Moonstruck In Manhattan Part 9

"This has to stop," he said.

"Hmmm?"

The fact that her eyes were still cloudy, still fixed on his nearly undermined his intent. "I want you, Chelsea Brockway." There, he'd said it out loud. Now, perhaps he could summon up some common sense and deal with the problem. There were so many minuses to pursuing a relationship with her. Hadn't he listed them all? He tried to bring them to mind, but if he looked one more minute into those eyes, he was going to...

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Zach took a step back from her.

Chelsea blinked and took a quick step back from him, too. "It's the skirt."

Zach's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"You just said you wanted me. I want you, too. A few seconds ago when you touched me I... I...it's got to be the skirt."

"You can't be serious."

"What other explanation could there be?"

"Chemistry. l.u.s.t. You're a desirable woman. I'm a man." There. He'd been right. Putting something into words made it much less...scary? No, wrong word. He certainly wasn't afraid. Not of a woman or a skirt.

"I didn't want to believe it at first either, but you've got to admit, it's had a pretty strange effect on almost every man I've run into...even your brother. I thought for a minute he was going to have an attack."

Zach raised his brows. "My brother's a little stuffy, but he's not dead. When you wear a skirt that everyone can see right through, it's bound to have an effect on the male of the species."

Leaning down, Chelsea lifted the hem of the skirt. "What are you talking about? This material is perfectly opaque. Look. You can't even see my fingers through it."

He couldn't. He was about to tell her that she had to stand with the light behind her, but the moment she'd touched the skirt, he'd caught her scent again.

You'll never let her go...

Zach pushed the words firmly out of his mind. "This whole conversation is ridiculous. What I'm feeling, what we're feeling has nothing to do with a skirt that some island woman conned your roommate into buying. It has everything to do with the fact that we simply want each other and we have to decide what to do about it."

For a moment neither of them spoke. He wasn't even touching her. In fact, he was standing a good two feet away from her. But he knew exactly what he wanted to do. The urge to move forward was so strong that he clenched his hands into fists at his side to keep from reaching for her.

He wasn't even sure how long he'd stood there struggling before the sharp buzz of the intercom on his desk seemed to set him free.

CHELSEA ONLY let out the breath she was holding when Zach had put the desk between them and pressed the b.u.t.ton on his phone. "What is it?"

"It's your aunt." Ms. Parker's clear, crisp voice filled the room. "She's right here at my desk, and she insisted that I buzz you even though I told her you were in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed."

"I can always be disturbed for my aunt Miranda," Zach said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Chelsea stepped out of the way of the door as it swung open and a tall woman in a bright green suit breezed into the room. She barely had time to register that it was the same woman who'd been with Zach in the restaurant that first day before Zach moved forward to embrace his aunt warmly.

With their heads so close together, Chelsea couldn't help but notice the strong resemblance. They had the same dark hair, the same striking features. Though the woman was clearly older, the two looked more like brother and sister than aunt and nephew. When Miranda drew back, smiling up at Zach and patting him on the cheek, Chelsea decided to like her on the spot.

"That was exactly the right thing to say to Ms. Parker," Miranda said "Now I have one more thing to add to my list of why you're my favorite nephew and Jerry isn't."

"You ran into my charming brother, I take it," Zach murmured.

Miranda's smile faded as she fisted her hands on her hips. "He was here?"

"He just left."

Her foot began to tap. "He's a very lucky man. If I could get my hands on him I might strangle him. The moment I got home from the gym, I started getting calls from board members demanding that I call an emergency meeting. Jerry has them all stirred up over Ms. Brockway's appearance on Good Morning, New York. I told them the earliest meeting I could call would be Tuesday afternoon. They'll have time to cool off by then. And hopefully, I will have overcome my urge to do him some kind of physical harm."

Zach grinned. "I can sympathize with your sentiments when it comes to Jerry, but it's me he wants to run out of town, not you."

Miranda tapped a finger on her chest. "I'm the one he sandbagged. When I told him that I was going to turn Metropolitan over to you to run, he swore to me that you would have his support, that he wouldn't lobby board members behind my back."

"According to Jerry, he did support me, but now I've blown it."

Miranda made a very unladylike snort. "In less than a week? No, he just pretended to go along with me. He bided his time, waiting for some issue to pop up so that he could blow it all out of proportion and use it to try to boot you off the magazine and promote himself as a family-values candidate at the same time. I know when I've been sandbagged-and I just hate it!"

"Does he have that much power with the board?" Zach asked.

Miranda frowned. "Yes. He's an excellent politician. He knows just how to play the members of the board. But in this instance, he has underestimated his opposition. I'm a pretty good politician myself. And I have a plan!"

"I never doubted it for a moment."

"First, you're going on Good Morning, New York on Tuesday."

Zach raised his hands. "Whoa! Stop right there. I have no intention of going on that show."

Miranda tapped her finger on his chest. "You have to. It's the perfect opportunity for you to set the record straight and let everyone know the direction you intend to take Metropolitan. The timing will be perfect, just before the board meeting. Besides, whose message do you want the world to hear-yours or Jerry's?"

"I don't like it."

"Think of it this way. Your brother is going to like it even less. In the meantime, I'm going to manipulate the seating at my Christmas ball tomorrow night so that certain board members are at my table. That will give them a chance to get reacquainted with you. And I want that Ms. Brockway's phone number, so that I can persuade her to wear the skirt."

"Why don't you ask her right now?" Zach took his aunt's arm and turned her so that she could see Chelsea. "Aunt Miranda, I'd like you to meet Chelsea Brockway."

Miranda moved forward with her hand extended. "Whoops! I didn't even see you there. I've been so wanting to meet you. Please, tell me I haven't said anything terribly indiscreet."

Chelsea found herself returning the smile of the older woman as she grasped her hand. "How about if I promise not to repeat anything I heard?"

Miranda glanced at Zach. "I love her." Then she turned her attention back to Chelsea. "Zach tells me that you're coming to my Christmas ball. I hope you'll wear the skirt. I can't wait to see it."

"You're looking at it," Chelsea said.

Miranda glanced down. "That's it?"

Chelsea nodded.

"But it looks so...ordinary. I mean, it's quite lovely-simple, basic, versatile." As she spoke, Miranda began to move around Chelsea in a circle. Suddenly, she stopped. "Wait. Isn't that the same skirt that you were wearing the other day in the restaurant-the one the bartender was fussing with?"

Chelsea nodded. "That was my roommate Daryl. He's studying fashion design and he fastened it up with tape. He put staples in the waistband."

"Staples? How clever!"

"They hold pretty well-except when I run. I nearly lost it the other night when Zach and I were trying to escape from those Texans in the bar."

"The Texans in your article? Zach was the man who helped you escape from them?" Miranda asked, glancing at her nephew.

"Exactly," Chelsea said. "If it wasn't for him, I'm sure the skirt would have done me in. I never would have been able to move fast enough to get out of the way of that car. It nearly ran us down."

"The car," Zach said, frowning as he moved to the desk. "I'd nearly forgotten about that."

Miranda's brows shot up. "That skirt must really have a special power if it makes you forget about being nearly run down."

Lifting the white envelope, Zach slipped the message out. "This was in my pile of messages this morning. 'Stop printing trash. Those who peddle s.e.x shall perish. Monday night was just a warning.' I didn't put it together until just now, but the writer could be referring to that car."

Chelsea stared as Miranda moved to look at the paper in Zach's hands. As he'd read the threat aloud, her throat had frozen. She made herself draw in a deep breath and let it out. On the ride to Zach's office, she'd managed to convince herself that Daryl was being overprotective. All week, she had tried not to think about the messages. And she didn't want to talk about them. Putting things into words always made them more real. More frightening. But if Zach were being threatened, too... Drawing in another deep breath, she said, "I've been getting messages like that on my answering machine all week."

"What?" Zach and his aunt both turned to stare at her.

"One message a day starting Monday night."

"You were being threatened and you didn't think to tell me?" Zach asked.

The sharpness of his tone had her twisting her fingers together. "I thought it was just a crank."

For a moment Zach didn't reply, but the anger in his eyes was very real. And it was her fault. Because of her articles, he was receiving threatening notes and a car had nearly run him down. She took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the phone calls sooner. I didn't think-" she raised a hand and then dropped it. "And I'm sorry that I'm causing you problems with your family and the board of directors. Maybe it would be better all around if I didn't write any more articles about the skirt."

For a moment there was complete silence in the room. Miranda was staring at her. Zach's eyes had narrowed.

"What exactly are you saying?" he asked.

Chelsea moistened her lips. "Why don't I just tear my contract up?"

"No." Zach's tone was flat and final.

It was her turn to stare. "But you...you don't want to print them. On Monday, you offered to buy me out."

Zach waved the letter that he held in his hand. "What kind of editor would I be if I let someone dictate what I'm going to print by threatening me? No. You're going to write the articles and I'm going to print them."

"But you could be in danger," Chelsea said.

"So could you. So we're going to take precautions. I'll hire you a bodyguard."

"It sounds like you both need one," Miranda said, opening her purse. "I have the card of the security firm I'm using at my ball. They're excellent and they could investigate who's behind the threats."

Zach slipped the card she handed him into his pocket, but his eyes never left Chelsea's. "I'll have Ms. Parker make the arrangements."

Chelsea rose from her chair. "It's not just about the threats. You could get fired from your job."

"Mr. McDaniels."

The moment Zach shifted his gaze beyond her, Chelsea turned to see his secretary standing just inside the office door.

"What is it?" Zach snapped.

"I'm sorry. I know you said not to interrupt you, and I didn't want to buzz you again. But Ms. Sinclair just called. You were due in the staff meeting twenty minutes ago. She says it's very important that you come right away. There's a problem."

Zach glanced at his aunt. "I'll bet that board members aren't the only people Jerry's lobbying."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Miranda asked.

"I can handle them."

"Tell them that I've torn up my contract," Chelsea said.

"We've settled that. I don't want you to leave until Ms. Parker makes the arrangements with the security firm."

Chelsea had her mouth open, ready to argue when Miranda said, "I've got a better idea. Why don't I take Chelsea to lunch while you go to your staff meeting? By that time, the bodyguard should be here."

"Thanks." Zach gave his aunt a hug, then turned to Chelsea. "We're not finished."

Oh, yes they were, Chelsea promised herself. As soon as she could shake Miranda McDaniels loose, she was going to make sure that the skirt never bothered Zach again.

8.

ESCAPE. Chelsea hadn't realized how badly she'd needed it until she finally watched Miranda McDaniels's taxi pull away from the curb. It had taken some doing, but she'd finally persuaded Zach's aunt that she was exhausted after getting up at 4:00 a.m. for a TV show and that she would be perfectly safe at home.

Of course, she'd had to fudge the exact details of her building's security system-which was handled by buzzers and not an actual person on duty. But no tenants had been burglarized since she and her roommates had moved in six months ago.

As Miranda's taxi disappeared around the corner, Chelsea turned back to her apartment building. It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed her lunch at the Tavern on the Green. How often had she fantasized about eating there once she'd established herself? The well-known restaurant with its fairy-tale setting in Central Park contrasted sharply with the stark, tired-looking faade of her apartment building. Just looking at the faded bricks and crumbling front steps made her feel a little like Cinderella coming home from the ball.

A perfect a.n.a.logy, she thought as a sharp wind slapped a flurry of icy snowflakes against her cheeks. She'd better keep in mind that there'd be a midnight to deal with when it came to the skirt.

She sent it a frown as she fished in her pocket for her key. Miranda had been convinced that the skirt had been working its magic at the restaurant. Several men had dropped by their table. Though she'd been introduced to each one, she'd lost track of the names-except for one. Miranda had made a point of telling her that Harrison Marsh sat on the board at McDaniels Inc. Miranda had even invited him to join them for dessert. Mr. Marsh, a tall man with silver-gray hair and a matching goatee, had a face as impa.s.sive as the presidential carvings on Mount Rushmore.

As he'd sipped ponderously on a tiny cup of espresso, Chelsea had done her best to explain her appearance on the Good Morning, New York show and the skirt. She'd a.s.sured him that it had never been Zach's plan to publish her articles in the first place, that Esme Sinclair had offered her the contract and that Zach had done his best to buy her out.

Pushing her key into the lock, Chelsea replayed the scene in her mind as she'd been doing ever since the man had risen from the table and told her that he was looking forward to sharing a table with her at Miranda's Christmas ball. There was so much more that she could have said. Should have said. Each time she went over it, she became more and more convinced that she'd blown it.

Never mind that Miranda had been close to ecstatic, claiming she'd never seen the "stone-faced" Mr. Marsh so charmed by anyone before. Shivering, Chelsea used her key on the second door and pushed her way into the warmth of the lobby.

Miranda had said that she wasn't so sure it was merely the skirt's doing, but she'd like to have one herself and give it a whirl.

It all came back to the skirt.