Emily: Sex and Sensibility Read Online Free PDF Page B

difficulty.”
    “And getting soaked to the skin in the process.”
    “Indeed.”
    “To the best of your knowledge, Charles, do villains ever permit themselves to be rained on?”
    “Not to my knowledge, no, sir.”
    Marco looked at the woman. The look on her face had changed. That chin was still lifted at a defiant angle, but unless he was imagining things, there was the faintest upward curve to her lips.
    “Thank you, Charles. You may return to the car.”
    His driver walked briskly to the Mercedes and got behind the wheel. Calling Charles his “driver” didn’t come close to being accurate. He was also the person who ran Marco’s household whether that household was in New York, Rome, London or Brazil.
    Right now, he was Marco’s final hope.
    He had run out of ideas. Either the woman would let him take her away from the rain, the cold and, most of all, the inherent dangers to be found on city streets in the middle of the night, or his attempts at being a Boy Scout were over.
    “Last chance,” he said quietly. “I’m almost as wet as you are, but contrary to what seems to be your plan for the evening, I don’t intend to get any wetter. Charles and I will take you to your door. Or you can use my phone. Call someone to come for you. Or I will do as you have asked and go away. The choice is yours.”
    For what seemed forever, she didn’t say anything. Then she cleared her throat.
    “D-do—do you ha-have a name?”
    “Forgive me.” Marco closed the last few inches between them. He held out his hand. “I am Marco. Marco Santini.”
    Emily stared at the stranger’s outstretched hand. It was a strong-looking hand, the nails clean and well-cared for. Her brothers had hands like this. Masculine, powerful, just a little work-hardened.
    “And you are?”
    She drew a long, deep breath.
    “Em—Emily.”
    “Well, Emily, now that we have formally introduced ourselves, may I see you home?”
    He smiled.
    She wished he hadn’t, because he had a devastating smile and a smile didn’t mean a thing. For all she knew, Jack the Ripper had had a great smile and what was it people said about Ted Bundy? That he’d been good-looking. Handsome.
    Certainly not more handsome than this.
    He reached back, his eyes never leaving hers, and opened the rear door. Then he bent down and picked up her shoes.
    “Please. Get in.”
    She hesitated but not for long.
    Oh , she thought as she stepped inside the Mercedes, oh, lovely .
    The interior was warm, the immediate relief from the rain glorious. She tried to show some decorum but that was difficult when you were dripping your way across a leather seat toward a woman who looked as if she’d just stepped off the cover of Vogue.
    Impeccable hairdo. Impeccable makeup. Impeccable fuchsia silk jacket over impeccable pale pink gown. Stilettos heels, the kind that would never be so unsophisticated as to fall apart in the rain.
    “Be careful,” the woman snapped, shrinking away from her. “You’re dripping all over everything!”
    “Sorry! I di-d-didn’t mean t-to—”
    “This is ridiculous. You should be sitting up front.”
    Marco Santini’s hard, warm thigh pressed against Emily’s. The car door slammed shut. She looked at him.
    “She might b-b-be right. I mean, I really am awfully w-w-wet.”
    “You’re fine where you are. Charles? Turn up the heat, please.” Marco leaned forward and pressed a button. The door to a discretely-designed compartment clicked open; he reached in and took out a bottle of amber-colored liquid and poured a dollop into a crystal glass. “Brandy,” he said, holding it out to her. “Take a sip.”
    Emily eyed it warily. “Thank you, b-b-but—”
    Marco rolled his eyes, brought the glass to his lips and drank. “See? Absolutely safe. Go on. It will help.”
    Their hands brushed as she took the flask from him, lifted it to her mouth and took a drink. Liquid fire swept from the top of her head to her toes.
    “Better?”
    She nodded.
    “This will