One Summer In New York. Trish Wylie
their lifelong rally call—the desperate bravado of two kids with no one but each other to root for them.
After hanging up, Holly held the phone in her hand and stared absently out the window for a while. Thick clouds in the sky moved horizontally across her vision.
There had always been rainy days. No one knew how many more were ahead. It would be such a gift to have an umbrella.
Finally she tossed the phone onto the bed and opened the door.
Ethan was in the kitchen. She watched him start a pot of coffee before he noticed she was there. When he did, she leaned against the doorway. Her hair was probably a mess. Surely she had bags under her eyes from her fitful night. She lifted her hand and looked at her fingers with their perpetual paint around the cuticles and under the nails. She was who she was.
“Okay, Ethan. I’ll marry you.”
SHE SAID YES! Ethan wanted to shout it from the rooftops. She said yes!
His blood coursed. His muscles tingled.
She said yes!
And then he caught himself. Good heavens. There was no cause for fireworks to be launched from his heart. There was no reason to announce his undying devotion in front of the citizens of Manhattan. He was not a giddy groom filled with bliss and anticipation.
A woman he’d met yesterday had agreed to a jointly beneficial contract. He signed deals every day. This was just another one.
With a flick on the switch of the coffeepot he shook his head, trying to dislodge the obvious cobwebs in his skull.
He’d gotten a bit carried away.
Truthfully, he hadn’t been alone with a woman in a long time—and certainly not in the close quarters of a small apartment. Perhaps that had stirred up a primal reaction in him. While the mating ritual wasn’t part of his daily life, it was a natural phenomenon.
Although Ethan employed thousands of women in all aspects of his business, he shunned intimate social situations with them as much as possible. Keeping a clear and level head was what he did best. Women were distracting. Distractions were to be avoided. Problem—solution.
This was the first lesson he needed in order to carry off his plan. He was going to be spending a lot of time with an attractive woman. He’d need to guard and defend himself against her feminine charms. It wasn’t personal. It didn’t matter whether it was Holly, pregnant Penelope Perkins or another actress he’d picked from a photograph.
In three measured breaths, with his face toward the coffeepot, he set his focus. Guard and defend.
Then he turned to Holly, still standing in the doorway. Dark cascades of hair fell around her pretty face, which had a just-woken flush in her cheeks. Her tee shirt was definitely not concealing a bra.
Involuntarily, his body began to lean toward hers. A kiss pushed forward from his lips.
Guard and defend!
In the nick of time, he pulled himself back. Her allure was something he’d need to get accustomed to. His body’s involuntary response to her worried him...told him that might be difficult.
But he would be triumphant. For the sake of Aunt Louise he could conquer anything.
Ethan directed himself to talk, since he couldn’t kiss. “How did you sleep?”
“Great,” she lied.
Her eyes looked tired. He hadn’t got much sleep, either. He was far too tall to stretch out comfortably on that sofa. Plus, his mind had taunted him with replays of the evening.
“That coffee smells good,” she said as she massaged the back of her neck.
“It does. How do you take it?”
“Lots of milk or cream. No sugar.”
Ethan opened one of the cabinets to look for cups. It held only drinking glasses. He hadn’t spent enough time in this apartment to know where everything was kept. His second try yielded large white mugs. Setting them on the black granite countertop, he poured the steaming coffee.
The kitchen was Manhattan Minimal. Pint-size efficiency. Cabinets, sink and dishwasher on one side. Stove and refrigerator on the other. A one-person kitchen. Too cramped for two people to work in.
Which was why when Holly stepped in to open the fridge he felt her hips brush past him. In turn, his hips reacted of their own volition—which, fortunately, she didn’t notice.
“What are we eating for breakfast?’ she asked as she peered into the refrigerator.
“What do we have?” He’d only had bottles of water when he’d got in yesterday, and beer last night with the pizza.
“Eggs, butter and cheese. And the bread and fruit.” She pointed to the baskets on the counter. “We can work with this.”
The way she said we made Ethan’s ears prick up. He wasn’t used to we. He’d worked very hard at avoiding we. This was no time to start. Although for the first time he was curious about we. He reasoned that this fake engagement was a perfect way of safely pretending to experience we, with both parties knowing fully well that the truth was me and me achieving individual goals.
Right. However, now it felt somewhat confusing.
Holly pulled the carton of milk out of the fridge and handed it to him. Ethan was keenly aware of their fingertips touching during the exchange.
She laid ingredients on the counter. “How does cheese omelets, toasted bagels and sliced fruit sound?”
“What do you generally eat for breakfast?”
Holly giggled. A bit of blush rose in her cheeks. How adorable. “Was that a get-to-know-each-other question?”
“It was. If we are going to be convincing as an engaged couple, we have to know those sorts of things about each other.”
He handed her a mug. She took a slow sip and exhaled her satisfaction.
“You put the perfect amount of milk in my cup, so we must be off to a good start.”
Ethan felt ridiculously proud that she liked her coffee.
“How do you take yours?” she went up.
“Also without sugar. But not as much milk.”
“I’ll eat anything...” She went back to his question. “If we hadn’t polished off that pizza, that’s great cold in the morning.”
“Cold pizza? Noted.”
“Do you know how to cook?”
“I could probably manage to broil a steak without ruining it.”
“Eggs?”
“Not really,” he confessed.
“Today you learn, then.”
“Is that so?”
“I’ll put on a show for your aunt Louise, but surely you don’t think I’m going to be cooking and cleaning for you.” Her face stilled in a moment of earnest uncertainty. “Do you?”
“Of course not, phony fiancée.”
“It’s just that I’ve done plenty of taking care of people in my life. I just want to take care of myself.”
Holly had been through a lot. He’d been able to tell that about her from the start—had seen it right through her spunky attitude. She was no fresh-faced hopeful, arriving in New York full of delusions and fantasies. There was a past. A past that he suspected included hardship and pain.
Another one of those innate urges told him to wrap his arms around her and