Chapter Four

Emma

I didn’t need visual confirmation that the owner of the deep voice was the man from moments ago, the one near the archway. I felt him around me—his presence—as well as within me, confirmed by the way my pulse raced.

I spun within the cage he’d created with his muscular arms.

This man, the one I didn’t know, surrounded me, his height dwarfing me and his body electrifying me. The spicy aroma of his cologne mixed with the whiskey on his breath created a concoction that blended perfectly with the Hurricane’s rum in my system.

He was so close that at first my eyes met his broad chest. Slowly, I brought my chin higher and higher. His wide neck came into view as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Finally, my gaze met his. “I believe you have the wrong—”

The rest of my sentence disappeared into the black hole of his stare.

Such as with a true region in space exhibiting gravitational acceleration so strong that nothing can escape from it, I felt myself drawn into the depth of his nearly black eyes. In the crowded courtyard filled with stagnantly hot, humid New Orleans air, a chill covered my skin, bringing goose bumps to life and drawing my nipples taut.

Why hadn’t I worn an outfit with a bra?

What would it feel like to fall into this mountain of a man?

Just another inch forward and my breasts and his chest would collide.

“Our table is waiting, Emma.”

Releasing his grip of the bar, the man’s large hand came to the small of my back.

My forehead furrowed as I tried to make sense of what made no sense. His touch seemed too intimate and his presumption without merit. “Perhaps I’m the wrong Emma?”

He’d now directed me away from the bar. In his presence, there was no pushing or shoving to get around bodies of other patrons. Instead, the sea of people parted as we walked toward the archway where I’d first seen him.

“No.” His deep voice resonated beyond the melancholy music, twisting my insides.

Once out of the courtyard, we entered a dimly lit hallway with flame-like sconces upon the walls. I stopped. “This is ridiculous. I’m not leaving here with you. I don’t know you.”

His lips quirked as if he found my opposition amusing. “You’re quite right, Miss North. We aren’t leaving. The owner has graciously provided a private dining room for our enjoyment. And soon we will be well acquainted.”

North.

North was not my last name. It was Jezebel’s, the woman I’d recently learned gave birth to me.

My neck stiffened. “Sir, you have the wrong Emma. My name is Emma O’Brien.”

His strikingly handsome face tilted. “My mistake. I was made aware of the change.”

My head shook. “Change? O’Brien isn’t a change.” I took a step back. “Who are you?”

He reached for my hand, turning my knuckles upward and bending gallantly at the waist, his firm lips brushing over the surface of my skin. Like a match to flint, my hand tingled with the heat brought by his touch. “Please, Emma, call me Rett.”

I retrieved my hand. “Rett, your attention is flattering, but I really must go. My friend is waiting.”

“No, my dear, Mr. Underwood has gone.” He shrugged. “Presumably back to the hotel. Of that I can’t be certain. He found…shall we say, a friend?”

My head moved from side to side before I peered over my shoulder toward the courtyard. Down the empty hallway, the music filtered our way as the growing crowd obstructed my view of where Ross had been seated. “He left me?” I turned back to Rett. “Ross wouldn’t leave. We had a business meeting.”

“About that, let’s be seated, and I will fill you in on the particulars.”

My feet were still not moving, my high-heel sandals seemingly rooted to the rough tile of the corridor. “You know about our business deal?”

“Emma, I have done my best to learn everything I could about you.” His hand again came to my lower back. His fingers splayed warmly upon my skin, between the top and skirt. “Come, let’s talk.”

“This…it doesn’t feel—”

He turned, his one hand skirting my waist while his other, still upon my back, applied pressure. “Come now…” His deep tone echoed through the corridor as his eyes simmered. “Admit to yourself what this does feel like.” His possessive hold tightened, bringing me closer. “Admit it is exhilarating and stimulating. Admit that you’re curious to hear what I have to say. Admit that you’re intrigued and even turned on. When you do, I’ll admit my thoughts.”

I tried to step away. “You have no right—”

His chin rose, silencing my protest.

I thought back on his last statement as I stared up into his dark orbs. “Your thoughts…about what?”

“Why, about you, of course.”

“What about me?”

“Dinner first.”

Without provocation, I began to walk in step as Rett led me down the hallway. As he pulled open a heavy wooden door, the floor changed from rough to smooth marble, and we were met with a swoosh of cool air. A smiling woman in a long red gown nodded our way.

Peering down at the top and gauze skirt I’d worn, I suddenly felt significantly underdressed.

“Sir,” the lady in red said, “your table is waiting.”

As if reading my mind, Rett leaned down, his lips close to my ear as his warm breath teased the sensitive skin of my neck. “You’re absolutely spectacular. Your outfit is perfect.”

“I-I didn’t know…”

Again, he led me as we followed the woman in red.

She opened one of two large wooden doors to an intimate dining room. The chandelier above acted as a prism, creating golden light that danced upon the ceiling as the crystals swayed. The walls were covered in rich oak paneling, trimmed in intricate carvings. The one and only table was set with a white linen tablecloth and red linen napkins. A single red rose stood in a silver vase with two tall candles in silver holders glowing from the center. Releasing his touch of my back, Rett moved forward and pulled one of the high-backed large chairs away from the table for me to sit.

Once again, I hesitated.

My gaze went to the woman in red. Her equally red lips were curved into a smile, and her eyes were set on me.

Okay. She knew I was here.

That should mean it’s safe?

Right?

“Emma.”

My name rolled off Rett’s tongue with the slightest of accents, deep and commanding, as if giving me little choice but to take the chair he offered.

With a deep breath, I moved forward and sat. Rett pushed the chair toward the table and took the other seat. Seductive music infiltrated the air; unlike the loud notes out in the courtyard, this melody was softer and teamed with the melancholy twang of blues. Even without words, it sounded like poetry floating through the air.

Rett lifted a bottle of wine, presenting the label. “My research showed that you’re a connoisseur of red wines, the drier the better.”

I didn’t speak.

What kind of research had he done?

“This cabernet sauvignon is extremely rare. It’s a members-only selection from a quaint vineyard in northern Michigan. I specifically requested it for this evening.” Before I could speak, he continued, “The grapes in 2011 were threatened by an early frost. The harvest was expedited, resulting in fewer than one hundred bottles being corked. As you can imagine, acquiring a bottle is not easy.”

His dark eyes gleamed with something I couldn’t determine.

He continued, “I enjoy the hunt almost as much as the acquisition.”

Apparently, the cork had already been removed. Rett poured a small portion into a glass, swirled the contents, and inhaled. “But, my dear Emma, once the target is obtained, rareness alone no longer gives it value. For once it’s obtained, the sense of rarity is lost. That is when the true value is tested. That worth comes from the combination of quality, uniqueness, and taste.” He passed the glass my way. “Please, have the first sip.”

I took the glass. “I already drank a Hurricane. I’m not sure if I should drink any more, especially before food. That was what I was about to do—”

“Only a sip,” he interrupted, “and you will understand what I’m saying.”

I did as he had, taking the stem in my fingertips and swirling the contents. The aroma filled the globe of the glass, and as the deep ruby liquid stilled, the scents of plum, blackberry, pine, and violets filled my senses. I tipped the glass, allowing the wine to tease my lips. The earlier aromas came to life on my tongue. It truly was unlike any wine I’d ever tasted.

“Well?” he asked.

“It’s delicious and you were right, unique.”

Rett poured himself a glass and sat back, his button-down white shirt stretching over his wide chest. Against the wide girth of the chair, he appeared almost regal, as if instead of a chair, we were seated in thrones.

“I chose this wine,” Rett began, “because of its similarity to you, Emma. Unique, highest quality…” He leaned forward and lifted the glass toward the candlelight. “See how the liquid shimmers?” His dark stare met mine. “It’s beautiful like you.” He took a sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing and the muscles in his neck pulling tight, an involuntary response to the tartness. A grin returned to his full lips. “Pursuing you has been fascinating. I’m aware of your quality and unique nature. Now that you’re here, the only parameter yet to decide is taste. However, I have no doubt that you too will taste delicious.”

My lungs burned with my caught breath as heat radiated from my cheeks. “That…it’s…inappropriate.”

His smile returned, this time gleaming from the black holes of his orbs. “No, Emma. It’s a perfectly appropriate thing to say to you, the woman who is about to be my wife.”