Moonstruck In Manhattan Part 8

"You're great, Daryl, but I've given it a lot of thought. He hasn't called me or tried to see me for four days. So when I was with him before, he was under the influence of the skirt. Now he's recovered."

With an impatient sigh, Daryl drew her away from the door and turned her so that she could see her reflection in the wall of gla.s.s that looked out on Madison Avenue.

"Get real, Chels. The man asked you out because of you. You're sweet, you're intelligent and even when I'm not dressing you, you're not bad on the eyes. You're letting a bad experience with a total jerk ruin your self-image."

"He hasn't called."

"Knock, knock, Chels. This is the new millennium. You can call him. Or better still, go see him at his office. You can use the excuse of taking back his jacket-and then graciously accept his thanks for getting his magazine the kind of publicity that can't be bought." Taking her arm, Daryl led her toward the revolving doors.

"You think he'll see it that way?"

"I know he will," he said as they pushed their way to the sidewalk. "While you're there, you might mention the phone messages you've been getting."

Chelsea frowned at him even as a sliver of fear shot up her spine. There'd been one threatening call each day since the original that they'd listened to on Monday night. The voice was always m.u.f.fled, the words the same. "Your articles in Metropolitan are disgusting. s.m.u.t like that should be stopped. And so should the writer."

She didn't like to think about the calls, didn't want to admit to either of her roommates that they were beginning to worry her. "We decided that it's just a crank."

Daryl shrugged. "Maybe. But it never hurts to have the boss worried about you."

AS HE STRODE toward his office, Zach was cursing the stars he was born under.

"Morning, Mr. McDaniels." Linda Parker rose from her desk to hand him a stack of letters and messages. "Your brother has called twice. I don't think he believed me when I told him you weren't in yet."

"If he calls again, tell him I'm in a meeting, and you can't interrupt me. And get Ms. Chelsea Brockway on the phone for me."

"Wasn't she wonderful this morning?"

Zach turned back from his door to study his secretary, a neat young woman in her mid-twenties with a sleek cap of brown hair. "You watched the show?"

She nodded. "I watch it every day. It was a great idea of yours to get Ms. Brockway on it. We've all been talking about it."

Zach glanced around quickly to see that three women at a nearby water cooler were looking in his direction. No, not looking. They were staring. One of them raised her cup in a salute. The other two were grinning ear to ear.

Linda Parker cleared her throat. "Several women have called, sir. I bet there'll be even more calls on the day that you appear. There isn't a woman in New York who won't want to see just what you look like in person."

"I-" But before Zach could correct her mistaken notion that he was going to appear on WNY, her phone rang.

"Zachary McDaniels's office." Pausing, she shot Zach a smile. "No, I can't put you through because he's in a meeting. Yes, I'll be sure he gets all of your messages, Mr. McDaniels."

Stepping into his office, he strode toward his desk and began to sort through the messages. Two calls from his brother, who never called. Another from James McCarthy at WNY, the rest were from women whose names he didn't recognize. Women who were interested in meeting a hottie?

Chelsea Brockway had a lot to answer for.

Tossing the pink slips on his desk, he glanced at the plain white envelope that had been at the bottom of the phone messages. It bore no stamp or address, merely his name, printed in block letters and beneath that the word Private. Curious, he tore it open. Words had been cut and pasted together from the glossy pages of magazines.

Stop printing trash. Those who peddle s.e.x shall perish. Monday night was just a warning.

Great. On top of everything, there was now a crank out there who was threatening him. How in the h.e.l.l had the note gotten to his secretary? He strode quickly to his door and opened it.

"I'm dialing Ms. Brockway's number right now."

"Where did this envelope come from?"

Bending down, Linda Parker lifted a delivery envelope out of her wastebasket. "Excel Delivery."

"See if you can find out who sent it."

"Shall I leave a message on Ms. Brockway's machine?"

Zach nodded and closed his door. He'd barely had time to cross to his desk when his intercom sounded. "Yes?"

"She's here, sir-in reception. Ms. Brockway, I mean. Should I tell her you're in a-"

"Send her right in, Ms. Parker."

He'd taken two steps toward the door when he stopped himself and walked back to his desk. What was the matter with him? He was angry with her, not anxious to see her. What about the plan he'd come up with while he was getting dressed? He was going to do what he should have done in the first place-get her to tear up her contract for a generous settlement, of course. The moment he heard the door open and close behind him, he set the envelope down on his desk and turned to face her. He thought he had prepared himself. But one look was enough to tell him that staying away from her for four days had done nothing to lessen the desire that was spiraling through him. In the neat little blazer and blouse, she looked as young and innocent as a schoolgirl in uniform. He still wanted her. h.e.l.l, he wanted to grab her and ravish her on his father's desk. Better still, he wanted to take her on a secluded beach in the moonlight with palm trees whispering overhead and the ocean pounding. No one would interrupt them when he took her...again...and again. The vividness of the image had him moving forward, but the raw ache of the need crawling through him made him stop short.

This was the woman who was single-handedly deep-sixing his plans for Metropolitan.

"I wanted to return your jacket," she said. "If it's not a good time-"

"What the h.e.l.l were you thinking, going on that show?" He took two steps before he stopped himself again. He was going to keep his distance, be rational and stick to his plan...even if it killed him.

"You're angry."

"You're perceptive."

She moved toward him, her chin lifting. "You know, you couldn't buy the kind of publicity I got for your magazine this morning."

"Publicity? Notoriety is a better word. How am I supposed to take this magazine in the direction I want to when you've undermined all the credibility I was hoping to establish by labeling me a...a hottie? I've had a phone call from that character with all the teeth who hosts the show. He probably expects me to come on his program and what? Offer a reb.u.t.tal?"

"Should I have said you're not a hottie?"

"What I would have preferred is that you hadn't gone on that show to further your own career goals at the expense of my magazine."

He was close enough to see her flinch, more than close enough to see the hurt flash into her eyes. He knew it was a mistake, but he reached for her anyway. "This is impossible!" He wanted to shake her. But he wanted to kiss her more. So he pulled her against him and closed his mouth over hers.

NO MAN SHOULD be able to move that fast. No man should be able to kiss like that-his mouth so hot, so hard, so irresistible. But he could. He did.

Even as the twin realizations swirled through her mind, she dropped the jacket she was holding, grabbed his shoulders and held on.

The anger she tasted on his tongue, felt in his hands where he gripped her, only seemed to add to the excitement streaming through her. She hadn't come here for this, she told herself as she threaded her fingers through his hair. But the moment he touched her, the moment she felt his mouth move on hers, she wanted him. It was simple. Primitive. And absolutely terrifying!

Her mother had warned her that someday she'd meet a man like this-one who would make her throw caution and planning, hopes and dreams to the wind. Someone who was absolutely impossible for her.

But even as she tried to gather the will to pull back, her hands tightened in the back of his neck to pull him closer.

"How dare you disgrace our father?"

The loud, booming voice penetrated her mind at the same moment that she felt Zach's hands grip her shoulders and set her from him.

7.

"CHELSEA, I'd like you to meet my brother, Jeremiah McDaniels, the future governor of New York State. Jerry, this is-"

"I know who she is." Jerry McDaniels shot Chelsea a dismissive frown before he focused his attention back on Zach. "I cannot allow this."

"You can't allow me to kiss a woman? I didn't know your political agenda stretched so far as to outlaw kissing."

Chelsea glanced sideways at Zach. He was smiling, but not relaxed, and Jerry McDaniels's face was growing redder as he drew in a breath and let it out. It had taken her a moment to recognize him as the Long Island congressman who'd recently thrown his hat in the gubernatorial race. Not once had it occurred to her that he was related to Zach. They were so different. The older man was pompous, polished, preachy. Every gesture he made in the spots she'd seen on TV seemed ch.o.r.eographed. In comparison, Zach seemed almost spontaneous. Yet there were similarities, she realized as she glanced from one to the other. They both preferred to be in control and they both had tempers that were building to flash point.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Jerry said. "You can indulge in any kind of hanky-panky you want. While it doesn't surprise me, I certainly don't approve of your doing it in Father's office."

"It's my office now."

Jerry glared at him. "It won't be much longer if I have anything to do with it. I held my peace when Miranda told me she planned to turn the magazine over to you. I was hoping you'd changed. Either that or you'd tire of running it and move on to some other hobby before you did any real damage. But I can't stand by and allow you to smear our father's name by turning his magazine into some kind of trash-filled tabloid that peddles s.e.x."

"Now wait just a moment-" Zach began.

Instinctively, Chelsea stepped between the two men. The one thing she did know about was brothers when they were in a temper. "Stop it right now! Your father wouldn't want you to fight. Not in his office."

"My office," Zach said.

When he gripped her arms and tried to set her aside, Chelsea sagged against him.

Jerry took a step back. "I don't fight. I don't fight because I'm a peaceful man. I just came here to inform you that I can no longer in good conscience give you my support. I've arranged for the board of McDaniels Inc. to meet in emergency session on Tuesday afternoon and I'm going to call for your resignation."

"I won't resign," Zach said.

"Then I'll ask to have you removed. As a candidate running on family values, I can't condone what you're doing to Metropolitan."

"Family values?" Chelsea asked, straightening. "How can you pa.s.s yourself off as someone who supports family values when you're stabbing your own brother in the back?"

Jerry frowned at her. "I do not intend to be lectured to by a woman who is writing articles about hotties and a s.e.x-magnet skirt...." His sentence trailed off as he glanced down at the article of clothing in question. "Or who parades around in something that..."

Chelsea found herself staring as his face reddened and he struggled to swallow.

"...something that advertises easily, available...oh my... I..." Drawing in a deep breath, he wrenched his gaze from the skirt and met her eyes. "That's it-the skirt..."

"Forget the skirt. Just let Zach explain."

Jerry backed two quick steps away from her. Chelsea followed him.

"He'll tell you that he didn't have anything to do with my articles. Or my appearance on Good Morning, New York. He even tried to buy out my contract."

"But he didn't and considering what I saw a few minutes ago and what I'm seeing now..." Backing into the door, Jerry grabbed the k.n.o.b and yanked it open. "It's pretty clear why."

"Wait..." Only the fact that Zach grabbed her by the arm prevented her from following Jerry out of the office.

"It's no use," he said, shoving the door shut behind his brother.

"Well! No wonder you told me you were an only child. If he were my brother, I'd be in deep denial over him, too!"

Zach stared at her for a moment, then suddenly threw back his head and laughed. The rich, bright sound filling the office was so infectious that Chelsea couldn't help but join him.

"It's not really funny," she said, pressing her hand to her stomach. Yet she couldn't help but admire Zach for looking at the humorous side of the situation.

"Did you see the way he looked at your skirt?"

"As if it were going to bite him?" This time she put more effort into pus.h.i.+ng down a fresh wave of laughter. "You have to go after him, make him listen. He'll change his mind once he understands what you want to do with Metropolitan."

Zach shook his head, his smile fading. "It won't make any difference. Jerry has his own agenda and he doesn't want me here. This business with the skirt on TV has just given him the opportunity he wants to get rid of me."

Chelsea put a hand on his arm. "You can't let him. Surely there's something you can do." The instant the thought hit her, she smiled. "I know. You could accept that invitation to go on Good Morning, New York. It would give you an opportunity to explain to everyone what you intend to do with the magazine."

ZACH STUDIED HER for a minute. There was a part of him that wanted to believe that Chelsea Brockway also had her own agenda. If he went on the morning TV show, her articles would garner even more attention and she'd get more of the name recognition that she wanted.

But there was another part of him that doubted she could come up with anything as structured or organized as an agenda. There was a fundamental honesty about her. It was part of what made her writing so appealing. And the concern in her eyes was real. He was sure of it. Just as real as the feelings her concern triggered in him.

He couldn't recall the last time someone had defended him with any member of his family. Not even Miranda had had the courage to go up against his father when he was alive.

And it wasn't the first time she'd wedged herself between him and someone who wanted to take a punch at him, he recalled with a sudden frown. "You're going to have to stop doing that."

"What?"

"Getting in between me and someone who wants to hit me."

"It's an old habit. I had to baby-sit my three brothers every day after school. It was my job to see that they didn't kill each other. Getting in between them was usually my most effective option."

Tilting his head, he studied her for a moment. "Usually?"

Grinning at the memory, she rubbed her hand against her side. "My timing was a little off once and I got a cracked rib. The doctor said I was lucky I didn't get a s.h.i.+ner or a broken nose."

Without thinking, Zach lifted his hand and ran his finger down her nose. "That would have been a shame."

It was a mistake to touch her. The brief contact had him instantly hungry for more. He couldn't seem to prevent his fingers from tracing the curve of her cheek, then moving lower to feel her pulse quicken in that soft hollow at the base of her throat. Her eyes were wide and locked on his. Even as he watched, they darkened. Her lips were parted, moist. He had only to lean down, close that small distance between them and he could taste her again. He watched her draw in a breath, listened to it shudder out. It was the sound of surrender and he felt an ache, gnawing and sweet move through him.

How he wanted to really touch her, to slip her out of that neat little blazer and unfasten the b.u.t.tons on that schoolgirl blouse one at a time. Then his hands could slip over every inch of that soft skin, molding it slowly, very slowly. As the images filled his mind, the ache moving through him twisted sharply into need. No woman had ever pulled at him this way before. What was it about her? He should be thinking about ways to stop his brother from turning the board of McDaniels Inc. against him, not thinking about what it would be like to make love with Chelsea Brockway in his father's office.

No, it was his office, Zach reminded himself. And it could slip away from him if he wasn't careful. The woman standing in front of him posed a threat to his dream. He should be thinking of ways to get her out of his life.