Moonstruck in Manhattan Page 6

  “I wasn’t thinking about the money.”

  “No. But perhaps you should.” Esme touched up her lipstick, then slipped the tube back into her purse.

  Chelsea ran her hand down the skirt with a frown. “You’re probably right. Now, I’m stuck trying to figure out a way to make the skirt work.” But not work on Zach.

  “Tell you what. I’ll make a few phone calls tomorrow and see if someone would be interested in your articles.”

  Chelsea turned to the older woman. “You’ve already done so much for me. How can I thank you?”

  “You don’t have to. I know what it is like to become a casualty of war in the publishing business.”

  “Thank you.” Chelsea beamed a smile at her. “You’ve given me the courage to go back out there and learn the Texas two-step.”

  ZACH TOOK the glass the bartender handed him and pushed a bill across the top of the bar. Then he turned his attention back to the hallway Chelsea Brockway had disappeared into. He’d sent Esme to check on her five minutes ago. Taking a long swallow of his beer, he shifted his glance to the large Texan at a nearby table. It was the same man who’d followed Chelsea down that hallway and ever since he’d returned to his table, he’d been boasting loudly to his friends that a sexy little filly with emerald-green eyes had promised him a dance. Zach didn’t doubt for a minute that the man was referring to Chelsea.

  What was she going to do next? If he could just figure that out… What would he do then? Figure out a way to stop her?

  Frowning, he took another swallow of his beer. Evidently she was prepared to go to any lengths to convince him that the skirt could attract men. He wondered how many others she’d wrapped herself around on that dance floor before he’d come in and seen her in Carleton Bushnell’s arms. The man had been with Metropolitan as long as Zach could remember and he couldn’t recall one instance when he’d seen the man smile. Miranda had referred to him quite accurately as a grump. But the old guy had actually been laughing when he’d been dancing with Chelsea and he was old enough to be her grandfather.

  If betting with her had been a mistake, kissing her had been an even bigger one. Zach took another swallow of his beer. It wasn’t just her taste that he couldn’t get out of his mind. It was the feeling that had rushed through him. There was something about it—a mixture of the familiar and the totally unexpected that he found…fascinating.

  He wanted to kiss her again. No, more than that, he wanted to walk down that hallway, find her and carry her off someplace—to a moonlit beach. He could almost smell the ocean, hear the waves crashing, feel them push forward and pull back, making the sand shift beneath them as he took her—

  With a sudden start, Zach set his empty beer glass down on the bar. What in the world was the matter with him? He couldn’t recall having that kind of primitive fantasy about any other woman.

  “There she is!” The man from Texas erupted from his chair and waved his hand. “I’m right over here, sugar.”

  CHELSEA SMILED as she waved at Mr. Texas. “Wish me luck,” she said in a low voice to Esme before she began to thread her way across the room. She was not going to look at Zach. That would be a mistake. A very big mistake, she decided as she met his eyes across the crowded bar. The moment she did, she couldn’t seem to move anymore. Her body seemed trapped, paralyzed between two opposing signals from her brain. A part of her wanted to walk toward the Texan and win her bet. Another part wanted to walk toward Zach. Above the noise, above the bubble of panic rising within her, she heard music from the jukebox. The tune was old, the lyrics familiar—ones about finding your true love.

  Could the skirt be tugging her toward Zach?

  No! It was just a plain, black skirt. A plain, black skirt.

  “Hey, little lady! Over here!”

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Mr. Texas was plowing toward her.

  The two men were both getting closer. She had to do something. But her feet might as well have been planted in concrete.

  A large, firm hand closed around her arm. “That’s our song they’re playing.”

  Finally wrenching herself from Zach’s gaze, she laid her hand on the Texan’s broad chest and smiled up at him. “Yes, it is. All my life I’ve wanted to learn the two-step.”

  5

  ZACH PUSHED another bill toward the bartender and handed the glass of white wine he received in exchange to Esme. He’d considered ordering another beer, but decided against it. He’d already had two and they hadn’t solved the problem of what he was going to do about Chelsea Brockway.

  His gaze moved back to the dance floor where she was still being bounced around the floor by the Texan. From what he could make out, the Texas two-step was just an excuse Texas men invented to be able to touch a woman on various parts of her body. Chelsea seemed to be enjoying herself. Turning back, he signaled the bartender for another beer.

  What he wanted to do, what he’d nearly done when that overgrown cowboy had first started walking toward her was to grab her arm and drag her out of Flannery’s. If he had, she could have claimed she’d won the bet. Or she could have refused to go with him. It was impossible to predict with her. His gaze shifted back to the dance floor in time to see her laugh at something the Texan said. How could she be enjoying herself?

  “She’s a clever and determined young lady,” Esme said.

  Zach turned to study the older woman at his side. “You think I ought to print her articles.”

  Esme met his eyes. “You’re the new boss. You can do whatever you want. If someone had bothered to tell me that you were going to be the new editor-in-chief before I had Ms. Brockway sign that contract this morning, we both could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”

  “I asked that no one be told.” Zach thought he saw something flicker in Esme’s eyes, but before he could decide what it was, it was gone. “You’re upset because my aunt turned the magazine over to me, aren’t you?”

  Taking a careful sip of her wine, Esme shifted her gaze to the dancers. “Not upset. Surprised. Your aunt Miranda and your father have always been full of surprises. I should have expected it.”

  But she hadn’t, Zach realized. Had she expected that her job as temporary editor-in-chief would become permanent? He didn’t much like the fact that getting his own dream caused someone else to lose theirs. “You wanted to run Metropolitan yourself, didn’t you?”

  Esme’s eyes flew to his. “Me? If I had wanted to run a magazine, I should have left Metropolitan years ago.”

  “Why didn’t you?” he asked.

  “I was happy working for your father,” Esme said.

  Raised voices on the dance floor had Zach turning in time to see that one of the Texan’s friends had joined him. Neither of the men looked happy and Chelsea stood between them. Zach quickly began to push his way toward them.

  “It’s my turn to dance with the little filly,” the friend bellowed, pulling at Chelsea’s arm.

  “One more dance and you can have her,” Chelsea’s partner said, keeping a tight hold on her other arm.

  The other man grinned. “Tell him you’d rather dance with me, little lady.”

  “I don’t think the lady wants to dance with either one of you,” Zach said as he reached them.

  The two very tall Texans dropped Chelsea’s arms and whirled to face him. The one who’d been dancing with her slapped his hand against his thigh as if expecting to find a six-gun.

  “Thish little lady is goin’ to dance with me…and then with my friend,” he said.

  “Yeah. Butt out,” the other one added.

  “Now, wait just a minute,” Chelsea said, trying to wedge herself between them. “This isn’t a shoot-out at high noon.”

  They ignored her as they moved in unison toward Zach.

  Zach looked from one to the other as he rolled on the balls of his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Carleton Bushnell and the other members of his staff had moved to the edge of the small dance floor.


  “I’m taking the little lady out of here,” Zach said.

  “Where we come from, we don’t take kindly to poachers,” Chelsea’s dance partner said. Of the two, he was bigger. But his friend looked meaner.

  Keeping his eye on his opponents, Zach said, “Chelsea, move over by Bill.”

  “Not until you stop this—”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Zach saw Bill Anderson take his cue and step forward to draw Chelsea away.

  “Whoooopeee,” the meaner looking one shouted. “It looks like we got ourselves a fight!”

  The bigger one hiccuped as he raised his fists. “He’s mine.”

  But his friend stepped in front of him and threw the first punch.

  Zach ducked to the right, then pivoted to bring the edge of his hand down hard on the side of the man’s neck. The meaner-looking one fell like a rock.

  There was a flurry of movement as Chelsea streaked forward and latched onto her dance partner’s arm. “Stop it. Stop it, right now.”

  “Thish will only take a second, sugar,” the man said, shrugging her off with the same ease that he’d been bouncing her around the dance floor. This time both Bill and Carleton stepped forward to draw her away.

  Zach figured he had about two seconds to decide how to play it—not that he had a lot of options. The dance floor was small with people lined up three deep around it. His opponent had fists the size of small hams, and in spite of the fact that he’d had a lot of beer, he wasn’t likely to make the same mistake that his friend on the floor had.

  Dodging the first punch, Zach leaned to the side and aimed one quick kick to the man’s midsection. The force sent the guy falling backward to land on his butt. A second later, he crumpled forward, clutching his stomach.

  Turning, Zach found Bill Anderson at his side with Chelsea.

  “You’d better get her out of here while they’re still on the floor.”

  “Thanks.” Taking Chelsea’s arm, Zach drew her with him through the crowd. Carleton Bushnell and the others on his editorial staff had formed a human barricade to keep his path free of the other two Texans. One of them broke through it just as he pushed Chelsea through the beveled glass door.

  “Hurry,” he said. Outside, the rain had stopped, but there wasn’t a taxi in sight. Keeping her hand in his, he said, “We’re going to have to make a run for it.”

  And run they did. To the end of the street, around the corner and up another block. She kept up with him without a question or a complaint. When he glanced down at her, he could have sworn that she was enjoying herself. As they raced around the next corner, he was surprised to find that he was, too. He was almost disappointed when the big Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center came into view. Slowing to a walk, he glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t think they followed us.”

  “Lucky for us, they left their horses in Texas. Otherwise, I’m sure they would have saddled up.”

  He was swallowing a laugh when he stopped and turned to her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, drawing in a deep breath. “But my skirt’s a little the worse for wear.”

  He glanced at it and saw that half the hem was hanging about three inches longer than the rest. It also seemed to sag at her waist.

  “I think the two-step did it in.” Her eyes were brimming with amusement when they met his.

  His laugh escaped at the same time hers did. But even after the laughter died, he didn’t look away. He was too absorbed in watching her. It might have been the play of the light thrown by a streetlamp over her skin or it might have been her scent tangling his thoughts, but for the first time, he realized that she was beautiful. The desire he felt moving through him was primitive, elemental and almost irresistible.

  You’ll never let her go…

  “You know, I’ve never been fought over in a bar before. And for it to happen twice, well, almost twice in one day…”

  Struggling to gather his thoughts and follow what she was saying, Zach dropped his gaze to her lips.

  “And you did so well—no fuss, a minimum of breakage.”

  It had been a mistake to look at her mouth because he wasn’t reading her lips. Only half of his mind was following what she was saying. The other half was imagining what it would be like to taste her again. That kiss in his office should have taken care of it, but that one taste had merely increased his hunger.

  “I’m babbling again when we really should be talking about business.”

  Zach tore his gaze away from her lips. “What?”

  “The bet. Did I win it? Are you going to publish my articles?”

  You’ll never let her go…

  “Yes.” The word slipped out almost of its own accord. He was reaching for her when she threw her arms around him. For a moment her cheek was pressed against his. “Thank you so much.”

  When Zach wrapped his arms around her to draw her closer, she shivered. Immediately, he set her away and swept her with his gaze. “You’re freezing. You don’t even have a coat on.” Quickly, he began to unbutton his jacket.

  Chelsea took a quick step away. “Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine once I get in one of those taxis—” Pausing, she glanced around. “I really better get going. Ms. Sinclair wants that article on her desk by noon tomorrow.”

  “I think there’s a stand over there past the skating rink and beyond the Christmas tree,” Zach said.

  As she started in that direction, Zach slipped his jacket around her shoulders and fell into step beside her.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes. Chelsea racked her brain for something to talk about. But every time she breathed in, she could smell Zach’s scent, and it seemed to be making her brain foggy. That wasn’t the worst part. For a moment there when she’d hugged him, she hadn’t wanted to let go. Pushing the thought out of her mind, she made herself take in her surroundings.

  At seven, the skating rink was still crowded with tourists and native New Yorkers who weren’t ready yet to run back to their tiny apartments. Music poured out of the speakers—a Christmas carol of course. Then there was the tree. Huge and rather gaudy.

  “Did you ever notice that everywhere you turn, someone is shoving Christmas down your throat?”

  Zach nearly stumbled on the steps they’d started to climb. It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “I’ve noticed.”

  “But you don’t mind because this is the most joyous season of the year, right?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, the season is rarely joyous for me and I find all the reminders annoying.” He couldn’t recall anyone who’d ever understood that.

  Chelsea stopped and turned to face him, pitching her voice really low. “You really don’t like Christmas then?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Shhhhh,” she warned him. “Say that too loud and someone will shout ‘Bah! Humbug!’ at you.”

  Zach grinned. “I’ve noticed that, too.”

  A quick, frigid slap of wind hit them. “See. We’re being punished for actually confessing to not liking Christmas. If we’re not careful, that monster of a Christmas tree might even fall on us.”

  With a laugh, Zach took her arm and urged her up the last of the steps.

  “Of course, there are some pluses, you know. To being a Christmas hater, I mean.”

  “Do tell.”

  Chelsea’s lips curved. “You don’t get caught up in the commercial rat race and doing all the decorating and baking. I’ve always left that up to my roommates. How about you?”

  “I don’t have roommates.”

  “What’s on your list of pluses? I’m sure you have some.”

  “No, I can’t say that I have.” Zach turned to her, suddenly curious. “What turned you off on the holiday? Did Santa disappoint you?”

  “No, I always had lots of presents under the tree. It’s no big deal really.” They’d begun to walk again, circling around the huge Christmas tree. She’d never told anyone except her college roommates what had soure
d her on Christmas, but it seemed easy to tell Zach, perhaps because he wasn’t enamored of the holiday either. “I enjoyed the whole season thoroughly until I was old enough to know that my father was living and never wanted to see me.”

  “Why not?” Zach asked.

  “Mom says he just didn’t want the responsibility. And it would have been different if I hadn’t been born on Christmas Eve. When I was old enough to know that he never even came to the hospital to see me, it sort of cast a pall on the whole season for me. A bad memory can do that, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” When she glanced up at him, she saw that he was looking past her—at some memory of his own? She was about to ask when he glanced back down at her. “You’ve never seen your father?”

  She shook her head. “It was part of the deal my mother made. He paid for my college education. In return, I never contact him.” She studied him for a moment. “Now you know my deepest darkest secret. How about telling me yours?”

  He smiled, taking her arm and guiding her around the tree. “Another time. Right now, I’d rather know more of yours. Why do you want to write for magazines?”

  “That’s not much of a secret. My mother would tell you that I’ve always loved writing, creating images and ideas with words. Magazines seemed an easier goal than a book. One of the pluses is that you can write shorter pieces and get published faster than if you write books.”

  “Not faster than if you wrote for a newspaper,” Zach pointed out.

  “No, but you get a longer shelf life. Another definite plus. How about you? Why do you want to run a magazine?”

  “It’s always been my dream. When I was little, it was probably because it was what my father did. Later, I decided that it was a way to establish a forum for people to exchange ideas. It’s an opportunity to make a real difference in the world.”

  He spoke with passion about his work. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. She couldn’t help but admire him for it. “I can see why you look down your nose at my articles. But don’t you think there’s more to life than ideas?”