Public Secrets

tobacco. “I don’t blame him. From where he stands I’m on the first rung of the ladder, still fighting my way up.”
“You don’t need me to reach the top.”
He blew out a stream of smoke. “Still, I see where he’s coming from. It’s easy since we’re both crazy about you.”
She moved to him then to press a kiss against his shoulder. “He’ll come around, Drew. He’s just not ready to admit that I’m grown-up. And in love.”
“If anyone can soften him up, it’s you.” He flicked his cigarette away, then turned her into his arms. “I’m glad you didn’t want to go out tonight.”
“I’m not big on clubs and parties.”

“Just an old-fashioned girl, aren’t you?” His lips were curved as they touched hers.
“Do you mind?”
“Spending the evening alone with you?” His hands moved up and down her rib cage as he toyed with her mouth. “Do I look crazy?”
“You look wonderful.” Her breath caught as he skimmed his fingers over her breasts. She was small and firm. He felt himself harden as she trembled against him.
“Sweet,” he murmured. “Always so sweet.” His mouth grew hungrier on hers, more demanding, less patient as he circled her off the balcony and toward the bed. “The tour’s nearly over.”
“Yes.” She let her head fall back when his lips raced down her throat.
“Will you come back to London when it’s done, Emma?”
She shuddered again. It was the first hint he’d given her that he meant what they had to last. “Yes. I’ll come to London.”
“We’ll have nights like this.” He lowered her to the bed, keeping his voice soothing, his hands easy, not wanting to break the mood. “Night after night together.” Smoothly, his clever hands tugged her blouse from the waistband of her slacks. “I’ll be able to show you, over and over, how I feel about you. How much I want you. Let me show you, Emma.”
“Drew.” She moaned his name as his mouth roamed lower, as his tongue stroked over and under the slope of her breast. The pleasure and the passion streaked into her. This time, she told herself as his long, callused fingers glided over her skin. This time.
She could feel the tension in his shoulders where her own hands gripped. He had strong shoulders, strong arms for such a slim, delicate-looking man. She loved feeling the bunch and flow of his muscles.
Then his hand roamed down to the waist of her slacks. Those clever fingers fumbled impatiently with hooks.
“No.” She hated herself as the word burst out, but she couldn’t stop it. When he continued to tug, his mouth coming back to close over hers, she struggled. “No, Drew, please.” She was on the verge of tears when she managed to pull away. “I’m sorry,” she began. “I’m so sorry. I’m just not ready.”
He didn’t speak. She couldn’t see his face. In the dark, she huddled on the bed until her system leveled.

“I know I’m not being fair.” Annoyed with herself, she dashed a tear from her cheek. “I don’t know whether the nuns did a better job than they could ever imagine or if it’s because of Da, but I need more time. You’ve every right to be angry, but I just can’t do this. Not yet.”
“You don’t want me?” His voice was quiet and oddly flat.
“You know I do.” She groped for his hand and tried to soothe his rigid fingers in hers. “I guess I’m a little frightened, and a little unsure.” Ashamed, she brought his hand to her lips. “I don’t want to lose you, Drew. Please, give me a little more time.”
Her sigh shuddered out when she felt his hand relax in hers. “You couldn’t lose me, Emma. Take all the time you need. I can wait.” He brought her close, stroking with one hand. The other curled into a tight fist in the dark.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I T FELT ODD spending the summer in London again. During her childhood at least a few weeks of Emma’s vacation had been spent there each year. But it was different now. She was no longer a child. She was no longer staying in her father’s home. And she was in love.
She knew Drew was hurt that she had refused to move in with him. It wasn’t morals—or perhaps only a small part of it was morals. She wanted the romance to go on a little longer—those lush bouquets he sent to her, the funny notes that arrived in the mail or were slipped under the door. She wanted time to enjoy it—the thrill of falling in love. The terror of being in love. The glassy-eyed, light-headed exhilaration that every woman has the