He merely lifted a brow, smiled, then drank. "lion't worry about it.

Just think of me as one of the family."

She didn't care to be backed into the tiny kitchen with him. When she

started through the doorway he shifted just enough to have their bodies

brush. It was deliberately suggestive, and shocking because he'd been

nothing but the polite friend of a friend to that point. When she

jerked away, he laughed.

"Do I make you nervous, Emma?"

"No." It was a lie, and not a very good one. She had tried not to think

of him as a man, not the way a woman thought of a man. But his thighs

had been long and hard when hers had knocked against them. "Are you and

Marianne going out?"

"That's the plan." He had a habit of running his tongue over the top of

his teeth before he smiled, like a man about to enjoy a long, succulent

meal. "Want to join us?"

"I don't think so." On the one occasion Marianne had talked her into

going with them, Emma had found herself dragged from club to club,

dodging paparazzi.

"You don't get out enough, sweetheart."

She jerked her head back when he reached out to toy with her hair. "I've

got work to do."

"Speaking of which, did you ever print those shots you took of me?"

"Yes. They're drying."

"Mind if I have a look?"

With a restless move of her shoulders, she started toward her darkroom.

She wasn't afraid of him, she a.s.sured herself If he was testing the

waters to see if she wanted to make it a threesome, she would set him

straight quickly enough.

"I think you'll be pleased," she began.

"Ah, but I have very high standards, Emmy luy."

She stiffened at the sound of the pet name, but continued on. "I tried

for moody, with a touch of arrogant."

His breath was warm on the back of her neck. "s.e.xy?"

Her shiver was quick and uncontrollable. "Some women think arrogant is

s.e.xy."

"And you?"

"No." She gestured toward the prints that hung drying. "If there's one

that suits you, I can blow it up."

He was distracted enough by his own image to abandon the flirtation.

They'd held the shoot informally, right in the loft. He'd gone along

with the idea because Marianne had been so set on it, and because he'd

wanted a chance to ply a little of his charm on Emma. He preferred

younger women-fresh off the farm, so to speak-particularly after the

ugly breakup with his wife. She'd been thirty, sharp as a scalpel, and

p.r.o.ne to b.i.t.c.hiness whenever she'd suspected him, rightly enough, of

being unfaithful.

He enjoyed Marianne's quick enthusiasm, dry wit, and her uninhibited

responses in bed. But Emma, young, quiet Emma, was a different matter.

He'd wondered what it would be like to peel away that cool reserve.

Certain that he could. It would make her father crazy-a fact that added