Moonstruck In Manhattan Part 6

"Whoooopeee," the meaner looking one shouted. "It looks like we got ourselves a fight!"

The bigger one hiccuped as he raised his fists. "He's mine."

But his friend stepped in front of him and threw the first punch.

Zach ducked to the right, then pivoted to bring the edge of his hand down hard on the side of the man's neck. The meaner-looking one fell like a rock.

There was a flurry of movement as Chelsea streaked forward and latched onto her dance partner's arm. "Stop it. Stop it, right now."

"Thish will only take a second, sugar," the man said, shrugging her off with the same ease that he'd been bouncing her around the dance floor. This time both Bill and Carleton stepped forward to draw her away.

Zach figured he had about two seconds to decide how to play it-not that he had a lot of options. The dance floor was small with people lined up three deep around it. His opponent had fists the size of small hams, and in spite of the fact that he'd had a lot of beer, he wasn't likely to make the same mistake that his friend on the floor had.

Dodging the first punch, Zach leaned to the side and aimed one quick kick to the man's midsection. The force sent the guy falling backward to land on his b.u.t.t. A second later, he crumpled forward, clutching his stomach.

Turning, Zach found Bill Anderson at his side with Chelsea.

"You'd better get her out of here while they're still on the floor."

"Thanks." Taking Chelsea's arm, Zach drew her with him through the crowd. Carleton Bushnell and the others on his editorial staff had formed a human barricade to keep his path free of the other two Texans. One of them broke through it just as he pushed Chelsea through the beveled gla.s.s door.

"Hurry," he said. Outside, the rain had stopped, but there wasn't a taxi in sight. Keeping her hand in his, he said, "We're going to have to make a run for it."

And run they did. To the end of the street, around the corner and up another block. She kept up with him without a question or a complaint. When he glanced down at her, he could have sworn that she was enjoying herself. As they raced around the next corner, he was surprised to find that he was, too. He was almost disappointed when the big Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center came into view. Slowing to a walk, he glanced over his shoulder. "I don't think they followed us."

"Lucky for us, they left their horses in Texas. Otherwise, I'm sure they would have saddled up."

He was swallowing a laugh when he stopped and turned to her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, drawing in a deep breath. "But my skirt's a little the worse for wear."

He glanced at it and saw that half the hem was hanging about three inches longer than the rest. It also seemed to sag at her waist.

"I think the two-step did it in." Her eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with amus.e.m.e.nt when they met his.

His laugh escaped at the same time hers did. But even after the laughter died, he didn't look away. He was too absorbed in watching her. It might have been the play of the light thrown by a streetlamp over her skin or it might have been her scent tangling his thoughts, but for the first time, he realized that she was beautiful. The desire he felt moving through him was primitive, elemental and almost irresistible.

You'll never let her go...

"You know, I've never been fought over in a bar before. And for it to happen twice, well, almost twice in one day..."

Struggling to gather his thoughts and follow what she was saying, Zach dropped his gaze to her lips.

"And you did so well-no fuss, a minimum of breakage."

It had been a mistake to look at her mouth because he wasn't reading her lips. Only half of his mind was following what she was saying. The other half was imagining what it would be like to taste her again. That kiss in his office should have taken care of it, but that one taste had merely increased his hunger.

"I'm babbling again when we really should be talking about business."

Zach tore his gaze away from her lips. "What?"

"The bet. Did I win it? Are you going to publish my articles?"

You'll never let her go...

"Yes." The word slipped out almost of its own accord. He was reaching for her when she threw her arms around him. For a moment her cheek was pressed against his. "Thank you so much."

When Zach wrapped his arms around her to draw her closer, she shivered. Immediately, he set her away and swept her with his gaze. "You're freezing. You don't even have a coat on." Quickly, he began to unb.u.t.ton his jacket.

Chelsea took a quick step away. "Don't be silly. I'll be fine once I get in one of those taxis-" Pausing, she glanced around. "I really better get going. Ms. Sinclair wants that article on her desk by noon tomorrow."

"I think there's a stand over there past the skating rink and beyond the Christmas tree," Zach said.

As she started in that direction, Zach slipped his jacket around her shoulders and fell into step beside her.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Chelsea racked her brain for something to talk about. But every time she breathed in, she could smell Zach's scent, and it seemed to be making her brain foggy. That wasn't the worst part. For a moment there when she'd hugged him, she hadn't wanted to let go. Pushing the thought out of her mind, she made herself take in her surroundings.

At seven, the skating rink was still crowded with tourists and native New Yorkers who weren't ready yet to run back to their tiny apartments. Music poured out of the speakers-a Christmas carol of course. Then there was the tree. Huge and rather gaudy.

"Did you ever notice that everywhere you turn, someone is shoving Christmas down your throat?"

Zach nearly stumbled on the steps they'd started to climb. It was the last thing he'd expected her to say. "I've noticed."

"But you don't mind because this is the most joyous season of the year, right?"

"No. As a matter of fact, the season is rarely joyous for me and I find all the reminders annoying." He couldn't recall anyone who'd ever understood that.

Chelsea stopped and turned to face him, pitching her voice really low. "You really don't like Christmas then?"

"Not particularly."

"Shhhhh," she warned him. "Say that too loud and someone will shout 'Bah! Humbug!' at you."

Zach grinned. "I've noticed that, too."

A quick, frigid slap of wind hit them. "See. We're being punished for actually confessing to not liking Christmas. If we're not careful, that monster of a Christmas tree might even fall on us."

With a laugh, Zach took her arm and urged her up the last of the steps.

"Of course, there are some pluses, you know. To being a Christmas hater, I mean."

"Do tell."

Chelsea's lips curved. "You don't get caught up in the commercial rat race and doing all the decorating and baking. I've always left that up to my roommates. How about you?"

"I don't have roommates."

"What's on your list of pluses? I'm sure you have some."

"No, I can't say that I have." Zach turned to her, suddenly curious. "What turned you off on the holiday? Did Santa disappoint you?"

"No, I always had lots of presents under the tree. It's no big deal really." They'd begun to walk again, circling around the huge Christmas tree. She'd never told anyone except her college roommates what had soured her on Christmas, but it seemed easy to tell Zach, perhaps because he wasn't enamored of the holiday either. "I enjoyed the whole season thoroughly until I was old enough to know that my father was living and never wanted to see me."

"Why not?" Zach asked.

"Mom says he just didn't want the responsibility. And it would have been different if I hadn't been born on Christmas Eve. When I was old enough to know that he never even came to the hospital to see me, it sort of cast a pall on the whole season for me. A bad memory can do that, don't you think?"

"Yes." When she glanced up at him, she saw that he was looking past her-at some memory of his own? She was about to ask when he glanced back down at her. "You've never seen your father?"

She shook her head. "It was part of the deal my mother made. He paid for my college education. In return, I never contact him." She studied him for a moment. "Now you know my deepest darkest secret. How about telling me yours?"

He smiled, taking her arm and guiding her around the tree. "Another time. Right now, I'd rather know more of yours. Why do you want to write for magazines?"

"That's not much of a secret. My mother would tell you that I've always loved writing, creating images and ideas with words. Magazines seemed an easier goal than a book. One of the pluses is that you can write shorter pieces and get published faster than if you write books."

"Not faster than if you wrote for a newspaper," Zach pointed out.

"No, but you get a longer shelf life. Another definite plus. How about you? Why do you want to run a magazine?"

"It's always been my dream. When I was little, it was probably because it was what my father did. Later, I decided that it was a way to establish a forum for people to exchange ideas. It's an opportunity to make a real difference in the world."

He spoke with pa.s.sion about his work. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. She couldn't help but admire him for it. "I can see why you look down your nose at my articles. But don't you think there's more to life than ideas?"

He shot her a sidewise glance. "Hotties and man-magnet skirts, for instance?"

She shook her head. "Not just that. I was thinking about all the things that people do just to relax with one another and have fun-movies, museums, skating, that kind of thing. For my second article on the skirt, I'm going to wear it to the Museum of Modern Art and I'm going to go skating in it right here in Rockefeller Center."

They'd reached the street, and across it, two taxis waited at a stand. Zach grabbed her arm as she stepped off the curb, then turned her to face him. "I don't like the idea of you wearing that skirt around alone. It seems to attract...trouble."

"That's the whole point," Chelsea said. "Otherwise, there wouldn't be anything to write about."

For a moment, Zach ran the idea over in his mind. He would have preferred to have more time to weigh the pluses and the minuses.

"I don't want the magazine to be responsible for anything hurting you," he said with a frown.

Her brows shot up in surprise. "If you're worried that I'll sue, I won't."

She was halfway across the street before he caught her arm again. "I've got a better idea. My aunt is throwing a Christmas ball for charity next Sat.u.r.day night. Why don't you come with me?"

Chelsea glanced up at him, a frown slowly forming on her forehead. "No, I'm sorry, but I can't. I don't date."

Zach stared at her as several emotions ran through him. Surprise, he could understand. She should have said yes. Any other woman would have said yes. But he was not disappointed. "Why not?"

"I told you before, it's a pact I made with my roommates. Dating is too hard. Physically, it takes too much effort to get out there and meet people. And emotionally, it can be really distracting, not to mention devastating. So we've sworn not to date until we get our careers more established. And right now, my priority has to be the articles."

Zach studied her in the moonlight that had begun to stream through a break in the clouds.

You'll never let her go...

"Don't think of it as a date. It's an opportunity to try out that skirt of yours at my aunt's ball. Most of Manhattan society will be there. Think of the article you can write. It will be much safer than going to the Museum of Modern Art or coming here to skate."

He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

"I'm offering you a business opportunity."

Hesitating, she began to twist her ring again. "As long as we're clear that it's not a date."

Zach managed to keep his expression absolutely neutral. "Crystal clear."

Later, he wasn't sure what alerted him to the danger-a gleam of moonlight off chrome or the sudden sound of an engine as it accelerated. But the car had appeared out of nowhere and it was close, bearing down on them fast.

Gripping her tightly to him, Zach tried to get out of its path. The car had momentum going for it. He didn't, and Chelsea's weight was slowing him down. The opposite curb seemed too far, the roar of the engine too close. Vehicles, parked b.u.mper to b.u.mper, blocked his path. At the last second, he lifted Chelsea and vaulted with her onto the hood of a car. Twisting, he took the brunt of the impact, then holding her tightly, he rolled.

Metal screamed against metal. Sparks flew. Zach registered that much before he dragged her with him to the sidewalk. He was on his feet in a second, still holding Chelsea close. Up the street, the dark blue sedan ran the red light, too far away for him to make out the plate.

For a second, he didn't move. There were too many emotions pounding through him. Fear. The coppery taste of it seared the back of his throat. He hadn't thought they were going to make it. He tightened his arms around Chelsea. "Are you all right?"

He felt her nod against his chest. Slowly, he moved his hand up her back and settled it at the nape of her neck. He could feel how slender she was, how fragile and he almost hadn't been fast enough. Fury bubbled up, hot and potent as lava, and he struggled to contain it. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Pretty sure." Her voice was m.u.f.fled. "I'm having a little trouble breathing."

Easing her gently away from him, he watched carefully as she shrugged her shoulders, bent her arms and shook her legs, one at a time. His own adrenaline was fading and he was becoming all too aware of the pain singing through his shoulder. His knees felt like jelly.

"Everything's fine, except for my feet. The effects of that Texas two-step are setting in." Her voice was light, but her eyes when they met his still held traces of fear. "That was close."

"Too close." Zach reached for her and held her. Let her hold him. As the seconds ticked by, he drew in a deep breath and let it out. Even as it left his body, he could feel the fear and the fury begin to pour out of him. He felt the thudding of her heart begin to slow. He'd wanted to hold her. Only moments ago, he'd imagined what it would be like to have her in his arms again, but this was different. It was nothing like the other time in his office. There was no heat, no searing spiral of desire. Instead, there was warmth, sweet and...surprising.

Chelsea was the one who drew back. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Rescuing me from a drunk cowboy, saving my life, asking me to your aunt Miranda's Christmas ball, honoring my contract with Metropolitan and...let me see...offering me your coat." She paused to draw in a breath. "Did I forget anything?"

For some reason he couldn't explain, Zach suddenly felt like laughing. "Can I get back to you on that?"

"Sure," Chelsea said.

Throwing an arm across her shoulder, he drew her toward the waiting line of taxis up the street. "In the meantime, you can thank me for seeing you home before you catch pneumonia."

"Thank you."

They were both laughing as he opened the door of the cab.

"IT SOUNDS like a date to me. Doesn't it sound like a date to you, Ramn?" Daryl asked as he added steaming water to the pan that Chelsea was soaking her feet in.

Ramn glanced up from the counter where he was arranging cookies on a rack with military precision. He had insisted on spending his one night off from the restaurant baking Christmas cookies. "Two people going to a Christmas ball together? That's pretty much a no-brainer."

"It's not a date," Chelsea insisted. "It's the skirt. Do I look like the kind of girl that wealthy bachelors invite to Christmas b.a.l.l.s?"