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  Amber looked her over, satisfied Emma wasn’t going to continue with the meltdown. “And as for why you’re doing this photo shoot for me…because you said you would! You said not to come back! You said you had it all handled! Well, honey, if I’d known that having it all handled meant you were handling Rafe, I’d have slapped some sense into you. He’s not a man you want to tangle your emotions with.”

  “I’m not sleeping with him.”

  “Good. Because he’s—”

  “I know what he is, Amber,” Emma said woodenly. “I’m just not sure you do.”

  “You’re mad at me,” Amber said with a sigh. “And I guess I deserve it.”

  “Yes,” Emma agreed, then sighed. “But I do like to run our lives, don’t I.”

  “Yes. So really, this isn’t all my fault at all.”

  “Things are going to change, Amber. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to take over and run your own life. No more calling me to bail you out of everything—I just can’t do it anymore.”

  Amber looked unnerved.

  “Yeah, I guess I deserve that. I’ll, uh, get the next fantasy shoot info.”

  Emma blinked. “Oh. Well—”

  “There’s not much left, anyway. Just September through December.”

  “I didn’t mean you have to finish the shoot.”

  “What did you mean?”

  She had no idea.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Amber said. “I think it’s the Harley-Davidson bike shoot next. Probably if I’d checked my calendar or with my agent, I’d know that already. But we both know how good I am at organization.” She let out a gusty sigh. “I guess I’m going to have to get better at that, too.”

  Surprising them both, she leaned over and hugged Emma, who could count on one hand the times Amber had ever done so.

  “Don’t be mad at me anymore.”

  Emma hugged her back. “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at me.”

  “Because you’ve been boning Rafe?”

  “I haven’t been—” She broke off rather than confess. “We should be talking about you. You were with Stone today.”

  Amber laughed. “We needed to get it out of our systems. And boy, did we have fun doing that. We’re done now.”

  If only it were that easy for Emma.

  “So, about that motorcycle shoot—”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Emma said, a little too quickly.

  “But you just said—”

  “I know. Don’t listen to me.”

  Amber stared at her, then pulled back to get a better look. “What’s up? Is Stone right about the two of you being crazy about each other?”

  Well, they were something for each other. And quite frankly, crazy just might be the right word.

  But in any case, she wasn’t ready to put it into words. “Amber, you know how you got along in life just…winging it?”

  Amber laughed. “Yes. It’s a particular specialty of mine.”

  “And you know how you’re always saying I should try the same?”

  “You’re not telling me you’re going to start winging it, not with this man. Oh, no, because honey, you’re supposed to start with something small at first. Say, like…going to the grocery store without an alphabetized list. Then you can slowly work your way up to the top, to an advanced run. Rafe, now he’s an advanced run. Double diamond, baby. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  Emma knew what she was saying.

  But it was too late.

  “I have a thing for motorcycles,” she said to Amber. “A secret…fantasy thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Okay, maybe not really.

  But she had her eye on the advanced run—the double diamond—and nothing else would do.

  15

  RAFE WALKED THROUGH HIS HOUSE, his pretty neighbor Irena at his side, taking notes on what he wanted to do to each room.

  “I’m so glad we’re finally getting together to do this,” she said, and shot him a little smile.

  It had taken him a few weeks to get in touch with her. He’d planned on doing everything for the house himself but found he was tired of living in such a sterile-looking place. “I still have a month or so of work left, but I thought we could at least get the ball rolling.”

  “I’d hoped you would call. I’ve been looking so forward to working with you.” She was dressed in blue trousers with a crisp white blouse that made him think of June Cleaver.

  Wife material, a small voice inside his head said. And she’s looking at you as if she wants to gobble you up.

  Let her.

  Instead, he kept his distance, not wanting to give off the wrong signal before he was ready.

  And he wouldn’t be ready until he got Emma out of his head, if that was even possible.

  “You’re going to love having the place fixed up,” she said, sidling closer. “We’ll make it a home.”

  He was counting on that. Only four more shoots for the fantasy calendar and he’d be done.

  Free.

  He would be able to hang around and enjoy himself. Do whatever struck his fancy.

  Irena’s face was tipped down now as she concentrated on the notes she was making on her pad, exposing her neck and throat. He tried, he really did, to feel attracted to her. To want to kiss her. After all, she lived right across the street. She was kind and sweet, she had her own life and, most of all, she was clearly attracted to him.

  Maybe if he could get a certain Emma Willis out of his head, he could handle this better. Emma, the little workaholic, the woman who ran scared every time he tried to get closer than sex.

  There, that helped a little, remembering that.

  They moved into the master bedroom now, which held his bed and a dresser and not much else. “I figure this room needs something,” he said. “But I can’t quite figure out what—”

  A brown-and-gray ball of fur leaped to the bed and stared at him defiantly, as if daring him to make her get down.

  “Hey, flea-ball, that’s my bed,” he said, knowing damn well she didn’t have fleas because just last night he’d finally been able to bathe her. The experience had left them both soaking wet and grumpy, but it had been worth it. Now she didn’t smell like three-week-old garbage.

  She only looked like it.

  Irena tossed her notes to the mattress and sat next to the cat, stroking her until the lazy little thing sprawled out over his covers and eyed him as if to say, You fool, you could have her stroking you, too, if you played your cards right.

  “I have some great ideas for this room,” Irena said, and patted the bed next to her. “Sit. I’ll show you.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Sit, silly.” And she pulled him down next to her.

  From the front of the house, his doorbell rang. Rafe assumed it was Stone with the proofs he’d been waiting on. Since he’d left the door open on purpose, Rafe called out, “Back here!”

  “Look at this.” Irena set the pad in his lap and leaned in close, pointing to the paper, making sure her hair fell away, exposing her cleavage. “I thought we could—”

  “Oh.” Not Stone, but Emma stood in the doorway to his bedroom, wearing jean shorts and a white T-shirt, hair down, no makeup, and looking so far from the hot, sexy model he’d gotten used to that for a second he just blinked at her.

  She was staring at him sitting on the bed next to Irena with a carefully blank expression on her face. “Excuse me, I thought you said to come in.”

  “I did. I—” Rafe didn’t understand the flash of guilt that went through him, because, damn it, he had done nothing wrong. But he didn’t have time to wallow in it because Emma was already gone. “Emma!”

  “Who’s that?” asked Irena, halting him at the bedroom door with her soft voice.

  He looked back at her sitting on his bed, just as his front door slammed. Ouch. He had no idea what Emma had wanted or needed, but one thing was certain. Whatever she’d come for, he’d never get it out of her now.