Chapter 3

"Ihate people who think their money can buy everything." Emma hung up the blazer and exchanged it for her warm coat. "For a smile and a fifty, they expect you to kiss their feet."

And his feet were really the last thing she wanted to kiss on the arrogant jerk. Wait, no. She didn't want to kiss any part of this man! Except maybe his fifty-Euro note. That was a handsome piece of paper after all.

Enrico leaned in the doorway and grinned at her, while the rest of the waiters brushed the last remaining crumbs from the tables. "You should have gone into politics. The working class would love you."

"Thank God," Emma sighed as she wrapped her scarf around her shoulders. "I really don't know what I'd do without the support of the working class!"

"Smartass. Are you going to apply for that job now?"

Of course she would, and then she would spend the next few weeks hoping and praying that she'd get it. "Maybe. I'll look into it."

She glanced at the clock. It was just past midnight, and she was still wide awake. That was just as well, for she had a date coming up.

"Hey, Enrico, do you want to come along for our girls' night? We're meeting at Blackbox, and I'm sure Jenny and Mira would invite you for a Christmas tequila."

Enrico shook his head. "I have a wife and a lot of obligations."

"You could simply have said you're too old," she grinned. "But if you reconsider, you know where you can find us."

"You spend too much time in bars, bella."

"Nah, just in the Blackbox," she protested promptly. "That's hardly a real bar. It's more like a … restroom. Don't you agree that a woman should take all the time she wants in a restroom?"

She hugged Enrico briefly, before stepping out into the cold. Snow covered the ground, giving away where people had come and gone.

That was what Emma liked about winter. That things appeared softened. All things, really.

And the Christmas tequila; she was partial to that, too.

The bar called Blackbox was only two streets away from the restaurant, and it was packed at this time of night. Luckily Mira and Jenny had already occupied a table, and now they took their coats from the remaining chair, so Emma could sit down.

She hugged both her friends, and their ruddy noses made Emma suspect that they'd already had a few shots before she arrived.

"So?" she asked with a smile, and Jenny reacted by putting a shot glass into her hand.

"Tequila?"

"Bring it on." Emma felt that she needed to put her tequila goggles on. She was still wearing her black work clothes, and she smelled of melted cheese.

"Set your sights on anyone yet?" she asked before she bit down on the slice of lemon. The point of the evening was to drink tequila, rate men, and exchange information of the kind that couldn't be fitted into their frequent phone calls.

"Hello?" Jenny waved her left hand and pointed at her engagement ring. "There's no setting sights here."

Emma guffawed and looked at Mira. "She's playing sanctimonious again."

Her friend rolled her eyes at her and flipped her silky brown hair back over her shoulders. "Fine. We've spied a group of guys who were all pretty cute. Two of them married, unfortunately."

Emma made a face as she swallowed against the acidity of the lemon. "I knew it. Where are they?"

"At the bar. We've already allocated our points, and there's a clear winner, but maybe you can change that with your rating."

Emma shrugged her shoulders and grinned. "Well, we've always had a similar taste, but we'll see."

"Another round?" Mira raised another shot glass and gave the others a questioning look. They both nodded and grabbed a glass each. "Here's to us."

"To us."

"Oh, there they are." Mira pointed in the direction of the bar, and Emma turned her head, glass already at her lips. She promptly choked on her tequila and coughed into the crook of her arm. "You've got to be kidding me," she mumbled under her breath. Of all the bars in this town …

"Do you know them?" Jenny asked, perplexed.

"Yeah." Emma's face was beet red when she set the shot glass back down on the table. "See the tall one? Let's say I disburdened him of fifty Euros a few hours ago."

"You stole his money?" Mira's eyes widened.

No, she hadn't stolen his money. She had merely taught him a lesson, though Emma wasn't sure that the stranger would see it that way as well. "He irritated me," she said and raised both hands in a show of innocence. "You know I have little patience with people who get on my nerves."

Her friends both tilted their heads to one side. "And how does that justify stealing fifty Euros?"

He was a man! In her opinion, men should be made to pay a certain lump sum to the world. Why not pay it directly to her? She was part of that world, wasn't she?

"Was he very angry?" Mira wanted to know, looking worried all of a sudden.

"Yeah, relatively," Emma admitted and bit her lip.

"Oh. That's bad then."

"Why?"

"Because he's coming over. Oh, Lord, he is hot!"

"What?"

Oh God, why was he coming over? She hoped he wouldn't hit a woman.

"Don't turn around, Emma."

Emma's head jerked around and hit a wall of steel abs. She hadn't been intimidated back at Giovanni's, but now, sitting in her chair, she reconsidered.

"Ladies." The charming voice had turned into a brusque snap.

"Hi," Mira and Jenny mumbled, and could hardly suppress their giggles. Emma didn't say anything, but moved her chair away from the body of the ogre. Was it wrong to register that he smelled great?

"Do you play darts?"

The three women exchanged puzzled glances. "Darts?"

"Yeah. Darts. Round board, which you try to hit with the darts."

Emma rolled her eyes. What was he after? Did he want to entice her to a game of darts, so he could steal his money back, lift it from her purse?

"Why? What would happen if we played darts?" Jenny asked, curious.

"Then my friends and I would challenge you for a round." He nodded over his shoulder, where three men were grinning at them.

"Oh, I see." Emma started to laugh. "You want to win your money back fairly. But does it have to be with darts?"

The man's jaw tensed, almost imperceptibly. "Do you have another suggestion?"

Emma thought for a second as her eyes roamed the room. "Pool," she finally said with finality. "That way you can't try to fleece my friends. Or bribe the balls."

"Oh, but I could bribe the darts, couldn't I?" he growled.

She grinned. "Nope. But I'm a lot better at pool. Or do you guys yearn to play a round of darts?" she turned to her friends.

"God, no," Jenny answered promptly. "We're fine here, with our bottle of tequila."

"What about you?" Emma fixed her gaze on the contender. "Do you need the support of your boys' squad, or can we settle this on our own?"

***

How could any woman be this skilful at needling people? Luke couldn't fathom that she hadn't been clubbed and buried under a bridge somewhere long ago.

He simply couldn't imagine what was going on in this girl's head, and that in turn made it impossible not to want to know what the devil she might be thinking.

"Fine," he finally said with a slow smile. "Then it'll be just the two of us."

"Great." She rose and held out her hand. "I'm Emma and I'll ask you to stop smiling like that. It looks smarmy and fake. You grin and talk like a person you simply can't be."

She had just insulted him. A woman had offended him. That had never happened to him before. And she was brazen as anything.

"Luke," he introduced himself. "And you really need a new haircut."

"Insults won't help you win the match."

"Accusations won't help you either."

"Was that a genuine smile?"

"Nope."

"Then it wasn't an accusation, but a verified fact. Are we playing or what?"

They had reached the pool tables, and Emma had already grabbed a queue, which she tapped on the floor impatiently.

"Are you so eager to lose, or why are you fidgeting like that?" Luke asked, before he began sorting the balls in the plastic triangle that was already on the pool table.

Emma reacted with a grin, and placed the white ball in the designated spot. "You go first."

She said it in such an assured voice, as if she was certain how the game would end. He shook his head slowly. "You sound as if you're about to lead me to the slaughterhouse."

Emma started to laugh. He hadn't noticed it before, but when she laughed, her whole face was laughing, and her body, too.

How could anyone laugh like this, and not appear unnatural at all? He really believed her that she had thought him funny just now. That didn't happen very often. Most of the time, the women in his company threw back their heads, swished their platinum blonde hair, and giggled in voices that sounded as if they'd inhaled too much helium.

But what could be the reason that Emma was trying to get him to like her?

"Maybe I am," she replied with a smirk, before gesturing for him to go ahead and make the first shot. He lined up and hit the white ball, right into the triangle.

"Ten …

twenty …

thirty …

fifty. I can't believe it."

Luke handed her the money, and couldn't remember the last time he'd lost so spectacularly at anything. Actually he couldn't remember ever losing so miserably, and the worst thing about it was that his defeat was entirely undeserved. No, Emma had manipulated him to the moon and back. Starting with the moment she had exhaled loudly into his ear, right when he was about to hit the ball, and ending with the various animal noises she had made. The fatal thing was, when he tried to distract her in similar fashion, he had failed every single time. She wouldn't even be fazed when he'd waved his queue in front of her face during her shot. Also, she had chugged down at least four more shots of tequila while the game lasted. With her alcohol level, she should have asked which of the two identical balls she was seeing was the real one.

"You're kind of a sore loser, aren't you?" Emma asked cautiously and bit her lip. She had really pretty lips, the color of strawberries.

"I'm not a loser at all," Luke protested. "That just doesn't happen. I never lose."

The girl before him cleared her throat. "Well. A minute ago …"

He scowled at her. "You didn't play fair."

"Oh, but you did?" Her brown eyes twinkled with smug amusement.

"Fine." He crossed his arms and looked at her. "Double or nothing. Table soccer this time."

"You want to salvage your manly reputation with a table soccer match?"

"I …"

But Luke couldn't finish his sentence, for someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Dude, we're leaving." Finn and the others stood right behind him, studying Emma with curious glances. "Are you coming?"

They were leaving already? Luke looked around, only to realize that the bar had emptied considerably. The clock on the wall said half past one.

Emma craned her neck and frowned. "Where did Jenny and Mira go?"

"You mean your friends?" Daniel raised his eyebrows. "They left half an hour ago."

"Without letting me at least know?"

Daniel shrugged his shoulders. "They said something along the lines of, if anyone interrupts you at pool, you're prone to stabbing them in the eye with the queue."

"Oh."

"Luke, are you coming?" Finn narrowed his eyes, as if he already knew the answer.

Luke shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I guess I need to defend my honor here, before I can leave safely."

He didn't want to leave now. He hadn't had this much fun in a long time. His friends merely nodded, not bothering to inquire further. They understood defending one's honor; they were men. That's what men did. Period.

"I'll drop by over the holidays though, okay? Before I leave, anyway." They shook hands, and the other guys headed for the door.

"Before you leave?" Emma asked with genuine curiosity, while she put the queue back on the pool table. "Are you going on vacation?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Nope. This is my vacation, basically. I'm visiting my mom."

"Oh, okay. Where do you live?"

"I work in Philadelphia."

"Seriously?" She gave him an incredulous look. "That's funny. My sister lives there, too. Well, not in Philadelphia proper, but in a suburb close by. What do you do for a living?"

"I …"

Luke looked into her expectant face and blinked. He didn't want to tell her. He couldn't have said why, but he didn't want to let her know what he did for a living. He didn't want to provide her with a stereotype. He had the feeling she wouldn't like the idea that he was a professional baseball player.

Dear God, since when did he care whether she liked something or not?

He didn't want women to like him; he wanted to sleep with them!

But with her … he wanted both.

"Uh … I work in a stadium. A baseball stadium."

She gave him a look that told him she had no idea what that might mean.

"Well, you could say that my job is to make sure that the game goes smoothly," he added cryptically. "It's my responsibility to ensure that everything works as it should." He mentally patted himself on the shoulder for this way of phrasing it.

"Ah, I see. You're basically the most important guy in the whole stadium. Indispensible."

"Exactly," he grinned. "I'm sort of famous."

She clucked her tongue and laughed. "Alright, Mr. Wichtig, then let's see whether you can also play a mean table soccer. It is one thing to lose one game against a girl, but two …? I doubt your pride would ever recover from that."

So did he.

"You let me win."

Emma threw up her hands and shook her head in dismissal. "You're never satisfied, are you? First you lose and get huffy, then you win and get huffy again. What happens when it's a draw? Do you get huffy as well?"

Luke chugged down the rest of his beer and put a hand in his neck, which was still stiff from the long flight. "You let the last ball go through on purpose. That was totally obvious."

"No, that's what you saw, Mr. Wichtig, nobody else!" Emma protested. Her eyes held an earnestness that reminded him of an elementary school kid, professing that their hamster had peed on their homework. "I don't lose on purpose. You're not my grandpa, who might have a heart attack if he doesn't get what he wants."

Luke pressed his lips together.

Emma frowned at him. "Are you laughing at me?"

He shook his head silently. Well, maybe a little bit. But it really was funny, watching her try to defend herself when it was blatantly obvious that she was lying. She even had her fingers crossed behind her back, and her eyes were so wide that he could have bet her vision was blurry.

Luke couldn't stop himself; he burst out laughing. "I'm sorry. Fine, I won the match; you can give me my money back."

"Yes. That was an honest match, which means that you earned it."

Her gaze flickered to the clock on the wall behind the bar, and Luke's followed suit. It was after three a.m., and the barkeeper gave them a tired look, tapping his wrist.

"I guess that is his polite way of saying we should leave," Emma murmured softly and smiled. "Let's not annoy him any more than we have to. I come here all the time, and I'm not sure I could distinguish between tequila and spit."

***

Outside the snow was still falling. The sidewalks lay untouched and pristine before them, which made Emma feel that it was a crime to start walking. Luke on the other hand had no such qualms. He trudged through the snow as if he was stomping on a murderous animal.

Emma followed him and studied his back.

Her friends had been right. He was hot. Now that he wasn't acting like a dipshit anymore, she could see it as well. And when he raised his arm earlier, to rub the back of his neck … oh my goodness! How much time did the man spend lifting weights? Emma had no explanation why, but strangely enough, she thought that the arms were among the most attractive parts of a man. They could hold you. And that was everything anyone should be able to do with their arms: Hold you.

And by the way, yes, she had actually let him win.

So what? What did it matter? Though it was fun, she didn't make it her hobby to hurt a man's pride, so she had allowed the final ball to go through, past her keeper. She was certain that he didn't know. At least he couldn't be sure. She was usually a very good liar. Her mother had always believed her when she'd said she hadn't eaten the chocolate cookies. And she couldn't count the times she had denied that she'd taken any clothes from her sister's closet – always with a completely straight face.

"What are you doing back there? Studying patterns in the snow?"

Not quite. Not the snow …

She caught up with him and tilted her head back, to catch some snowflakes with her mouth.

"Have you ever considered letting your hair grow longer?" she finally asked, when her face was beginning to get numb with cold. "I think that would suit you."

Luke gave her a skeptical sideways look. "Do you really mean to give out hair advice, with your cut?"

"What's wrong with my hair? You keep saying that. It's okay as it is."

"You need a new cut. It's all grown out."

"Every hairdresser I tried got it wrong. So I gave up and had Jenny cut it." Emma shrugged. "I think she did a good job."

"Even I could do a better job."

Now it was Emma's turn to give him a skeptical glance.

Returning her gaze, he started laughing. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I'm wondering whether it would be a good idea to hand you a pair of scissors. And based on your pool skills, I'm concluding that no, it wouldn't be a good idea."

Luke's arm moved swiftly, and shoved her into the piled-up snow right in front of them.

The air was knocked from her lungs, and she almost inhaled snow. Panting a little, she turned and looked up at him. He looked back warily, as if he expected her to jump up and punch him, or at least rant at him, but Emma burst into laughter.

Maybe because she knew she had somehow earned it.

She lay in the cold snow, stretched her arms out over her head, and leaned back.

"Boy, your pride is your Achilles heel, isn't it?"

"Sorry. There was this sudden urge …"

She laughed even harder. "As if you were sorry!"

She had never been shoved into a pile of snow by a man, but if she considered it now, she might even like it.

Which probably depended on the man who did it.

"As if you didn't let the last ball through on purpose."

She narrowed her eyes briefly, debating whether it was worth sticking to her lie. She thought it was worth it. "I'm not saying anything without my lawyer. Help me get up."

He held out his arm, and she grabbed his hand. When he braced himself to pull her back up, she jerked his arm hard, with a force she didn't know she possessed. He lost his balance and fell, face-forward, landing half on top of her and half next to her.

He rolled over and started laughing as well. His laugh was lovely – at least when it was genuine.

She looked up at him and watched as the wind blew the snow across his face, as it melted on his lips.

"Hey," she said breathlessly and chuckled. The cold crept into her neck, which she pressed into the snow so she could look up at him. Had his face been this close before? "Now we're even."

Luke stared at her. He didn't seem to agree with her tally. His eyes wandered to her lips, which were starting to tingle a little.

Oh my, she was in trouble.

What was a girl to do in such a situation?

Don't think about it; dig a deeper hole.

Before she could actually start to think it through, she wrapped a hand around his neck pulled him down towards her, and kissed him.

His lips were warm, and they barely touched hers, but it was enough to let Emma know that she might like more about this man than being shoved into a pile of snow.

She let her head sink back on top of the snow again, and felt a little shocked at herself for taking the first step. She'd never done that before! She made a face. "I'm sorry. I … it just came over me, so I–"

She couldn't finish her fumbling sentence, and it was hardly necessary. Nor did she have to take the next step.

Luke put his hands on her face, and the cold was instantly driven from her body.

Oh God, what was she doing here? She was lying in the snow, kissing a man she didn't know, whom she had practically robbed of fifty Euros, and who was a loser at table soccer!

She didn't normally do any of that, starting with losing on purpose, and ending with rolling around in the snow kissing strangers.

A stranger who was way too tall for her. She measured about five foot five inches, and she felt even shorter lying down, which in turn made him seem like a giant. A giant who kissed like a God, which made her forget about the snow part …

Where had he learned to kiss like that? He'd probably practiced on a lot of women. She probably was only one of many. Probably …

Stop it, Emma, she chided herself. She couldn't will her mind to stop thinking, but she had to …

Luke rolled up on top of her, and she hardly noticed the many layers of fabric between them. Then he ran his thumb across her lower lip.

She had lost her train of thought.

"You talk while you kiss," Luke chuckled.

"Really?" Thankfully her face was already red with cold, so she hoped he wouldn't notice that the blood rushed to her face with embarrassment. "Well? What am I saying?"

"You were murmuring: What am I doing here? What am I doing here?"

"Well? What am I doing here?"

"If you don't know that, I'm obviously not doing it right. Wait, let me explain it again …"

He started kissing her again, caressing her cheek with his thumb, until Emma began to chuckle softly.

"Thanks for explaining it in such a graphic manner," she murmured. "Now it's a lot clearer."

He kissed her jaw; let his hands trail down her throat, down her scarf. "Calm down. It's not as if we're hopping into bed right away."

She laughed. "Right."