He glanced at her, his eyes in shadow. “You might not want me to know where you live.”
She almost laughed. If it weren’t for Doug, she’d show him exactly where she lived and invite him in for coffee. Maybe al he admired was her writing talent, but given time, that might change.
“I could cal a limo service instead of taking you home personal y,” he said. “That might be better.” The dim light of the car’s interior emphasized the rugged line of his jaw and brought out the chiseled beauty of his cheekbones. He looked mysterious, sexy, and damned near irresistible.
Oh, baby. “I don’t care if you know where I live. I j ust—” She hesitated as she debated the wisdom of saying what was on her mind. She’d have loved to go somewhere for a drink to celebrate the twin victories of meeting her deadline and launching a new book. When Doug had crapped out and her mother had begged off, she’d thought of suggesting drinks to Jenny, but Jenny had a sick kid at home.
That left her in the company of Aidan Wal ace, a certified hunk who had voluntarily shown up at her signing, and for the third time, too. It wasn’t even ten yet, but she doubted he had other plans for tonight or he wouldn’t have been so will ing to offer her a ride home.
“Just what?” he prompted.
If she suggested having a drink with him, she’d have to tel Doug about it. He might not love the idea. But Aidan was a fan, who certainly wasn’t hitting on her in any way, so this was business, sort of, wasn’t it?
No, it wasn’t. She was momentarily crushing on a gorgeous man who loved her books. Even if Aidan wasn’t attracted to her, her interest in him was no longer casual. Acting on that interest wasn’t fair to Doug, even if he had skipped the signing.
She sighed. “Never mind.”
“Emma, are you afraid to go home? Is it that e-mail?”
“No, it’s not the e-mail.” She didn’t want to turn this into a sil y game of twenty questions, so she settled on a partial truth, omitting her il -advised attraction to him.
“Finishing a manuscript always makes me feel like celebrating, but what I need is a good night’s sleep.”
He smiled. “Who says you can’t have both?”
My conscience. But her conscience was no match for the magnetic pul of Aidan Wal ace. “Good question.”
Aidan leaned toward the front seat. “Drop us off at Jessie’s, Ralph.”
Ralph hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Sure thing.”
Emma wondered briefly about that hesitation, but the decision had been made, and she wasn’t planning to reverse it. Aidan thought she should celebrate, and celebrate she would. Within the bounds of propriety, of course.
She found Aidan’s take-charge attitude familiar and final y realized why. He behaved like one of her heroes. Of course, to real y qualify he’d have to be a shifter who could become a wolf whenever he wanted to.
She smiled to herself, thinking of how he’d laugh himself sil y over that. But tel ing him was out of the question. It would be a blatant attempt to flirt, and she wasn’t doing that.
She’d never heard of a nightspot named Jessie’s, but that meant nothing. She didn’t get out much. Now there was a huge understatement. Her life had settled into a boring rut, and that was bad for a writer. She needed grist for the mil .
All righty, then. Her guilt could take a long jump off a short pier. She wasn’t simply having a social drink with a very attractive man who could serve as inspiration for her next book. She was also col ecting grist for the mil while enjoying the life of a bestsel ing author, whatever that was supposed to be.
She’d always imagined herself moving to Key West and living like a real writer should—drinking booze in smoky bars and hanging out with al the clever people.
Maybe having a glass of wine with a member of an influential New York family was a start.
Ralph swung the car over to the curb, and Aidan opened the door. “Thanks, Ralph. I’l cal when we’re ready to leave.”
“We won’t be long,” Emma added as a sop to her stil -niggling conscience.
“Take your time. It’s a beautiful night.” Ralph’s manner was relaxed and easy, as if he didn’t mind waiting around.
Emma concluded the man must be both Wellpaid and Wellrespected, and her estimation of Aidan, already hovering at good, moved into the excel ent range.
Aidan exited the car with the same fluid grace with which he’d entered it. He held out his hand to Emma. Anticipation thrummed in her veins as she placed her hand in his and absorbed his warmth and strength. She wondered whether he had a girlfriend, which was a total y inappropriate thought because she had a boyfriend.
Once he’d helped her out of the car, he released her hand, which was the right thing to do. They were mere acquaintances, after al . This wasn’t a date, and she’d do Wellto remember that. He was humoring her desire to party a little.
“This way.” He lightly touched the smal of her back to guide her toward a black enameled doorway.
When he used a card-key to open the door, he verified her suspicion that he was taking her to a private club. No wonder she’d never heard of it.
The black enameled door opened into a smal lobby, decorated in grays and blacks with a splash of red here and there. On their right was a narrow stairway carpeted in red, but no sign indicated where it led.
“Jessie’s is upstairs.” Aidan gestured for her to climb the carpeted steps. “I think you’l like it.”
She had no doubt she would. So far, Aidan’s world had seduced her with luxury, and she expected the same from this exclusive club. Soft jazz filtered down to her as she climbed the stairs. She was aware of Aidan behind her, his footfal s amazingly light considering his solid build.
She’d never realized until tonight how graceful he was. She felt like a klutz in comparison, but then, she’d never claimed to be coordinated. Aidan would be a marvelous dancer. And a marvelous lover. The thought had no business showing up in her head, but there it was, taunting her with possibilities.
At the top of the stairs, a silver-haired man in a tuxedo moved out from behind a tal reception desk and shook Aidan’s hand. “Aidan. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to be back, Sylvester. This is Emma Gavin. She writes—”
“The werewolf books.” Sylvester eyed her with obvious curiosity. “This is indeed a pleasure. I’ve read them al .”
“Real y?”
“I find them fascinating,” Sylvester said. “So detailed.”
“Fortunately, I was blessed with a good imagination.”
“You certainly were.” Sylvester exchanged a glance with Aidan. “Table for two?”
“Please.” Aidan helped her off with her coat.
His touch produced the same electric charge as when he’d helped her put it on.
She would have to get over that. While Sylvester hung their coats on a rack behind the desk, she gave herself a talking-to.
Her self-talk continued as she fol owed Sylvester through an arched doorway.
Having a drink with Aidan is a onetime deal, and she ... whoa. Had they somehow wandered into an alternate universe? The club seemed to be nestled in a forest, a forest on the second floor of a brick building in the middle of Manhattan.
She couldn’t help staring. “Wow.”
“I thought you’d like it.” Aidan sounded pleased.
“I love it.” She wasn’t sure how the owners had managed the effect, but the trees arching over the smal dance floor seemed real, as did the ones scattered around the perimeter of the room.
Tiny white lights winked like fireflies in branches, which curved to create intimate bowers for each rough-hewn table. To her right, a live jazz trio played on a moss-covered knol .
Sylvester led them to a table near the back of the room and pul ed out Emma’s chair.
“Thank you, Sylvester.” She glanced back at him. “This is quite a place.”
He smiled at her. “A waiter will be over soon to take your order. Enjoy.” He laid an affectionate hand on Aidan’s shoulder before leaving them.
Aw. Emma didn’t need more reasons to admire Aidan, but she was getting them anyway. He obviously inspired friendship and respect among his associates.
“Thank you for sharing this place with me,” she said. “I thought we’d just find a little tavern somewhere, but this is breathtakingly beautiful.”
“There’s more. Look up.”
She did and was dazzled by the night sky, complete with stars, peeking through the foliage. The effect was so real she would swear someone had slid the roof back, except they were in the heart of the city, where the lights blocked out the stars completely.
Aidan settled into the chair across from her. “What would you like to drink?”
She continued to gaze upward as she tried to figure out how they’d created the effect. “Chardonnay is fine.”
“That’s it? Nothing more exotic?”
She met his gaze. She always ordered chardonnay, and if she intended to break out of her rut, she should experiment with a different drink. “Any suggestions?”
“The bartender makes great coffee martinis.”
“Oh, my God, I have to have one. I love coffee.”
“I know.”
“How would you know that?”
He blinked. “Uh, don’t al writers drink coffee?”
“Not necessarily. Some guzzle gal ons of tea, and others survive on Coke. The clichés aren’t always true.” But she thought it was cute that he had such a definite idea of how a writer should behave.
Aidan signaled a waiter and ordered them each a coffee martini.
“This is wonderful.” Emma was grateful for her interesting surroundings because without them she was likely to stare at Aidan the whole time. “It’s like a movie set.”
“We cal ed in some film people to help with the staging.”
“We? Oh, wait, I should have guessed that right away. Private club, your favorite hangout. Of course it belongs to Wal ace Enterprises.”
“Yeah, it does. I—” He stopped speaking and glanced toward the arched entryway as a tal blond guy with a build similar to Aidan’s walked into the club. “Looks like you’re about to meet my little brother, Roarke.”
“Is he in security, too?”
“No. Roarke’s an anthropology professor at NYU.”
Emma studied the man who was headed straight toward their table. None of her col ege professors had looked like that. Roarke might be younger than Aidan, but he wasn’t little in any sense of the word. She could see the family resemblance in his square jaw and strong nose. “No slackers in the Wal ace family, are there?”
“Not so you’d notice.” Aidan rose from the table to greet his brother. “This is a surprise.”
Roarke didn’t smile. “I know.” Barely disguised tension radiated from his powerful frame.
Aidan didn’t seem to notice. “I’d like you to meet Emma Gavin, the author of the werewolf books.”
“Nice to meet you, Emma. I’ve heard plenty about your books.” Roarke stil looked grim.
“Good things, I hope.” She wasn’t sure what to make of Roarke’s stern behavior.
“Very good. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to see Aidan for a minute in the foyer.”
Something was wrong. Maybe some security issue had come up, something only Aidan could handle. And yet, Roarke had sent her a wary glance before leaving with Aidan. Crazy as it sounded, she had the feeling that she was part of the problem.
Roarke spun around to face Aidan the moment they were out of the room. “What the hel are you doing?”
At the chal enge in Roarke’s voice, the hairs on the back of Aidan’s neck rose and he fought back a snarl. Reacting like a wolf wouldn’t help matters any. He kept his response mild. “What I was assigned to do.”
“You were assigned to watch her, not bring her into our private club! I counted at least six Weres in that room.” He turned to Sylvester, who leaned casual y against the reception desk, arms crossed. “Sylvester makes seven.”
“So? We’re al owed to bring business contacts in here. We’ve always done that.”
“She’s not a business contact. She’s a threat to our survival.”
Aidan worked to control his temper. “If Dad would wait for my report instead of sending you over to chew my ass, he’d discover that Emma is no danger to us. She doesn’t believe in werewolves.”
Roarke’s green eyes glittered. “I suppose she told you that.”
“She did.”
“And you, despite your obscenely high IQ, believed her.”
“I did. I do.”
Roarke blew out a breath in disbelief. “Come on, Aidan. She can’t be making al that up.”
“Just because you and I aren’t that creative doesn’t mean she isn’t. But the problem goes beyond that. It’s possible a rogue has contacted her by e-mail and plans to confront her in person.”
“Did you consider that she contacted him?”
“No. We’ve kept a close eye on al her Internet activity. This is something new, and if it is a rogue, I’l make sure she never meets him.”
Aidan could have said, We’ll make sure she never meets him, but he was no longer will ing to share responsibility for Emma’s safety. He would be in charge, which was the only way he could guarantee she’d be al right and the pack’s anonymity would be protected.
Roarke’s bel igerence faded. “Have you seen the e-mail?”
“Not yet, but I will. In fact, now that you’ve brought that up, let me take care of something.” Pul ing out his phone, he sent a brief message so his tech crew could start the reverse trace.
As he put the phone away, he glanced at Roarke. “Tel Dad I’m here tonight because I’m trying to win her confidence. I’l know soon what we’re dealing with, and depending on what I find out, Dad might need to get me assigned as her bodyguard for the book tour.”