Moonstruck in Manhattan Read online

  Zach’s gaze narrowed as he studied Daryl’s face. “What about you? They can’t have been happy when you told them you weren’t coming in. Are you going to have a job after tonight?”

  Daryl grinned at him. “Who cares? After seeing Chelsea, four of your board members’ wives want me to design them outfits and several others want replicas of her skirt. One of them gave the card of a buyer at Bloomingdale’s and told me to use her name.”

  “It sounds to me like you need a financial backer. On Wednesday, why don’t you come to my office. We’ll—”

  “I’m sorry.” Miranda was slightly out of breath as she reached them. “I need to borrow Daryl.”

  Zach watched them thread their way through the other couples on the dance floor until they were close to Jerry and Chelsea. Then he took a long swallow of his scotch.

  In another hour it would be midnight and he’d nearly finished what his aunt had mapped out for him to do. The only board member he hadn’t spoken to yet was Harrison Marsh, the president. When Chelsea had danced with him, the man who was known for his poker-faced sobriety had laughed three times.

  If he told her she had worked a minor miracle, she’d just shake her head and give that blasted skirt the credit. And all the while, it was… Chelsea.

  He was in love with her. Even as he admitted it to himself, a flood of sensations swamped him—a tightness in his throat, a strange pressure near his heart and a sharp sinking sensation in his stomach. The same sensations he’d been experiencing since he’d first seen her in that restaurant with Daryl’s head up her skirt.

  He was getting used to it. Almost.

  He intended to do something about it. He’d gotten the ring—his mother’s—out of the safe in his apartment the moment he’d gotten back from the hospital. He’d planned on going to her apartment after the ball… Now, he had to change his plans. But he was still going to ask her tonight—just as soon as he could get her away from this place—right after the stroke of midnight when it was officially Christmas Eve. Both of them had memories to replace.

  AFTER SIXTY straight seconds of dancing with Jerry McDaniels, Chelsea had decided two things. First of all, Zach’s brother was about as smooth on the dance floor as the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. Second, and more important, the skirt was having no effect on him. No doubt after the full day she’d put it through, it was worn out again. Congressman McDaniels seemed determined not to even talk to her. Instead, he was exchanging pleasantries with any other couple who came within range. Since he was a whole foot taller than she was, she didn’t get in his way at all.

  Glancing past Jerry’s shoulder, she caught Miranda’s encouraging wink and Daryl’s thumbs-up. Beyond them, she saw Zach leaning against one of the drink stations chatting with a pretty, blond bartender. Shifting her gaze to Jerry, she decided to be blunt.

  “Why don’t you want your brother to run Metropolitan?” Jerry missed a step and Chelsea watched the friendly politician’s smile disappear. He started to frown, then caught himself. But he wasn’t ignoring her anymore.

  “That’s none of your business, young lady.”

  “No, it’s not,” she agreed. “But it seems to me that it’s bad business for you to want to remove him.”

  “It’s my duty. He’s going to ruin a magazine my father spent a lifetime building.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “You don’t believe that. You’re his brother and you know him well enough to know that he can excel at anything he sets his mind to. That’s what really bugs you about him. You’re jealous.”

  Jerry caught himself frowning again and after a quick glance around the dance floor, he laughed shortly.

  “Nonsense. Zach has made nothing of his life, so there’s nothing for me to be jealous of.”

  “Oh, baloney. I’ve got three brothers of my own, and I know all about sibling rivalry. I’ve never been able to please my stepfather. They please him whatever they do. I had a tough time dealing with that until I figured out that it was ruining my relationship with them. They’re not bad kids and I was blaming them for something that was their father’s problem.”

  This time Jerry forgot to prevent the frown. “It’s not the same. He wasn’t my stepfather.”

  Chelsea met his eyes. “That’s got to make it even worse. At least mine had the excuse that I wasn’t really his own child.”

  They weren’t dancing anymore, but Chelsea didn’t think Jerry was aware of that. “That’s not what I mean,” he said. “Zach’s got no business printing the kind of articles you write. It’s not the direction my father wanted the magazine to go in. It’s my duty to ask the board to remove him.”

  “But Zach agrees with you. He never wanted to print my articles. He’s only doing it to honor the contract that Esme Sinclair had me sign.”

  “Wait,” Jerry paused to run a hand through his hair. “You’re saying that Esme is the one who bought the articles from you?”

  Chelsea nodded. “But someone wants to stop the articles as much as you do. Someone tried to run Zach and me down. They’ve been making threatening phone calls and sending notes. Then my apartment was ransacked and this morning someone knifed Zach.”

  “Zach was knifed?” Jerry asked, his frown deepening. “You’re not making this up?”

  “He’s got fourteen stitches in his arm. Will that convince you? I can take you right over to him and you can count them.”

  But Jerry wasn’t listening to her. Chelsea could see that he was looking around the ballroom, searching for someone.

  “Zach’s right over there by the drink station,” she said.

  “Mind if I cut in?” Daryl asked.

  “Mmmm?” Jerry glanced at him.

  “I’d like to dance with Chelsea,” Daryl said. “The two of you have stopped. It seemed like a good time to ask.”

  “Go ahead.” Jerry put a hand on Chelsea’s arm. “I want to thank you, Ms. Brockway. For setting me straight about Zach before I—I may have made a mistake. Please, excuse me.”

  “Something’s bothering him,” she said as Jerry moved past them and began to thread his way through the other couples on the floor. She had time to notice that he wasn’t headed in Zach’s direction before Daryl pulled her into his arms.

  “Yeah, well from the daggers that your beau was sending his way, he’s probably suffering from internal bleeding.”

  ZACH FELT a little of his tension ease when Jerry walked off the dance floor. His parting from Chelsea had seemed amicable enough, but he didn’t look happy now.

  “I’ve had my reservations about you, but getting Ms. Brockway to sweet talk your brother is one smooth move.”

  It took Zach a second to realize that the comment had been addressed to him and he turned to find Bill Anderson at his side.

  “I can’t take the credit for that. It was my aunt Miranda’s doing,” Zach said.

  Bill shrugged. “My daddy used to say that the next best thing to having good ideas was surrounding yourself with people who would give them to you.”

  For a moment Zach said nothing. Then he gave Anderson a brief nod. “I’d say your daddy had a point.”

  For a moment the two men merely studied each other. Finally, Bill said, “I think I was wrong about you. I was sure after that first staff meeting that you were hell-bent on taking the magazine off in a new direction without paying any attention to any of us. I figured when you finished your little experiment, you’d move on and leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces.”

  “What makes you think you were wrong?”

  “Because you’re loyal and you’re honest. You honored Ms. Brockway’s contract when you can’t have wanted to.”

  Beyond Anderson’s shoulder, Zach could see that Jerry had stopped to chat with Esme Sinclair.

  “And you’re sticking by her even though it can’t be what you want for the magazine.”

  “It might not matter what I want for Metropolitan after the board meets.”

  Bill followed the direction of Zach’s gaz
e. “Don’t underestimate Ms. Brockway’s persuasive power. I changed my mind about resigning that first day because of her. And once Esme tells your brother about the sales figures on the latest issue, he’ll most likely reconsider his plan to urge the board to accept your resignation.”

  “What sales figures? The first issue under my tenure just hit the streets yesterday.”

  Bill studied him for a minute. “No one told you? Your first issue of Metropolitan is well on its way to selling out. I assumed Esme must have let you know by now. The distributors have been flooded with calls for more copies ever since Ms. Brockway’s appearance on that TV talk show.”

  “Did Esme tell you this?” Zach asked glancing beyond Bill’s shoulder to check on Chelsea again. She was still dancing with Daryl.

  “No. I took some calls yesterday afternoon after everyone had cleared out. I just figured she must have known because earlier calls would have been routed to her office. But not to worry. I contacted our printers, and they promised to ship everything they had to our distributors first thing Tuesday morning. The last shipments ought to be hitting the stores and newsstands just about the same time you finish up on Good Morning, New York. Another great idea by the way.”

  “That one wasn’t mine either,” Zach said in a wry tone.

  Bill Anderson was chuckling when Zach saw Hal Davidson tap Daryl on the shoulder. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said as he strode toward the dance floor. He saw Sam moving in from the other side of the dance floor, but he reached them first.

  “My turn,” Zach said. Then before Hal Davidson had a chance to reply, he took Chelsea’s hand in his and led her away.

  “When you cut in, you’re supposed to dance,” Chelsea muttered as they threaded their way between couples.

  “I’m not dancing with you,” Zach said. “I shouldn’t even be close to you.”

  She stopped then and faced him. “Why not? I don’t have cooties, you know.”

  “You—” Zach stopped short and blinked. “Cooties?”

  “You know. They’re little bugs that crawl all over you—they live in your hair, in your ears.” Before he could anticipate it, she reached up and twisted his ear.

  “Ouch!”

  “Since you’re not going to dance with me, I’m going to dance with Hal.”

  “No, you’re not.” Grabbing her hand again, he led her through one of the wide arched exits from the ballroom.

  “Where are we going?” Chelsea asked.

  “As soon as Sam follows us out here, you’re going home.”

  “I am no—”

  He silenced her by grabbing her close for a quick, hard kiss. “Don’t you understand. Sam says that the knifer was clearly after me. It’s not safe for you to be anywhere near me.”

  Chelsea stared at him. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me? To protect me?”

  “Yes. Now will you go?”

  But she was pulling him along the corridor, trying doors. When she found one that opened, she pulled him through it, then flipped the switch. He had time to notice that it was a storage closet before her arms were around him, her mouth pressed against his.

  “That was a rotten thing to do,” she said when she drew back to let him breathe, to let them both breathe. “I hate you.” But her arms were around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

  “I wanted you,” he said as he rained kisses along her jaw, down her neck. “And I want you now.”

  “I know,” she murmured as she nipped at his ear.

  “But we can’t.” He struggled for control.

  “We can,” she corrected, drawing his mouth to hers, and whispering against his lips. “Here. Now.”

  Sensations flooded through him as her mouth moved on his, her tongue probing. Her heat, her scent, her taste, swirled in his head until he couldn’t separate them. All night long he’d watched her in other men’s arms. Now she was his. Slipping his fingers beneath the thin straps on her shoulder, he began to push them aside.

  “No.” She drew back, pushing against his chest. “You can’t.”

  Zach tried to clear his head. “But you just said—”

  “I just mean that you can’t take off my top. Daryl sewed me into it. If you loosen it, my skirt won’t stay up.”

  “Damn the skirt,” Zach said. “I want to touch you. I’ve been waiting to touch you all day. And you dragged me into this closet….”

  “To have my wicked way with you.” Taking his hands, she kissed one palm and then the other. “It’s just the top you can’t mess with. I have to be able to walk back out there and face your aunt and everyone else. So do you.”

  “This is crazy,” he murmured as he laid his forehead against hers for a moment. He thought of his plans for making love to her, of asking her to marry him. When the ball was over, he reminded himself. When it was safe. “Am I ever going to be able to plan anything where you’re concerned, Chelsea Brockway?”

  “You did a pretty good job last night in that chair,” she reminded him.

  “Only pretty good?” he asked as he gripped her waist and lifted her onto a low, narrow shelf.

  “I’m sure with practice, you could improve.”

  His mouth cut her off then, pressing hard and hot against hers. She’d meant to continue teasing him, but his hands were finally where she wanted them, brushing up along her thighs, pushing the skirt out of the way. Whatever thoughts she’d had, whatever words she’d intended to say gave way to arrows of heat and pleasure. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, moaning softly. When his knuckles brushed between her legs, she arched against his hand, helpless against the sharp wave of pleasure. Then he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panty hose and lowered them slowly, pressing his mouth to the skin he bared on her thighs, her knees, her ankles.

  Heat streamed through her in wave after wave and needs built so quickly she thought they would swallow her. Then his mouth was pressed against hers again, hot and hard. She met the demand, wrapping her legs around him and pressing as close as she could get.

  “Wait,” he said, shifting her back to unfasten his belt and pull down his zipper. Then he was pulling her closer, positioning her legs. His fingers burned into her hips as he gripped her and pulled her forward. Finally, she felt the incredible pressure, the searing heat as he pushed into her.

  When he suddenly withdrew, the emptiness was almost unbearable. Chelsea heard herself say his name, a soft throaty whisper, “Zach, please.”

  “You’re mine. Tell me.”

  “I’m yours.”

  Zach began to move then. He’d intended to go slowly, but the words, hearing her say them as her heat closed around him made something snap. Grasping her tightly, he pushed into her faster and harder. He couldn’t stop himself. In the dim light cast by the bulb hanging from the ceiling, he knew nothing but her. She was all he could see, all he could think of. She filled him until there was no one else and nothing else but the long explosion of pleasure that they brought each other.

  Afterward, he held her tightly against him, for his own sake as much as hers. He was trembling. No one had ever weakened him this way. Chelsea was the first to speak.

  “I think that was more than pretty good,” she said against his shoulder.

  Zach felt his laughter bubble up and break free. When she joined him, he gave her a quick hug before he drew back to look at her. “Am I ever going to be able to predict what you’ll do or say next?”

  “Probably.” She glanced around the room. “But this was a first for me.”

  Zach’s smile faded. “For me, too.” Raising one of her hands to his lips, he said, “Chels…”

  A soft knock on the door interrupted him. Swearing, he handed Chelsea her panty hose, then moved close to the door. After a moment the knock sounded again. “McDaniels?”

  Recognizing Sam’s voice, Zach opened the door. “What is it?”

  “I wouldn’t have interrupted, but your brother wants to talk to
you. He was asking your aunt where you’d disappeared to and she came to me. He says it’s urgent.”

  Zach glanced back at Chelsea and saw that she had slipped down from the shelf. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to his brother. “Ready?”

  “I could use a little stop at the ladies’ room,” she said.

  “You stick with Chelsea,” Zach told Sam as they stepped into the hallway. “I’ll see what my brother wants.”

  A QUICK LOOK in the powder room mirror told Chelsea that they hadn’t ruined Daryl’s creation. A smile curved her lips. Maybe later, they could try again. But for now, the tape and staples were holding. It was her hair that needed repairing. She was running her fingers through it when Esme Sinclair joined her. The woman was carrying a fur coat over her arm.

  “We’re going to have to stop meeting in powder rooms,” Chelsea said.

  Esme shot her a thin smile in the mirror as she slipped into the coat, then removed a silver lipstick case from her bag. “Yes, we do. Before I left, I wanted to congratulate you. Your articles on the skirt are even more successful than I’d hoped.”

  Chelsea turned to her. “I owe it all to you. If you hadn’t been willing to take a chance on me… I want to thank you again for that.”

  Esme’s smile faded. “That first day when you walked into my office, you reminded me of myself—thirty years ago.”

  “I’m flattered. I’ve always admired—” Her sentence trailed off, blocked by the fear that rose to her throat the moment she saw Esme draw a gun from her pocket.

  “You should have taken the advice I gave you in the powder room at Flannery’s. You made a mistake by not taking the skirt articles to another magazine.”

  Pushing panic down, Chelsea made herself swallow. “Why?”

  The lines on Esme’s face hardened, but it was the expression in her eyes that had another skip of fear running through Chelsea.

  “I signed you to that contract. It was my idea. I won’t allow him to get the credit. Not this time. He always took the credit.”

  Esme moved toward her, gesturing her toward the door with the gun. Backing toward it, Chelsea made herself concentrate on what the older woman was saying. Not this time…always. “What else did he take the credit for?”