By the time she returned upstairs, the guests had moved back into the living room and were seated around the fireplace. More wine was poured, along with some whiskey, and soon Mr. Woodhouse retired for the night. A few minutes later, Margo insisted that it was time to go home, and volunteered Ben to walk a tipsy Mrs. Pawloski to her apartment a few doors down along the way.
Montgomery and Emma were alone.
Emma curled up in the deep armchair next to the fire and Montgomery sat opposite, his long legs stretched out on the ottoman between them. With only the soft lights of the Christmas tree and the fire’s dying embers left to illuminate the room, dark shadows fell on his face. He had been staring at her for a while.
“Are you sure you want to throw this New Year’s party?” she asked, trying to figure out what he was thinking.
“If you’re there to help, I can’t imagine anything I want more. Let’s make this New Year’s party unforgettable. Like an event. An experience. Great Gatsby–like.”
Emma failed to dampen her smile. “Wow, sure.”
“We need a DJ. There’s this guy I know—I’ll send you his Instagram—he’s doing a residency down at Club Vibe and has a VIP following, too. We should go check him out together before the party.”
A flutter made its way through her chest. “I’d love that.”
“Maybe I can convince you to ride my bike down there?” He cocked his eyebrow at her.
She gave him a knowing smirk and shook her head.
He threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. What else do we need?”
“I guess we should get a few bartenders? I worked with a company from Margo’s wedding that was great.”
“Yes. Perfect. Top-shelf only.”
“If you say so.” Emma laughed. “So you want this party to be big, then?”
“Big, but classy.” He pondered for a minute. “An event that screams understated.”
She tilted her head. Well, she had to appreciate his vision. It was clear that Montgomery wasn’t used to hearing no when it came to anything he started. In a way, Emma could relate to that.
“We’ll figure it all out this week,” he continued. Then he pulled out a piece of Nicorette gum, maintaining eye contact as he chewed.
“Sounds great.” Emma tucked her hair behind her ears and nodded to the wrapper still in his hand. “Are you trying to quit smoking?”
“I’ve been quitting for years. I’m addicted to the gum now.”
“That’s quite a vice.”
“One of my tamer ones,” he drawled in a low voice. “Unless you don’t approve?”
“What if I don’t?”
His gaze was intense as he took the gum from his mouth and put it back in its wrapper. Then he smiled.
Emma suddenly felt like she needed to move. She stood up and grabbed a few of the empty wineglasses from the mantel.
“Can you grab the ones on the coffee table for me?” she asked, already starting toward the doorway.
He stood slowly, unfolding his long body and stretching before picking up the glasses and following her as she made her way downstairs. The kitchen was dark, with only the light from under the cabinets to guide them as she lined up the glasses on the countertop.
“So this happens every Sunday night?” Montgomery said softly from close behind her. Very close.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her rising pulse, then turned around to face him. His blue eyes were hooded as he took a step forward, backing her up against the marble counter. The French doors behind him were dark, their black windows revealing nothing that lay beyond.
“Well, this was livelier than a typical Sunday night,” she admitted.
“Why do you think that?” he teased. Their bodies were only inches apart.
