Part 12 (1/2)
He drew in a deep breath and let it out. All the more reason to stick to his plan. He wasn't going to touch Chelsea again until whoever had destroyed her apartment was behind bars. How could he when he might be responsible for what had happened?
She might not believe that Carter was behind it, but he wouldn't rest easy on that score until he could have it checked out. What if it had been his brother?
A sudden noise from the bathroom had him whirling around and sprinting to the door. Grabbing the handle, he yanked it open and saw Chelsea standing there, clutching the skirt in front of her, her eyes bright with tears.
”Chels.” A wave of helplessness washed over him and he was reaching for her when she giggled.
”What is so funny?” he demanded, dropping his hands and struggling to get his system to level.
”This.” She waved the skirt like a flag in front of her. He heard two sharp pings, then watched her bend over as a fresh wave of giggles erupted. ”Whatever magic Daryl worked with this skirt is totally neutralized. The clock has struck twelve and I'm reduced to rags.”
He was trying to make some sense out of what she was saying when she tucked the skirt over the towel rack and his throat went dry as dust.
”I can't wear the skirt.”
He tried to nod intelligently, but he was having trouble separating sounds into words.
”Just when I had plans for it.”
”Right.” His gaze and his mind were focused totally on her legs. The neat little blazer she wore only skimmed the very tops of her thighs. It no longer made him think of a school uniform.
”Do you have any suggestions about what I should do?”
Several tumbled into his mind, but one was foremost-he couldn't seem to push it away. It would be so easy to lift her to the edge of the vanity. Within seconds, he could slide her thighs apart and eliminate any barriers. Then with her legs wrapped around him, he would begin to move....
He heard a roaring in his ears, his own pulse. More than anything, he wanted to step forward and make the fantasy he'd conjured up in his mind a reality.
But if he did, he would shatter his resolution into a thousand pieces. Taking a quick step back from the doorway, he shoved his hands into his pockets. ”You'd better put that skirt back on. When you're decent, we'll talk.”
DECENT! CHELSEA frowned at the door Zach had closed behind him. So that was his plan-she was to put her skirt back on so she'd be decent and then they'd talk.
She shot a glance at the skirt. If she put it back on, she'd be decent all right. The hem would hit her at midcalf-not exactly the look she was going for.
Still, if she was going to derail his plan and replace it with one of her own, she was going to need all the help she could get. A man-magnet skirt-even if it had been weakened by staples and tape-could not be ignored.
Reaching for the skirt, she pulled it on, hiking the waistband up to her chest. Then she carefully b.u.t.toned her blazer over it and glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror that hung from one wall.
The big minus was she looked like a cross between a bag lady and the poor little match girl.
Maybe the skirt wasn't as p.o.o.ped out as it looked. She turned sideways. And maybe it was.
Eyes narrowed, she faced her reflection. Either way, what did she have to lose? If Zach McDaniels intended to walk away from her, she might only have this one night. She wouldn't have anything at all if she stayed in the bathroom all night.
As she turned and walked toward the door, she felt the waistband of the skirt start to slip. Suddenly a plan began to take shape in her mind. Maybe she could find a way for the skirt to help her after all. Smiling, she reached for the k.n.o.b. With any luck at all, she probably wouldn't be wearing it for very long.
The office was dark except for the small pool of light falling on the conference table. It took her a moment to locate Zach at the window. His back was to her, one hand was fisted on his hip, the other holding his cell phone to his ear. Beyond him, a full moon shone brightly above the sweep of the New York skyline.
”What do you mean you can't locate this...” Zach paused long enough to glance at the card he held in his hand ”... Sam Romano?”
He wasn't even looking at her, much less thinking about her. Chelsea made herself walk forward. The skirt dropped another inch.
”Yes, I know he's supposed to meet me at my office at seven-thirty, but something's come up-an emergency.” Pausing again, Zach sighed. ”Doesn't he have a cell phone or a beeper that you could reach him on?”
There was a brief silence before Zach spoke again. ”I see. Yes, I'll expect to see him at seven-thirty then.”
Chelsea cleared her throat. ”I'm decent.” Only because the d.a.m.n skirt had stopped dropping right at her waist.
Zach didn't even glance her way. Propping one forearm against the window, he gazed down into the street. ”I was hoping to move our appointment with the security expert up. That way he could get started, take you back to my apartment and you could get some rest.”
”What about you?” Chelsea asked, moving closer.
”I have work to catch up on. I'll be staying here tonight. Mr. Romano will be arranging twenty-four hour protection for you, so you'll be safe.”
For a moment, Chelsea said nothing. Zach's message was pretty clear. He was going to make sure she was taken care of-just not by him. It was a message she'd been given before-by her father. This time she tried to ignore the wave of rejection was.h.i.+ng over her. An infant was hardly in a position to change the mind of a reluctant parent. But she wasn't an infant anymore. This time, even if she couldn't change Zach's mind, she'd have a memory of this one night.
Dropping her left hand, she grabbed a fistful of the fabric of the skirt and tugged hard. Then she repeated the same procedure with her right hand, wiggling her hips as she did so. But her blazer was doing too good a job of holding the skirt in place. And Zach seemed altogether fascinated by the scene outside the window. While she gave the skirt another sharp tug, she followed the direction of his gaze.
A Christmas fantasy, she thought as she gazed down at the holiday scene in progress at Rockefeller Center. The tree sparkled with hundreds of lights while skaters blurred together into a rainbow of color as they whirled on the ice rink.
”For a man who claims not to like Christmas, you sure seem fascinated by that picture-postcard scene.”
Zach blinked. The truth was he hadn't been looking at the scene below. From the moment she'd joined him at the window, all he'd been able to see was her reflection in the gla.s.s. She looked so pale-like an ethereal creature of the moonlight. Someone who couldn't be touched or captured. But the woman standing beside him was real. He could touch her, hold her. In spite of all his resolution, all he could think of was reaching out and doing just that. Fisting his hands, he shoved them into his pockets and said, ”I don't like Christmas.”
”Okay then.” She began unfastening the b.u.t.tons of her blazer. ”You know what they say?” Slipping out of it, she dropped it to the floor.
”What?”
”The best way to get rid of a bad memory is to replace it with a new one.” She pulled the b.u.t.ton free at her waist.
”Chelsea, what are you doing?”
She shot him one look. Green fire, he thought as he backed to the far side of his desk.
”If you have to ask, I'm not doing it right.” She jerked at the zipper. ”And this skirt is not helping one bit. It's supposed to draw you like a magnet, and it's having the same effect on you as insect repellent.”
Moonlight pooled around her as she moved toward him. For a moment, the skirt seemed to catch the light and glow. Then it once more became transparent and Zach felt his blood begin to pound.
She jerked again at the zipper. Backing away, Zach shook his head to clear it. ”You don't want to do that.”
”Oh, yes I do,” she said, gritting her teeth. This time when she yanked, the zipper opened.
Zach shook his head again. As if it were a signal, the skirt began to inch its way down her hips.
He moved behind a chair; she circled around it, stalking him. His mouth dry as dust, Zach watched the skirt slip lower. ”This could be a big mistake.”
”Yeah, I know,” she said as she gave the waistband a final push and sent it slithering down her legs. ”But the thing about mistakes is you never know for sure until you've made them.”