It had been a long evening to say the least. From the moment Emily found Barrett and J.J. talking in the living room, Barrett had been in a pisser of a mood. There had been cocktails on the lawn followed by a lovely lobster dinner al fresco with a guitarist who strolled around the long candlelit table of eighteen guests taking requests. But with a taciturn Barrett to her left, obviously at odds with J.J. Harrison and probably still spoiling from their truncated make-out session, the evening had rolled on heavily. Emily mostly made polite conversation with the gentleman beside her, a fairly dull lawyer visiting from New York.
After dessert, when Emily was quite sure she'd learned everything possible to know about copyright law, she took her cue from three other guests who excused themselves for bed and did the same. As she stood, Barrett took her hand for the first time all evening, and after thanking Hélène and J.J. for a wonderful meal, he escorted Emily into the house.
She didn't wiggle her hand away because it felt so right and natural to be held by his and because she'd missed his warmth all night. Looking up at the tight set of his jaw as they ascended the stairs, it occurred to her that she had gotten so distracted by their attraction to each other, she wasn't doing a very good job of fulfilling her obligation to him. She was supposed to be his fiancée, someone who would smooth his rough edges and help him make the most of the weekend.
Emily laced her fingers through his, giving his hand a squeeze, fascinated to watch his jaw relax and the constricted lines of his face soften from the contact. It made her realize how much he needed her—to be a sounding board and a comfort. She'd offered neither of those things to him since he'd collected her this afternoon. She'd picked fights, needed him to reassure her on their airplane, and concentrated so much of their time in the room on his memories of her, she hadn't even asked about the deal he was here to pursue. She wasn't helping him, she was distracting him, all because her own heart was so affected by him.
Well, she could change things. What Barrett needed right now wasn't a love interest to make him all hot and bothered. What Barrett needed was the sort of woman who could be his friend. And when you love someone, you find out what they need, and you take pleasure in offering it to them the best you can... which is exactly what Emily intended to do.
He opened the door to their room, and she dropped his hand gently as they walked inside, determined not to let the intense sexual tension from the afternoon dominate the small space again. She looked at him in the dim light, turning on the lamp on the bedside table, then reached up to take off her earrings.
"Barrett," she asked, as he stood by the door. "Tell me what I walked into tonight when I interrupted you and J.J. Harrison."
He looked confused for a second, then rubbed his eyes with his fingers, and shrugged out of his jacket. Emily took it from him, walking it to the closet where she found a hanger and hung it up. When she turned around, he was sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I don't know what's wrong with me. My head's not in the game."
"What's the game?" she asked, slipping out of her heels and padding to the bathroom where she filled two crystal tumblers with water. She brought one to Barrett before sitting in the chair by the fire and facing him.
He looked at her, his face softening as he held the tumbler. "You can't possibly be interested in this."
"I promise you, I am."
He looked incredulous, but his lips tilted up. "Really?"
"You two looked like you were about to jump each other... and you've been quiet and brooding since."
"I definitely wanted to jump someone, but it wasn't J.J. Harrison."
She flushed, shaking her head at him. "Flirt."
He sipped his water, staring at her from over the glass, as though deciding whether to push his advantage for more flirtation, or take her up on her offer to talk business. Finally, he sighed, pushing his shoes off his feet, and swinging his legs on the bed. He lay back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling, and answered her question.
"I want to buy his company. He doesn't want to sell it."
"How can you buy something that's not for sale?"
"Well," he said, "he has three brothers and one sister who all own seventeen point five percent of the company each. That's seventy percent. None of them have ever worked for Harrison Shipbuilding or maintained an emotional connection to the company. They live off the interest from their shares, but otherwise have little to do with the day-to-day operations. Only one of them even serves on the board.
Anyway, the company is valued at two hundred and fifty million dollars. Each of the siblings are lining up with their hands out for their forty-two million dollar shares. But, J.J. refuses to sell."
"At thirty percent, he'd make... oh my God, seventy-five million dollars? That can't be right!"
Barrett nodded at the ceiling. "It is."
"And he's refusing?"
"Yup. Digging his heels in, too."
"Why?"
Barrett sucked a deep breath through his nose and sighed. "He loves the company. He doesn't want to give it up. He doesn't want to relinquish control. Something about fishing boats and his grandfather."
"Ohhhh," said Emily. "He has an emotional investment in the company. I guess you can't put a dollar sign on that."
"Usually you can."
"So, what will you do? If he won't sell?"
Barrett huffed. "It'll get messy, but I'll still get the company in the end."
"How messy?"
"I'll buy the seventy percent. With that majority, I'll take over the board. I'll force him out."
"That sounds cold and messy," she observed, trying to keep the disappointment she felt out of her voice.
He flinched, which clutched at her heart, but she felt like maybe he should take a moment to think about what the company meant to J.J. Harrison.
"Cold or not, it is messy," he agreed, leaning up on an elbow and shifting to his side to look at her. "He has the loyalty of his employees. I could get a walk-out at his factories. He could make things difficult for us. It wouldn't be the smooth transition I was hoping for."
"Isn't there another way?" she asked.
"If there is, I don't know what it is yet."
"You have to figure out what he wants. What would make him happy."
"Keeping his company. Not an option."
"You're smart, Barrett. Come up with another way."
She stifled a yawn, but stood, hoping to keep their conversation flowing as she changed into pajamas and arranged herself—wrapped up in a blanket, like bundling—beside him in bed. She unzipped her suitcase to look for her pajamas, only then remembering that all she brought was her only super sexy silk nightgown. She was trying to maintain this conversational vibe between them, and she knew that sexy pajamas would be distracting to Barrett.
"Shoot," she said. "I forgot my pajamas."
She glanced over at Barrett, realizing her mistake a second too late. His eyes widened, then darkened, as he stared at her. "No complaints here."
She pursed her lips, desperately trying to ignore how completely adorable he looked when he was flirting with her. "Can I borrow a T-shirt and some boxers?"
"You want to borrow my underwear?"
"I want something comfortable to wear to bed, Barrett. That's all."
His eyes raked deliberately down her body in the black cocktail dress she was wearing with bare feet. "What if I say no?"
"Then I'll sleep in jeans."
"And a bra?"
"And the shirt I wore today."
His lips twitched and he rolled his eyes, getting up from the bed to unzip his suitcase, which sat on a luggage rack across the room from hers.
"You know what, Emily? I hate your off-limits rules," he said, throwing her a clean pair of boxers and a T-shirt. "I really do."
She caught them against her chest and headed into the bathroom.
Me too, Barrett, she thought, as she changed. Me too.
***
While Emily changed in the bathroom, Barrett refused to think about her putting her naked body into his underwear, and forced his thoughts back to their conversation. It was no small feat. When she'd said, I forgot my pajamas, he'd gotten instantly hard. She hadn't even said it flirtatiously or as an invitation. Her tone had been matter-of-fact. God, he was losing his mind.
He rolled onto his back, pillowing his hands under his head. Dragging his body away from hers this afternoon had taken all of the strength he possessed and frankly, he was starting to wonder if it was a good idea to have Emily here at all. He couldn't have her. Thoughts of her were messing with his head so much that he couldn't even focus on business.
And yet. Having her here—in any capacity—felt so right to his heart, he needed to figure out how to still do business with Emily as a distraction. He wasn't getting rid of either in his life.
He glanced up when she came out of the bathroom. His T-shirt billowed over her chest, tucked into his boxers which were pulled up under her breasts. Her face had been scrubbed clean of make-up, she wore rimless glasses and her long, white legs and little feet padded softly around the bed. Did she look conventionally sexy? No. Had Barrett ever wanted anyone as much as he wanted Emily Edwards in that moment? No.
He groaned lightly as she pulled at the comforter and slipped into bed beside him, laying her head back on the pillow and sighing. Even though he was on top of the covers and she was under them, he was achingly aware of her proximity, and all he wanted to do was reach for her.
Rolling onto his side, he reached his arm out, draping it over her stomach. "Is this okay?"
She hesitated, her eyes searching his. "Can we be friends tonight?"
"Just friends?"
"I don't think we'll ever be just friends, Barrett. But can we try? Just for tonight?" she asked softly.
He sensed room for negotiation, but instead of pressing his advantage, he nodded, settling his cheek on the pillow beside hers, close to her shoulder. He pulled her a little tighter up against him, and she relaxed next to his body. It was uncharacteristic of him to back away from improving a deal, but Emily was shaking up everything he knew about who he was.
"We can."
"And a good friend listens... so keep talking," she said, snuggling deeper into the bed and closer to him, sighing in comfort.
Could he do this? Could he hold the woman he loved in a bed, in his arms, and just talk to her? He gazed at her face in profile, at the face he'd sought so many times throughout his life. If that's what she wanted, what she needed, then yes, he could.
"Well, I don't want a messy corporate transition. I prefer neat."
"I remember," she said, and he heard the laughter in her voice. She turned to him. "Your proposition? That day at Penn when you asked me to be your fake fiancée? You said, 'I don't want messy. I prefer neat.' Remember?"
He grinned at her, then pursed his lips and shook his head. "Ironic, huh? Because this is as messy as it gets."
"It's not," she insisted softly. "It's just temporary."
His smile turned to a frown, and he felt the lines of his face harden. "I don't want it to be temporary, Emily."
"This," she said. "This now. You on top of the covers and me beneath them. It's just temporary."
His breath hitched as he understood her meaning. She was saying that them being apart was temporary? "But I thought you said, 'We'll see,'...after this weekend was over."
"Barrett," she whispered, rolling to her side and reaching up to cradle his cheek in her palm as their breath mingled in the valley of pillow between them. "I know what I want when this weekend is over."
"Me?" he breathed.
"You," she answered, leaning forward to brush her lips softly against his.
His heart shuddered with love for her, as his mind processed the fact that by not pushing her to negotiate, he'd somehow gotten exactly what he wanted. His fingers, which had flexed to clasp her to him through the covers, relaxed, though his arm still lay across her body, pulling her gently closer, though there was nowhere else to go.
She leaned back, her blue eyes bright and happy, as she smiled at him from mere inches away. "And you want me."
"Always," he answered solemnly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he drank in the beauty of her face, the wisps of hair that lay soft and flat against her ear, the light eyelashes that fluttered delicately behind glasses, the freckles that dotted her nose, the pink softness of her lips. He'd told the truth: he was solidly and irrevocably in love with her and he always had been.
"Now tell me more about the deal."
***
Emily saw it in his eyes, the intense way he watched her without fighting what was happening between them. He loved her. She was sure of it.
She withdrew her hand from his face, pillowing them both under her head as she stared at him, giving him a small, encouraging smile.
He sort of mentally shrugged. "Not much else to say."
"There is more. I know it. I can feel it."
"Okay." He sighed. "Doing a deal usually feels good. Really good. Like skiing down a mountain, or jumping from a plane, or great sex. It's exciting. It's a rush. But, this doesn't feel exhilarating... and I can't put my finger on why."
Great sex. Huh. Emily got stuck as the words circled around in her brain. Great sex. Hm. How many people had Barrett enjoyed great sex with? How great was the great sex he'd experienced? How would the sex they had compare to the great sex he'd had with other people? Would it even be great at all?
With four years spent in undergraduate school, another three totally focused on her masters, and now another deeply entrenched in doctoral studies, there hadn't been much time for boyfriends. It's not that Emily wanted to be a twenty-four-year-old virgin, and she certainly wasn't opposed to sex or afraid of it, but she'd never quite gotten around to... well, having it. She'd always meant to give it a try—find someone suitable, date for a while, fall in love, and have the "great sex" moment. It just hadn't happened... yet. Furthermore, she'd never allowed her sexual status, or lack thereof, she thought dryly, define who she was. No, she hadn't had sex yet. Yes, she liked lemon yogurt. They were parts of who she was, neither sum nor total.
But, now, hearing Barrett glibly mention "great sex" as a matter of course, she couldn't help but wonder... would she disappoint him? Would he disappoint her? Would it bother him that she'd read a lot of books, and even watched a couple of dirty videos, but she hadn't actually done the deed? Great sex probably came from having a really experienced partner, huh? And she wasn't. She was—
"Emily?" he asked, and she suspected it was the second time he'd said her name.
"Mm-hm?"
"Are you still listening?"
"Of course."
"So, I'm not feeling that rush this time... I mean—"
"Um," she interrupted. "How great?"
"What?"
"The, um, the great sex you mentioned. How great?"
His mouth dropped open and he stared at her, a smile tilting his lips up in surprise.
"You said... 'Like skiing down a mountain, or jumping from a plane, or great sex.' And I was just wondering, um, how great is great?"
If possible, his eyes opened wider.
She scrunched up her nose and winced. She was making herself look like a complete idiot. Her neck flushed hot, and she knew she was turning pink.
"Uh, just forget I asked."
"I can't really just forget that, Emily."
"Please try."
"Emily." He chuckled, reaching for her face and nudging it to look at him. "What's going on? Do you really want me to... I mean, do you want details or—?"
"No! No. It doesn't matter. Tell me more about the deal... you're not getting a rush..." she prompted.
His eyebrows furrowed. "You know, I'm not Alex. It's not like I've been a total manwhore, if that's what you're implying."
Her eyes cut to his with precision, and she knew he could see the hurt behind them. Manwhore or not, she didn't want to know how many women Barrett had been with. She couldn't bear it. It hurt her to even consider it.
"I'm not implying anything. Forget it. Please, Barrett."
"I mean it's not like either of us are virgins."
She cleared her throat and cast her eyes down, squeaking out an awkward, "Mm-hm."
She felt him staring at her, searching her face. When she couldn't bear it anymore, she flicked her eyes up and caught his smile fading like he was looking at something unbelievable or impossible. Her whole body tingled with the uncomfortable feeling of being found out. She'd never felt so transparent.
"Emily," he said slowly, almost reverently. "That's not possible."
She gulped softly, wetting her lips with her tongue, as she looked down again.
It was nothing to be ashamed of, she reminded herself. It's not like she hadn't dated men. She had. Quite a lot, in fact. She'd just never really been in love enough with any one of them to consider sleeping with them. It wasn't a big deal. Or it certainly hadn't felt like a big deal to her...until now.
She lifted her chin and met his eyes. "It's not a big deal to me."
His face froze, and she couldn't read his expression, but it wasn't comfortable or even remotely reassuring. It waffled between disbelief and shock, and she couldn't handle it much longer. For all of the comfort that had built up between them over the last week, over the last few months of "fake dating," over a lifetime of watching one another from across the wide lawns at Haverford Park, she'd never felt further from Barrett than she did right this minute. And it felt awful.
"It's a very big deal," he finally murmured. "You've never ...?"
She shook her head.
He stared at her for one more tense moment, then rolled over onto his back, running his hands through his hair.
***
Emily was a virgin.
The idea was so hot and yet so terrifying, he didn't even know what to do with himself. The possibility that he could want her for his whole life, and end up being the first man to ever have her, humbled him to the point of speechlessness, and Barrett was not a man flummoxed by much.
He never would have guessed. From the way they'd made out in the back of the limo and at her house, and on the tennis courts—Christ!—there's no way he would have ever known. Her body was made for touching, made for loving, her responsiveness so sharp, it made him harden just remembering. If he wanted her badly five minutes ago, his lust for her now had tripled.
He tried to breathe normally, but her soft, supple, never-invaded body was warm under the sheets beside him, and he couldn't think about anything else but how much he wanted to be her first.
"Um, well, maybe it's time for sleep..."
Barrett heard the tremor in his voice, and leaned on his elbow to face her. Her face was uncertain and worried. She shrugged lightly, her eyes glistening as she stared at the ceiling.
"Hey. Hey, hey, hey. What's going on here?" he asked gently.
She dragged a knuckle over one brimming eye. "I'm weird, I know. It just never happened. I mean, I just ... I never met the guy I wanted to—"
"Emily, stop. Wait. Stop," he whispered again, placing his hand on the covers over her stomach, right below her breasts. "Do you think I'm upset about this?"
"You seem upset. You seem freaked out."
He reached up with both hands to cup her cheeks, cradling her face, trying not to breathe too hard, but failing, because she was that precious to him, that perfect.
"I'm not freaked out, baby. I'm in awe."
***
As the words left his lips, his face softened to a look so tender and yet so passionate, so fiercely possessive, it took her breath away.
"You are?"
"I am."
"You're not weirded out?"
He shook his head, still staring at her with that same loving look that was shattering every barrier left between them.
Emily's heart, which had been thumping in embarrassment and isolation a moment before, picked up pace as his thumb swiped gently over her cheek to whisk away one, last errant tear.
"Sunday," she said softly, staring at his beautiful face, just inches away from hers. "Okay?"
"Okay," he agreed, lowering his elbow to rest his cheek on the pillow beside her, draping his arm back across her and pulling her as close as possible.
"Good night, Barrett English," she whispered, her heart too full for any more talking, any more revelations, any more feelings or discoveries.
"Good night, Emily Edwards," he whispered back, as if he knew it was time to stop talking, to let everything light and heavy between them settle into their hearts and minds as they dreamed.
He pulled her face to his until their foreheads touched, then they closed their eyes, and slept.