said, before the car accelerated and she found herself clutching at her hair as it whipped in the wind.
"I might have a scarf somewhere if you need one," he said. "Try the glove compartment."
There was a scarf, a blue silk number with a paisley pattern, and Emmy used it to tame her hair into submission so she could relax and enjoy the drive in the exceptionally mild weather.
"So," she asked, "what exactly is the plan of action tomorrow? Do you want me to come with you on your stalking expedition or should I wait here?"
"If you can bear it, I'd like you to come. Not — well, I wouldn't expect you to confront him with me, but it would be great if you could be there...as a witness I guess. As backup if he tells me to fuck off. And...just to give me the balls to actually do it."
He sighed before continuing, slowly, like every word was an effort.
"I'm terrified, Em. Scared shitless. But with you around it doesn't seem to matter quite as much as it did this morning. I think I can face the prospect of my brother turning his back on me."
“Eric, why should he? You’ve just paid a massive ransom to get him and his team out of the Taliban’s clutches — if anything he should be grateful,” she countered. “Besides for all you know he's been waiting for you to make a move for a long time."
"While hiding away under a new name? I don't think so. And I don’t want him to be grateful. I want him to be happy to see me.”
"Maybe he's just as scared of you of rejection, Eric. But you won't know until you meet him. And I will be there with you, I promise."
Deep down, she wished she could believe her assurances entirely, because the prospect of consoling a distraught Eric if Owen rejected him was frankly almost as terrifying as the challenge he was facing. But right now, she was here to provide him strength, and there was no way she was going to let him glimpse her own fears.
◆◆◆
The journey to their hotel was quick — they were downtown in San Diego's Gaslight quarter in an urban boutique number with ultra-modern furniture and high-end stereo systems, and true to promise, Emmy had her own room in a massive suite on the top floor featuring the kind of contemporary urban design that expressed itself with lots of hardwood, glass and chrome.
She put down her coat on a white leather swivel chair near the corner bar flanked by picture windows and took in the views over the city before venturing into the master bedroom and breaking down in a fit of giggles.
"Really, Eric?" she said, pointing at the super-king size four poster, complete with billowing white drapes and a conspicuous mirrored ceiling.
"Californian rockstar chic, Em, handy for all the groupies.”
"Someone's feeling lucky," she teased. "Is that before or after the orgy in the shower?"
The glass-walled cubicle was easily large enough for half a dozen people. This was getting absurd.
"You never know when you might need help scrubbing your back. But I promise I won't peek. Look, you can make the glass wall opaque," he said, flicking a switch, and the bathroom wall turned milky white.
It was all gloriously over the top, and Emmy couldn't resist it. She had to climb onto the bed, where she lay spread-eagled, staring at her reflection on the ceiling.
"This is just ridiculous."
"You think? I can see its uses," Eric said, perching on the side and looking at her reflection with a comedy leer.
"You, mister, are supposed to be giving me my space."
"Darling, if you want the porntastic bed, go ahead, I'll make my bunk in the other bedroom."
"No mirrors on the ceiling?"
"Alas."
They were looking at each other in that mirror throughout this exchange, and Eric's expression had morphed into something much closer to longing than lust, although there was a dose of that, too. Emmy's hair was fanned on the pillows, turning her into some kind of pre-Raphaelite painting — Ophelia coasting downstream maybe, although she was flashing more leg than Ophelia ever would, her knee-length skirt rucked halfway up her thigh. Eric had certainly noticed, although he made a commendable effort at focusing on her face. And he looked extremely appealing at this point, his hair tousled by the drive, soulful eyes gazing into hers, and a faint smirk playing on his eminently kissable lips.
To make it worse, he tugged his tie off