Her Man in Manhattan. Trish WylieЧитать онлайн книгу.
Tommy I said “yay,”’ she replied with a ladylike punch to the air.
‘Shoes,’ Grace reminded her outside the door to her father’s study.
‘What would I do without you?’
‘Run barefoot and be late for appointments.’
‘Now doesn’t that sound like fun?’ She handed over her bag for safekeeping, slipped on her heels and took a step back to turn a circle. ‘Am I ready for inspection?’
‘You’ll do.’
After a light knock on the door, she waited for the cursory ‘come’ and turned the handle.
‘Ah, here she is,’ her father said from behind his mahogany desk as she crossed the room. ‘Miranda, this is Detective Brannigan. He’ll be overseeing your security during the remainder of the campaign.’
Though unaware there were any changes planned, she kept a smile in place as she waited for the man to stand up and turn around. Her first impression was of his size; he was six feet two, possibly three, his build more running back than linebacker. Many people would have been surprised by that—when they thought bodyguard they pictured brute force—but while physical strength and fitness were both important the members of her family’s protective details came in many shapes and sizes. Keen observation skills and an ability to think on their feet were of equal importance.
Any following thought on the subject disappeared in a flash and was instantly replaced by shock when she looked into cobalt-blue eyes. It took every ounce of her social skills to prevent the drop of her jaw.
‘Miss Kravitz,’ he said in a low rumbling baritone as her hand was engulfed in a firm handshake.
It wasn’t what she’d fantasized he would say if they met again but the sound of his voice was enough to remind her of every imagined word. She peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth as heat suffused her palm and rushed up her arm. Had he known who she was when he came to her rescue? Had he been watching her because he was on duty? How long had he been following her?
As she remembered to reclaim her hand and lowered it to her side—his touch still tingling on her skin—her gaze shifted to her father. There was no way to determine how much trouble she was in while he was wearing his elected official expression but if he was upset about something it was a new tactic. Usually the punishment for her supposed misdemeanors involved a lecture on responsibility—the kind she liked to think she’d endured stoically over the years.
‘He’ll report to Lou the same way Ron did,’ he said. ‘They’ve selected a new detail for you.’
All of her guys had been replaced—since when and, more to the point, why?
‘Detective Brannigan suggested a shake-up,’ he added so she knew who to blame.
While he turned his attention to some of the papers on his desk she looked at the man beside her to see if the reality lived up to her fantasy. Strong masculine features—short, dark blond hair, thick lashes framing his intense eyes. He was every bit as compelling as she remembered. Seeing him again reawakened the potent sensual awareness in her body. It transported her back in time to when he’d kissed her into a boneless puddle of lust and walked away.
Now she thought about it Miranda wasn’t certain she’d forgiven him for that. Particularly when it was more than obvious he still had the upper hand. She’d wondered how he managed to get them past a cordon of New York’s finest with such ease. In her furtive imagination he’d been everything from a mafia don with cops on his payroll to a combination of secretive billionaire by day and caped crusader by night. That he was with the NYPD made more sense but why hadn’t he said so? Why the charade? Why kiss her instead of flashing a badge?
He blinked lazily hooded eyes. ‘I believe you have a nine a.m. appointment.’
Miranda ignored him and rounded the desk to place a kiss on her father’s cheek. ‘Bye, Daddy.’
‘Bye sweetheart. Have a good day.’
‘You, too,’ she replied before lifting her chin as she walked back across the room. ‘Now we can leave.’
In a few long strides he’d overtaken her and held open the door but she didn’t thank him for the courtesy while she was piqued by his duplicity.
‘New bodyguard?’ Grace whispered as she handed over her bag and a copy of the day’s itinerary.
Miranda crinkled her nose in mock delight. ‘Lucky me.’
She led the way down the second-floor landing, past a rare five-seat settee that had been discovered in the basement of City Hall. Despite living in the mansion for the two terms her father had been mayor she never took her surroundings for granted. If anything the combination of rare paintings and antiques interspersed with modern furniture reminded her of what a privilege it was to live in one of the few surviving eighteenth-century mansions in the city. It was something she could appreciate more approaching twenty-five than she had at seventeen. But unlike most mornings she didn’t take the time to greet any of her favorite pieces with a smile or to mull over her continuing need to escape such a beautifully gilded cage.
She was too distracted by the man walking behind her, her body highly tuned to his presence.
They were halfway down the carpeted stairs before she lowered her voice to ask, ‘Did you know who I was?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did my father order you to follow me?’
‘No.’
She smiled at the woman making her way upstairs. ‘Good morning, Dorothy. Is it as beautiful outside as it looks through the window?’
‘It is,’ the maid replied with an answering smile.
The tension became heavier with each muted downward step while Miranda tried to pretend she couldn’t feel an intense gaze following her every move. There was no way she could spend every day in the company of a man she’d pictured naked...and sweaty...and as aroused as he’d left her after one little kiss. She had a reputation for being cool, calm and poised in public. She wasn’t about to exchange it for hot, bothered and sexually frustrated. It wasn’t as if the discovery he was—technically speaking—a ‘good guy’ had done anything to dilute her fantasy, either. Even while wearing a dark suit, white shirt and patriotically striped tie he oozed the danger she’d craved since her late teens.
Skydiving, bungee jumping, swimming with sharks—they were all on an ever-growing wish list of forbidden pursuits she’d added to over the years.
Making wild, crazy whoopee with one of her bodyguards had never crossed her mind, until now.
Her heels clicked on the exquisitely refurbished faux marble patterning of the wooden floor in the foyer. In a matter of seconds they would be in the vestibule, away from the constantly moving crowd that never quite managed to make her feel less alone. They could take advantage of the moment and pick up where they’d left off. He would grab her hand and swing her around, press her against the wall with his muscled body, crush her lips beneath his and...
Miranda gave herself a mental smack upside the head. She needed to focus. The brief alone time they had between inner and outer doors should be used to reclaim some of the control over her life she couldn’t afford to relinquish. She hadn’t been fighting for her freedom so someone new could stride in and clip her wings before she had a chance to stretch them. With that in mind, the second the first door closed behind them she turned to face him.
‘As it’s your first day I think we should lay out some ground rules....’
‘I agree.’ He nodded. ‘So shut up and listen.’
Miranda gaped at him in disbelief. ‘You can’t talk to me like that.’
‘What you mean is no one else ever has, right?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’m willing to bet folks have been kowtowing to you since you were in diapers.’ The