Prince of Midtown / Marriage, Manhattan Style. Jennifer Lewis

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СКАЧАТЬ most of her adult life working with the rich and famous, first at a PR firm and now here. She was sick of glitz and glamour. She’d trade it in a heartbeat for the simple happiness her parents still shared after nearly fifty years of marriage.

      For some reason being tall and blond attracted the biggest jerk in every room she entered. She’d had enough of being arm-candy for movers and shakers who weren’t interested in anything beyond a night of sex.

      Normal “regular guy” types never asked her out. Patrick was the best thing to happen to her in a long time. Yes, he was a high-profile lawyer, but he was down-to-earth and practical. He called when he said he would. He took her out on dates—when he had the time—and treated her with respect.

      Something she’d begun to worry would never happen.

      In his large, uncluttered bedroom, Sebastian removed his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. Tessa dragged her eyes away. “I hung your pants and shirts in the closet. And I put your…underwear in the drawer.”

      Her cheeks heated. Handling his boxers had felt way too personal.

      “You didn’t have to do that.” His fingers continued down his buttons. He tugged his shirt out of his pants to undo the bottom ones and she fought an urge to run for the door.

      But she didn’t want him to know that watching him undress affected her. He was probably used to undressing in front of…staff. It meant nothing to him.

      She meant nothing to him.

      For years she’d been telling herself her silly attraction to her boss would fade over time. She’d fall for someone else.

      But other men seemed pale and uninteresting compared to Sebastian.

      Except Patrick, of course. He was thoughtful. Nice. Considerate.

      He wasn’t quite ready for fatherhood yet, but maybe once his big case was over and they settled into a comfortable house in a nice quiet neighborhood with trees and grass and…

      Uh-oh. Sebastian’s long fingers undid the button on his pants.

      She headed for the door. “I put your toiletries in the bathroom. Well, your toothbrush. I didn’t see anything else.”

      “I don’t need anything else.”

      “I’ll get back to my interview.” Her voice was high and squeaky. She heard the swish of his pants sliding over his long, muscled legs.

      “Did Dior Homme send the T-shirts?”

      “Um. Yes. I put them…” She’d have to go back into the bedroom to find the shelf. Squinting to avoid the vision of a seminaked Sebastian, she hurried to the closet.

      “Here, on the middle shelf.” The fresh pile of shirts commemorated the deal he’d brokered to open a Dior boutique in the row of luxury stores along the harbor in Caspia. She picked up a large black T-shirt with a geometric design and held it toward him while keeping her eyes averted.

      She could smell his scent. Soap and skin. A hint of sweat.

      How could that get her blood pumping? He was just a guy, for crying out loud. Patrick smelled much nicer, of that woodsy cologne he wore. Which, actually, she hated. But she could buy him another.

      “Tessa.”

      She turned without thinking. At the exact moment he lifted the T-shirt over his head and flexed all the muscles of his wide, bronzed chest.

      Her knees buckled and she struggled to stay upright.

      Not a problem. She didn’t like big muscles anyway.

      Too brutish.

      She preferred men who were…cerebral.

      “What do you think?” He indicated the T-shirt freshly pulled over his thick pecs.

      “Nice design.” Her voice came out weird and flat. A light dusting of black hair roughened his hard, bare thighs below the T-shirt hem.

      “Yeah. I like this new line. Did you take some for yourself?”

      “I don’t wear extra large.”

      “You could wear them in bed.” His low voice tickled her ears.

      Tessa’s eyes widened. Her face heated. Sebastian was thinking about her in bed?

       Oh. Get over yourself.

      If anyone knew that women like to sleep in oversize T-shirts, it was Sebastian. He’d seen a lot of women in bed.

      “Sure. I’ll grab a couple.”

      “Great.” He shot her a white-toothed smile.

      That set her on alert. Why was he smiling at her for no reason?

       Because he wants to keep you around as his serf, organizing his files and answering his phone, dummy.

      “I’ll go finish the interview.”

      “I appreciate it. I’m going out to grab something to eat.

      You want anything from the café?”

      “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

      Again, the niceness. Very suspicious.

      Sebastian strode across the room, legs still bare. He slid a hand under his T-shirt to scratch his rock-hard belly while he contemplated his impressive collection of jeans.

      Tessa managed to rasp, “See you later,” as she rushed out the door.

      The Park Café was the closest eatery, so Sebastian went there often when he was in town. He’d spent several weeks in New York in the spring and had hand-trained one of the young servers to make the perfect cup of coffee—or at least the closest possible approximation available in this part of the world.

      His heart sank as he entered the bright space of the café to a sea of new faces. Then he spotted Reed and Elizabeth Wellington sitting at one of the café tables. He waved and tried to catch their eye, but they were deep in conversation.

      “What can I get you?” asked the perky young server.

      “I’d like a pastrami on rye with Russian dressing and nothing else. And a seven-shot espresso.”

      She vanished, her expressionless face imparting confidence.

      What a relief not to be peppered with questions about lettuce and tomatoes and mayo.

      His synapses tingled in anticipation of a welcome jolt of caffeine.

      He glanced over at his friends’ table. Reed leaned forward, talking in hushed tones, while his wife looked strangely tight-lipped. Were they arguing?

      The server returned with seven tiny china cups of espresso. Here we go again. “In one cup, please.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ