Moonstruck in Manhattan Read online

  Esme cleared her throat. “Do you want me to tell Ms. Brockway about the problem we were discussing?”

  Chelsea dragged her gaze away from Zach’s. “Problem?”

  “I’ll tell her,” Zach said. “If you would just give us a moment, Ms. Sinclair?”

  “I’ll wait outside.”

  For a moment after Esme left the room, neither of them spoke. But the word problem began to repeat itself like a little drumbeat in Chelsea’s mind. It was keeping perfect pace with Zach’s fingers, which were tapping on his desk. The fingers were long and lean and Chelsea found herself recalling just how they’d felt pressed against the inside of her upper arm when he’d grasped it to lead her out of the bar. She should have had her invisible protective shield up then, too.

  Deliberately sliding her gaze away from his hands, she raised it to his face. He was frowning at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I understand that you signed a contract with Ms. Sinclair for three articles.”

  She frowned right back at him. “Is there a problem with the contract?”

  “When Ms. Sinclair negotiated it, she wasn’t aware that I was taking over as editor-in-chief of the magazine and she had no way of knowing that I intend to make rather sweeping changes. What I want to propose to you is that I—”

  The intercom on his desk buzzed and he leaned toward it to press a button. “Ms. Parker, I’d like you to see that I’m not—”

  The last word of his sentence was drowned out by an angry voice that poured into the room. “…that idiot that I want to see him right now and I don’t care who’s in his office! Never mind, I’ll tell him myself.”

  The door sprung open and a tall man with gray hair and a thickening waist strode into the room and tossed a letter in Zach’s direction. It bounced off his shoulder and fell to the surface of the desk.

  “That’s my resignation,” the man said, his face growing more flushed by the moment. “I’m sure it’s what you wanted.”

  “I’m sorry you feel the need to resign,” Zach said.

  “Sorry? Oh, you’re going to be even sorrier when you get the rest of the resignation letters in the interoffice mail. But I wanted to do more than drop you a letter. I wanted to tell you a few things to your face.”

  “Go right ahead,” Zach said, keeping his tone very even. “Perhaps you’d let me know why you feel you have to leave the magazine.”

  “Why? You know damn well why. Don’t try to deny it. I’ve covered New York sports teams for the past twenty years and you made it quite clear at that meeting that you won’t be needing my expertise anymore.” He snorted. “Or anyone else’s either.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Not in so many words. But what exactly am I supposed to do when you start ‘spotlighting’ other cities? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs?” Pausing, he waved a hand. “But that’s not the real reason I’m walking out. You want to know what it is?”

  “Yes,” Zach said.

  “Because running this magazine is just a game to you. When your big plans fail, you’ll just shut the whole thing down and go on to another career. I said as much to your aunt, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “From now on, I’d appreciate it if you’d bring your complaints directly to me. Leave my aunt out of it.”

  The man’s chin jutted out. “Fine. I’ll tell you just what I told her. If your father had wanted you to run this magazine, he would have left it to you outright. I told her she was a fool to turn it over to you.”

  Zach circled around the edge of his desk. “I don’t take kindly to anyone who calls my aunt a fool.”

  “I call ’em like I see ’em.”

  Springing up from her chair, Chelsea stepped into the older man’s path just as he was about to stride forward. “You don’t want to do this.”

  “The hell I…” Stopping short, he glanced down at her. “Who are you?”

  “Chelsea Brockway.” She extended her hand.

  Frowning, he studied her for a moment, his eyes moving from her head to her feet, then slowly back up again. Finally, he took the hand she offered.

  “And you’re…?” she asked.

  “Bill Anderson. Former sports editor.” His eyes narrowed. “Brockway. You wrote that article on ‘What Makes a Man a…’ what was it again?”

  “A hottie,” Chelsea said as she tried to extricate her hand, but Bill held onto it.

  “That’s right. A hottie. My wife and daughter read it.” For the first time since he stormed into the room, his expression lightened. “They had to explain to me what a hottie was.”

  “Did they like the article?” Chelsea asked.

  Bill nodded. “Told me I should read it and pick up some tips.” Then he glanced over her shoulder at Zach. “You’re wasting your time here. He’s going to run this magazine right into the ground. If you want, I could put in a good word for you at several other places.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, but I’ve just signed a contract for three more articles and you know what they say about ‘a bird in the hand…’” She let the sentence trail off and tugged on hers. When Bill didn’t take the hint, she said, “Speaking of hands…”

  “Look, I’m headed down to Flannery’s to join the rest of the staff for a drink. Would you like to join us?”

  “Sure. I’d love to.”

  Chelsea felt Zach stiffen behind her. “The lady would like her hand back.”

  She didn’t have to turn to get a sense of the intensity in Zach McDaniels’s eyes. She could feel the heat of his gaze boring into her back. Since her hand was still in Bill’s, she could feel the temper begin to build again in the older man.

  “Mr. Anderson, I’ll be happy to join you and the rest of the staff just as soon as I can.” Using her free hand, she grabbed the envelope that had fallen on the desk. “In the meantime, I think you ought to take a little time to reconsider your resignation. Talk it over with your wife and your daughter. You know, you should never make an important career decision while you’re angry.”

  When Bill finally released her hand to take the letter, Chelsea stifled a small sigh of relief.

  He glanced at the envelope and then back at her. “You think I should consider staying on?”

  “Definitely.”

  “You believe his plan for the magazine will work?”

  “I have the utmost confidence in him,” she said without hesitation.

  “All right.” He nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

  “And talk to your wife about it,” she said.

  He nodded again as he turned to walk to the door. Before he left, he glanced back at her. “You’ll come down to Flannery’s?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  ZACH TIGHTENED his rein on his temper as he watched the annoying Bill Anderson disappear through his office door. If the man had kept Chelsea Brockway’s hand in his one more second, it would have bubbled up in spite of his efforts. Just as it had that morning in the restaurant when that bartender had put his head up her skirt.

  It couldn’t be jealousy he was feeling, could it? He’d already reminded himself that she wasn’t his type. And he hadn’t been wrong about that, he thought as he studied her. She was standing at the front corner of his desk her face turned toward the door. She had none of the sophistication and polish that he usually found attractive in a woman. Her short blond hair looked as if she’d styled it by running her fingers through it. Her skin was paler than he recalled and the sprinkle of freckles that ran along the curve of her cheekbone told him that she wasn’t even wearing makeup.

  As far as the clothes went…he skimmed them swiftly with his gaze. They couldn’t be called even remotely stylish. The most that could be said about the green sweater was that it matched the color of her eyes. Then there was the skirt. He frowned as his gaze skimmed it from her waist down the length of those legs. From the side, he could see that it fit rather too well, and the way it hung smoothly over her hip and clung to her leg made him wonder if s
he wore anything beneath it.

  What exactly had that chump she called her dresser seen when he’d poked his head under it?

  The thought had something hot boiling up in him all over again. This time he recognized it as jealousy. He didn’t like it when another man touched her for the simple reason that he wanted to be the one doing the touching. Right now his fingers were itching to trace her cheekbone, and then the more stubborn line of her jaw and then…

  Chelsea cleared her throat. “You mentioned a problem. What is it?”

  “You.” The word was out before Zach could stop it.

  “Me? What did I do?”

  He could hardly tell her that she made him feel jealous. Or that he wanted to touch her. Really touch her. If he wasn’t careful that might just pop out of his mouth, too. Worse still, he might actually do it. Before the urge could become too powerful, Zach shoved his hands in his pockets and made himself sit on the edge of his desk. It was time that he solved the problem of Ms. Chelsea Brockway once and for all. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

  She did, folding her hands on her lap just where the edge of her skirt gave way to the smooth, white skin of her thigh. “Do you have some concerns about the skirt?”

  Zach watched the article in question inch its way further up her leg as she moved forward in the chair. His throat went dry. “You could say that.”

  “Believe me, I had those same concerns. A skirt that attracts men? None of us really believed what my friend said about it in college. That it was some sort of a man magnet. But I thought it was a great idea for an article. ‘Can a Lucky Skirt Help a Single Girl Attract a Man in Manhattan?’ Then Ms. Sinclair offered me a contract for three articles. That’s a lot of pressure. Just before you interrupted us in the bar, I was thinking, what if it doesn’t work? Then Pierre offered me a table and you asked for my phone number. What more proof could you ask for?”

  Frowning, Zach shifted his gaze to her face. Staring at her legs was not helping him follow her at all. “I’m sorry. Proof of what?”

  “Proof that the skirt works,” Chelsea said, beaming a smile at him. “Do you usually ask women you’ve only met once in a bar for their phone number?”

  Zach’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been known to do that before.”

  Chelsea held up a hand. “Okay. Maybe that’s not a good example. Let me rephrase the question. Have you ever almost gotten into a fight in a bar over a woman who was not your date, a woman you’d never met?”

  “No. I haven’t.”

  “There. I rest my case.” Leaning back in the chair, she placed her hands on the armrest and the skirt moved another inch up her thigh. “There’s definitely something about this skirt. Now that I know that, I’m sure I can deliver three articles about my adventures wearing it and about the problems of being single in Manhattan.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re proposing to write about a man-magnet skirt?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why would anyone want to read about it?”

  “Because people are lonely, especially single people, and they’re looking for relationships.”

  “I’m single and I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  Chelsea waved a hand. “Neither am I. But most people are. And in a big city like Manhattan, it’s hard to find one. The dating scene can be really brutal.”

  “And you think writing about a skirt can change that?”

  “It can give people hope.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Your skirt is perfectly ordinary.”

  “Then why can’t you take your eyes off of it?”

  She had a point. Quickly, he tore his gaze away and looked her directly in the eye. “Your proof is far from conclusive. I could argue that I’m looking at you, not the skirt. And I didn’t almost get into a fight because you were wearing this particular skirt. I almost got into a fight because your dresser Daryl had his head up it.”

  Chelsea lifted the hem and rubbed it between her fingers. “Daryl was fascinated because of the material. He designs clothes and he’d never seen anything like it before. Here, feel it.” She lifted the hem and waited for him to take it between his fingers. The moment he did, he caught her scent, delicate…exotic. It made him think of islands with white, sandy beaches stretching out endlessly in the moonlight.

  “Not that I’m surprised Daryl had never seen anything quite like it before. My friend Torrie bought it on some tiny little island that is really off the beaten track.”

  As she continued talking, Zach rubbed the thin, silky material between his thumb and forefinger and thought of lying on that sandy beach with Chelsea beneath him as the waves pounded…. He tried to push the image out of his mind, but he was finding it hard to concentrate while his fingers were only inches away from that pale, smooth skin.

  Maybe it reminded him of an exotic flower that he’d come across in Maui—or in the rain forests of Puerto Rico. He was finding it very hard to concentrate with his fingers only inches away from that pale smooth skin….

  You’ll never let her go.

  The instant the words drifted through his mind, Zach shook his head. Where in the world had his aunt’s words come from? He shook his head again, but he couldn’t seem to eliminate the scent.

  “The material in this skirt is woven from the fibers of a special plant. Supposedly, because it’s been kissed by moonlight it has a very powerful effect on men.”

  Zach dropped the hem of the skirt and this time when he shook his head, the scent grew fainter. He shifted his gaze to stare at Chelsea Brockway. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you claiming that this skirt has some kind of magical power.”

  “Not magic. No, I wouldn’t go that far.” Chelsea began to twist the ring on her finger. “You have to admit, it does seem to have a definite effect on men. Do I look like the kind of woman that Pierre would offer a table to when he’s booked solid? And I’m certainly not the kind of woman you would ever ask for her phone number. Not that I wanted you to. I didn’t.”

  Her chin lifted as she drew in a deep breath. “I know that my phone number isn’t relevant to…or has anything to do with…” She waved a hand and her ring fell to the floor and rolled under the desk. Zach dropped to his knees at the same time that she did and his hand covered hers when she reached for the ring.

  “I’m sorry. Whenever I get nervous, I start to babble. Just tell me to shut up.”

  “Shut up,” Zach said as his gaze slid to her mouth. It was close, barely an inch away, and her lips were slightly parted. And moist. He only had to move to taste her. A warning bell sounded in some part of his mind. He was a man who preferred to look before he leapt, but from the moment he’d first seen her in that bar, he’d been thinking and wondering…

  Just one taste. One, he told himself as he closed the distance and covered her mouth with his. Impossibly sweet was the first sensation that poured through him. But beneath the initial rush of flavor was a tartness that beckoned to him to taste again. Still cautious, he drew back and watched her eyes open slowly. They were a dark, rich green—beckoning, bewitching. Desire twisted sharply as needs began to battle within him. He should never have kissed her. He was going to kiss her again.

  Though she hadn’t moved away, he settled his free hand at the back of her neck to hold her still as he once more took her mouth with his. This time beneath the tartness he tasted a hunger that matched his own.

  As the heat of it swelled within him, he could have sworn that the carpet shifted beneath his knees. He knew that thunder rumbled its way through the concrete and glass behind him, just as certainly as he knew that one taste of Chelsea Brockway was never going to be enough.

  ALL CHELSEA knew was the pressure of his mouth against hers. She should have pulled back at that first tentative brush of his lips. There was always a price to pay for throwing caution to the winds and this time she was sure it would be high. As he deepened the kiss and the flavors exploded on her t
ongue, thoughts swirled through her mind. This was what the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden must have tasted like. This was what Paradise was lost over. Sensations shot through her body until she was sure she would drown in them. She could feel the hard press of each one of those fingers against the back of her neck, the impossible heat of those lips and the flavors on his tongue, too many to separate. But she wanted the time to try. She needed to try and identify them so that she would remember….

  As his fingers slid into her hair, she moved her hands to his shoulders, not to push him away, but to grab on and cling. Then he shifted his mouth to nip at her bottom lip and an arrow of pleasure shot through her, so sharp, that she began to tremble. When she felt him suddenly stiffen and start to draw away, she pressed her fingers into the muscles in his shoulder to urge him closer.

  THE SHARP KNOCKING at the door penetrated Zach’s mind only seconds before he heard someone clearing her throat. Dropping his hands to Chelsea’s shoulders, he eased her away from him and helped her to her feet. Then he turned to find Esme Sinclair standing at the office door.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to know if the problem we talked about has been resolved?”

  Zach felt the same way he had when he was five and he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t in his father’s office. Shoving the uncomfortable wave of emotion aside, he dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back from Chelsea. “Not yet,” he managed to say before he turned and circled to the back of his desk. Not only hadn’t he solved it; the problem was growing bigger.

  When Esme moved to leave, he waved her into the room. “Come in. I think it will be better if you’re here while I try to explain our position to Ms. Brockway.” Stalling a moment, Zach opened the file that Esme had given him earlier. He would concentrate on the facts. “These articles on the…on that skirt, won’t suit the new direction that I want to take the magazine in.”

  “Why not?”

  He glanced up in surprise to see Chelsea frowning at him. Her eyes were clear and he couldn’t see any trace of the passion that he’d been feeling, that he’d thought she was feeling, too. “As I explained to my staff this afternoon, I’m cutting all the fluff. From now on Metropolitan is going to expand its intellectual and cultural appeal in an attempt to increase its readership.” He glanced down at the file. “Features on hotties and man-magnet skirts don’t mesh with my goals.”