Public Secrets

his heart stopped. He knew his brain did. Slowly, carefully, he pulled his hands free and pressed them lightly to her back. She felt as he’d remembered, as he’d always imagined she would feel. Slender and firm and fragile.
’This is wonderful. I can’t believe you’re really here.” Everything rushed through her so quickly. An afternoon on the beach. Two afternoons. What she’d felt as a child, then as a woman, slammed into her so fast, so unexpectedly, that she held him close, and held him too long. Her eyes were damp when she drew back. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah. About four years, give or take.” He could have given her years, months, and days. “You look great.”
“So do you. I’ve never seen you dressed up before.”
“Well—”
“Are you in New York on business?”
“Yeah.” It was a bald lie, but he was less concerned with veracity than with looking like a fool. “I read about your show.” That was the truth. Only he’d read about it at his breakfast table in California. Then he’d taken three days’ personal leave.
“So what do you think?”
“About what?”
“The show.” She took his hand and began to walk.
“It’s great. Really. I don’t know anything about photography, but I like your stuff. In fact—”
“In fact?” she prompted.

“I didn’t know you could do something like this. Like this one.” He stopped in front of a print. It was of two men, woolen caps over their ears, ragged coats pulled tight. One of them was lying on a sheet of cardboard, apparently asleep. The other looked directly into the camera, his eyes surly and tired. “It’s very powerful and very disturbing.”
“Not all of New York is Madison Avenue.”
“It takes a lot of talent, and sensitivity, to be able to show all the sides equally.”
She looked at him with some surprise. That was exactly what she had tried to do, with her studies of the city, of Devastation, of people. “You certainly say the right things for someone who doesn’t know much about photography. When are you going back?”
“In the morning, first thing.”
“Oh.” She walked with him again, surprised at the depth of her disappointment. “I was hoping you’d be able to stay for a few days.”
“I wasn’t even sure you’d talk to me.”
“That was a long time ago, Michael. And I wasn’t reacting so much to what was going on with you as to something that had just happened to me. It’s not important now.” She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Forgive me?”
“That was my question.”
Still smiling, she touched a hand to his face.
“Emma.”
She jolted when Drew spoke from behind her. Guilt. It spread through her sharply, as if he had found her and Michael in bed rather than in a room crowded with people. “Oh, Drew, you gave me a start. This is Michael Kesselring, an old friend of mine. Michael, Drew, my husband.”
Drew hooked one arm fïrmly around Emma’s waist. He didn’t offer Michael a hand, but a brisk nod. “There are people who want to meet you, Emma. You’ve been ignoring your duties.”
“My fault,” Michael said quickly, concerned with how quickly the glow fled from Emma’s eyes. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Congratulations, Emma.”
“Thank you. Give my best to your parents.”
“I will.” It was jealousy, he told himself, plain and simple jealousy that made him want to grab her away from her husband.
“Michael,” she said as Drew began to pull her aside. “Keep in touch.”

“Sure.” He grabbed a glass off a passing tray as he watched them move away. If it was only jealousy, he wondered why every instinct had him itching to bash Drew Latimer’s pretty face in.
Because he’s got her, Michael told himself ruthlessly. And you don’t.

D REW WASN’T DRUNK . He’d nursed two glasses of champagne during the long, and excruciatingly boring evening. He wanted to be clearheaded and in control. He prided himself that kissing up to Brian McAvoy would reap rewards. Any fool could have seen that Drew Latimer was devoted to and besotted with his wife. He should have won a fucking Oscar for the performance.
And all the while he’d been playing the doting husband, she’d been flaunting her success, her snotty boarding-school education, and her society friends.
He’d wanted to slap her around right there in front of all the cameras. Then the world would have seen who was really on top.
But her daddy wouldn’t have liked it. Not him, or any of the producers,