The Shock Engagement

She grabbed the spare helmet and secured the cord under her chin. Harry tied down her briefcase then hopped on and unhooked the kickstand with the ease of an expert. Emma swung her leg over the bike to sit behind him. She wrapped her arms about his waist and she was in her favourite place in the whole world.

Harry covered her arm with one of his own as he turned his head. ‘So where to, princess?’

‘St Kilda.’

‘And what’s in St Kilda?’

‘My big surprise. I’ve moved out of home. I have my own apartment and this time around you’re staying with me.’

Harry drove five kilometres under the speed limit the whole way. He needed every extra second possible to pull himself together.

Though Emma had ridden behind him on his various motorbikes over the years, this time it felt different. Through her thin suit fabric and his thinning old jacket he could feel her breasts pressed up against him, and having the words ‘Emma’ and ‘breasts’ in his head at the one time was not a situation he had been counting on.

It seemed that little Emma was not so little any more. The girl he had always thought of as his kid sister looked like she had grown up overnight. Gone was the cuddly girl with the hair down to her waist and wide blue eyes that looked up to him for guidance about everything from job prospects to her love of drawing to boys, and in her place was this urbane woman with something in her eyes he had never seen before. Was it wisdom? Or maturity? Or experience? He wiped that thought from his mind as quickly as he could.

Considering he hadn’t seen her since the same time the year before, he should have seen it coming. She had always been a cute girl, cute enough to whisper at the edge of his awareness repeatedly over the years, but he had long since shouted down those whispers with the memory of why he had no right to be thinking that way about her. So he probably had seen the changes coming and had ignored them outright. But now he could feel Emma’s warm body wrapped about him and, as if that was not distraction enough, he was driving her to an apartment. Where she lived alone. Where according to her, he would be sleeping for the next week.

He was surprised at how that news had startled him. She was, what, twenty-four? Of course she had her own place. It was about time. The sweetheart had kept her parents company, looking after their every concern, sorting out problems before they even knew they existed, playing the good girl for longer than anyone could have asked.

Helping those in need was Em’s defining quality. She was always looking out for everyone else’s interests before her own. He knew, despite her brave face, that having her parents so far away at this time of year had to have been distressing, but so long as they were happy she would never think to disapprove.

She tapped his shoulder as they came up to a red four-storey building a couple of streets away from the beach. He pulled into the driveway and felt a welcome rush of fresh air at his back as she uncurled her soft body from behind him. He grabbed her briefcase and his old leather backpack from the back of his bike and followed her up the steps, his eyes raking over the building and the grounds—anywhere but on her casually swaying hips, which were wrapped in some unbelievable stretch fabric which he was pretty certain was designed less to clothe and more to stun unsuspecting men.

She turned to him at the top of the stairs with the key in the door. ‘Ready?’ she asked.

Her dazzling grin relaxed him no end. It was young and girlish and reminded him that this was Emma. Little Emma. Sweet Emma. Princess Emma. The girl he had berated when he had caught her smoking at age fifteen. The girl who would do anything he asked, and he had something pretty tricky he was about to ask.

He rubbed his hands together. ‘Ready and raring.’

‘Now, it’s only tiny so don’t get too excited. But please feel free to get very excited as, although it’s tiny, I love it.’

He crossed his arms and waited for her gushing to cease.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Just come in.’ She opened the door with a flourish and welcomed him into her home like the ringmaster in a circus.

The mushroom-coloured walls were so clean he could tell the place had been recently painted, and the dark wood furniture and white couch had that just-purchased look about them. But the thing that caught his attention the second he walked in were the ceiling-to-floor shelves lining one whole wall, surrounding and swamping the small television. The shelves held enough DVDs to fill a rental store.

He stepped up and ran a finger over the spines. Funny Girl. How to Steal a Million. The Fifth Element. All romance films. There were comedies, tragedies, action adventures, but they were all romantic. His face warmed with a smile. Trust sweet Em to throw herself into a collection like that.

‘So what do you think?’ she asked, her brow furrowed in such adorable concern.

‘Do you really own all of these movies?’

She glared at him, her hands on her hips. ‘No. I rented each and every one and never took them back. Of course I own them all. Now, what…do…you…think?’

‘It’s a very exciting apartment,’ he promised.

She gave a little nod. ‘That’s better.’ She threw her keys on the hall table and he followed her down the hallway.

She disappeared inside one room off to the right, singing sweetly under her breath, something familiar and pretty that reminded him of a chick flick she had forced him to sit through once. Harry followed at a distance.

Finally she poked her head out into the hall. ‘Come on, slowcoach. The grand tour will only take about thirty seconds, even if you look under every cushion and open every cupboard door.’

He did as he was told and came upon her in what was obviously her bedroom. Gone were the teddy bears and pink lace from her room at her parents’ place; instead, her bedroom was all dark wood and coffee-coloured linen. The word that came to mind was inviting. He remained resolutely in the hallway.

Emma peeled off her suit jacket and flung it on to her queen-sized bed. She wore a white tailored business shirt that hugged some seriously attractive curves. He had had no idea she had such a tiny waist, which was only accentuated by the not so tiny area above. Harry’s gaze lifted so fast it hit the ceiling.

‘What are you looking for all the way up there?’ she asked.

‘Spiders’ webs in the corners,’ was the best he could come up with.

‘Come on, Harry. You know I’m a neat freak.’

But when Harry looked back at her she had her hands on her hips and was glancing about the ceiling, just in case. His mouth lifted in a smile. He could work her so easily. Of course that came from knowing her for over a decade.

He had a sudden flash memory of the first time they had met—he had been coming back to Jamie’s place after footy practice one afternoon and had been bowing to one of Jamie’s regular dares; this time he’d been ordered to jump the neighbour’s fence and return with an apple from their treasured tree.

He had acquiesced instantly, returning with three apples instead. He remembered Jamie’s easy grin and absolute appreciation at being beaten. Their strong friendship had been forged in that moment.

Before they had reached the front door it had opened with a slam and a small girl with thick blonde hair to her waist and a mouth full of braces stood on the step, hands on hips, bright blue eyes flashing.

‘You’re late. Mum is going to kill you!’ she had promised, obviously relishing the thought.

Jamie had pushed past, ruffling the girl’s hair. ‘Squirt, this is Harry. Harry, this is my sister, Emma. She’s eleven going on twenty-one,’ Jamie had thrown over his shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen to bury his head in the fridge.

Emma had turned her attention to Harry. ‘You don’t go to our school,’ she had said in a tone so accusing that Harry had had to bite back a laugh.

‘No, I don’t. I play footy with your brother.’

She had shot a disgusted look over her shoulder at the mention of the boy who was obviously the bane of her existence. ‘Poor you,’ she had said.

Harry remembered feeling this strange need to impress. She’d been a kid, all metal mouth and attitude, not like the lissom senior girls who were the usual witnesses to his daring and athletic feats, but it didn’t stop him throwing the three apples into the air, juggling them, landing two down his footy jersey and one in his mouth. He’d taken a big bite then tossed it to her.

She’d caught the apple in her small hands, looked at it for a moment, looked back at him, took a great big bite herself then disappeared into the house, leaving the door open for him to follow. That was the moment he had first been invited into her house and into her life. Into Jamie’s house. Into Jamie’s life…

Harry breathed in deep through his nose as he fought his way out of the suddenly stifling memory to find Emma watching him with those same bright blue eyes, only now they were framed by beguiling black lashes highlighted by clever use of mascara.

She looked back at him in silence. The stunning prettiness of her baby blues had never been able to disguise her fierce intelligence, but there was more to her stare now. Standing there before him, all grown up, she now knew exactly what those eyes could do to a guy. He had a sudden flash of something that felt a heck of a lot like attraction.

He spun on his heel and took off. ‘So which one’s my room? I’m hoping it’s decked out with leopard skin walls and shag pile carpet on the ceiling.’

He risked a glance over his shoulder and found Emma watching him with a blank expression. Not quite the indulgent grin he’d been hoping for, but at least it was easier to handle than whatever had been zapping between them moments before.

She pointed across the hall to a room with a single bed, pink bedspread, yellow floral curtains and a white chest of drawers with I love Robbie Williams stickers all over it. So her old room at home had in fact come along for the ride.

‘Well, not so much leopard skin as I had hoped.’ He jumped as he felt Emma sidle up behind him. He caught a whiff of head-turning perfume but had little time to take pleasure in it as she gave him a slap on the shoulder so hard it would no doubt leave a red mark.

‘Haven’t quite got to this room in my decorating mania,’ she said. She pointed out the room’s accoutrements. ‘Cupboard. Chest of drawers.’ Then she reached around him to point out a small empty box on the bedside table. ‘Somewhere to keep your mess of notes.’