Dinner is at a 'non-touristy' (whatever the devil that means in a convention town) Japanese place a short distance from the hotel. They catch a taxi there, and by the less than subtle machinations of her female friend, he finds himself sitting next to Emma in the back seat. He must remember to buy Ruby a 'thank you' drink later, he thinks, because Emma is wearing another black dress, but this one is much shorter and made of some manner of slippery fabric that keeps riding up on her lovely thighs each time the taxi swerves or turns. She also smells quite amazing, a blend of flowers and spice and warm female skin that fills him with the urge to bury his face in the crook of her neck and inhale deeply.
"What are your friends doing tonight?"
He has to make an effort not to look at her lips, painted scarlet for the occasion. "Having dinner at Hard Rock, I believe." She makes a face that is just judgmental enough, and he laughs. "I know, but they were quite keen."
To his amusement, the silent matchmaking continues once they reach their destination. When shown to their table for four, Ruby quickly arranges herself and Victor on one side of it, giving Emma no choice but to sit beside him. He hides a smile at the look she darts in her friend's direction, because it's not irritation but embarrassment, which means that Emma Swan isn't averse to sitting close to him, she just doesn't want to be obvious about it.
The restaurant is small and welcoming and exactly the type of place he and his brother used to meet for lunch when he still lived in London. He says as much to the table at large, and Emma looks at him. "No family in Boston?"
"No. My brother and his family live in London." And he misses them dearly, but that's quite the maudlin topic and not one to dwell on when you're trying to impress a woman, he's always felt.
"You must miss them," she says softly, and he wonders if she's just perceptive or a beautiful blonde witch in disguise.
"Aye."
Her mouth twitches in a smile, and he realises he's lapsed back into the accent he does his best to smooth over when in his public persona. Any more talk of Liam and his family and he'll be crying in his cups in the corner, and that's not the impression he wants to make this evening. "Shall we have another drink?"
Reaching across the table, Victor claps him on the back. "Oh, I like this one," he tells Emma cheerfully, then he's flagged down a waitress and ordered sake for four before anyone else can speak.
"Sake? Seriously?" Emma deadpans in Victor's direction. "I guess you don't want to make it to any of the panels tomorrow either?"
Victor merely smiles. "You cannot come to a fine establishment such as this without partaking in their traditional drink." He leans forward, a delicate wink aimed at Ruby as he does so. "Why, even now they're warming our drinks in the traditional manner handed down from generation to generation."
Ruby is smiling and Emma looks determinedly unimpressed, and Killian has the feeling that this is fairly indicative of this trio's usual interaction. "A traditional sake warmer?"
Killian leans towards her, close enough to put his lips to her ear. "I believe it's called a microwave, love."
He actually sees the gooseflesh rising up on her arms, and the thought of that shiver tightening her body everywhere sends a rush of heat straight to his groin. She turns to look at him, her face so close to his that it would take a whisper for his mouth to touch hers, then the waitress reappears with their sake. Emma sits back, dropping her gaze, and the moment is officially lost.
His body doesn't appear to have received the memo, however, as Emma's nearness continues to merrily spike his blood as much as the pure alcohol they're about to toss back ever could. That said, the sake packs quite a punch. The restaurant is a little too warm now and he's just thinking longingly of the cool night air outside when Emma looks at her watch, then at Ruby. "Should we go, do you think?"
The club is only two blocks away, so they decide to walk. Frankly, while he's personally certain that such high heels cannot be good for a woman's vertebra and feet, it's a joy to drop back to stroll along beside Victor while the other two go ahead, because bloody hell, just watching the undulation of Emma's hips as she walks is making him feel like a schoolboy at the tender age of thirty-two.
As they reach the club (the sodding line is a mile long, of course), Victor looks at Emma and Ruby, then gives him a knowing grin. "It's a good time to be alive, don't you think?"
He can't argue with that.
"The Hard Rock diners are here," Killian tells her a few minutes after they arrive at the club (thanks to Ruby, they didn't have to wait in line at all, and Emma so doesn't want to know what she said to the bouncer to get them through the door so quickly) and she looks at him carefully, trying to work out if he's pleased or disappointed that his work friends are here as well. She's all for wanting to get away from the usual crowd, but she knows from personal experience that some men like to separate a potential target from his friends so that he can be something or someone other than who he really is. "I did say they were welcome to join us after dinner if they wished," he half-shouts in her ear as they draw closer to the dance floor, "but I wasn't sure if this was quite their thing."
She grins at him, inexplicably relieved. If he doesn't care if she meets or talks to his work colleagues, that means he doesn't care what tidbits about him she might pick up. That's the MO of someone with nothing to hide, she thinks, and her habitual tight knot of anxiety between her shoulders immediately relaxes. There's no way she'll be relaxing completely, because she's far too aware of him. Far too conscious that her heartbeat stutters every time her eyes meet his, far too mindful of the fact that he once again looks like he's just stepped out of the pages of GQ, the two-day stubble on his chiselled jaw included, so no, she won't be relaxing completely.
They find a table close to the dance floor, and when Ruby and Victor immediately settle in for some serious eye-fucking over their drinks, Emma rolls her eyes and turns to the man standing beside her. "Save me, would you?"
He takes her hand in his and lifts it to his lips. She feels her mouth drop open as he kisses her knuckles, his mouth soft and warm. Pulling back, his gaze drops to her lips, then lifts again to lock with her eyes. "Anything for a beautiful damsel in distress."
"Woah there, Prince Charming," she shoots back at him. "We're just dancing, okay?" She flashes him a smile to take the sting out of her words, at least she thinks she does, because her face doesn't really feel as though it's under her control at the moment. His smile unwavering, he says nothing, just tugs gently on her hand. Feeling as though she's drifting through a dream, Emma lets him lead her to the dance floor, unsure if it's the bass or her pulse that's pounding the loudest in her ears.
He's a good dancer, light on his feet and actually dancing to the music, rather than trying to get handsy with her. Not that she'd mind, because somewhere between that first "who are you" at her hotel door and now,her body has decided that it wants his, and it wants it badly, and she's not quite sure what to do about that. If she just wanted to fuck him and forget him because he was hot and available, it would be easier. Right now, she doesn't know what she wants from him, only that she wants more than that, and he's certainly not giving her any clues about what he wants, apart from the obvious.
Fuck it, she thinks hazily. Thankfully, the twin As of alcohol and adrenaline quickly kick in, and she stops feeling self-conscious around him and simply dances. She loses track of how long they're out there, too busy losing herself in the pounding beat, feeling it coming up from the floor through the soles of her feet, rippling through her body until it reaches her spinning head.
A little too much spinning, it seems, because suddenly Killian catches her in his arms to stop her from bumping into the people dancing beside them. Her fingers dig into his biceps to steady herself, her breath catching in her throat at the feel of him against her, his chest solid against her breasts, thighs shifting as he moves. Tilting back her head, she looks at him in time to see his eyes darkening, a muscle twitching in his stubbled jaw. His throat works as he swallows, then he puts his mouth to her ear. "Want to sit this one out?"
She nods, desperately trying to hide the fact that her whole body is still tingling from that fleeting contact with his. She's already worked out that he has a healthy ego when it comes to the opposite sex, and it doesn't seem fair to give it such a boost. He leads her to the chill-out area, where the music is muted and the air-con is actually working. After installing her on a low couch, he vanishes in the direction of the bar, quickly coming back with two bottles of water.
When he drops down onto the couch beside her and hands her a bottle of water, she swallows hard, caught between fight and flight, because she can smell the scent of clean sweat and aftershave, feel the heat rolling off his body, and see the glistening skin bared by the open v-neck of his shirt. Right now, she wants nothing more than to climb onto his lap and kiss him until he's out of his mind with the need to roll her onto her back on the couch, right here, and fuck her into next week.
She clambers awkwardly to her feet, because she's not ready, she can't be ready, because it's only been two days and this is crazy, even if it is just sex and what the hell is happening to her? "Hold that thought," she tells him as he looks up at her, obviously confused. "I'll be right back."
Ruby and Victor are standing next to their original table, both of them scanning the dance floor. "Hey, are you guys leaving?"
"We were just coming to find you," Victor tells her with that odd little bow he always does. "Some of us need our beauty sleep more than others, my lovely." He looks at her more closely, then puts his hand on her arm. "You okay?"
Emma looks at her watch, stunned to see that almost two hours have passed. How is that possible? No wonder her feet are killing her. "I'm fine."
"Really?" Ruby takes her by the shoulders and peers into her face. "Because I'm not saying you look like you're about to hyperventilate, but you totally look like you're about to hyperventilate."
"That's probably because I am." Emma lifts her hands in mute appeal, then drops them again, because there's no point lying to people who know her so well. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing with this guy."
Victor's grin widens. "Well, I switched from medicine to law a long time ago, but I think I can still remember the basics. See, when a man and woman-"
"God, Whale, shut up." She turns to Ruby, who is also grinning. "I'm having a serious crisis here."
Her friend's smile softens along with her tone. "Not every man's like Neal, you know."
God, she so doesn't want to talk about Neal right now. "I know."
"See, you keep saying that, but I don't think you really do." Taking her by the shoulders once more, Ruby turns her around. "Get back there, and I don't expect to see either of you at breakfast tomorrow, is that clear?"
"Crystal."
Emma walks back to the chill-out lounge in a semi-daze, feeling as though every slow step is taking her towards the point of no return. It's just sex, she tells herself. You've done this before and you'll probably do it again. Just have fun and then you'll never have to see him again.
That last thought doesn't help, to be honest, and neither does the situation she finds when she returns to the chill-out lounge. Killian is standing now, having a spirited discussion with a very cute blonde and from the look on his face, he's not winning the argument. As Emma watches, her stomach turning over, the woman puts her hand on his arm. He gently shakes it off, not unkindly, but there's no mistaking the intimacy in the gesture.
There's not point pretending she hasn't seen them, because Killian has seen her and is waving her over. "Emma, this is Tink. She's from the Boston office as well." He makes an expansive hand gesture that manages to look more than a little embarrassed, and Emma feels the first flicker of anger burn a little brighter. "Tink, this is Emma."
Tink? Seriously? "Hi."
There's an awkward silence, but Emma is determined not to break it. Finally, the other woman looks at Killian. "Well, um, I'll see you at the morning session tomorrow." Her smile is an odd mixture of curiosity and resentment, and Emma suddenly knows exactly why that is. "Nice meeting you, Emma."
As soon as they're alone again, he gestures towards the couch. "Care to sit a while, Swan?"
"No, I don't think so." She blows out a sharp breath, hoping to cool her thoughts. It doesn't work. "You know, I should have known you'd turn out to be just another typical guy." Alcohol and insecurity is a crappy mixture and a big part of her knows that, but she's just so tired of dealing with this kind of shit. And to think she actually believed Ruby's peptalk about the law of averages.
He's frowning at her now, and she knows he's confused by her sudden backflip, but she doesn't care. "And here I was thinking I was one of a kind."
"That's not what I meant." She's angry, but she's more furious with herself that she's let herself get sucked by a handsome face and a pretty accent. "You've slept with her, haven't you?"
His eyes widen, shock rippling across his face. "Bloody hell. You are a beautiful witch in disguise."
She frowns at the odd comment, then waves it away. "I'm work in fraud, remember." Her eyes are burning, but she tells herself it's just because she's tired. "I'm just very good at my job."
"Nothing fraudulent happening here, love." He steps closer, his eyes urgently searching hers as though trying to find the real meaning behind her words. "You're right, Tink and I have slept together, but it was years ago. We're just mates now."
"Didn't look like that to me."
He gives her a long, considering look that she's suddenly afraid will see far too much. "Jealous, Swan?"
"Not in the least," she lies with a brittle smile, and he shakes his head at her, reaching out to touch her arm, but she steps back. "Enjoy the hotel room. I'll be crashing somewhere else tonight."
"Emma, love, don't do this."
"Don't call me love." She pushes her way through the crowd, barely knowing where she's going but knowing she just has to get away. She'd been one compliment away from sleeping with an almost-complete stranger and she should have known better. Fuck, when would she ever learn?
She detours when she gets closer to the exit, suddenly unable to bear the thought of the bright lights in the real world. Instead she seeks temporary refuge in one of the stalls in the club restroom, where she fights the urge to smack herself in the head because she liked him so much and she's so sick of being wrong about people.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." What is wrong with her? She hardly knows him, so why does she feel like crying? Ruby. She needs to call Ruby. Perched miserably on the closed lid of the toilet, she rummages through the purse on her lap, then swears under her breath again. Her phone must have fallen out into the couch where she'd been sitting. Besides, Ruby and Victor will be no help, even if she did have her phone. They'll have arrived back at the hotel by now, and knowing them, Emma has no doubt they'll already be too busy to pick up her call anyway. There's nothing for it. She'll have to go find her phone.
Killian is still standing where she'd left him, although now he's talking to another man. Oh, and he has her phone in his hand, apparently for safe-keeping, and she should be glad, but her hopes of sneaking back to search the couch without him seeing her are now dashed.
She slowly walks towards them, relieved that his back is to her, because she's still trying to decide if she cares enough about her phone to speak to him again tonight. To make things even more awkward, he's talking to a short, portly guy with a beard who also seems to be wearing a red knitted beanie (Seriously? How did he even get past the bouncer?) and who has 'eccentric legal genius' written all over him. They're talking loudly to hear each other over the ambient music and, once Emma gets close enough to eavesdrop, the other guy's question has her stopping in her tracks. "I'm with some guy from the New York office, Joseph something. Who are you rooming with?"
"Someone from the Chicago office."
"What's he like?"
"He's a she, Smee."
"What? Not that hot blonde you've been following around all weekend?"
Killian smiles, but it's not the same grin she's gotten used to. It's like someone's dimmed the lights, she thinks, and feels a pang of guilt she's pretty sure she's not meant to feel, because come on, she's not his keeper. "The very same, William, the very same."
"Was she good?"
"Excuse me?"
The other guy wiggles his eyebrows in a way that Emma supposes is meant to be suggestive but just looks like he's got a bad facial twitch. "Come on, Jones, I saw her in those stripper shoes last night, you lucky bastard. You can't tell me that a tart like that wouldn't be up for a good fu-"
Emma sucks in a breath as Killian grabs the front of the other guy's shirt and pulls him close until they're nose to nose. "I suggest you think very carefully about finishing that sentence, mate." His tone is pleasant enough, but the other guy obviously knows Killian well enough to know that pleasant isn't the right word for the intent he's radiating right now, and he bumbles out a flustered apology.
"I didn't mean-"
"Perhaps you'll be so good as to bugger off before I punch you in the gob, mate."
William Smee moves very quickly for a short fat man. Once he's gone, Killian shakes his head and slowly turns around, his eyes widening at the sight of her. "I thought you'd gone."
She gestures towards him. "I left my phone behind."
His wistful smile makes her throat tighten. "That's not all you left behind, love."
She stares at him, wondering how the hell he can reach right into the heart of the matter - and her - with a few simple words when he barely knows her. When she doesn't speak, he sighs and steps closer. "Come on, let me take you back to the hotel."
"I'm fine."
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Humour me."
She feels restless and off-center, and maybe like she wants to stay here and fight with him a little more. "I don't need an escort."
He purses his lips, amusement dances in his bright eyes. "You're a stubborn one, aren't you? Never mind, I like that in a woman."
"Whatever." She takes her phone from his raised hand and jams in into her purse with unsteady fingers. "See you around."
He's hot on her heels as they reach the exit of the chill-out zone, then she feels his hand on her elbow. "Wait."
"What?"
"I'm sorry if I upset you in some way." His eyes look very blue in the dim light, and right now they're burning into hers with an intensity that makes her breath come short. "That was never my intention."
She closes her eyes. She can say nothing and storm back to the hotel and be alone and lonely and wonder what might have been if she'd only been brave enough, or she can be honest. Taking a deep breath, she opens her eyes and picks door number two. Finally. "Look, I haven't had the best track record when it comes to men, okay?"
"Then those men were all complete fools who didn't deserve you, obviously." He lifts his hand to her face, his thumb lightly dancing across her cheek. "You probably don't want to hear this right now, lass, but you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met."
She wants very much to lean into his touch, but she's not ready to believe she was actually right about him. "Pretty sure that's just the sake talking."
"It's not, but even if it were, that wouldn't change the fact that you're beautiful."
She opens her mouth to brush the compliment off, then thinks of what he'd said to her last night. Taking a deep breath, she gives him a tentative smile. "Thank you."
His gaze locks with hers, stretching out across the space of a heartbeat, and the spark that's been simmering since she opened the door to him last night suddenly catches and flares. She sees the heat flash in his eyes at the same time it floods her body, and before she knows it he's closed the distance between them, her arms winding around his neck even as he's pressing her back against the wall behind her.
He's right. He might have been drinking, but he's definitely not drunk, because a drunk man wouldn't have the motor skills to kiss her like he's kissing her, because holy fuck, she feels as though she needs to check that her clothes haven't caught fire. His kiss is hard and fierce and exactly what she wants, his tongue twisting with hers almost angrily, and she kisses him back just as furiously, her fingers digging into his hips to pull him closer, one leg sliding higher against his thigh in silent invitation. Groaning into her kiss, he grips her thigh, his fingertips delving teasingly beneath the hem of her dress. He grinds his hips into hers and she feels him, hard and thick and rubbing exactly where she wants him and fuck, she wants him, wants him inside her so badly that it hurts. Turning her head, she kisses his neck, letting him feel the scrape of her teeth as she tastes the salt of his skin, feeling the vibration of his groan on her tongue.
"Bloody hell, Emma." He's breathing heavily as he lifts his head, his body still plastered against hers from neck to knee. His erection is pressed between her thighs, thick and hard and obviously hers for the taking should she wish, the slow rocking of his hips making her bite into her bottom lip with each subtle thrust. "Don't kiss a man like that unless you mean it."
She rubs the spike of her heel against his calf, watching with dazed satisfaction as his pupils dilate. "Are you going to take me back to the hotel or not?"
His mouth curves in a slow, heated smile, the look in his eyes making her toes curl in her stilettos. "Oh, I'll take you alright, love." The hand on her thigh slides a little higher, his eyes darkening even more as she inhales sharply. "But first I think we'd better get back to our room, don't you?"