Any closer, he thought, and he would be in her. "Kellye, this is Emmaline." Desperate now, Jack gripped Kellye's wrists to unlock them from his neck. "Emma . . ."
"It's wonderful to meet you." Cheerful, enthusiastic, Emma offered a hand. "You must-"
Kellye stumbled back as if stabbed, then whirled on Jack. "How dare you! How could you? You'd bring her here? Throw her in my face? Bastard!" She ran, shoving her way through the fascinated crowd.
"Okay, this was fun. Let's go." Jack grabbed Emma's hand and pulled her to the door. "Mistake. Big mistake," he said when he managed a good gulp of fresh air. "I think she punctured my tonsils with her tongue. You didn't protect me."
"I failed you. I'm so ashamed."
He narrowed his eyes as he pulled her along the sidewalk. "And you think that was funny."
"I'm a bitch, too. Coldhearted. More shame." She had to stop, just stop and howl with laughter. "God, Jack! What were you thinking?"
"When a woman has the power to puncture a man's tonsils with her tongue, he stops thinking. She also has this trick where she . . . And I almost said that out loud." He dragged a hand through his hair as he studied her glowing face. "We've been friends too long. It's dangerous."
"In the spirit of friendship, I'm going to buy you a drink. You deserve it." She took his hand. "I didn't believe you when you said she got too intense and so on. I figured you were just being the usual no-commitment guy. But intense is way too quiet a word for her. Plus, her art is ridiculous. She really ought to hook up with Jasper. He'd adore her."
"Let's drive across town for that drink," he suggested. "I don't want to chance running into her again." He opened the car door for her. "You weren't the least bit embarrassed by that."
"No. I have a high embarrassment threshold. If she'd been remotely sincere, I'd have felt sorry for her. But she's as fake as her art. And probably just as odd."
He considered as he walked around to get in the driver's side. "Why do you say that? About her being fake?"
"It was all about the drama, and her in the center of it. She may feel something for you, but she feels a lot more for herself. And she saw me, before she jumped you. She knew you'd brought me with you, so she put on a show."
"Deliberately embarrassed herself? Why would anyone do that?"
"She wasn't embarrassed, she was revved." She angled her head, looking into his baffled eyes. "Men really don't see things like that, do they? It's so interesting. Jack, she was the star of her own romantic tragedy, and she fed on every moment. I bet she sells more of that nonsense she calls art tonight because of it."
When he drove in silence for the next few moments, she winced. "And all that really hammered your ego."
"Scratched it, superficially. I'm weighing that against knowing I didn't somehow give her the wrong signal and actually deserve that entertaining little show." He shrugged. "I'll take the scratch."
"You're better off. So . . . any other ex we-had-a-thing you want me to meet?"
"Absolutely not." He glanced at her, and the streetlights sheened over the golds and bronzes in his hair. "But I do want to say that, for the most part, the women I've dated have been sane."
"That speaks well of you."
THEY CHOSE A LITTLE BISTRO AND SHARED A PLATE OF ALFREDO. She relaxed him, he thought, which was odd, as he'd always considered himself fairly relaxed to begin with. But spending time with her, just talking about anything that came to mind, made any problem or concern he might be dealing with in some corner of his brain vanish.
Odder still was being excited and relaxed around a woman at the same time. He couldn't remember having that combination of sensations around anyone but Emma.
"How come," he wondered, "in all the years I've known you, you've never cooked for me?"
She wound a solitary noodle on her fork. "How come in all the years I've known you, you never took me to bed?"
"Aha. So you only cook for men when you get sex."
"It's a good policy." She smiled, her eyes laughing as she nibbled away at the noodle. "I go to a lot of trouble when I cook. It ought to be worth it."
"How about tomorrow? I can make it worth it."
"I bet you can, but tomorrow won't work. No time to market. I'm very fussy about my ingredients. Wednesday's a little tight, but-"
"I have a business thing Wednesday night."