Читать книгу Her Man in Manhattan - Trish Wylie - Страница 8

TWO

After checking that Crystal made it out of the nightclub okay and apologizing profusely for abandoning her, Miranda spent the rest of the weekend fantasizing about her rescuer.

She’d felt his gaze on her before she saw him, which was rare for someone who had spent most of her life being watched. Understandably curious she’d sought him out, her breath catching when she laid eyes on him.

He was the most compelling man she’d ever seen.

From what she could tell he was handsome in a rough-edged kind of way, but that wasn’t what made him exciting. What did was that even while standing tall and straight he gave the impression of a predator crouched to spring on its prey. Brazenly answering his interest in her with a smile of encouragement had felt like playing with fire, the associated rush of adrenaline addictive.

And when it came to that kiss, oh, my...

Smoothing her palms over her elegantly tailored linen dress, she followed the curve from breast to waist to hip. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine the hands touching her body were larger and more masculine; a deep voice was rumbling in her ear, describing everything he was going to do to her in explicit detail.

A sigh of regret left her lips.

If they hadn’t been interrupted...

None of her small acts of rebellion had ever given her the same rush she got when she thought about doing more than kissing him. But how would she find him again in a city the size of New York when she didn’t know his name?

A familiar three-tapped knock on her bedroom door snapped her out of her reverie.

‘Come in,’ she called as she stepped over to sit on the stool in front of her dressing table.

‘Good morning, Miranda.’

‘Good morning, Grace,’ she answered cheerfully when her father’s personal assistant appeared. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful morning? The park looks lovely from the windows. I don’t suppose there’s enough of a gap in my schedule today to allow for a leisurely stroll?’

‘No.’ Grace’s reflection smiled apologetically. ‘But at least you’ll be outside for a while.’

‘Well, that’s something.’

While Miranda attached small pearl-drop earrings to her lobes, the ever efficient fifty-something who had been in her life for so long she’d become a kind of maiden aunt opened her file and got down to business.

‘You have a nine a.m. appointment for a dress fitting with Ms Wang. At ten you’re due at a community project in the Bronx with time for a meet-and-greet before morning coffee. At eleven-thirty—’

‘Do you think the world would come to an end if we took a day off?’ Miranda mused as she added a flawless string of pearls to her neck and fluffed her hair into place. ‘We could pack a picnic, grab a handful of gossip magazines and spend the morning people watching...’

When she nodded enthusiastically in the mirror Grace closed her file. ‘Before or after you go through the Help Wanted ads with me?’

‘One little day,’ Miranda cajoled with a pout and a flutter of long lashes.

‘Your father would like to see you before you leave.’

‘Ten bucks says it’s a reminder to kiss babies.’

‘I don’t think they’re eligible to vote.’

‘No. But with any luck they’ll have fathers there for me to flirt with or mothers for me to charm with talk of how much I want kids of my own one day.’ Pushing to her feet, she lifted her bag and shoes and linked their arms at the elbows as they crossed the room.

It was the kind of simple human contact she didn’t stop to think about with Grace. She’d heard somewhere people needed eighteen inches of personal space but for most of Miranda’s life the distance had been greater. Hence a small part of why the memory of full bodily contact with a virile male was so hard to shake, most likely.

Not that there weren’t other reasons.

‘It’s remiss of me not to have produced a suitable grandchild by now,’ she continued in the same bright tone. ‘Chubby toddlers are always a hit with the electorate.’

‘If you start planning ahead you could schedule it for the whispered campaign for Governor.’

‘Always best to keep something in reserve.’ Miranda nodded in agreement. She smiled as they stepped into the hall. ‘Good morning, Roger. Is that a new tie?’

‘Wife bought it for my birthday,’ her father’s press secretary replied with an answering smile.

‘She has excellent taste.’

‘Speaking of spouses, finding a husband before you have that chubby toddler might be a good idea,’ Grace whispered conspiratorially.

Miranda leaned closer to whisper back, ‘I’ve heard you don’t have to have one to get the other.’

‘You do when your father’s the mayor.’

Another face in the hallway earned another smile. ‘Good morning, Lou. How was the Little League game?’

‘Two strikes and a home run,’ her father’s head of security replied with the swing of an invisible bat.

‘Tell Tommy I said “yay,”’ she replied with a ladylike punch to the air.

‘Shoes,’ Grace reminded her outside the door to her father’s study.

‘What would I do without you?’

‘Run barefoot and be late for appointments.’

‘Now doesn’t that sound like fun?’ She handed over her bag for safekeeping, slipped on her heels and took a step back to turn a circle. ‘Am I ready for inspection?’

‘You’ll do.’

After a light knock on the door, she waited for the cursory ‘come’ and turned the handle.

‘Ah, here she is,’ her father said from behind his mahogany desk as she crossed the room. ‘Miranda, this is Detective Brannigan. He’ll be overseeing your security during the remainder of the campaign.’

Though unaware there were any changes planned, she kept a smile in place as she waited for the man to stand up and turn around. Her first impression was of his size; he was six feet two, possibly three, his build more running back than linebacker. Many people would have been surprised by that—when they thought bodyguard they pictured brute force—but while physical strength and fitness were both important the members of her family’s protective details came in many shapes and sizes. Keen observation skills and an ability to think on their feet were of equal importance.

Any following thought on the subject disappeared in a flash and was instantly replaced by shock when she looked into cobalt-blue eyes. It took every ounce of her social skills to prevent the drop of her jaw.

‘Miss Kravitz,’ he said in a low rumbling baritone as her hand was engulfed in a firm handshake.

It wasn’t what she’d fantasized he would say if they met again but the sound of his voice was enough to remind her of every imagined word. She peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth as heat suffused her palm and rushed up her arm. Had he known who she was when he came to her rescue? Had he been watching her because he was on duty? How long had he been following her?

As she remembered to reclaim her hand and lowered it to her side—his touch still tingling on her skin—her gaze shifted to her father. There was no way to determine how much trouble she was in while he was wearing his elected official expression but if he was upset about something it was a new tactic. Usually the punishment for her supposed misdemeanors involved a lecture on responsibility—the kind she liked to think she’d endured stoically over the years.

‘He’ll report to Lou the same way Ron did,’ he said. ‘They’ve selected a new detail for you.’

All of her guys had been replaced—since when and, more to the point, why?

‘Detective Brannigan suggested a shake-up,’ he added so she knew who to blame.

While he turned his attention to some of the papers on his desk she looked at the man beside her to see if the reality lived up to her fantasy. Strong masculine features—short, dark blond hair, thick lashes framing his intense eyes. He was every bit as compelling as she remembered. Seeing him again reawakened the potent sensual awareness in her body. It transported her back in time to when he’d kissed her into a boneless puddle of lust and walked away.

Now she thought about it Miranda wasn’t certain she’d forgiven him for that. Particularly when it was more than obvious he still had the upper hand. She’d wondered how he managed to get them past a cordon of New York’s finest with such ease. In her furtive imagination he’d been everything from a mafia don with cops on his payroll to a combination of secretive billionaire by day and caped crusader by night. That he was with the NYPD made more sense but why hadn’t he said so? Why the charade? Why kiss her instead of flashing a badge?

He blinked lazily hooded eyes. ‘I believe you have a nine a.m. appointment.’

Miranda ignored him and rounded the desk to place a kiss on her father’s cheek. ‘Bye, Daddy.’

‘Bye sweetheart. Have a good day.’

‘You, too,’ she replied before lifting her chin as she walked back across the room. ‘Now we can leave.’

In a few long strides he’d overtaken her and held open the door but she didn’t thank him for the courtesy while she was piqued by his duplicity.

‘New bodyguard?’ Grace whispered as she handed over her bag and a copy of the day’s itinerary.

Miranda crinkled her nose in mock delight. ‘Lucky me.’

She led the way down the second-floor landing, past a rare five-seat settee that had been discovered in the basement of City Hall. Despite living in the mansion for the two terms her father had been mayor she never took her surroundings for granted. If anything the combination of rare paintings and antiques interspersed with modern furniture reminded her of what a privilege it was to live in one of the few surviving eighteenth-century mansions in the city. It was something she could appreciate more approaching twenty-five than she had at seventeen. But unlike most mornings she didn’t take the time to greet any of her favorite pieces with a smile or to mull over her continuing need to escape such a beautifully gilded cage.

She was too distracted by the man walking behind her, her body highly tuned to his presence.

They were halfway down the carpeted stairs before she lowered her voice to ask, ‘Did you know who I was?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did my father order you to follow me?’

‘No.’

She smiled at the woman making her way upstairs. ‘Good morning, Dorothy. Is it as beautiful outside as it looks through the window?’

‘It is,’ the maid replied with an answering smile.

The tension became heavier with each muted downward step while Miranda tried to pretend she couldn’t feel an intense gaze following her every move. There was no way she could spend every day in the company of a man she’d pictured naked...and sweaty...and as aroused as he’d left her after one little kiss. She had a reputation for being cool, calm and poised in public. She wasn’t about to exchange it for hot, bothered and sexually frustrated. It wasn’t as if the discovery he was—technically speaking—a ‘good guy’ had done anything to dilute her fantasy, either. Even while wearing a dark suit, white shirt and patriotically striped tie he oozed the danger she’d craved since her late teens.

Skydiving, bungee jumping, swimming with sharks—they were all on an ever-growing wish list of forbidden pursuits she’d added to over the years.

Making wild, crazy whoopee with one of her bodyguards had never crossed her mind, until now.

Her heels clicked on the exquisitely refurbished faux marble patterning of the wooden floor in the foyer. In a matter of seconds they would be in the vestibule, away from the constantly moving crowd that never quite managed to make her feel less alone. They could take advantage of the moment and pick up where they’d left off. He would grab her hand and swing her around, press her against the wall with his muscled body, crush her lips beneath his and...

Miranda gave herself a mental smack upside the head. She needed to focus. The brief alone time they had between inner and outer doors should be used to reclaim some of the control over her life she couldn’t afford to relinquish. She hadn’t been fighting for her freedom so someone new could stride in and clip her wings before she had a chance to stretch them. With that in mind, the second the first door closed behind them she turned to face him.

‘As it’s your first day I think we should lay out some ground rules....’

‘I agree.’ He nodded. ‘So shut up and listen.’

Miranda gaped at him in disbelief. ‘You can’t talk to me like that.’

‘What you mean is no one else ever has, right?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’m willing to bet folks have been kowtowing to you since you were in diapers.’ The forwards step he took seemed to suck all the air out of the vestibule. ‘What you need to learn quick-smart is I don’t kowtow to anyone,’ he said in a low, mesmerizing rumble. ‘I’m here to do a job. Make that more difficult for me than it needs to be, things will get ugly.’ He jerked his brows. ‘You feel me?’

Did she—? She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘No begging necessary,’ he replied with a small shake of his head. ‘Just be a good girl and do as you’re told and we’ll be golden.’

‘You know I can have you removed from this position?’

‘Good luck with that. I’ve been trying to get out of it for a week.’ He reached past her, held open the outer door and inclined his head. ‘After you, princess.’

A dazed Miranda stepped through the door, her gaze locked on broad shoulders as he overtook her on the gravel driveway. While there was no denying part of her buzzed with the titillating after-effects of his forceful tone, another was mildly outraged. No one had ever spoken to her that way. Who did he think he was?

She narrowed her eyes. It didn’t matter who he was. He was about to discover she wouldn’t be easily intimidated. She was a politician’s daughter. Everything she needed to know about hiding her emotions she’d learned from masters of disguising how they felt. Summoning an air of poise, she reached into her bag for a pair of oversize sunglasses and her cell phone. If he thought he was dealing with a spoilt princess she would give him exactly what he expected. Covering her eyes, she hit speed dial.

‘Good morning, darling, how are you?’ She purposefully spoke loud enough to be overheard. ‘My day has got off to the most dreadful start.’

‘The Queen of England called and said she wanted her accent back?’ Crystal sighed dramatically. ‘You’re standing me up for lunch, aren’t you?’

Miranda smiled smoothly. ‘Absolutely not.’

It didn’t matter if he was a walking sex fantasy. She planned on ditching her new bodyguard by noon.