She pushed away from the door to wander into the kitchen for a glass of water. Her throat felt dry and a little raw.
She'd get over him, she assured herself. What was the point in worrying about that now when they were still together?
Or . . . she could make him fall in love with her. If she knew how to keep a man from falling for her-or nudge him into falling out if he thought he was falling in-why couldn't she make one fall in?
"Wait, I'm confusing myself."
She took a breath, took a sip.
"If I make him fall in love with me, is it real? God, this is too much to think about. I'm going out to an opening. That's it, that's all."
The knock on the door brought relief. Now she could stop thinking, stop worrying all this to pieces.
They'd go out. They'd enjoy each other. Whatever happened next, happened.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SATISFACTION, EMMA DECIDED, WENT A LONG WAY TO STAMPING out worry. The look in Jack's eyes when she opened the door was exactly what she'd aimed for.
"I need a moment of silence," he told her, "to offer up thanks."
She gave him a slow, sultry smile. "Then let me say you're welcome. Do you want to come in?"
Closing the distance, he trailed his fingers over her shoulder, down her arm. Those smoky eyes stayed fixed on hers. "I'm just having this thought about how I come in and we forget about the opening."
"Oh no." She nudged him back, and stepped out. Handing him the wrap, she turned her back, glanced around as he draped it over her shoulders. "You promised me strange paintings, lousy wine, and soggy canapes."
"We could go back inside." He leaned down to nuzzle her neck. "I'll sketch some erotic drawings, we'll drink good wine, and call out for pizza."
"Choices, choices," she said as they walked to his car. "Art opening now, erotic sketches later."
"If we must." But he stopped at the car to draw her into a luxurious kiss. "I like the way you look, which is amazing."
"That was the plan." She stroked her hand over the slate gray sweater he wore under a leather jacket. "I like the way you look, Jack."
"Since we look so good I guess we'd better go be seen." When he got behind the wheel he sent her an easy smile. "How was the weekend?"
"Jammed, as advertised. And successful, since Parker talked the clients into renting the tents for Saturday. When it rained, everybody stayed dry. Even better, we scrabbled around for more candles and some of my emergency supply of flowers so we had all this soft light and fragrance while the rain pattered on the tent. It was really lovely."
"I wondered how that worked out. I was out on new construction Saturday afternoon, and we didn't. Stay dry, that is."
"I like spring rains. The way they sound, the way they smell. Not all brides feel the same, but we managed to make this one really happy. And how was Poker Night?"
He scowled at the road as his headlights cut through the dark. "I don't want to talk about it."
She laughed. "I heard Carter cleaned your clock."
"The guy hustled us with all that 'I'm not much of a card player' routine, and that open, honest face. He's a shark."
"Yes, oh yes, Carter's a real shark."
"You haven't played cards with him. Believe it."
"Sore loser."
"Damn right."
Amused, she leaned back in the seat. "So, tell me a little about this artist."
"Ah . . . yeah, I should do that." During a beat of silence, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "A friend of a client. I think I mentioned that."
"You did." She'd meant the art itself, but she caught enough in his tone to zero in. "And a friend of yours?"
"Sort of. We went out a couple of times. A few times. Maybe several."
"Ah. I see." Though her interest spiked, she kept her tone casual. "She's an ex."
"Not exactly. We weren't . . . It was more we hooked up for a few weeks. More than a year ago. Closer to two, actually. It was just a thing, then it wasn't."
His uneasiness struck her as both interesting and flattering. "If you're looking at this as boggy ground, Jack, you don't need to. I've had my suspicions you've slept with other women."
"It's true. I have. And Kellye-she spells it with an 'e' on the end-is one of them. She's . . . interesting."
"And artistic."
His lips twitched, intriguing her. "You be the judge."
"So, why did the thing stop being a thing, or is that too awkward a question?"
"It got a little too intense for me. She's an intense sort, and high-maintenance."