“Thank you again for it,” she said breathlessly. “I’m not sure I should take it, though. It looks very valuable.”

“Of course you should take it,” he said, his expression sobering. “I thought of the artist who makes them by hand almost immediately when I met you. It’s a petit ange. Fitting for you.”

“Really?” she asked, her tone flat with incredulity, fingering the charm at her throat. “What does petit ange mean? It’s so pretty, but I wasn’t sure what it was exactly. A fairy?” she wondered.

His gaze flickered over her wistful smile. “Little angel,” he said quietly.

“I’m no angel,” she assured wryly.

His smile left her flustered. She grasped for a safe topic. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Good enough. I was a little preoccupied.”

Emma nodded in understanding. “Cristina isn’t any better tonight, but not any worse, either,” she said softly.

They stared at each other. Against her will, the memory of being pressed against his length, of his possessive mouth covering hers, coaxing . . . demanding, of shaking against him as he played her flesh like a master, entered her awareness. She moved restlessly on her feet as the subsequent memory of his harsh, crude words sliced through her like an ice pick.

She wasn’t used to feeling this level of uncertainty and intense awareness with a man. It seemed to encapsulate them in some sort of airless bubble.

“Cristina and I are not the best of friends,” he said. “We never have been. It’s . . . complicated.”

“I understand,” Emma said quickly. “Every family has their history. Their stuff. I’m not trying to intrude or judge. That’s not part of my job, and it’s not a part of who I am, either. You’ve provided for Cristina extremely well, despite this obvious . . . rift between the two of you.”

“A rift implies we were once close. Trust me, that’s never been the case,” he said, and once again, she sensed a razor-sharp edge to his tone.

“But when I told you she asked about you, you seemed—”

“I’ve left my number with the night nurse, and Mrs. Shaw will inform the day nurse. If Cristina says she wants to speak with me, I’ll come. Now I’ve told you as well. But just so you know, I’m not holding my breath for anything,” he said pointedly. Emma nodded.

“There’s something else I’d like to discuss with you. Would you like to go for a drive?” he asked, taking a step back.

She started and stared dubiously at the rows of cars. “I . . . Yes.”

“Which car do you want to take?”

“I get to pick?” she asked, a grin breaking free. She couldn’t help it. An unexpected, giddy feeling of excitement rose in her.

His gaze caught on her smile. “Lady’s choice,” he assured quietly.

Chapter 9

She eyed another sports car, perhaps swept away by the uncustomary feeling of euphoria she’d experienced on that other brief ride with him. She pointed hopefully at a fierce, fast-looking, dark red car. His small smile and raised brows seemed to say “nice choice,” which only enhanced her feeling of giddiness. The whole scenario took on the feeling of a waking dream when he opened the passenger door for her.

He slid into the seat next to her. The little car hummed to life, and as before, an unidentifiable thrill went through her. She had the strangest feeling when she was with him that anything could happen.

Anything would.

And that it could be heaven . . . or scary as hell.

He lowered the convertible top. Emma glanced cautiously sideways, admiring the virile, powerful image he made; the long, bent legs and strong, jean-covered thighs.

“How have you been doing?” he asked quietly once they had started down the dark drive. She thought he was referring to Colin.

“I’m fine,” she assured. “I had a talk with Colin. It’s over.”

He gave her a flickering sideways glance. “So you didn’t . . . I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Go ballistic on your boyfriend?”

She laughed and shook her head.

“Is that normal for you?” he asked. “To be so even-tempered?”

“No,” Emma replied honestly. “Maybe that’s how I know for certain that we weren’t meant to be together. I’m not mad at him. I’m not jealous. I hate to admit it, but I’m actually relieved.”

“You seem awfully certain.”

“I am,” she said. “About that, anyway.”

She hadn’t told him she’d found Colin with her sister. The inevitable shift in her relationship with Amanda was a source of vulnerability. She was too uncertain of Montand, unsure of his interest in her, to open up about that. She didn’t completely understand her own motivations concerning him, either. It was as if part of her understood the unprecedented, intense attraction to him all too well. Another part of her seemed clueless in her motivations. No . . . not clueless, necessarily, but her intentions seemed murky. Clouded.

“Colin and I were just too comfortable with each other,” she continued thoughtfully. “There was no . . .”

He paused at the turnoff to the country road. Her cheeks felt warm and she knew he looked at her.

“. . . spark,” she finished quietly. The word seemed to hang in the area between them for a second, vibrating, charging the atmosphere.

He swung the little car onto the road.

“What does he do for a living?” Montand asked gruffly after a moment.

“Colin? He’s a computer programmer—a forensic science technician. He’s very, very smart. Most of what he says goes right over my head. Between him, my sister, and me, I’m definitely considered the slow one. Oh.”

He’d accelerated. The wind whipped her short hair against her cheeks and swirled around her body, giving her a weightless sensation.

She’d worried a little he’d drive superfast on the dark country road. Wasn’t he the scion of a car dynasty with roots in racing? Wasn’t it inevitable he’d speed? She realized, however, that while he drove faster than the speed limit, it wasn’t by a large amount. It was the sheer power of the car that had thrilled her. It couldn’t have been more obvious that he had complete control.

“Faster?” he asked her quietly after a moment, and she realized he’d been accustoming her to the sensation of forceful, precise acceleration.

“Yes,” she said, her voice vibrating with excitement.

The car accelerated smoothly. There was no sense of hurtling chaotically through space. Instead they glided. Zoomed. She felt like she flew along the road in a tight, fluid flight. The car responded to his slightest touch, as if all he had to do was to think a command and it followed his bidding, like machine and man were one. She realized after a moment that she was grinning broadly.

“Is it the car, or you . . . your driving, I mean?” she asked a few minutes later. Which is it that’s causing this feeling inside me?

He kept his eyes trained on the road.

“The car,” he replied shortly, but she wasn’t sure she believed him. His mastery over the machine was singular. He downshifted and they rounded a curve. She saw the lights of the city on the horizon.

“Where did you grow up?” he asked.

“In the city,” she said, nodding toward Chicago. “On the north side, the Rogers Park neighborhood. My mother was a nurse at an Edgewater nursing home.”

“Is that how you got interested in nursing?”

“We spent a lot of time at the nursing home after school. My mom worked the evening shift, and it was really the only time we could see her while school was in session.”

“They didn’t care about having little kids there?” he asked, his brows bunching slightly in consternation as he stared at the road. “The managers or administrators of the nursing home?”