Part 18 (1/2)
”You think you're so different from any other guy trying to get into my pants?” Sam yelled.
”G.o.d, I should have known you weren't for real! I should have known never to trust you!”
”But nothing happened!” Danny protested.
Now he was standing, too. ”After you left Orlando, I started putting some of the pieces together about you. And you know what I figured out?
You are totally full of it, Sam Bridges. You are all hot air.”
”I am not!” Sam said furiously, her face turning red.
”You are!” Danny insisted, grabbing her arm.
”You know the game and you've got the moves, but it's all a front. I bet you're no more experienced than I am. In love, or in anything else!”
Sam's heart thudded in her chest. ”Oh yeah?”
she asked with bravado.
”Yeah,” Danny echoed softly.
An impa.s.se.
”Well,” Danny said finally. ”Am I right?”
Sam felt tears quicken in her eyes. ”I-”
”That's what I thought,” Danny said softly, gently putting his arms around her.
”If you tell anyone, you're dead meat,” Sam sniffled into his shoulder. ”Your secret is safe with me,” Danny said.
When the knock came, Emma opened the suite door. No matter how often she saw Kurt, the sight of him always gave her a tingle. This evening, he looked especially handsome in the jacket and tie he had put on for their dinner date.
”Hiya, beautiful,” Kurt said, stepping over the threshold to give her a quick, tantalizing kiss.
”You look like every man's idea of a dream date.”
Emma beamed with pleasure at the compli- ment. She was so thankful she'd thought to include one romantic evening dress in her packing- a white silk minis.h.i.+ft whose simplicity belied its thousand-dollar price tag. Delicate bead work around the neck and cuffs was echoed in a pattern on her simple white kid-leather pumps.
Now she led Kurt into the suite, feeling s.e.xy and feminine as the short skirt swished against her thighs.
”Would monsieur care for a gla.s.s of wine before dinner?” she asked over her shoulder, already making her way to the gla.s.s she was drinking herself. She'd had room service deliver a bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse so she could offer Kurt a drink before they went to dinner.
Something in Kurt's beautiful blue eyes changed.
He gave her a studied look before saying, ”Why don't we just go down to the restaurant?”
Oh, no, I've already managed to insult him, Emma thought. Kurt had made it clear that he wished to pay for the entire evening, and she supposed he saw the Pouilly-Fuiss6 as something she had bought because he couldn't afford it.
”Good idea,” Emma replied, finis.h.i.+ng off the last of her wine. Better just get out of here and on with the evening's plans, she thought.
They were seated by the maitre d' at one of the best tables in the inn's dining room, in a corner with windows on both sides offering views of the sh.o.r.eline. Emma ordered veal Marsala, Kurt treated himself to a filet mignon, and they each had a gla.s.s of wine to complement their meals.
”I really missed you, Emma,” Kurt told her.
After dinner, he asked Emma if she'd like a cup of coffee.
”To be honest, I'd rather have a gla.s.s of champagne,” she replied. She leaned closer and let the love s.h.i.+ne in her eyes. ”I feel like cele- brating.”
She'd hoped Kurt would see how much she appreciated his splurge for their dinner date, but his expression darkened ominously.
”Emma, I don't know how to say this except to just come right out with it,” Kurt said solemnly.
”It . . . well, it seems like you're drinking a lot.”
Emma felt as though she'd been slapped.
”Really, Kurt,” she managed tartly, ”you make it sound like I've been tossing back shots of whiskey or something.”
”Emma, tonight is Tuesday. You got here Sat.u.r.day, and every night since then, I've had to drive, because you weren't in any shape to get behind the wheel!”
”Well, if I'd known you minded driving-” ”I should add that it hasn't been very romantic having you fall asleep on my couch every night,”
Kurt continued. ”I'm getting a little tired of throwing a blanket over you and knowing I'll have to deal with your headaches in the morn- ing.” ”I ... it's only wine,” Emma protested feeb- ly.
”It's alcohol,” Kurt said.
Something snapped in Emma. ”Oh, please don't go getting self-righteous on me now!” she said.
”I'm not!” Kurt protested.
”Yes, you are,” Emma said. ”Why do you get to be the moral arbiter? You always do this!”
Kurt looked confused. ”Hey, Em, come on, I don'W ”You want to give me a sermon because I have an occasional gla.s.s of wine, but I bet if I said one word you'd have me in bed so fast I wouldn't know what hit me.”
”Yes, I want to go to bed with you,” Kurt said in a low, even voice. ”That hasn't changed. But we've already agreed to take it slow. I'm not pus.h.i.+ng for s.e.x! I'd just like to be able to kiss you and . . . and be with you without you falling asleep because you've been drinking!”
”Well, thank you very much,” Emma said frostily.
”That's a delightful picture you've painted of me. But let me ask you this. If we've agreed to go slow, who is supposed to be the one putting on the brakes?”
Kurt just stared at her.
”Me, that's who,” Emma said, answering her own question. She stood and dropped her napkin onto the table. ”Ill be sleeping in my own room tonight. Thank you for a most enlightening evening.”
With that, she turned and swept out of the dining room, leaving Kurt with his head in his hands.
It was Thursday before Carrie, Emma, and Sam managed a few hours together by them- selves to have lunch and plan their party. They chose to meet at Crumpets, a new little tearoom that had just opened in preparation for the sum- mer season.
After they'd ordered, Sam looked across the table at her two friends.