Emma slept the rest of the night curled against Aidan’s strong body. At his request, she’d put on her pajamas and he’d left on his sweats and T-shirt. She couldn’t remember sleeping more soundly in her life.

When she woke up, it was with a sense of something missing. Grey light filtered through the crack between the drapes, and as she came fully awake, she realized what was missing, or rather who. Aidan had left the bed.

The spot where he’d been was still warm, and she rolled to that section and sniffed the pillow. She still couldn’t identify the brand of his subtle aftershave, although it had a hint of musk. Maybe today she’d ask him the name of it.

In the meantime, she had to get cracking if she expected to make the drive-time radio interview at eight-fifteen. She climbed out of bed and headed for the master bath. Water was running somewhere in the suite, but Aidan had left the master bath to her.

Just as well. One peek at him in the shower and she’d jettison her morning appointments. That thought brought her to a dead stop in the middle of the bedroom. Good Lord. Would she really behave that unprofessionally because she wanted to have sex with Aidan?

Probably. And that was unnerving as hell. She’d worked too hard getting to this point in her writing career to jeopardize it for sex with a man, any man, but especially this one. Aidan had made it clear that they could hook up, as he’d phrased it, but never have a more long-term commitment than that.

Had she allowed one fabulous night of sex with a talented lover to sidetrack her completely? If so, shame on her. She’d do well to get her priorities straight.

Striding purposefully into the bathroom, she pulled off her pajamas and turned on the shower. She moved through her routine quickly and efficiently, determined to focus on what was important—namely, promoting Night Shift.

She couldn’t blame Aidan for her lack of dedication, though. He’d resisted her all along. The man had been prepared to walk for an hour in Chicago’s freezing cold rather than take her to bed. She’d asked him to stay.

Apparently she couldn’t handle the heat, though, so she’d best keep out of the kitchen. If one night with him had affected her so strongly, she’d be wise not to repeat that behavior tonight. Time for some old-fashioned self-control.

When she returned to the bedroom after showering, washing her hair, and using the blow dryer, she noticed a tray on the dressing table. It held an insulated carafe of what smelled like coffee, a cup and saucer, a small pitcher of cream, and a piece of chocolate cake that looked almost identical to the one she’d smashed into her turquoise suit yesterday.

No eggs, no fruit, no bran muffin. Nothing that would have been good for her, which was exactly the way she liked her food first thing in the morning. Some men might have taken it upon themselves to provide her with what she should be eating, but Aidan had chosen what she wanted, instead.

Damn him, anyway. Why did he have to be the perfect man? Other than his extreme wealth, of course. But without that wealth she wouldn’t be enjoying top-notch room service in the penthouse of a very expensive hotel. His money was part of him and she hadn’t exactly been suffering as she’d enjoyed the luxuries he’d provided so far.

Still wearing the hotel robe so there would be no chance of messing up her outfit with chocolate cake this morning, she sat at the dressing table and poured herself a cup of coffee. She could devote ten minutes to this indulgence, which should inject enough caffeine into her system to get her through the radio show.

“Can I get you anything else?”

She turned to find him leaning in the bedroom doorway dressed in slacks and another snowy white dress shirt open at the collar. Her wayward glance went to his belt, and warmth settled between her thighs as she remembered unfastening it, remembered the heft and feel of his cock, remembered how he’d tasted. Oh, he could get her something else, all right, but it would be worse for her than chocolate cake for breakfast.

She toasted him with the coffee cup. “You’re aces for having this brought up. Thanks for not assuming I needed protein before my big day.”

“I’ve been paying attention.” He looked relaxed leaning there with his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks, but lines of tension bracketed his mouth.

“Listen, Aidan, about last night, I—”

“The wolf thing? No problem.”

“No, not the wolf thing.” She looked into his caramel-colored eyes. Funny, but his eyes were the same color as the eyes of the wolf she’d imagined standing beside her bed in the middle of the night. Whoa. Had doing it doggie style made her dream about him as a wolf?

He sighed. “We should probably talk about that, but I don’t want to make you late. On the other hand, it isn’t the type of discussion I want to have in front of Barry.”

“Let me go first.” She knew for certain he was about to tell her they wouldn’t be having sex anymore. She wanted to be the one who said that. It was a matter of pride.

“All right.”

“We can’t have sex anymore. It’s too distracting and I need to concentrate on my book tour.”

He looked decidedly relieved. “I understand.”

Of course you do, you ratfink. If I hadn’t called it off, you would have. How dare you give me the best sex of my life and then decide we should be celibate for the rest of the weekend?

But she didn’t say any of that. Instead she smiled at him over her coffee cup, even though that smile took all the willpower she had. “It was fun, though. Thanks for a good time.” She knew it was a smartass comment, but he’d been ready to dump her so she felt justified.

He rolled his eyes. “That sounds like something you’d write on a public bathroom wall.”

The eye-roll irritated her more than it should have. On some level she acknowledged that he looked way too good leaning in the doorway, and she still wanted him, which wasn’t a good idea. “But you’d never see it if I did, because you avoid public bathrooms.”

“Damn it, Emma!” He pushed himself away from the doorframe. “I’m sick of your remarks about my money.”

“Maybe I’m sick of being reminded every five seconds that you’re richer than God! Oh, excuse me, that would be wealthier than God. My mistake.”

“Are we fighting?”

“Yes. And it’s about time. Think of it as class warfare.”

“You’re not exactly poor, Ms. Bestseller.” He pointed a finger at her. “You can afford a loft apartment in the Village, and that’s not cheap.”

She lifted her chin. “I like living in Manhattan. I’m closer to my publisher.”

“I doubt that’s the only reason. I think you like the prestige of that loft. And you may ride the subway, but that turquoise suit has a designer label on it.”

“What are you doing snooping through my suitcase?”

“You said you wanted it cleaned. I came to get it while you were in the shower.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She sounded ungracious, but it was tough to be grateful when he was withdrawing access to the one thing that intrigued her the most—his sexy self.

“Because of my name on the hotel registration, you’ll have that suit cleaned and hanging in your closet by this afternoon.”

“I appreciate that Aidan.”

“I’m sure you do. It’s a pricey outfit. Dolce and Gabana, if I remember right.”

She should have figured he’d have an eye for labels. “How do you know I didn’t get it at Goodwill?”

“Did you?”

“Well, no, but some of my clothes come from there.”

“Anything you brought on this trip?”

“That’s beside the point.”

He sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. “You’re right. We’re arguing about nothing.”

She couldn’t stand it any longer. Although she’d acknowledged her reasons for staying away from him, he had his own reasons for staying away from her, and not knowing those reasons was driving her crazy.

Taking a deep breath, she faced him. “I need to be clear about something. If I don’t get an answer now, it will bug me forever.”

He looked wary. “About what?”

“Yesterday you implied that we couldn’t expect to have a relationship. I leaped on that and started complaining about your money, but I never gave you a chance to explain. Why couldn’t we have a relationship, Aidan?” She hated the longing in her voice when she said that, but she couldn’t take it back.

He gazed at her for several long seconds, as if considering his answer. “You’ll probably think this is medieval.”

“Try me.”

“The truth is, I’m expected to marry someone connected to a family with power and wealth equal to the Wallace’s.”

Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I owe my family a great deal, and I intend to do what’s expected of me.”

“What about love?”

“That’s a modern concept and it’s fine for the masses, but—”

“The masses? Are you listening to yourself? You sound like some prince from a royal family!”

He nodded. “In a way, I am. Love of family, loyalty to family, are more important than my individual preferences.”

“I can’t imagine.” She stared at him, unable to comprehend that kind of self-sacrifice. She would never have believed it if he hadn’t told her himself. “I adore my mother, but if she attempted to choose the man I marry, I would shut her down so fast.”

“And there is the difference between us.” His chest heaved. “You need to get ready and I need to make a few calls. I’ll meet you by the front door in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be there.” She drank her coffee quickly while she ate the cake much faster than she would have liked. Then she finished getting ready, all the while trying to assimilate what Aidan had told her. To think of a twenty-first-century man caving to that kind of manipulation boggled her mind.

He was a person, not a chess piece. This was America, for crying out loud, the land of the free. He should be free to marry anyone he chose. But he seemed to have accepted his obligation without question. No matter how she turned the concept around in her mind, she couldn’t make it fit with the strong, confident man she’d come to know.

She wondered if he was afraid of losing his inheritance and all that the Wallace fortune provided in the way of bennies. He did enjoy his perks. Still, from what she’d observed of his character so far, he was a man of honor. She doubted a loss of income would make him do something he didn’t think was right. For whatever reason, he believed in this custom of allowing his family to dictate his marital future.

In the meantime, she suspected he’d sown his share of wild oats. He enjoyed sex with a gusto that suggested plenty of experience with the endeavor. In that case, why didn’t he want to sow a few more with her this weekend?

He didn’t though. She’d bet her next royalty check that he’d come into her bedroom with the express purpose of calling a halt to their fun and games. She’d barely beat him to the punch.

The more she thought about that decision on his part, the happier she became. He’d decided to back off for the same reason she had. The sex had been too intense for both of them. While she was afraid of losing focus on her career, he was afraid of becoming so attached to her that he wouldn’t be able to honor his duty to his family.

Greatly cheered by that conclusion, she located her purse and her satchel containing her book signing materials before walking out into the living room exactly at the fifteen-minute mark he’d set.

He paced in front of the unlit fireplace, his phone to his ear. The remnants of his breakfast sat on a tray on the coffee table.

Curious, she took inventory. He’d had coffee, too, but from the looks of the plate, he’d had steak and eggs instead of chocolate cake. Made sense. He was a big guy who would need to support all those gorgeous muscles with the right kind of fuel.

She didn’t mean to eavesdrop on his conversation, but short of retreating to the bedroom again, she couldn’t very well help it. Oh, hell, she might as well admit she’d been straining to hear what he was saying from the minute she’d realized he was on the phone.

Years ago she’d accepted the fact that writers were notorious eavesdroppers. She got some of her best story ideas that way. Add to that her natural curiosity about anything to do with Aidan, and she became the human equivalent of a wiretap.

“Sure, Nadia. We’ll be at the bookstore about one this afternoon. I’d love to see you. We should have time for coffee during Emma’s signing. See you then.” He disconnected the call and turned to Emma. “Ready?”

“Yes.” She fought the urge to ask him who Nadia was.

He gestured with the phone. “Somebody I’ve known ever since I was a kid. She’s going to drop by the signing.”

“Great.” And she knew, just knew that Nadia was a potential candidate for this arranged marriage deal. He’d known her since he was a kid, which meant the two families were close. Emma read the tabloids, and she was aware that wealthy families socialized with other wealthy families, even if they lived in cities as far apart as New York and Chicago.

Instantly Emma hated this Nadia person who was colluding with Aidan’s family to imprison him in a loveless marriage. True, he was going along docilely, but apparently he’d been brainwashed from a young age. The whole concept just seemed wrong.

Wrong as it was, though, it was none of her business. Having one really steamy night of sex with a man didn’t give her the right to meddle in his personal life. This situation wasn’t a plot point in one of her books. She couldn’t simply rewrite the script to suit her view of the world.

Yet she obsessed about the unfairness of it all during odd moments when she didn’t have to concentrate on something else, like one of her two radio interviews or her morning TV appearance. Aidan accompanied her to all of them and stayed in the background. They didn’t talk much in the car, either. After the easy banter they’d shared on the plane and their sexual abandon with each other in the suite, their silences were awkward.

Emma didn’t know what to do about that. The day’s schedule marched steadily toward the one o’clock bookstore event to which Aidan had so graciously invited Nadia whatever. Maybe her last name was Rockefeller or DuPont.

Emma secretly hoped she’d turn out to be a dull and colorless woman who could hardly wait to get her hands on a specimen the likes of Aidan. That would further justify Emma’s indignation, to think of Aidan shackled to someone who would bore him to tears during their first week of married life.

At the bookstore Emma snagged another coffee drink to keep her courage up for the reading session ahead. She dreaded the reading portion of the event far more than the autograph session. Signing books and talking to readers was gratifying, even if it wore her out. But listening to herself read her own words aloud was pure torture because she never got over the urge to edit her work, even after it was finished.

Still, she was expected to read, so she did. It wasn’t that she never knuckled under to satisfy others. But she wasn’t into self-sacrifice, which Aidan seemed to be. Ordering his entire life to further his family’s ambitions made no sense to her. As one o’clock drew near, the prospect of reading before an audience took on extra significance because Nadia would be there, Nadia the albatross around Aidan’s neck.

Emma tried to imagine that Nadia wasn’t thrilled about the arrangement, either, but any woman would take one look at Aidan and think to herself I want some of that. She certainly had.

As the time for the reading approached, Aidan stood to one side of the rows of chairs and talked with the bookstore manager. Emma pretended to scan the passage she would soon be reading while watching him from the corner of her eye. Yep, he was certifiably gorgeous. Nadia couldn’t possibly be upset about her fate.

With five minutes to go, the chairs had filled and newcomers were forced to stand. Emma was gratified by the turnout, which was a constant source of amazement to her. When she wrote a book alone in her loft, she had a difficult time imagining all these people reading it. But they did, and for that she was very grateful.

Aidan hadn’t made a move toward any of the women who’d taken a seat, so Emma didn’t think Nadia had arrived yet. Then he turned, as if sensing the arrival of someone. It was the oddest thing, as if he knew she was coming before she even arrived.

Emma felt a pang of something that just might be jealousy. Maybe he had a bond with this childhood friend that was so strong he felt her before he saw her. Emma couldn’t expect to compete with that.

Or that. When Nadia rounded a bookshelf and started toward Aidan, Emma groaned softly in dismay. The woman was stunning. She moved like a runway model and she had the figure of one, too. Tall and fashionably slim, she was dressed in an elegant silver jacket and skirt that provided an eye-catching contrast to her long black hair. Grey eyes and thick lashes gave her an exotic look that any man would find intriguing.

As Aidan gave her a hug, Emma felt as if someone had dunked her heart in ice water. These two obviously belonged to an exclusive club, one to which Emma would never be invited. Aidan wouldn’t dread spending his life with this glorious creature. They were made for each other.

Emma should count herself lucky that she’d been able to spend one night in Aidan’s arms. Now that Nadia had shown up, Aidan might very well forget that Emma existed. She had to laugh at herself, thinking this morning that she’d had a decision to make as to whether she’d have more sex with Aidan. It had never been up to her.