Hell. I’d never gone so far as to vocalize any of that the way Brommy and the others had, but I’d watched, turned on and enjoying the hell out of those scenes. I had objectified Emma, and it ate me up now when I thought about it. I’d let her down even before ever meeting her. She was funny, smart, sensitive, caring. And she’d been reduced to how she looked on screen.

It did me in to know my friends had seen her that way. And I knew fully fucking well what Anton had been picturing when he’d called her the princess. It made my blood heat faster than taking a cheap hit on the ice. I wanted to scrub their minds of Emma’s nakedness. Which was wrong. She was proud of her work, as she should be.

“She’s more than just a role,” I told Brommy—told myself too. Because a reminder wouldn’t hurt right now, when I wanted to punch my friend just for the knowledge he had.

He looked at me for a beat, then grinned wide. “Those sex scenes are messing with you, aren’t they? Not that I blame you—”

“Brommy, I swear to God, if you so much as look at her the wrong way—”

He laughed, a full-bellied, slap-his-thigh release. “Shit. You’re totally gone on her.”

“Hell.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “Would you shut up?”

“I can’t. It’s too good.” He pointed a finger at me. “You’re more protective of her than you ever were of Cassandra. You realize that, right?”

No. Yes.

“Fuck off.”

“Go for it, man. She’s sweet, funny, and doesn’t seem to mind your grumpy ass.”

“She’s only here for a visit.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I’m not messing around with Mamie’s guest. If I want to get off, I’ll . . .” Use my hand as I have for nearly a year. “Hit some club and find a one-night stand.”

Brommy leveled me with a long amused stare. “You know I can always tell when you’re full of shit.”

I did know. Didn’t stop me from returning his stare with a bland one. “Fuck off, Brommy.”

“Fucking off,” he promised, setting a hand to his heart. “But I’m going to enjoy the hell out of myself when you eventually topple.”

I was glad someone would.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Emma

After the disastrous lunch, I went back to my bungalow and hid out. There were about a dozen emails to go through, none of them inspiring or able to lift the subdued mood that lay heavy on my shoulders. I almost jumped when the housephone rang, but it wasn’t him.

Instead, Amalie invited me up to the house for dinner and cards. I didn’t have it in me to decline; besides, if I stayed here, I’d brood. Like Lucian.

God, I wanted to hunt him down, see if he was all right, try to make him crack that small but delighted smile of his. All foolish thinking. He was a big boy; he’d lived his life just fine before I’d stumbled into it. He didn’t need me, and it was the height of arrogance to assume I could make his life better in any shape or form.

What I absolutely refused to think about was the fact that maybe I needed him.

“No.” I closed the door of my bungalow and marched toward the house. “You’re just clinging to him because your life is uncertain, and you need a project.”

I was not about to make Lucian a project.

Following the directions Amalie had given me, I found her and Tina in the kitchen. It was a gorgeous space, with lower cabinets of aged rich oak, Carrara marble counters, softly washed plaster walls, and dark-beamed ceilings. Tina sat on a stool at the massive center island while Amalie puttered around an eight-burner stove.

“Welcome,” Amalie said, smiling over her shoulder. “Dinner is almost ready.”

Whatever she’d cooked smelled fantastic. I took a seat next to Tina, who offered me wine.

“Where is Sal?” I asked. I had yet to see Amalie without Sal in tow.

“He’s gone to LA for the week on a buying trip.” Amalie winked. “Which really means he knew I was about to greet my other grandbabies and wanted us to settle in without him in the way.”

“Would he be in the way?”

“Non.” She waved a beringed hand. “But—”

“He doesn’t get along with Anton,” Tina cut in.

“I wonder why,” I murmured, unable to help myself, but Tina laughed.

“We Osmonds can be a difficult bunch. Anton and Sal have been silently hating on each other for years because Ant once made the mistake of calling Sal the help.”

It was a terrible thing to say, and I would have been livid.

“Oh, wow. Did Sal punch him out for that?” I was only half teasing.

“No.” Tina beamed. “Luc did.”

Mighty Lucian. Of course he did. I could picture it with ease and smiled. Damn it, I missed him. And it had only been a few hours. I took a sip of wine, annoyed with myself.