Chistmas In Manhattan Collection. Alison Roberts
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one Broadway show, which one would it be?”
“Phantom of the Opera,” she said without hesitation and with a wistful look in her eyes that even her hideous glasses wouldn’t have hidden.
“Obviously, you’ve given this some thought. Why haven’t you gone?”
Glancing away from him to stare out the window at the skyline, she shrugged. “I made plans to go once. He failed to show and I’ve just never made plans to go again.”
He?
“What?” He exaggerated the word, a bit stunned at her reason. “Are you kidding me? Some guy stood you up?”
Meeting his gaze for a brief moment, she shook her head, then stared down into her glass, twirling the small amount of sparkling wine remaining. “I... It’s okay, really.”
“You were all dressed up and waiting on the guy to take you on a date and he never showed?” Maybe his question had been crass, but the possibility that some clown had blown her off just seemed unfathomable. And made him angry for her. He should get the guy’s address and give him a lesson on how to treat a lady. Because, despite Sarah’s denial, her voice conveyed that she’d been hurt.
As did how her eyes were downcast and her face pale.
“You were, weren’t you?”
“I was what?” Her gaze lifted to his.
The glistening in her eyes almost undid him. She was fighting tears. His insides clenched as did his fingers.
“Dressed up and waiting on a man who never showed and didn’t bother to let you know he wasn’t coming.”
Her expression pinched and that was all the answer Jude needed. Yeah, he should really look up this tool and give him a piece of his mind.
“Was he straight?”
Sarah’s face turned that rosy shade of red it seemed to often wear and she nodded. “Yes, he was straight. Like I said, he just forgot we’d made plans.”
“How?” If he’d exaggerated the word earlier, this time was even more drawn out with total disbelief.
Looking embarrassed, Sarah shrugged. “You’re making a big deal of it. It wasn’t. He got busy and forgot about our date. It’s fine. After that, we realized we weren’t meant to date, but are still friends. End of story.”
Only not really because the beautiful woman sitting across from him had taken a blow to her confidence that never should have happened. The thought of Sarah, all dressed up and waiting for her date, and the guy not bothering to show or call, had Jude livid.
He shook his head. “The guy stood you up and you’re still friends with him? You should have kneed him where it hurt, not still be defending his bad-mannered behavior.”
Eyes wide, she gave him a horrified look. “Why on earth would I do that? Because he and I didn’t click romantically? That doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. He’s not. He’s a nice man.”
Most of the women he knew would have neutered the guy, not defended him.
Wondering at why Sarah was, if she still had feelings for the idiot who’d stood her up, Jude shook his head. “Nice guys don’t invite a woman to a show and forget.”
“Could we please talk about something else? Besides, what do you know about being a nice guy, Jude Davenport?” she scoffed, leaning forward, too, and pinning him beneath her blue-green gaze.
Knowing she was one hundred percent focused on him threw Jude. Good grief, her attention was heady.
“More than the guys you hang out with, apparently.” He stared right back, liking everything about the way he felt staring into her eyes and that this time she held his gaze, not backing down or looking away even as electricity sparked between them.
Excitement licked his imagination and visions of kissing that full mouth of hers danced through his mind, of placing his palms against those cheeks of hers, staring into her eyes, and kissing her until her taste filled his senses.
Visions of his taking her on that date and giving her the night she should have had and making up for what the idiot had done to her.
“Think whatever you will, Sarah.” He even liked saying her name, how it rolled off his tongue almost melodically. “But I can honestly say that if you’d been dressed up for a date with me, I wouldn’t have forgotten you no matter what the hell came up.”
“That’s good to know.” Eyes glinting, she pursed her lips.
At her comment, Jude raised his brow, to which her lips parted, tempting him further. His mouth craved hers with a dizzying intensity.
“That’s not what I mean,” she began, looking flustered. “I mean... Oh, you know what I meant and what I didn’t mean.”
“Do I?” His lips trembled from unfamiliar restraint at not taking what he wanted. She was so close, yet he knew he shouldn’t kiss her, that he had no right to kiss Sarah.
“Oh, get real, Jude. I am not your type and you are certainly not mine. What your dating practices are really don’t pertain to me.” Even as she protested, he heard the question in her voice and understood why. Normally, he’d have already kissed those disapproving pink lips of hers.
He wanted to kiss them.
Wanted to kiss her.
All of her.
That he hadn’t kissed her said something, but he wasn’t sure he understood exactly what or why he was so hesitant to make a move.
“Certainly not your type?” he pushed, knowing he wasn’t reading her wrong, that, despite whatever she thought of him, there was powerful chemistry burning between them.
“Certainly,” she repeated with a slight slur, making him wonder how many glasses of wine she’d had while he’d been finishing their dinner.
“Why is it that I’m certainly not your type, Sarah?”
She blinked, then gave a haughty little tilt to her chin. “Because I’m not into men who sleep with so many different women.”
Were they back to that?
“I think you overestimate my prowess.”
She broke eye contact and laughed. “Nice try, Casanova.”
He watched her toy with her wine. “What type of men are you into?”
Not answering for several moments, she seemed to search for the answer in her glass.
“Ones who aren’t like you,” she finally said.
Although her response didn’t surprise him, he frowned. “That’s not an answer.”
“Sure it is.”
“How so?”
“It means I’m into men who aren’t adrenaline junkies, who have steady, stable jobs, who don’t feel the need to have the most notches on their bedpost.”
Her response gained passion with each word, making him wonder if she was trying to convince him or herself.
“You know, guys who aren’t like you.” She emphasized the last word.
Was that how she saw him? The same way the rest of the world did, no doubt. Still, her words stung in ways the words of a woman he’d technically only met that day shouldn’t sting. They had no relationship, had just lived next to each other since she’d bought the apartment next to his. Thank goodness he’d not bought the place as he’d considered to expand his own again, mainly to widen his view of the city. He’d hate to have gone through life without the pleasure of having met his neighbor.
“None of those things disqualify me,” he pointed out, taking in every nuance of her facial expression. “Because none of those things describe