Emily: Sex and Sensibility (The Wilde Sisters 1)
Page 17
“Where in the East Village?”
She hesitated. Marco Santini had, thus far, not given her any reason to doubt that his intentions were honorable, but a false address was only wise. She thought fast, went down a mental list of buildings and streets not too far from hers and came up with one.
“Twenty-two Pascal Street.”
Did his eyes narrow just a little? No. Why would they?
“Charles? We want twenty-two Pascal. You do know how to get there, don’t you?”
The driver coughed. “Absolutely, Mr. Santini.”
“Excellent. We’ll take Ms. Simmons home first.”
The Impeccable Blonde raised impeccably groomed eyebrows. “Marco, really…”
“Ms. Simmons first,” Marco repeated. “And then twenty-two Pascal. Do you have that, Charles?”
“I do, sir,” the driver said, and the big Mercedes moved into the night.
******
The Impeccable Blonde lived in an Impeccable Building on Park Avenue.
Charles pulled to the curb, stepped out, opened her door. Marco got out, too; The Impeccable Blonde stepped onto the curb, waited until he joined her and then looped her arm through his. She looked over her shoulder, flashed Emily an icy smile. Then she leaned into Marco as if he were a tree and she were a vine.
“I’ll be only a minute,” Marco said, but after that little display, Emily doubted it.
Not that what he did was any of her business.
Besides, there was a subway station only a couple of blocks away and the rain had tapered to a drizzle.
She looked at her shoes, lying on the floor. At the blanket, wrapped around her. She was still wearing her rescuer’s jacket but the blanket would be enough…
“Mr. Santini would never forgive me, Miss.”
She blinked, looked up, met Charles’s steady eyes in the mirror.
“Would you really try to stop me?”
“I’m trying to do that right now, Miss, by talking you out of leaving.”
“Just that?”
Charles smiled. “Mr. Santini is a man of honor. He wouldn’t approve of anything more. You don’t have to worry about—”
The door opened. “What doesn’t she have to worry about?” Marco said as he got into the car.
“About getting to twenty-two Pascal,” Charles said smoothly. “I know precisely where it is.”
“Indeed. So do I. And we both know that it isn’t where the lady lives.”
Emily stared at him. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it is a landmark building that has just undergone extensive renovations. It took the builder five hard years to gain the city’s approval.”
She sank back in the seat. “Oh.”
“Oh, indeed. Now, prego, where do you really live?