One Summer In New York. Trish Wylie

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      Which his kisses completely clouded.

      “Got it—no tongues.” She nodded once and reached her hand across the table to shake his in a gentlemen’s agreement.

      Ethan’s mouth hooked up as he shook her hand. He was amused by her gesture of sportsmanship.

      Except he didn’t let go of her hand after the shake. In fact he fought to keep it like a possession he’d battle to the ground for. He turned it over and caressed the tops of her fingers with the pad of his thumb.

      “I’d prefer it if you didn’t press your body into mine.” Holly yanked her hand free and continued. She sparked at the memory of last night’s six feet and three inches of solid manpower searing into her.

      “How far away shall I stand?” he asked, holding his thumb and forefinger apart as a measurement. “This far?”

      “Further than that.”

      Widening the gap between his fingers, he tilted his head. “This far?”

      “At least.”

      “And would that be all of my body? Or just certain parts?”

      Oh, Lordy, he was mocking her.

      “Probably all parts.” She kept going. “Of course we should have friendly hugs, but nothing prolonged.”

      “Shall I program a timer?” He smirked.

      She lifted her palms in surrender. “Look, it was your idea to lay down some guidelines.”

      “You are right. I did not realize how ludicrous it would sound stated aloud.” He abruptly stood and gathered his phone, tablet, keys and wallet. “For the moment we need not be concerned about our proximity to each other. My schedule today is filled with appointments.”

      With that, he turned toward the front door. Holly shifted her eyes to spy him putting on his suit jacket followed by his overcoat. He picked up a roll of architectural blueprints that had been propped up beside the door, and out he went.

      Holly wasn’t exactly sure why a sharp tear stung her cheek.

      * * *

      The left side needed more of the muddy purple she had mixed. Holly dipped thin bristles into the unusual color and applied them to her canvas. When they’d been at the art supply store Ethan had insisted on buying her a full range of brushes—a luxury she wasn’t used to. She flicked tiny lines with a brush that was ideal for the task of depicting the rain outside.

      Music blared from her phone—a pop singer belting on about how it was time to move on from a man who had done her wrong.

      A wild sprawl of buildings and weather... Holly couldn’t decide whether or not she liked this painting. It didn’t matter, though. The important thing was the doing.

      Painting had always been Holly’s best friend. It had kept her alive during a tumultuous childhood with an unstable mother and a man she’d called her father whom she had seen so few times she could count them on her fingers. Painting had got her through a disaster of a marriage to a selfish man-child. And then through an ugly divorce.

      Painting was her escape. Her entertainment. Her coping mechanism. Her voice. Her salvation.

      Early on, her brother, Vince, had found sports. And she’d discovered canvas and color. It was unimaginable where they’d be without those outlets.

      In the past few years she had been fortunate enough to have been able to make some money creating artwork for paying clients. But in times of trouble she still picked up her brush purely for emotional release. For safety. For comfort.

      Which was what was required now. Because she was disturbed and confused. Art gave her a little bit of a sanctuary in an unpredictable world.

      So she had re-created her little studio area after packing it up for Louise and Fernando’s visit last night. And she’d got back to work.

      As often happened when she was painting, her problems became evident.

      She had developed strong feelings for Ethan. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she sensed the same might be happening for him.

      How he managed to be so volatile while remaining so formal she’d never understand. He was in control of himself, yet there was a barely masked vulnerability there. Manners and restraint mixed with something brutal and pounding.

      Those kisses atop the Empire State Building had come from somewhere organic inside him. Beyond rational intent. That kind of intensity couldn’t have been plotted.

      In spite of that he would never care for her as anything more than an employee. Plain and simple. Even if he did, he would clamp his emotions down and lock them away as soon as he acknowledged them. He was too strong and too true ever to be swayed once he’d made a decision.

      A means to an end. That was all she was to him.

      And he to her.

      Her phone buzzed.

      “Ethan, here.”

      “Hi.”

      “I wanted to apologize for making light of your concerns about what physical interaction between us would be appropriate.”

      “I just don’t want to mess up at the gala. I’m worried I’m going to get flustered, like I did at dinner last night. I want everything to go right for you and your plan for Aunt Louise.”

      “I agree that we could use more training sessions where we are surrounded by other people. I have a charity event to attend tonight. You and I will go together. As colleagues.”

      That was a terrific idea. She wanted to fulfill her end of the contract and make this arrangement work with Ethan. He was offering her the door into a New York that she could never open on her own. How hard could it be? He’d contracted her for a job that she was capable of doing. She just needed to keep the right mindset, purpose and goals.

      An evening as colleagues. Perfect.

      A couple of hours later the building’s doorman knocked and handed Holly a delivery. She thanked him and carried the large white box to the table. Untying the gold ribbon that gave the box the appearance of a gift, she lifted the lid. A notecard was tucked on top of the gold tissue paper concealing the contents.

      Tiny dress. Warm coat.

      See you at the dock.

      Ethan.

      She unfolded the tissue to discover a black sequined party dress. It was sinfully short, with thin straps and a scooped back. Holly sucked in an audible whoosh of air. She couldn’t believe that Ethan had sent her this sexy slip of a dress. Was this what his colleagues wore?

      Tingles exploded all over her body.

      For all the clothes he had already purchased for her, he must have thought none of them were just right for the charity event he was taking her to tonight.

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