Her Man in Manhattan. Trish Wylie

he wanted her to get mad enough to swing for him—to spit fire and passion and remind him of the woman he’d kissed.

      As if sensing a weakness ripe for exploitation she switched tactics. The curve of her full lips became sinful, drawing his gaze to her mouth and calling him to taste her again. She slowly ran the tip of her tongue over the surface, leaving a hypnotically glossy sheen in its wake.

      In an instant he remembered how she’d felt when her body was melded to his, how soft her skin had been beneath his fingertips and how badly he’d burned for her. Just as suddenly he was aware of how close they were standing. One more step and their bodies would be touching again.

      It took almost as much effort not to frown at his reaction as it did to snap his gaze back up to her eyes. ‘That won’t work either, so you can forget it.’

      ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

      Sure she didn’t. He reached for the door handle and jerked his chin. ‘Back up a step.’

      The order was met with a defiant lack of movement, her luminous eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Is my father aware of how you got me out of the nightclub?’

      Tyler’s arm dropped. He’d wondered how long it would take for her to go there but if she thought she could use it against him, she was wrong. ‘You want to tell him where you were?’

      ‘He doesn’t know?’

      ‘I thought the mayor was supposed to know everything that goes on in his city.’

      ‘You didn’t answer the question.’

      ‘Didn’t I?’

      The battle of wills made the air between them crackle and when her gaze briefly flickered to his mouth Tyler knew that kiss was as much on her mind as it had been on his. Her awareness of him was in the darkening of her eyes, in the increased rise and fall of her breasts. Any hope he’d had that what happened between them could be blamed on the heat of the moment was gone. But while he’d lost his self-control once he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

      ‘You getting in or am I putting you there?’

      ‘You can’t manhandle me like a common criminal,’ she replied on a note of outrage.

      ‘Try me.’

      She glared at him as she took a step back. ‘Door.’

      Tyler held it open, unable to resist an incline of his head and a sweep of his arm in invitation. ‘Your Highness...’

      FOUR

      His attitude sucked.

      ‘What is his problem?’ Miranda asked as she paced her bedroom floor with her cell phone glued to her ear.

      ‘He’s rude, overbearing and obviously doesn’t know his place,’ Crystal replied.

      ‘Obviously, but that’s not what I meant. It’s like I’ve done something to him way worse than making him open a stupid door.’

      ‘He’s supposed to open doors.’

      ‘He is.’ Miranda agreed. ‘It’s courteous.’

      ‘It is. And how dare he speak to you that way?’

      ‘I know, right?’

      Having allowed her the customary five minutes to rant, Crystal called a halt with ‘Can we stop being the mean girls from high school now?’

      ‘Do we have to?’

      ‘Yes,’ she replied firmly. ‘You were never that girl. Now take a deep breath and tell Auntie Crystal what the real problem is.’

      Miranda stopped pacing and dropped heavily onto the end of her bed. ‘I don’t like him.’

      ‘You liked him on Friday night,’ Crystal crooned.

      ‘That’s when he wasn’t a brick wall standing between me and—’

      ‘All those nasty sex fantasies you had about him over the weekend?’

      Flopping back onto the soft covers, Miranda blinked at the ceiling and sighed heavily. ‘There are at least three people I could have called who’ll tell me what I want to hear right now. And yet I still called you. Why is that?’

      ‘I’m your reality check,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘The only reason you don’t like him now is because he’s switched sides. Up till this morning he was part of your dream to do what—or who—you want, whenever you want. Now he’s part of the system keeping you in servitude.’

      ‘I hate that,’ Miranda admitted reluctantly.

      ‘Of course you do. No one likes to have a sex fantasy ruined by reality. We all prefer to live in hope.’

      ‘I was really hopeful,’ Miranda said wistfully.

      ‘And I really wanted to hear all the sordid details over lunch,’ her best friend complained. ‘I can’t believe you let this guy outwit you.’

      ‘I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.’

      ‘You learnt from the best.’

      ‘You’re a bad influence.’

      ‘I am,’ Crystal said with pride.

      ‘Which if you recall is part of the reason you’re not my father’s favourite person.’

      ‘He’s just never gonna let that reality-TV-show thing go, is he?’ she said in a tone that suggested she’d rolled her eyes. ‘You were on camera for like, five seconds.’

      ‘Might have helped if I wasn’t dancing on a table at the time.’

      ‘Does he have something against people having fun?’

      It was an old debate. One Miranda knew she would never win with Mayor Kravitz. As far as hizzoner was concerned Crystal was a publicity nightmare: rich, overindulged, and for a considerable amount of time, out of control. She might since have moved on to a lucrative career of celebrity endorsements but when her fame stemmed from notoriety...

      Frankly Miranda found it a little insulting he thought she could be so easily led. If she chose to she could get into trouble all on her lonesome. She didn’t need help. What she needed was the freedom to do what she wanted without her actions becoming fodder for the gossip hungry.

      The thought added to her restlessness. She needed to get out for a while before the walls started to close in. Turning her head on the covers, she checked the alarm clock by her bed. ‘I’ll be at your door in a half hour.’

      ‘Are you going to rant some more when you get here?’

      ‘Probably,’ she admitted.

      ‘Awesome. I’ll open the wine. By the time you arrive I should be two glasses more sympathetic to your plight.’

      Miranda wriggled upright, tucked her phone into the back pocket of her skinny jeans with some cash and pushed her feet into a waiting pair of deck shoes. Twisting her hair into a ponytail, she grabbed a baseball cap from one drawer and sunglasses from the collection in another. Ready for action she opened her bedroom door and checked the hall. Once she confirmed it was empty her lucky music talisman started playing in her head.

      It wouldn’t be the first time a combination of wits, observation and an extensive study of spy movies was put to good use. As a result she knew to time her progress downstairs; to wait for the turn of the security cameras to take advantage of blind spots. She also knew the best window of opportunity for escape was at shift-change time, when the security details gathered to hand over the baton. At the foot of the stairs she stopped and held her breath, waiting for the last squeaking footsteps to disappear into the back of the house before she jogged across the foyer.

      As usual the kitchen was deserted.

      A bubble of exhilaration formed