Her Man in Manhattan. Trish Wylie
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Up close and personal—with her bodyguard!
It seems mayor’s daughter Miranda Kravitz has scored herself a new and very dreamy bodyguard! Apparently the fireworks between them are scorching, but will this tabloid darling really be willing to give up her newfound taste for freedom—no matter how gorgeous Tyler Brannigan is?
Rumor has it Brannigan hates playing by the rules and has used up all his strikes with the NYPD vice squad. So now this cop’s paying his dues with a temporary assignment as babysitter. If anyone can keep this Manhattan princess in check, surely it’s this tough-guy detective? Hopefully handcuffs won’t be necessary!
His body loomed over her, the tip of his nose barely an inch away from hers as his voice rumbled. “Get in the car.”
Miranda hadn’t even noticed it was there and frankly, with his mouth in kissing distance, she couldn’t care less. She angled her head in a move that suggested she was about to fit their lips together and she lifted her chin, reducing the gap to millimeters. Then she looked deep into cobalt-blue eyes and whispered, “Make. Me.”
When her heavy-lidded gaze lowered to his mouth she saw a corner of it tug upward.
“You don’t want to do that,” he said in a low, husky, unbelievably sexy voice before moving his head so he could whisper in her ear. “I’m more trouble than you can handle.”
It was as if he’d placed all of her fantasies within her grasp. Miranda blinked at him while he leaned away from her and reached for the door.
“We’ll see.…”
Her Man in Manhattan
Trish Wylie
ABOUT TRISH WYLIE
Trish Wylie worked on a long career of careers to get to the one she’d wanted from her late teens. She flicked her blond hair over her shoulder while playing the promotions game, patted her manicured hands on the backs of musicians in the music business, smiled sweetly at awkward customers during the retail nightmare known as the run-up to Christmas, and got completely lost in her car in every single town in Ireland while working as a sales rep.
It took all that character-building and a healthy sense of humor to get her dream job, she feels—where she spends her days in reindeer slippers, with her hair in whatever band she can find to keep it out of the way, makeup as vague and distant a memory as manicured nails, while she gets to create the kind of dream man she’d still like to believe is out there somewhere. If it turns out he is, she promises she’ll let you know…after she’s been out for a new wardrobe, a manicure and a makeover.…
This and other titles by Trish Wylie are available in ebook format—check out www.millsandboon.co.uk.
Contents
ONE
Tyler wasn’t the only guy watching her. It was just a shame he didn’t want to be there and resented the living hell out of the fact he didn’t have a choice.
If things had been different he could enjoy the view.
Pinpricks of sparkling light swirled over the dance floor as she sashayed sideways and made a sexy rotation of her hips. She had a body made for sin: tall, slender, with full breasts and flawless, sun-kissed skin. Raising bared arms above her head lifted the hem of her silver minidress, exposing several more inches of delectably long legs encased in white platform-heeled knee-high boots. Add the sleek bob of a snowy wig, which covered her trademark hair, to darkly made-up eyes and ruby-red lips and she would make a fortune dancing on a dais.
When she bent her knees and shimmied downwards—rising with an effortlessly fluid curve of her spine—he didn’t have difficulty picturing her with a spotlight following her every move. Judging by the fun she’d had fending off potential dance partners she would probably get a kick out of it. But despite her obvious comfort in the centre of so much male attention she stood out of the writhing mass of humanity too much for his liking. She was lucky no one had recognized her and if there was one thing Tyler knew, it was luck had a tendency to run out.
Even for the Irish.
Without warning her gaze collided into his with a pinpoint accuracy, which made it feel as if she’d known he was there all along. The impact created a sudden flare of heat in his body, like a spark igniting a fuse. Refusing to accept it was anything but the natural biological reaction of red-blooded male to hot female, he held his ground and waited to see what she would do next.
Rolling her shoulders and hips, she ran the tip of her tongue over glossy lips and smiled a slow, sensual smile. The silent come-on might have summoned him to the dance floor if he’d ever danced a day in his life. But even if he had he