Page 14 of The Matchmaker's Melody
Emma took care of the bouquet quickly, before sweeping over to where a heavy woollen cape was draped over the back of a chair. She swung it around her shoulders and picked up a small clutch purse.
“Shall we?” she asked.
Gordon nodded dumbly and followed after her, hoping the puddle of drool on the floor where he had stood would be dry by the time she returned home.
Heaven forbid—he might be falling in love with Emma Massey.
CHAPTER8
AFTER THE GALA
How he survivedthe symphony gala, Gordon didn’t know. But he somehow managed. He walked into the grand ballroom with Emma on his arm, looking like a million bucks and stopping traffic. He went through every cliche he could think of, since his mind couldn’t settle enough to put his own thoughts together.
Their entrance caused a bit of a stir, partly because she was that stunning and partly because she was a bit of a celebrity in her own right. Cameras flashed, and people from the small phalanx of journalists and newspaper photographers called her name. She flashed her most dazzling smiles, posed just so, and was generally charming. She was her own advertisement, and she did it well. #JustAskEmma.
They met sophisticated people, engaged in unexpectedly interesting conversations, ate delicious food, and enjoyed sublime musical entertainment. Whoever organised this event had done it well.
Then, after the meal, the symphony musicians packed up their Brahms and a small combo brought out the Gershwin. Couples in elegant attire moved to the dance floor, some shuffling along, others cutting a rug with considerable skill. Gordon knew the basics, enough not to trip over his feet on the dance floor, and Emma was fairly accomplished. His brain was still a glob of lust-infused mush, but he managed to exert enough self-control to ask her to dance and execute a reasonable waltz without embarrassing himself.
More cameras flashed, people cut in and out, and somehow, two more hours slipped away before, exhausted and with aching feet, they found their coats and went downstairs to find a taxi to take them home.
The first stop was Emma’s house. As the taxi idled at the curb, Gordon walked her to her door, as a gentleman does.
“It was fun.” She turned to smile at him as she unlocked the door and pushed it open. “We’ve never done something like this. I really enjoyed it.”
A couple of strands of her hair had escaped their confines of gel and spray and whatever else had been applied to keep them all in place, and it made her all the more appealing. Their eyes met, blue and brown, and he was transfixed by her gaze. He was a moth, pinned in place, unable to move, unable to pull himself away, and when she gave another twitch of her mouth, he almost fell at her feet.
The tip of her tongue slipped out to lick those soft lips and they parted ever so slightly, He found himself moving forward, his own head lowering, still unable to tear his eyes from hers. What was that look in her eyes? Starlight? Concealed desire?
No. He was crazy. She was just exhausted. This was Emma, who thought of him as a bothersome older brother, not a potential lover. He damped down his unexpected desire and wrested his eyes from her soft gaze. And instead of brushing her lips with his own, he reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to the back, just above her fingers.
Like a gentleman ought.
And, with great difficulty, he bid her goodnight and stumbled back to the taxi, asking the driver to take him home.
But sleep was a long time coming.
Every time he closed his eyes, Emma was there, a goddess in her crimson gown, glowing like a movie star, and smiling at him with those sparkling blue eyes. How had he ever thought them not quite deep enough? Her hair not the colour of sunshine? Her figure, slim but lush, not the stuff of statuary?
She was charming and funny, her confidence as much an aphrodisiac to him as her beautiful face or the hint of cleavage at her decolletage.
Oh God, when had this happened?
The rush of desire that had paralysed him when he’d first seen her this evening flooded back, and he shifted uncomfortably under the covers.
This was wrong, so wrong. They were like family. Weren’t they?
But, his rational mind insisted, they hadn’t been children for ages. It had been twenty years since they’d formed that first odd relationship, precocious child and brooding teen, and over a dozen years since they’d moved to different phases of their lives. The families still gathered once or twice a year, but those earlier bonds had been broken and had reformed in a different guise, as adults contemplating each other with new eyes and experiences.
Perhaps it was okay to leave those memories of her, golden braids and gap-toothed grin, in the past. She was a different person now. They were not so much brother and sister as old acquaintances from youth, having re-met as adults, with all that a new acquaintance brings.
Now the question remained, what to do about it? Should he confess his burgeoning emotions? Or would that bring a look of scorn down on her lovely face, a roll of the eyes and a derisive snort? She was glamorous and everything new and trendy; he was… well, he considered himself reasonably attractive, but hardly Hollywood material. Moreover, he knew she thought he was boring. Engineering was a vital profession, but not one that gathered hashtags like flies to honey, or landed him in the society pages where, to be honest, he had no desire to be. Someone like Emma would want someone with dash and elan to match her own. Someone like Jean-François. He grimaced at the thought.
And he enjoyed Emma’s company, despite their disagreements. If he suggested something more romantic to her, and she turned him down, it would destroy what they had been building up these last couple of months. He didn’t want to lose that. Perhaps…
There was no point imagining all the what-ifs. He was a sensible man, given to logic and reason, a scientist of sorts. He would remain quiet, stay her friend, and observe. Perhaps, in time, she would give some indication that she might feel the same. And then, and only then, would he say anything.
The red-hot wave of lust hadn’t quite abated, but his mind was easier now, even if his heart was troubled. He turned his attention to himself, and at long last, far too close to dawn, finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
