16. Jenn

Chapter 16

Jenn

The sounds of roaring engines and chatter filled the air as Dante and I walked past the front of the Casino. He spoke endlessly, telling me about the history of the buildings, the country, and a few tangents about Paris. He was an excellent tour guide, and my nerves had calmed after he’d laid everything bare at the restaurant.

I wasn’t berating myself for not being more attracted to him. I was simply enjoying his company.

The Place du Casino—the area directly in front of the beautiful Monte Carlo Casino—was lit up with old-fashioned street lamps, bulbs entwined around the palm trees, and lights covering the surrounding building facades.

We walked through the crowd who were filming the arrival of Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and Bugattis. As many people wore shorts and T-shirts, as wore tuxes and evening wear. Women strolled through the area in impossibly high heels and even more impossibly minuscule skirts. Valet drivers took keys, parking the ridiculously expensive vehicles, while the onlookers pointed and stared.

“Have you ever taken part in this spectacle?” I asked.

He’d driven me from Nice in his Velatti convertible, which would have been a rare jewel in any crowd. “When I was younger.”

“When you had more to prove?”

“When I was less certain about myself.” He slipped an arm around my waist as more than one woman eyed him up and down. Who could blame them? Dante De Rosa was a definite catch. “I suppose I also had something to prove, but I’m not sure to whom.”

“Friends?” I paused as the traffic crawled along the Avenue de Monte-Carlo, which separated the Casino from the H?tel de Paris.

Dante raised a hand, and the cars halted for us to cross. “I’ve never been here with my friends.”

“So, your dad?”

“This sounds likely.”

He and I were worlds away—the rich Italian with homes around the world and the plain girl from Eastern Canada. Yet we both grew up thinking we had something to prove to our fathers.

“What about your mother?”

Dante’s jaw tightened. Did he have a story he wasn’t prepared to tell? He let go of my waist and took my hand as though helping me up the stairs to the hotel. “Care to make a wager?”

“About?”

He slowed as people filed into the revolving door. “Emmett will be waiting for you in the lobby.”

“He won’t.”

“So you’ll take my bet?”

“How much?”

“One kiss.”

This was him not attempting to seduce me? What would he have done if he were going to try? Or was this a tactic?

“If I’m right about him, he wants you, so he’ll be waiting for you. And perhaps if he sees me kiss you, it will remind him to do something about his feelings.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’ve kissed a beautiful woman.” The corner of his lips lifted into a smirk. “And still, I win.”

“And if he’s not there?”

“Name your price.” He brought my hand to his lips. “Because I know he will.”

Emmett had apparently left Le Ciel before our dessert arrived. He could have been anywhere—in the room, at the Casino, at a club, or with his co-workers. What would he do in Monte Carlo when he wasn’t searching for an ancient Egyptian scarab? It was after ten, so he might have been asleep already.

“Take me to the auction on Friday as your guest.”

“This is your bargain? A date?”

“Not a date.” I pushed through the revolving door ahead of him. Once we were through, I tilted my head and said, “A business expense.”

He took my arm, and he laughed. “You use my words against me.”

We continued into the cavernous lobby, with its soaring ceiling, supported by columns topped with intricate carvings. The marble floors were polished, reflecting the chandeliers and wall-mounted lights. The grand staircase beyond a huge floral display added to the sense of elegance. Along either side of the lobby, people sat in plush chairs and sofas, while staff delivered food and drinks.

I paused beside the statue of Louis XIV near the entrance.

No Emmett anywhere to be seen.

My heart sank. Somehow, Dante had built the moment up as though it were a certainty, and I was… I was disappointed. Let down, almost.

“Do you know about the statue?” Dante gestured to Louis’s form on the back of a horse. He pointed at one of the front knees, which was far shinier than the rest of the statue. “Rubbing the horse’s right knee brings good luck.”

A few days ago, I’d thought I was the luckiest woman in the world—if I blocked Simon out of my brain. A trip to France, a whirlwind in Monaco, and an amazing job opportunity. It was someone else’s life.

But all I could see was how none of the people in the lobby were Emmett. He didn’t actually care. The faux concern at the gallery was nothing more than macho posturing. A desire to control me that ended the second I was out of sight.

Dante took my hand and placed it on the shiny knee. “You have to rub it, not stare at it.”

Under his firm touch, the palm of my hand slid over the spot where the patina couldn’t take hold. What luck could I hope for? Emmett already wasn’t there, so?—

“Jenn!” came a man’s voice that shot goosebumps up and down my arms.

I turned, my hand still in Dante’s, and blinked.

Emmett walked out of the lobby bar in his dark jeans and a collared shirt. “I thought you were out for the evening.”

“That counts,” said Dante. “I win.”

Was he right? Had Emmett been waiting for me, and his greeting was a cover? Or was this a coincidence?

If he’d been waiting, it was about the break-in, not his feelings for me.

Surely.

Surely?

Dante stepped around me, put his hands on my shoulders, and leaned in slowly. Instead of my lips, he pressed the softest, most chaste kiss on my cheek.

That was his bet-winning kiss?

As though reading my thoughts, he whispered, “You belong to another man.”

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Your heart does.” He winked at me.

“Dante, good to see you.” Emmett stopped next to us and held out his hand.

“And you, Mr. Stone.” Dante released me and shook hands with Emmett.

“Call me Emmett, please.” He smiled, but the way their fingers turned slightly red told a different story. It was the same battle of wills as at the gallery yesterday.

“Emmett. Of course.” They finally released their grips. Who’d won? “Did you find anything else to purchase for your clients after you left the gallery this afternoon?”

“No.” Emmett scratched at his short beard. He’d complained this morning it was at the worst length, and either he’d have to deal with the itchiness or shave it off. “I’ve been looking for a gold scarab for some time now, but no one is selling quite what I’m looking for. Jean-Philippe wouldn’t have held out on me, would he?”

“I doubt it, unless he already had a buyer for such a piece.”

Emmett’s eyebrow raised. “You’re sure you haven’t heard anything?”

“If I had, I would provide what help?—”

I forced a yawn, big and quite unladylike—anything to break up the tension between them.

Dante had said he’d show me that Emmett was in love with me. Was that what this was? Was Emmett jealous? And Dante was taunting him, so I’d see it?

Was he playing matchmaker?

Another yawn. “I need to get upstairs. If you two will excuse me?”

“I’ll walk up with you,” said Emmett.

“Thank you for this evening.” Dante pulled me close and kissed my other cheek. “Until tomorrow.”

As Dante retreated, Emmett said, “How much work do you have left on the painting?”

“Two or three hours.” I shrugged and started deeper into the lobby, toward the elevators. “Dr. Ferraro hasn’t called me back with any new information, so I don’t even know if I’m cleaning the real thing.”

He made a noise of assent but said nothing. All the way to the elevator bank and while we waited for a car to arrive—just silence. His jaw flexed, and he avoided looking at me. But once the elevator doors sealed, he started. “You two a thing now?”

The judgment in his voice stung, and I practically snapped back, “No.”

Emmett kept his gaze on the climbing numbers above us. “He kissed you.”

“It was a cheek kiss.” I shook my head. “He’s Italian.”

“You were out late.”

Me? “You were still at the bar when I got in.”

“I don’t have anything scheduled in the morning. I can sleep late.”

“It was a working dinner.” Sort of. I thought a lot about work, at least.

“Where’d you go?”

“Le Ciel. He said he saw you at one of the tables.”

The door opened on our floor, and he waved me out ahead of him. “Awfully posh for a working dinner.”

“You don’t like him, do you?”

He fell into step beside me, pulling out his phone when it buzzed, then shoving it back into his pocket. “I didn’t think he was your type.”

My type? Bad boys. Liars and cheaters. Awful men. Why do you keep choosing men like that? I rolled my eyes, more at myself than at him.

No, Dante didn’t seem like my type at all.

Emmett was that type.

At least, that’s what my father always said. Emmett used to get into fights when he was younger and was suspended too many times to count. He always did well in school, but had a temper. Then something happened around the time of our one and only kiss, and all that changed. Scarlett never knew what it was, but she thought Emmett and their mother had a talk that helped him.

After he stopped getting into trouble, my father still insisted he was bad news. No matter what Emmett did as he grew up, my father would talk about him like he was still a kid, getting into scuffles.

And my dad never let go of what Joseph Reynolds did, either. Some of the boys we knew thought Emmett was cool because his dad was a spy. Emmett never thought that. He never wanted to talk about his father. Scar said it was even like that at home.

We walked down the curving white hallway, past the gold paintings and the embossed doors, to our suite. Why did he care if Dante was my type?

“What exactly do you think my type is?”

He frowned, deep lines creasing around his mouth. “That’s none of my business, is it?”

Was Dante right? Did Emmett want me and that was why he’d been acting weird?

If it was, why not say something? He always knew what to say and could talk anyone into anything. Why not come closer to me last night?

Wait.

Emmett kept coming back to my room last night, getting me settled with the water and then with the food and wine. I’d assumed he was worried about my mental state after the break-in. Had he been imagining the two of us together in the same bed, instead of rooms apart?

Heat pooled in my core, and I drifted closer to him as we walked. “Were you waiting for me downstairs?”

“I needed a drink.” That was bullshit, wasn’t it?

“You had wine in the room last night. Why not order room service again?”

He slowed and produced his keycard as we approached our door. He didn’t answer me. Just opened the door and held it while I went in.

I stopped in the small vestibule, rather than heading for the living room or down the short hallway to my room. I was tired. My back hurt. My eyes were sore.

Dante’s words kept circling around my brain. ‘How long has he been in love with you?’

“Emmett…” I barely got one word out before my throat closed. What was I going to say? I couldn’t ask him if Dante was right. I couldn’t tell him how I honestly felt—all I could manage was his name. I couldn’t stand to turn around and look at him.

“What do you need?” The earlier irritation had vanished from his tone, and his body drew closer to mine. It was that same soft tone he’d used in my hotel room yesterday. The tender one I’d dreamed about.

I need everything.

No, not everything. You.

I took a small step backward and made contact with him, my pulse kicking up.

Show me some luck, King Louis.

He gripped my upper arms, not separating from me. He just stood there, all tall and solid muscle, crowding my air with his. “Are you all right? Did Dante?—”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” I wanted to talk about what Dante said . But how? Pull out my seduction game, as pathetic as it was? The men in my life had always been the instigators. I’d never had to do much to win them over.

His phone buzzed again, but he didn’t move. “Is something else going on?”

God, what would I do if I tried something and Emmett rejected me again?

“Jenn? What’s the matter?” His phone buzzed again—three short bursts—and he let go of me. Frustration coated his words. “It’s work. I have to take this.”

My heart crashed. Now what? Do what I should have been doing? “I’m going to take a shower. My back’s killing me.”

“I have painkillers in my bag.” He strolled into his room, gaze locked on the phone. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Anything? I needed him to join me in that shower. Or maybe I’d clean up and put Dante’s theory to the test.