Chapter 11

If Luke were asked to make a wild guess, he'd say the woman he just bought was angry. She should feel flattered!

She was probably the woman who'd garnered the highest amount of money for the good cause tonight … and for herself. Apparently she was also the woman who could run in heels – Luke had a hard time keeping up with her.

Anger, combined with German single-mindedness, seemed to yield such results.

German girls were so complicated! If he chatted up an American, telling her to get in his car, she would smile and sit in the passenger seat in no time. A German girl would ask: "How much gas does your car use, how many kids do you want, and are you in a position to buy me a house and a station wagon?"

Or maybe Luke had only met the wrong kinds of Americans.

When they came out of the darkened room and into the brightly lit hallway, which was equipped with a bar, he called out: "There's a solid wall coming up; are you stopping or are you going to run right through it?"

"I haven't decided yet," she murmured, but slowed her step.

He could practically hear her synapses do a spirited tango in her brain. Maybe her mind was debating whether to go to the bar and chug down a bottle of Merlot, or to vent her anger on him.

"What were you thinking, buying me like that?" she swore as she turned around to face him, arms already crossed in front of her chest.

She must have chosen the second option.

"I had the means and it seemed right to do it. If you could have seen your face, you would have done the same thing."

Said face was rapidly turning beet red, and all he could think was that such a color spelled danger even in nature.

"You also have the means to put your head in the toilet and take a deep breath. Did you do that as well?"

"Uh, nope. I don't like the smell of lemon and chemicals, which is standard in most toilet bowls."

Now the red in her face was joined by a greenish sheen. Weird. Cute.

He cleared his throat and admitted to himself that it was time to come out with the truth. If only for self-protection. He wouldn't be able to survive natural selection in a direct confrontation with the likes of Emma.

"I'm sorry you're upset," he said plainly. "But there's no reason to get all worked up."

She gave him an incredulous look. "Is that your apology? Any five-year-old could do better."

"Of course it was a bad apology – it wasn't sincere. I'm not the least bit sorry I bought you at this auction."

"What? I …"

"Hold your horses." He raised both arms, to keep her from flipping out again, and to keep the barkeeper from calling 911. "I actually have a reason for paying that much money … I mean, apart from the obvious."

Her eyebrows shot up. "The obvious?"

"You look hot," he said candidly.

She blinked a few times and shook her head. "You're not getting off the hook with a few compliments."

He hadn't expected that he would. But it might help his scheme if he could brighten her sour mood just a little bit.

"Alright," he began, "I have a proposal for you."

"Really? I thought a man like you was only making demands."

He made a face. "I figured that for this particular demand, it would be better to call it a proposal."

"You're making me curious. Out with it."

Luke struggled to produce a sober expression, so she wouldn't think he was joking. "You're going to be my girlfriend."

***

Emma's eyes widened; and her mind sorted and shelved this moment right next to her first A in chemistry, and the survival of her second goldfish. All three events came unexpectedly, and had originally been far removed from any conceivable reality.

"Excuse me? Shouldn't you express a thing like that in a slightly more romantic fashion? Or maybe try slipping me a note that asks whether I want to go steady with you … complete with the yes, no, maybe checkboxes."

Luke merely grinned in reply. "My intentions aren't exactly romantic, so I didn't think …"

"Damn it, Luke!" Emma blustered. "For once in your life, could you please be straightforward with me and tell me what it is you want from me?" He was worse than a schoolgirl, who had just swiped a bar of chocolate from her mother's kitchen cabinet!

He raised his hands defensively. "Alright, yes. My proposal is this: You're going to pretend that you're my girlfriend. A completely normal, nice girl. The papers are going to write about it, and my management will stop breathing down my neck. As soon as everything has calmed down, you're going to break up with me. For the first time in what feels like forever, I won't look like the irredeemable philanderer, but like a pitiable man who lost the love of his life."

Emma heard his words, saw the sincere expression on his face – but it didn't make any sense to her. Why her? He could have anyone, every … slut he desired.

So that was the lay of the land.

She narrowed her eyes. "Let me get this straight: You want me to play your girlfriend, so people will no longer see you for what you are, but think that you're actually a nice, likeable guy, for whom the word ‘monogamy' isn't a red flag?"

His grin widened. "Exactly."

"And I'm exceptionally qualified for the job, because …?"

"Because you're normal, and I like you, and I know that you're responsible and intelligent enough not to screw it up."

She needed a moment to decide whether that might be taken as a compliment at all. "In other words: Because I'm so wonderfully average?" she probed.

"That, too …"

She shrugged her shoulders. She could live with that. She actually appreciated her own averageness.

"Alright, now why would you believe that I'd agree to help you like that? What's in it for me?"

His mouth twisted into a lewd grin. "I suppose you wouldn't be satisfied with sex as compensation, would you?"

Sex? She hadn't even thought of that yet! Did he seriously expect her to–

"Just kidding," he smirked. "Though if you want me to, I could be serious in an instant …"

"No!"

He sighed. "Your loss. But I was thinking that I might be able to help you as well. You want to start your own event agency one day, is that correct?"

"I … well, yes …"

"I could vouch for you, and I know lots of wealthy and famous people, here in the States and in Germany. Lots of potential clients right there."

She blinked. He had clearly thought this through. He knew how to bait her.

She crossed her arms again and studied him.

What were the actual pros and cons?

She did want to found her own company. That had always been her dream, and he had the connections, the influence. How bad could it be, pretending to be his girlfriend?

In a few months, she would be back in Germany, where nobody would be interested in the gossip columns of some obscure American magazine.

"Okay," she said quickly, before her conscience could turn on her. "I'll do it."

"You …"

"Yes, I'll do it." She gave him a rebellious look. "I like the thought of breaking up with you."

He grinned. "Of course you do."

"Can I make a scene?"

"It would be advantageous if you made a big scene. Feel free to raise Cain. Because then I'll not only be a broken-hearted man, but a humiliated man as well."

She felt confident that she could humiliate him. "You forgot unmanned. An unmanned, humiliated, utterly lost guy with a broken heart."

"I see you realize what I'm getting at," he agreed with a nod. "So are we ready to go on our date now?"

Before he had even finished the question, he was already headed for the coat room.

Emma followed him, perplexed. "Our date?"

"Sure. Any man who bought a woman in this auction gets a date with her. Though I find it rather ironic that I'm going to have to pay for dinner now, after I spent two thousand five hundred bucks on you. The things we do for the children …" He handed the coat room attendant his chip, and received a black leather jacket in return.

Of course it had to be a leather jacket. A real man wore leather. He was a walking cliché!

"I can't leave here now. I'm in charge of the event."

He turned around and gave her a skeptical look. "You have a commitment here."

"Yes, I have my job."

He sighed and glanced at his watch.

Was that a real gold watch?

"Okay, so how long do you think the whole shebang will take?"

"I don't know, I guess past midnight, for there will be dancing afterwards …"

"There you go." He clicked his tongue. "Plenty of time to grab a nice bite. Go get your coat; I'll meet you outside in five minutes." And with that, he headed for the entrance.

Emma stood frozen in the same spot for at least two minutes, staring after him. What if she simply refused to come?

He would probably return and carry her out of the building. He was a man who got what he wanted – come hell or high water. She should have hated him for that alone.

Emma blinked, and a sliver of memory flashed before her eyes. Luke – naked.

Well, he had his assets.

His car was definitely not one of them.

"Jesus, what is that? And why didn't you choose MACHO as your license plate?"

When Emma had come down the entrance stairs, Luke was already waiting behind the wheel of his car. It was black, an extreme low-rider, with wheel rims twice as large as was necessary.

"Because that was already taken. Are you getting in or what?"

She took a reluctant step forward to open the passenger door, but before she even reached the car, the door opened upward. Like in Knight Rider.

She shook her head and got in, taking care that she didn't harm the borrowed dress. If her father could see her now! He'd reminded her of what he'd warned her about as a kid.

Don't ever get into a stranger's car, least of all if his car looks as if there's no space for an airbag.

"It's a German car," she stated, while buckling her seat belt and placing her purse at her feet. The door slid close.

"A BMW i8."

"I couldn't care less."

"It's a hybrid car."

"It could run on chocolate for all I care."

He laughed out loud. "Do you ever pause to not say what you really think?"

She grinned despite herself. "All the time. If I always said what I really think, a lot of people would hate me, and Greenpeace and PETA would be after me, too."

"Why, are you that partial to fur?" he demanded, stepping on the gas. The car made a howling sound that would have made any ghost quit their job.

"No, but I'd be on top of their endangered species lists."

He turned onto the main road with a chuckle. "Sounds about right."

Emma nodded. She felt uncomfortable. There wasn't enough room in this car – not with a man whose body and personality took up all the available space. She had better get used to that though. She wasn't an expert in arrangements like this, but she suspected that even mock girlfriends had to spend time with their mock boyfriends.

What had she gotten herself into?

If only it had been somebody else! An ugly guy – preferably an ugly guy she hadn't slept with. Someone who didn't remind her of the one weak moment, the moment she had let her hair down, let go of her inhibitions, thrown caution to the wind. All because that man had looked at her as if she was special and precious, as if she wasn't the woman who'd been considered below par by another, abandoned one month before the scheduled wedding.

She cleared her throat and asked, to fight the suddenly oppressive silence: "Weren't you driving a different car last time?"

"Yep. That was my businesslike car." Luke's large hands lay loosely on the steering wheel, tapping a rhythm on the leather sheathing. "This is my swanky car."

Emma was about to ask why anyone would need a showy car, but stopped herself when she realized it was a stupid question. The answer was right there in the label.

"You know what they say, don't you? Men who drive swanky cars …"

He leered at her from the side. "I'm just glad that you know I'm the exception that proves the rule."

She blushed and cursed the tingling sensation that spread over her skin. "Oh, I had better." She was such a liar.

"Liar," he grinned. "There was nothing better. Not even for me."

Emma blinked, and the heat invaded her every pore. There had been no better one for him, had he just said that?

If she said a thing like that, it didn't amount to much, since she hadn't had that big of a selection. But for him, it was an entirely different statement.

The confined space felt even more uncomfortable now. She coughed. "Where are we going anyway?"

"Are you trying to change the subject? Just when things are starting to get interesting …" His voice was getting deeper with every word. Emma looked out the window, so he wouldn't see that she was biting her lip.

"We‘re not going to a fancy restaurant, are you?" she insisted on her new subject.

"Of course we're going to a fancy restaurant. Anything else would be a waste of your beautiful dress."

Emma swallowed. She hoped that the place served hard liquor.

The Gordon Rouge was a restaurant Emma would never have dreamed of entering, had he left her the choice.

But he didn't.

You couldn't give a woman too much leeway, or put the choice at her discretion, otherwise you'd find yourself in a beauty salon, getting a manicure – or worse, a pedicure – that was at least Luke's experience. That was why they were now sitting at a small table, opposite each other, so they could hardly avoid inadvertently playing footsies from time to time. Well, maybe not inadvertently on his part.

He smiled when he noticed her nervously wringing her hands in her lap.

Luke didn't know what it was, but there was something fascinating about this short little woman, who wasn't above telling him to his face whenever he was acting like an idiot. She provoked and intrigued him at the same time.

He enjoyed seeing that he was capable of making her blush, and he enjoyed it even more when she started chewing her lower lip in panic, merely because she was lost for words.

He didn't know anyone who challenged him the way she did, without getting on his nerves at the same time. And regarding the issue of sex in their token relationship, he wanted to put that up for discussion again. The dress she was wearing was a challenge he couldn't ignore.

When the waiter came to their table, Luke ordered a bottle of red wine and a three-course meal, without bothering to even look at the menu.

"What?" she promptly complained. "Am I not allowed to choose what I want to eat?"

He shook his head. He could have bet good money that it was a rare moment when somebody made a decision for her. Probably because they were afraid of her. "I know what's good here. Just trust me."

She mumbled something that could easily have been mistaken for, "as long as the alcohol keeps coming."

"So tell me, why did you want to be an event planner?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I love parties, and I'm good at organizing stuff. I always was."

"You mean delegating, right?" he corrected her.

The corners of her mouth twitched, and he could see her fight the smile that ended up spreading across her face anyway.

Her light brown eyes seemed to sparkle, and her whole face lit up when she smiled. Whatever she did, she did fully, enthusiastically. And that was damned hot. What else could he say? He knew what that meant in bed.

"Ah, Mr. Wichtig, you have my number. Yes, people listen and do what I tell them. I never had to dissect my own frog in school."

"That is a powerful talent. You should be careful how you use it."

"Is someone worried he might be one of my delegates soon, too?" she grinned.

He looked into her eyes and let a slow smile spread across his face. "Quite the contrary. I'm looking forward to you telling me precisely what to do with what part of my body."

A violent blush was creeping up her face again, and he savored every second of it.

"Excuse me, Mr. Carter?"

Slightly disappointed that he was distracted from the interesting direction his thoughts were taking, Luke looked up.

A man in his forties and a boy who was hardly ten years old were standing in front of their table. It was hard to say who was beaming more brightly, father or son.

"Yes?" Luke asked, though he already knew what they wanted. It was not that he didn't appreciate the fact that his face was printed on cornflakes boxes, and that he had ardent fans – but couldn't people see that he needed some time for other things?

He was on a date … something like a date. Who liked being interrupted in the midst of a date? Especially one where the woman opposite him was wearing a dress that pushed up her breasts as if to advertise them. A well-designed, convincing advertisement.

"Could you give us an autograph?"

Luke didn't lose his smile. "Of course," he said calmly, taking the pen and napkin the boy was holding out to him. "So what's your name?"

Emma leaned back in her chair and studied the two fans. Their faces suggested that they were meeting the real, actual Santa Claus.

Luke signed both their napkins with a personal dedication, before saying goodbye with a nod. Before the pair left, the father threw Emma a glance. An unsure glance, from under a furrowed brow, and with a question mark in his eyes.

She swallowed, thinking that he was probably wondering what a girl like her was doing with a famous baseball player. She sighed and stretched her arms, before drumming an impatient tattoo on the tabletop. She fitted in here like a coconut in the Arctic.

"So tell me, Mr. Wichtig, what is it about baseball? Why is everyone acting like it's such a big deal? I mean, it's only a game, right?"

Luke inhaled with a hissing sound. "At least kindly lower your voice if you make a statement like that!"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Why? I'm right after all."

"You're talking to a professional baseball player, so do you seriously expect me to agree with you on that?"

She had to suppress a wide grin. No, she couldn't realistically expect that. But Luke's expression had been worth it.

"Okay, but honestly; it's not as if you guys are working to change the world for the better or anything."

Now he grinned, too. "Oh, but you are, throwing parties?"

"I make people happy!"

"So do I, the only difference being that a bunch of people will remember my name a hundred years from now, while yours will soon be forgotten."

Emma smirked in response. "Bullshit. Everyone's going to say: Oh, right, Emma Sander," she tilted her head to one side and let her hand flutter through the air, signaling that she was looking into the future right now, "wasn't she the lady who killed that weird German baseball player? What was his name again? Ludo Kater?"

When she straightened again and looked at Luke, she was surprised to see a genuine, amused smile play on his lips. This smile was like a punch to the stomach. She was scared to breathe in, because he might be able to hear her runaway heartbeat through her open mouth.

It was ridiculous! She was not a fourteen-year-old teenager. Stupid hormones.

"Very charming, really. How did I die?"

Emma swallowed and tried to focus. "You were bludgeoned with a baseball bat, of course," she coughed.

His smile widened. "Of course."

Fortunately that was when the waiter brought the first course of their dinner, which gave Emma the chance to quiet her overexcited nerves.

The man had just smiled at her! A genuine smile. He hadn't offered to ravish her right here on the table. She was mostly disconcerted by the fact that in the event of such an offer on his part, she didn't know whether to slap him or ask him if he'd brought condoms.

They ate a variety of small and probably expensive dishes, and she had to admit that Luke had chosen well. Everything was delicious. To be honest, they had a really good time. He was easy to talk to. He didn't always take her seriously – which was vital, because it could have led to big, ugly misunderstandings – but he didn't laugh when she was serious about something either. As if he had a knack for distinguishing make-believe and reality.

Emma didn't like to admit it, but he was one of the first men in her life who possessed that ability.

Far too often, she used set phrases or sarcasm, afraid to reveal too much of herself if she said what she really meant. She didn't know if he had seen through her, but it didn't matter that much. What mattered was that she remembered it was only a date with her imminent token boyfriend.

At least that was some story to tell her grandchildren in the future!

When they had finished their last course and Luke had paid, it was just past eleven. She didn't even pretend to suggest they could split the bill. It felt absolutely fair that he added to the GDP, while she saved up money for her own company.

Even though it was already March, Emma felt cold in her winter coat, so she buried her hands deep in her pockets. Luke held the door for her, and then followed her outside.

Emma surveyed the parking lot and decided that Luke wasn't the only guy in Philadelphia who owned a swanky car. "How can anyone spend so much money on a car?" she asked, trying not to teeter too much on her heels. They made her almost five inches taller, and she still only came up to his nose.

"How can anyone spend so much money on shoes?" he replied with a counter question.

"Shoes are useful."

"Useful for what? To attract guys?" He cocked his head to one side. "You're right, I take it back. Women shouldn't stop spending money on shoes."

She sighed and stopped in front of his car. "Let's just agree that you're a chauvinist."

"I can live with that," he grinned and stood rather close before her. She took an automatic step backwards and bumped against the hood.

"Are you running away from me, Emma?" He took another step forward.

"No," she lied, "I merely wanted to see whether the finish feels as smooth and shiny as it looks."

He chuckled. "God, you're a terrible liar."

He took one last step forward and his hands brushed her fingers.

She erupted in goose bumps.

"No, I'm not," she protested a little breathlessly, while his thumb drew circles in the palm of her hand. "I'm … I am …"

What was she? Apart from turned on? By the simple fact of his fingers touching her hands! What was wrong with her traitorous body; couldn't it simply stay cool?

"There's a paparazzo back there," he whispered. "How about we give him a run for his money?"

Emma's throat felt tight, and it was getting worse with every inch he came closer. "A run for his money?" she repeated in a croak.

"Yeah, just like this …" he murmured and put his mouth on hers.

Emma shrank back, but not fast enough. His lips had already found hers, took possession of them like they had more than a year ago, and maybe it was stupidity, or the fact that she was cold, and he exuded a warmth that she simply couldn't resist … in any case, it took less than two seconds for her to sigh, return the kiss, stand on tiptoe, and melt against the hard panes of his body. Her warm winter coat was suddenly a nuisance, an obstacle. Had she thought she was cold only a moment ago? Suddenly she felt increasingly hot.

His arms wrapped tightly around her, while he kissed the side of her neck, then put his hands inside her coat, and she forgot to breathe. Until she realized something.

"There is no paparazzo," she whispered and wrapped her arm around his neck.

"Yes, I'm sure there is …"

Luke's hands slid down her naked back, while he kissed her behind her ear, before finding her mouth again.

Goodness, she had forgotten how talented this man really was! "There was no flash," she giggled as she slipped her own hands underneath his suit jacket. Why was he still wearing that anyway?

"Then he's snapping his candid shots without a flash." He bit her lower lip gently, and Emma struggled to suppress a moan, while he pulled her even closer against his chest, as if he was scared he might lose her otherwise.

"It's pitch black out here." Emma returned the bite, and apparently he had no qualms about moaning.

He put his arms around her waist and lifted her up on the hood. "Okay, I lied about the photographer. Are you happy now?"

"Very," she grinned, wrapping her legs around him, while his right hand pushed up her dress dangerously high, and he kissed her with the sense of purpose of a man who had all but forgotten where they were.

What was she doing here anyway? She was half-sitting, half-lying on the hood of a swanky car, while her blood was boiling with desire, and all she wished for was that this man's pants would magically disappear.

"Tell me it's not a good idea to have sex in a public parking lot," he murmured as he placed both his hands on her face.

"It's … not a good idea?" she panted, while his tongue brushed against hers, and she couldn't keep from wrapping her legs around his hips even more tightly.

"You're not being convincing, Emma! That sounded more like a question, when I need you to–"

The headlights of another vehicle were suddenly on them, and Luke cringed, while Emma slid off the hood, startled like a deer. The car drove past them, and several pairs of eyes stared at them from inside.

Oh God! The heat from her lower body rushed back to her head. What had she been thinking? He wanted a token relationship with her. What did that say about him?

But Emma's body didn't seem to mind.

Damn it. Apparently men weren't the only creatures who walked around with a hormonal handicap after all.

She cleared her throat. "We should go back."

"We should," he coughed.

Her eyes wandered to his crotch and she grinned. "Do you want me to drive, or can you do that?"

He scowled at her. "Thanks, but I'm fine," he clarified and got in behind the wheel.

Now the silence inside the car was awkward. It wasn't exactly embarrassing what they had done, but … yes, it was embarrassing.

Emma was ashamed for her lack of self-restraint. She should really know better. She wasn't normally the type to be easily impressed by a man. Least of all an overbearing baseball player – which her reaction to his kiss had proven beyond doubt. To hell with it all!

"Okay," she said, clearing her throat. "We should establish a few rules, if this is supposed to work."

"Oh, everything works just fine, didn't you notice?"

She snorted. "I mean the token relationship. We have a deal after all, and we shouldn't jeopardize it with feelings and such."

He raised his eyebrows and glanced in her direction. "And such?"

"Sex."

"I was afraid you'd say that," he sighed. "What about kissing and such?"

"Only for the cameras."

"Really?" He made a face that suggested her answer actually hurt.

"Yes, really."

"But why? Are you worried you might fall in love with me for real?"

She snorted with laughter. "Sure, that's exactly what I'm scared of."

"If not, then what are you scared of?"

"It simply complicates matters."

He grinned. "I like complicated."

"But I don't."

"I just got a different impression."

Some comments were best ignored. "When am I going to break up with you?"

"Do you need a fixed date right now?" he grinned.

She shrugged her shoulders. A date wouldn't be bad, but maybe asking too much. "No, just an idea of the general timeframe."

He frowned and stopped at a red light, then gave her an inquisitive look. "I don't have a lot of experience in that respect. How much time does a relationship need to get serious? I mean, the eventual heartbreak should look realistic."

Emma met his gaze and thought about it. She'd been with Stefan for a year, before he had proposed to her. One year, during which she had tried to squeeze her exuberant self into his elitist standard of living. To get along with his snobbish physician friends. To turn herself into a more perfect version, a version she'd never wanted to be.

Yes, she had been with him for a year. And then their engagement had lasted no more than another month – how serious could their relationship have been, after all?

She exhaled loudly and shook her head. "You're asking the wrong person. Four months maybe? I can't give you much more, for I'm only staying five more months."

He nodded and stepped on the gas. "Okay, let's make it four months. You'll break up with me in July. What about other–"

"You've been with me for a few hours and are already thinking about other women?" she flared at him.

He lifted one hand from the steering wheel in a placatory gesture, before pulling into the parking lot of the hotel where the auction took place – or had taken place. "I wasn't talking about me. I can't afford to be seen with anyone else. Otherwise the whole scheme will be for the birds."

He was right. If he ‘strayed,' and some reporter got wind of that, he was back where he'd started.

He cleared his throat.

"What about you?" he asked in a carefully offhand manner, and she had to laugh.

"As if I walked around meeting guys all the time."

He had found a spot and put the car in park. She sensed him studying her from the side, but she didn't want to look up. "Maybe you didn't notice, but tonight a bunch of men was ready to pay a lot of money for a date with you."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "They merely wanted to help hungry children."

He chuckled. "If you believe even for a second that anyone was interested in feeding the hungry tonight, you don't have the slightest idea of what men want."

She unbuckled her seat belt and grabbed her purse. She still didn't believe she would meet someone she would want to go out with within the next four months. So she simply declared: "Alright, we don't go out with other people. Deal?" She held out her hand and he took it.

"Deal. Do you want me to take you back inside?"

"Yeah, that'll be good practice. You still need to learn a lot to be a good token boyfriend, you know." She opened the door and felt a little like Catwoman, getting out of Batman's car. This swanky piece of metal had something about it – but of course she would never admit that to Luke.

They walked to the hotel entrance, side by side and in silence.

"Oh, and something else," Emma said as it came to her mind. She turned to Luke. "Can we tell my sister and your father the truth?"

He looked puzzled. "Why my father?"

She pressed her lips together, because she got the sinking feeling he might not like her answer.

"Well, I'm in charge of organizing his wedding," she said and looked away.

"You … what?"

She raised her eyes again in a show of innocence. "Is that a problem for you? I've already met your new mom-to-be, too."

A vein was pulsing on the side of his neck, and Emma was suddenly glad that it was rather dark, so she couldn't discern his expression too clearly. "She's not my mom," he growled.

Emma lifted her index finger and wagged it in front of his face. "Not yet. The wedding will only take place in a few months."

"You're the devil's daughter!"

"Thank you," she replied cheerfully. "Oh, and another thing."

She stood on tiptoe, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Slowly and thoroughly, until every pore of her body began tinkling, reminding her of all the other things they had done that night, over a year ago. Then she pulled away.

Perplexed and, much to Emma's delight, also somewhat confused, he looked at her. "Why … what was that for?"

She grinned and put her palms against his chest. "This time, there really is a paparazzo," she whispered and gave a slight nod to her right. "Call me once you've made a plan for the next step in our mock relationship. Sweet dreams."

She headed into the hotel lobby, head held high and only a moderate amount of guilt in her heart.