Unexpectedly Hers(57)

Emma’s pink cheeks paled. “May I see?”

Wyatt grimaced, but he unlocked his phone and pulled up the tweet. It bleeped again.

“Forty-eight retweets,” she said, handing him back the phone. No tantrum. No whining. No words of regret. Maybe she didn’t mind so much.

“You’re not mad?” He peered into her eyes, trying to figure her out. When he’d said she was a mystery, it hadn’t been a lie. “I can respond if you want, but I think it’s best to ignore it.”

“My name isn’t mentioned,” she shrugged with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Not that my name would mean anything in the Twitterverse anyway. But you can’t see my face in the photo. And it’s just a kiss, after all. Gossip about the fallen ‘Saint Emma’ will travel only through town. I’ll face a few snickers next week at the grocery store, and poor Mr. Tomlin will be heartbroken. Mrs. Pellman will take credit. Oh, yes, that will be a big source of entertainment for them. But it should all die down before . . .” Then she fell silent and lowered her gaze.

“Before what?”

“Nothing.” Her gaze dropped to the floor.

“No, it’s something.” He tipped up her chin, searching her eyes for answers. “Before what?”

She sighed. “Before my mother returns.”

He almost laughed but sensed it would only piss her off. Her mother? “Why would your mom care if you kissed me?”

Emma grimaced while looping her fingers through her hair. He wanted to do that for her, but he refrained from touching her again, intent on listening. “She has a very strict sense of propriety. The idea of me making out in public, in front of her friends, with a guy I barely know will not sit well. She’ll jump to all kinds of conclusions about where it might lead.”

“And that bothers you.” He understood, actually, because much of his life had been about wanting his parents’ affection, which always seemed frustratingly out of reach. In the process, he’d made a name for himself and earned money to improve all of their lives. Until he’d helped destroy Ryder’s, that is.

Now the only way he might win his mom’s approval would be to recapture his fame and, in the process, help Ryder begin to live again.

“Yes. I like to make her proud. Maybe I am old-fashioned at heart, but I respect her values and faith.” Emma’s discomfort from that last admission showed in her cheeks. She straightened her shoulders and immediately changed the subject. “So where’s my fifty bucks.”

“I didn’t take Trip’s money.” Wyatt crossed his arms.

“Why not? He’d have taken yours. Besides, I earned it.” She turned her head, searching for Trip.

Wyatt grasped her hand, unwilling to let her cut this conversation short just when it was getting somewhere. “I keep telling you, I never shook on that bet, and I don’t want him, your friends, or you to think that my interest has anything to do with money or that stupid bet.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s . . . that’s sweet, Wyatt.”

“Trust me, I’m a lot of things.” He squeezed her hand, hoping her heart thumped from the contact like his did. That her blood thickened in her limbs, making them heavy, just as his were. “But sweet isn’t one of them.”

Emma’s breath caught for a moment before she tugged free from his grasp and smoothed her hair. “Let’s get back to the party. If people tease, we’ll say it was a dare from Trip. Everyone will buy that, and it’ll take away any speculation that something more is happening.”

“Would that be so bad?” Frustration began to crowd his thoughts, sharpening the tone of his voice.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I prefer life outside of the spotlight.”

“Not the speculation, the something more.” He stepped closer, determined to make her admit the fact that she liked him—at least a little bit, anyway. “Say what you want, but that kiss didn’t feel like something you did just to win a bet.”

She looked like she might run, so Wyatt boxed her in by settling one hand against the wall behind her shoulder. “It felt like something you wanted. I know I did.”

“Please, stop.” Emma’s eyes darted over his shoulder, scanning the crowd. “We’re in public.”

He knew he shouldn’t risk this type of publicity, yet he leaned closer so that his lips were near her ear. “Then let’s go someplace private.”

He pulled back in time to catch the flare of heat flicker in her eyes. No matter how much she protested, that kiss and the brilliant green glow in her eyes told him he affected her. Like a gambler who’d gone all in, he waited—muscles taut with anticipation—to see if his wager would pay off. Her hesitation offered no relief.