We’re draped all over one another.

It’s so incredibly intimate and inappropriate, and worse, I don’t realize it until it’s too late. What seemed fun and silly now just feels like a tacky attempt to try to get close to him. I’m no better than the tittering fan club that’s surrounded him all day.

“Comfortable?” he asks.

I can do nothing but nod and tug down my dress in a futile attempt to cover more of my legs. I can’t squeeze my thighs together tightly enough, not with his hold on my ankles.

As if he realizes exactly what I’m thinking—how on edge I already am—he begins to slowly slide his hands up my calves. I know he doesn’t mean to send a cascade of shivers down my spine, but they’re there and I’m sure he realizes it.

“Should we add water?” he teases.

My eyes widen with alarm. “Don’t you dare.”

His mischievous smirk makes me suddenly aware of the deep ache in my lower belly. We’re so out of place here. His designer suit looks so strange in the gold bathtub.

“Don’t tempt me like that. I’m not the saint you think I am.”

“Oh please. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. You returned my book to me, handwritten note and all.”

“And what thanks did I get for it?”

“What kind of thanks do you want?”

The match strikes so suddenly that we both go mute.

Teasing banter gave way to sexual innuendo so seamlessly that I can only sit with red cheeks, praying he’ll change the subject and soon.

Instead, his brown eyes hold such sincerity as he ups the stakes once again.

“What are you willing to give?”

I have no answer. If I open my mouth, it will only get me in trouble. The things I want to say right now are things I’m unfamiliar with. Uncharted territory is putting it lightly. I’m playing with fire, and Emmett hasn’t released my legs, his grip so firm it almost gives the impression that he wouldn’t let go of me even if I wanted him to. It’s like he has me trapped and, innocent prey that I am, I didn’t even realize it until this moment.

A prying question spills out of me. “What were you doing with Marie this afternoon?”

His gaze hardens. “The same thing you were doing with Royce—taking a walk.”

“You seem to have a type.”

His arched brow is an invitation to continue.

“Blonde.”

He smiles and looks down as if appreciating some private joke.

“Have I nailed it?”

His dark eyes peer up from beneath his brows teasingly. “Close…”

“I’ll keep going then, see if I can’t pin it down exactly.” I start ticking off attributes on my fingers. “The women are on the tall side. Impeccable dressers. Well educated and from the right families. I’d imagine they all speak at least two languages, have five to ten years of experience working some fancy job…and they’re all proficient in Excel.”

He laughs. “What a sexual creature you’ve painted.”