In a split second, the intense moment they’d been caught up in turned to pure chaos. The supplies on the shelf toppled to the floor, the closet reverberating with crashes and clatters and the plops of liquid-filled containers rolling at their feet.
Emma couldn’t help it—she burst out laughing. She also grabbed her stranger’s shoulders to keep from tripping over the fallen supplies tangling around her high heels.
An array of soft, nearly weightless items rained down on her head. Sponges, she realized, when she caught one of them in her hand. “The sky is falling,” she wheezed between laughs.
Her stranger was laughing just as hard, one strong arm protectively grasping her hip to keep her from tripping forward. “Don’t worry, darling. Iron Man is here to protect you.”
And with that one sentence, she froze.
Oh shit.
His voice was no longer muffled by the mask, but clear and audible. And she knew that voice. She knew that laugh. Deep and rumbling and naked in its delight.
But no. The idea was crazy. It couldn’t be. There was no way this man could be—
“Dean?” a female voice shouted from beyond the door. “Are you up here?”
Emma’s heart stopped beating. Then it exploded into a frantic gallop that made her lightheaded.
“The cavalry has arrived,” he said dryly.
Dean said it.
Dean Colter.
The sound of muffled footsteps and concerned voices barely registered over the thumping of her heart. Her mind suddenly flashed back to September, to the day before she’d briefly returned to New York after the fashion show. She’d glimpsed a man on the beach that day, a man she’d thought might be Dean, but she hadn’t followed up on the suspicion. Hadn’t googled or done any digging, because she’d decided she didn’t want to know.
Dean was a ghost from her past. No, he was more than that. He was her first love.
And he’d broken her fucking heart.
Worse, he’d ripped apart her dreams at a time when they were fresh and new, her career not even in flower but a trembling bud that needed nurturing. It was only through a miracle she’d managed to get her future back on track after setting aside his promises and the youthful hopes she’d had for their future. After she’d swallowed her pride and pushed through the pain and damn well taken what she’d wanted.
He hadn’t even had the decency to try to contact her so she could throw something in his face. Not for months, anyway, and by then she was smart enough to use the delete key with vigorous enthusiasm anytime his name did show up in her e-mail inbox.
All that history raced through her mind, her pulse drumming in her ears as she stumbled forward and reached for the doorknob. The door swung open before she could turn it. Dim light flooded the closet, but after spending twenty minutes in pure darkness, it was a blinding spotlight right to the eyes. She blinked rapidly, and a redhead in black leather came into view.
“There you are,” the woman said cheerfully, peering past Emma at Dean. “We thought the ghouls and monsters might’ve gotten you.”
“Nope, I’m doing fine.”
Emma’s shoulders stiffened when he came up behind her. He was so close she could feel his breath on the nape of her neck. So close she could smell the heady, woodsy fragrance of his aftershave and the lemony scent of his shampoo.
“This lovely nymph was taking good care of me,” he added in a teasing voice, his fingers drifting over her shoulder in an intimate caress.
The redhead’s smirk was impossible to miss. “Mmm-hmmm. I bet she was.”
Thankfully there was no judgment or derision in the woman’s tone, and when Emma lifted her head, all she saw were playful green eyes and a friendly smile. She kept her mouth shut, though. If she had recognized Dean’s voice, then he’d probably recognize hers, and she couldn’t deal with this right now. This…reunion. Or confrontation. Or whatever the hell it was going to be.
“The power’s back,” Dean’s friend told them. “It’s safe to come back downstairs. But we’re closing up the haunted house in case the rain knocks out the power lines again.”
Emma rearranged the hood of her robe, adjusting it so it hung low on her forehead. “I should go.” She deliberately kept her voice to a whisper, barely audible even to her own ears.
Dean spoke up gruffly. “Wait, I didn’t get your—”
She hurried off before he could finish. Yup, she literally ran away like a chicken-shit, making a beeline for the stairs that led down to the main space.
The party was still in full swing, loud laughter and animated chatter echoing all around her, but she had no plans to stick around. She didn’t even stop to find Suz, who was the only reason Emma had come tonight. The two women had hit it off instantly at the after-party for that charity fashion show in September, and when Emma had decided to spend the winter in San Francisco, she’d made sure to contact her new friend.