Thin Ice (25 page)

Given that perspective, Emily couldn't help but push her personal fears aside. The women and children at Harmony House needed al the help they could get. As one of their board of directors, she knew exactly how tight things were at the shelter.

But by five o'clock Saturday night, Emily was spooked al over again. Pacing the bedroom, she waved her hands to dry her nails and tried to walk off her nervous energy. The morning paper had featured a story on the banquet, mentioning several notables expected to attend. She hadn't recognized any of the names, but that didn't mean she was in the clear.

"Think safety in numbers,” she muttered, as she re-checked her makeup in the mirror and touched up the spot where she'd chewed off her lipstick. “With five hundred people there, the odds of running into anyone you know are...” She sighed resignedly. Math wasn't her strong suit. Not when her stomach was tied in knots.

She checked her stockings for runs. Again. Her hands had shaken so badly when she'd put them on she could've sworn she punctured so badly when she'd put them on she could've sworn she punctured the sheer black silk with her nails. No runs. No last-minute trip to the store to delay the inevitable.

She looked into the mirror one last time. The woman who stared back at her was someone she hardly recognized. Sleek and sophisticated. Not words she would usualy reach for when asked to describe herself, but tonight they seemed to fit.

She felt like an imposter. Her elegantly simple forest green (should she have bought it in black?) cocktail dress had cost more than she'd spent on clothes in the last six months—Robbie's included.

She snorted. Nobody said it was cheap to slay dragons.

Then again, she mused, as she eyed her smooth French twist and re-adjusted the black satin bow that held it in place, if she could hardly recognize herself, people she hadn't seen in ten years would probably look past her without a second glance.

The doorbel rang. Her stomach dipped. As she went downstairs to answer the door, her nerves twisted into knots al over again.

But one look at Eric and her doubts disappeared. Nobody, but nobody was going to look at her twice with him standing beside her.

Her heart sweled with pure female pride. “Hi,” she breathed, staring at him in his custom-tailored black tuxedo. “You look ...

incredible."

His smile as he stepped inside made her tingle al over. “That's supposed to be my line."

No man had the right to look so sexy. Or so confident. “I'l ... get my bag."

"First things first.” He puled her into his arms and kissed her, long and hard. By the time they were done, she'd lost her black satin shoes, three hairpins, and forgotten every last one of her reservations about attending the banquet.

"Sorry about that,” he murmured. He handed over the pins he'd colected from the floor. “I had to make sure you weren't a figment of my imagination.” His eyes were a study in masculine appreciation as he slowly shook his head. “I knew you were beautiful, Emily, but you're a total knock-out tonight."

She flushed with pleasure, then reached past him and opened the closet door to pul a tissue from a pack she'd tucked into the pocket of her new black cashmere coat.

"Lipstick,” she explained, and carefuly offered him the tissue. If she touched him again, they might never leave the house.

His wicked grin told her he knew what she was thinking, and agreed. He nodded toward the stairs. “Make it quick, or I won't be held accountable for my actions."

Back at her mirror, she noted her cheeks held a rosy glow that had Back at her mirror, she noted her cheeks held a rosy glow that had been missing before. Tilting her head to one side, she decided the changes Eric had made in her appearance were for the better. The French twist she'd struggled to get just right was looser now, more feminine. With one supercharged kiss, he'd changed sophisticated and sleek into sophisticated and sexy.

She grinned, snatched up her overnight bag and breezed back downstairs. Her spirits stayed high until she spotted the hotel, with its gleaming mahogany doors and imposing Doric columns. She swalowed, suddenly thinking of a carnival fun house, with jack-in-the-boxes wearing huge false smiles hiding inside, preparing to pop out at her when she least expected it.

Nervously she smoothed her skirt as Eric puled the Boxter into the curving drive behind four other cars. Would she be able to pul it off? Would she make it through the evening without someone recognizing her and spiling some of her past to Eric?

Why hadn't she told him about her marriage?

"Second thoughts?"

Startled, she looked up at him. In that moment she knew she was faling in love with him. The knowledge made her want to dive into the driver's seat and whisk him away to somewhere where they could be alone and she could tel him everything.

Instead she shook her head, and cursed the stubborn pride that had brought her to this. Ryan had been right. She wasn't cut out for this brought her to this. Ryan had been right. She wasn't cut out for this sort of thing.

"Then what's up?"

"I was just wondering what's in store for us tonight."

He flashed her a devilish grin. “During the banquet, or after?"

Her answering smile faltered. “During."

He looked surprised, then at her hands, fisted in her lap. “You've never been to one of these things before?"

"It's ... been a few years."

"Doesn't matter. They're al pretty much the same. Cocktails at six, dinner at seven, the awards program at eight and—"

"Dancing at nine,” she finished with him.

He smiled and reached out to cover her hands. “See? Piece of cake."

Grateful for the contact, she linked her fingers with his. “Do you dance?"

He warmed her with a leisurely head-to-toe and back look.

“Ordinarily, no, but with you I'l have to make an exception. I don't think I can wait until ten to hold you against me again."

"Ten?” They were going to be here for four hours? She'd thought they were just putting in an appearance for Stump's sake.

Eric glided the Porsche under the portico, toward a waiting valet. “I figure by then we'l be able to sneak out without anyone noticing.” His free hand slipped from hers to stroke her thigh. Heat ribboned its way into her womb. “In the meantime, I'l be going crazy wondering what you're wearing under that incredible dress."

"Try nothing.” Not quite true, but if it got them out of there even five minutes sooner it was worth it.

His hand froze. “You're kidding."

She met his eyes, her confidence rising. He looked half shocked, half thriled, and ready to pounce. Emily smiled. They'd be out of there by nine, if not sooner. She lifted a that's-for-me-to-know-and-you-to-find-out eyebrow at Eric, then alowed the valet to help her out of the Boxter.

Eric was enchanted. “You're incredible,” he murmured, offering his arm as they crossed the threshold.

"Eric! Over here!"

Miranda waved at them from the registration table. Bil stood beside her, an indulgent look on his face. Eric smiled. His friend had been wearing that same sappy expression around Miranda ever since he'd found out he was going to be a father.

he'd found out he was going to be a father.

Eric didn't blame him. He slid Emily a sidelong glance. If she'd told him she was going to have his baby he'd probably break the world record for sappiness. God knew he'd come close enough the last time he'd been told he was about to become a father. And even then, Monica had been lying.

"We saw you pul in as we got out of our car,” Miranda said, mercifuly dragging him back to the present. She handed him a program. “I already checked us al in. Emily, you look fantastic."

"So do you, little mama,” Eric offered with a grin.

Bil beamed. “I'l second that.” He offered Emily his hand. “It's a pleasure to finaly meet you. Eric, ah, forgot to introduce us the other night at Hooligans."

Emily laughed, her cheeks turning a shade pinker at the reminder of how she and Eric had been kissing outside the restaurant. “How do you feel?” she asked Miranda.

"Fine. I'm not getting sick any more, but I am having trouble staying awake past nine. So if I flop face down in my plate, give me a nudge, okay?"

After a visit to the bar, Bil suggested to Miranda that they mingle now, since they wouldn't be staying past dinner. Eric half-heartedly suggested he and Emily do the same, and was mildly surprised when she smiled broadly and told him to lead the way. Apparently when she smiled broadly and told him to lead the way. Apparently she'd decided to throw herself into the evening heart and soul once he'd made it clear he had to be there.

From across a circle of people who'd somehow gotten between them, he feasted his eyes on the sight of her, dressed like no doctor he'd met. Lord, he'd never seen her look so stunning.

Or so sexy. Her dark green dress matched the color of her eyes when he kissed her. The watered silk caressed her curves so softly it made him jealous. It also made the most delicious rustling sounds when she moved. He ached to buy her a dozen dresses just like it, so he could enjoy peeling them off of her.

Or ripping them off, depending.

He wondered if he should have warned her he was going to be spotlighted tonight. But she'd seemed so skittish about coming he hadn't wanted to make a big deal of it. Studying her face, he realized he'd never seen her so bright-eyed and bubbly before.

Remembering the way she'd chattered non-stop in the car, he decided he couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise if he'd tried.

As she engaged some investment banker in a conversation about market interest rates, it occurred to him she wasn't usualy so talkative. Could she stil be nervous? Why? There wasn't anyone here she had to impress.

Or was there? He frowned as the banker's dragon lady of a wife descended on the group and—after a curious stare at Emily—

herded her husband toward their table. The rest of the group drifted apart as the announcement came to be seated for dinner. Emily sipped her mineral water, her gaze folowing the banker and his wife, her expression oddly strained.

"Ready to sit down?” he asked, coming up behind her.

She looked up at him, wearing the same smile he'd seen her offer everyone she'd met since leaving Miranda and Bil. Perfect in its execution, but with no genuine emotion behind it.

"Thank you, I'd love to."

Eric suddenly realized she was terrified.

Guided by Eric's hand on her lower back, Emily crossed the balroom to their table, and wished she'd ordered something alcoholic. But this was one night she needed to keep her mind sharp.

So far her luck was holding out. With the exception of that brief, haven't-I-seen-you-somewhere-before look she'd gotten from Amanda Cathcart, she hadn't encountered anyone who might give her away. She glanced at her watch, and saw it was only seven o'clock.

They reached their table, three of the ten seats stil available.

Miranda looked up from her conversation and smiled encouragingly Miranda looked up from her conversation and smiled encouragingly across a sea of crystal and mauve linen, and Emily realized she and Miranda would be the only women at the table. The rest were apparently Eric's teammates. She also noted uneasily that he suddenly treated her as if she were made of spun glass.

Never mind it was how she felt. What bothered her was he'd somehow figured out she was putting up a major front. She tried to catch his eye as he seated her. He smiled reassuringly and introduced her to one of his alternate captains.

Soon the men were hip deep in discussing the strengths and weaknesses of the St. Louis Blues, Eric's previous team and the Saints’ opponents in the next round of playoff games. Miranda sent her a dry look of commiseration, but Emily waved it off, grateful for the opportunity to regroup. With Eric immersed in hockey talk, she was free to scan the room.

Seconds later, she wished she hadn't.

John and Patricia Montgomery sat two tables away.

"You've hardly touched a bite."

"I'm not much on chicken,” Emily replied, knowing it was a mistake the minute the words were out. Eric knew better.

"Or green beans or salad?"

"Or green beans or salad?"

Emily speared two beans, and wiled herself to eat them without gagging. Eric's frown deepened as he watched. “What's wrong? Do you feel al right?"

She felt like leaving, but wasn't about to admit it. She reached for her water goblet. The slice of lemon inside bumped her upper lip as she sipped her water. “I think the heat may be getting to me.” It was a safe enough answer. Several players at the table had already commented on how hot the room seemed.

"I don't think they were expecting al five hundred guests to show up.” Eric's hand covered hers, squeezed reassuringly. “It'l be over soon. We'l leave right after dinner if you want to."

"No. I saw Ronald Stump counting heads. Probably checking to see if al the players were here. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble with him again."

"To hel with that, Emily. You're more important."

Emily looked past Eric to find Peter Cordel watching them. He'd joined them after the fresh fruit salad had been served, taking the last seat at the table. From the moment he'd arrived, he'd made Emily uneasy. On the surface his polite questions had seemed innocuous enough, but there was something about the way he looked at her, as if he knew something about her no one else did.