Whatever that quality was it had coaxed him to tell her about the death of his father, and to confide in her the effect that event had had on him and the course his life had taken.
He wasn’t accustomed to sharing confidences, so he told himself he’d intended it as a kind of warning to her, probably because he could feel the attraction lighting up between them.
I am not the settling down kind of guy.
And yet, no matter what reason he had confided in her, after he had felt oddly lighter, as if he had been carrying a burden he didn’t even know he carried. The way she had looked at him, the way her hand had rested so lightly on his arm, had made him feel as if the power of the sun had intensified.
Now, it felt as if he was seeing his world through her eyes, and it was hard not to find her delight in things that he took for granted contagious.
When she screamed when the chandelier fell, it was the most natural thing in the world to take her hand in his.
But what made him lift it to his lips and kiss the inside of her wrist? He told himself it was not a romantic gesture, but a chivalrous one.
I’m here. Don’t be afraid.
And yet, when she went still beside him, when he turned to acknowledge the wideness of her eyes with a steady look, he was not so sure that anything had ever felt quite so good as being there for her.
So, he kissed the underside of her wrist again, before tucking her hand into his side. He resisted the temptation to stroke the inside of her palm with his thumb, because that would take things to a whole different level that would give an entirely different message than I’m here for you, your protector in the big city.
Still, with her hand in his, it felt like a good thing he had seen Phantom before, because he was so conscious of her beside him, that not a single thing that unfolded onstage pierced that awareness.
He knew the impossibility of flagging a cab after a show had just gotten out, so he had arranged for a driver to be waiting for them.
He should have thought of this when he was laying tender kisses on the inside of her wrist: she was coming home with him.
She looked adorable snuggled under his jacket in the back seat. He moved as far away from her as the car seat would allow. He could see kissing her wrist in the darkness of the theater, suddenly and with excruciating clarity for what it had been: temporary insanity.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked her.
Now what part of that would move them back toward sanity?
“I’d usually say no,” she said, “but how often am I going to be able to sit in a limo on Broadway in New York City having a drink?”
“What would you like?”
When she hesitated, he could tell she rarely drank. She didn’t even know what to ask for. She must have realized what her hesitation was telling him, because she said, breezily, “Whatever I had yesterday is fine.”
Just yesterday? She had only been part of his life since yesterday? How was that possible when everything seemed so changed?
He poured her a little sip of cognac, and poured himself a more bracing one. Why was he acting like a man under threat?
Thankfully, they made the trip from Broadway to his apartment in about twelve minutes.
He brooded all the way back to his place. He’d let his guard down. He’d wanted to be a good host, and try to erase her awful first impression of New York. He’d felt, quite naturally, protective of her. But he had crossed boundaries.
He’d gone shopping with her. That was an activity reserved for people in committed relationships, now that he thought about it. Why hadn’t he thought about that sooner?
He’d taken her for lunch and supper. He’d strolled through Central Park with her. He’d taken her to The Phantom of the Opera.
No wonder she was looking at him with that terrifying expression on her face.
He’d been treating this whole day as if it was some kind of date. She was in a vulnerable position. He might end up being her boss.
He contemplated that.
Her boss.
One day with her had him feeling as if his whole reality was shifting. What if she decided to take this job? His life would be brushing up against hers, day in and day out...
“I think the car has stopped,” she told him. Her voice was husky. Her eyes were half-lidded.
He scrambled out of the car, and managed, just barely, not to bolt up to the safety of his apartment, leaving her to find her own way.
Running away was not an option.
For Pete’s sake, he lectured himself, he had dated some of the most desirable women on the planet. This little lady from Lumber—no, Timber—Falls was not a threat to him. He held out his hand to her to help her out of the car.
The dress slid up, revealing a mouthwatering glimpse of legs that went on forever. He let go of her hand as soon as he had extracted her from the car. He stood as far away from her on the elevator as he could. When the door opened he managed, just barely, to let her out before him. And then he got out, and went by her, making a beeline for the sanctuary of his bedroom.
“Jamie?”
He turned and looked at her.
Her makeup was a little smudged. Her hair was falling out of the twist it had been in. While he watched, she shrugged out of his jacket, revealing herself to him: the long legs, the bodice that
