Moonstruck In Manhattan. Cara Summers
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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 she 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