Page 7 of Emma's Element

She shrugged and slowed her movements until just the heat of her hands remained. “How’s that?” she asked.

“Magical,” he moaned.

“How ‘bout the leg?” she wondered. He looked down at the offending appendage. The scar where they had operated to place the rods clearly visible.

“Nah, it’s good. Doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” He’d love nothing more than to have her hands on more of him, but the hard-on he struggled to control probably wouldn’t go unnoticed if she kneeled in front of him.

“Okay, I’m going to go shower and change.” His heart skipped at the thought of her in the shower. The images filling his imagination did nothing to ease the throbbing in his dick. “How ‘bout we meet out here in fifteen minutes to go over the schedule for tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he answered. But as she made to move past him, he grabbed her wrist. “Thank you, Emma.”

She smiled back at him. “My pleasure.” No, Sweetheart. It had definitely beenhispleasure.

Chapter three

Emmatookacoolerthan normal shower hoping to chill her libido. Her body shuddered thinking about that compelling spark in his eyes when he’d thanked her. It had been . . . she was unable to come up with an appropriate term. When he looked at her with those gorgeous aquamarine eyes, her insides melted. It was the same look he’d given her on New Year’s Eve after he’d suggested she hadn’t had the proper dance partner yet. She needed to get a grip on this. She couldn’t go lusting after the famous guy. She had a job to do. Nothing more.Cripes,she couldn’t let it turn into anything more. It would be too messy, and she was so far removed from the type of women he was used to, it wasn’t even funny.

The women he’d been photographed with, in their gowns and jewels, were gorgeous. Emma was a tomboy, more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt. She’d never worn a gown in her life, not even to her prom. She had no chance of measuring up to the type of woman he was used to. Especially not the long-legged, drop-dead gorgeous blonde woman who had been photographed on his arm at many red-carpet events. Another actress who probably had more in common with Marcus than Emma could ever hope to have. Andsheprobably had no trouble conversing with him.

Emma could picture the well-matched pair in her mind. The actress who’d draped herself over him was stunning. Tall and rail-thin, with subtle curves. Emma was tall too and definitely had curves, but that was where the similarities ended. The actress oozed grace and sophistication. Emma would never be described as graceful.

And yet, she was proud of the hard work?the rewarding work?she’d done that made her who she was. She’d spent most of her adult life in a male-dominated world and had worked damn hard to be accepted in that world. Sure, it hurt when men didn’t give her a second look; she wanted to be loved just like anyone else. But she’d learned long ago to accept herself for what she was.

After dressing in jeans and a red sweater, she put on a bit of concealer and some eyeliner, her usual sedate look. She never wore a lot of makeup, hating the feeling of too much stuff on her face. Deciding to let her hair air dry, she ran her fingers through it to achieve the messy bedhead look she favored. Taking a deep breath, she felt as ready as she’d ever be to face the man who spent far too much time in her head.

He was waiting for her when she returned to the gym, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. His arms crossed in front of his chest made her wonder if he ever wore long sleeves. It was a struggle to pull her eyes away from the muscular arm porn displayed in front of her. She wished he’d put on the jacket that lay with his bag at his feet so she wouldn’t continue to be distracted by his arms.

“You hungry? I’d kill for one of Jolene’s burgers. What do you say? We can discuss the schedule over dinner.” Now, why did she say that? She didn’t want to spendmoretime with him, or did she? So much for not getting messy.

“I’d love to, but I don’t want to cause a ruckus there. I’m not in the mood for the public.” The cheerless tone in his voice had her mulling over what caused it. An impulse to forgo all her preconceived notions about the man swept through her, compelling her to personally safeguard his privacy while eradicating that dour tendency in his voice.

She grinned at him. “I think I have an idea to get around that. Come on,” she said, sliding her arms into her coat as she went for the door. He grabbed his stuff and followed. “Seriously, though. Who even says ruckus anymore?” she teased.

He laughed as he put on his own coat. “Hey. I’m old-fashioned like that.”

They decided to take his car since she could walk home from Jolene’s, and he could pick her up in the morning. Old-fashioned, indeed, she thought as he held the door to his Hummer open for her. “Son of a Hasselhoff,” she exclaimed. “Is this a tank?”

Marcus hooted, a huge, booming sound that made her smile. “I like big cars,” he admitted. “I left the little cars in LA. And what did you just call me?”

Confused, she paused before climbing into the large SUV to look at him. “What?”

“You said son of a Hasselhoff.”

She giggled while he shook his head, a bemused expression on his face. He had her caged with the open door, one arm holding that door open and the other on the roof behind her shoulder. A spicy cedar scent surrounded her. She breathed it in, wanting to close her eyes to treasure that scent. Some of her fondest memories accompanied that piney goodness. Struggling to gain control of herself, she recalled he’d asked her a question. “My dad didn’t like to swear,” she explained. “He chose to be more creative. I guess I picked it up from him.”

His eyes widened then grew soft at her explanation before he burst out laughing again. His head was thrown back, and she watched his Adam’s apple move while he laughed, mesmerized by the little node. Realizing she was staring, she pulled her eyes away and climbed into the car. Still laughing, he closed her door and walked around the hood.

“Wait . . . cars? As in more than one? How many cars do you own?” she asked after he’d started the tank and pulled out of the lot.

“A few.”

“Define a few.”

“Four.”

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