Chistmas In Manhattan Collection. Alison Roberts
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that she minded being single. Just that at certain events being solo stood out like a sore thumb. Like at engagement parties and weddings and various get-togethers with her coworkers.
Coworkers, which included her boss. Charles Davenport. Davenport. Jude Davenport.
Duh. How could she have been so blind?
The last name. The eyes. She’d not put two and two together, but her conclusion made perfect sense.
Jude’s eyes were the same blue as her boss’s.
His last name was also the same.
That couldn’t be a coincidence.
No way.
He was one of those Davenports.
“You ready to eat crow?”
Startled by his question, she jerked toward him, watching as he walked out of the kitchen, stepped up a step to where there was a table for four, and put down two plates.
Good grief, the man did things for a pair of jeans that ought to be declared illegal in every state but Alaska. Maybe there, it was cold enough to offset the burning heat that rose inside her every time she looked at him. Wowzers.
“Crow?” She arched a brow, grateful she’d forced her gaze up above his waistline as he turned toward her. “You told me you were serving chicken.”
He grinned. “I meant the view. It’s phenomenal, isn’t it?”
Yeah, it was and she didn’t just mean the New York City skyline. Seeing the eagerness with which he waited for her to respond, she marveled at the unexpected layer to him. He appreciated his view of the city that much?
That surprised her, made her have to admit there were more dimensions to Jude than she’d already realized.
She didn’t need to discover any more positive dimensions. The fact he’d risked his life to save a young girl’s already had her softening way too much.
That had to be why she was looking at him and feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside.
Or maybe it was the wine.
She wasn’t much of a drinker and she’d finished one glass and started another.
On an empty stomach.
Definitely that was it.
What had she been thinking?
No matter. Life was good.
“Haven’t seen any crows, not even any pigeons this high up.” She took another sip of the wine, despite just thinking that she should probably slow down or stop altogether. “But it’s not bad.”
He laughed. “You don’t like admitting to being wrong, do you?”
She batted her lashes all innocent like. “What was I wrong about?”
“My view.”
“I never said anything about your view,” she reminded him, holding his gaze. “You were the one who said your view was better than mine. Not me.”
“You’re right,” he conceded, then gestured to the view from where he stood on the raised platform dining area. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him displayed a city that sparkled like diamonds under perfect lighting. “But, admit it, I’m also right.”
She ran her gaze across the skyline, wondering if the city would ever fail to amaze. “You have an amazing view, Jude Davenport. Much better than mine, even. Happy?”
“Yes. Thank you. I am.”
She tore her gaze away from the window and looked at him. With his easygoing smile, he actually did look happy. And relaxed. And way too handsome in his jeans, T-shirt, and bare feet.
The view she was looking at was better than any she’d seen in her apartment. A smiling gorgeous man gesturing to the Manhattan skyline. Yeah, that had never happened in her apartment.
For that matter, until tonight she’d never had a man in her apartment other than movers as she’d not wanted her few dates since moving in to taint her beloved home. She’d known with each one that things weren’t going to work out. Maybe she was too picky, but better picky than ending up with some loser. Just ask her mother. Not that you had to ask. Sarah’s mother vocalized the plague of society—men—to anyone and everyone who got within earshot.
That morning Jude had seemed to fit her mother’s horror stories to a T. But firefighter Jude and this relaxed, easygoing, comfortable, bare-footed domesticated Jude refused to be shoved into that preconceived mold.
He wiggled his toes, as if knowing she was looking at them. Sarah wasn’t a foot fetish kind of girl, or any kind of fetish girl, really, but there was something about this man’s bare feet that she found appealing.
Maybe it wasn’t the bare feet, but the entire package that was getting to her.
She gulped back a drink, then fought to keep from coughing as the sweet wine went down all wrong. That’s all she needed, to aspirate, and choke in front of him. He’d think her a total klutz, having already set off her smoke detector.
Or that she’d purposely choked so he’d have to come to her rescue again.
When her gaze met his again, he was studying her as intently as she was him.
“I get the impression you really can see my view, Sarah.”
Um, yeah, she could. His point was?
“Not once have I seen you squint,” he continued. “Which makes me question those glasses you wear. It’s going to be a tough sell to convince me you need them. Are they prescription?”
Busted.
“They serve their purpose.”
His brow arched. “Which is?”
To put a barrier between her and anyone who tried to look too closely. As Jude was currently doing.
She should have grabbed them off her bathroom sink before heading to his place. She just hadn’t been thinking clearly, and that had been way before she’d drunk any wine.
“Something smells wonderful. You sure I can’t help?” she asked, needing to pull herself out of whatever trance he was putting her in.
“Positive.” He came to stand by where she sat, held out his hand. “It’s all done and on the table. Hungry?”
Being careful not to slosh her wine, she slipped her hand into his, not surprised one bit by the warmth, the tingles that zapped her at the skin-to-skin contact, the burning heat that settled deep in her belly.
It was only fitting that the man had the powers of Zeus to shoot lightning bolts through unsuspecting women.
“Starved.”
And not just for food.
Oops. There went the wine again.
“YOU MAY HAVE ruined me to hummus and toast forever.” Sarah patted her mouth with a napkin, then leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Shame on you, spoiling my rather dull palate.”
Jude felt rather spoiled himself, having gotten to watch Sarah eat. And loosen up. Now, that he’d enjoyed.
Because once she’d relaxed she’d opened up and talked.
Sarah talking was a pleasure.
She fascinated him. From her political views to her dreading the holidays as much as he was to her fear of taking the tunnels out of the city to her absolute love of New York and the diversity of people, customs, restaurants, and things to do.
He couldn’t quite believe she’d lived in New York her