. The barest contact, a bit of the pad of one finger against the dip in her chin. When that produced only a slight twinge, he traced his thumb over her lower lip.
That felt—
God, that felt—
“You are thinking serene thoughts,” he continued, as if he had no idea what he was doing to her. “Sunsets ... summer vacation ... reading ...” He pulled away, drawing a sound from her throat that was embarrassingly close to a whimper. “No, perhapsnotreading, considering the books you prefer.”
“Hartgrave!” Her laugh was breathless. “Really, you’re the worst choice for calming anyone—”
The rest gave way to an “eeep” as her feet left the ground, her eyes flying open.
“Probably,” he said, seven feet below her. “But you must admit I’m brilliant at misdirection.”
