One Summer In New York. Trish WylieЧитать онлайн книгу.
and white nature photos on the wall. “Those, for example.”
“Dull.”
“Safe.”
“Yawn.”
They both laughed in agreement. A sizzle passed between them. It was so real Ethan was sure he saw smoke.
How alive Holly was. The type of person who said exactly what she thought. A bit like Aunt Louise. And nothing at all like most of the women he knew.
He flashed on a possibility.
Then quickly thought better of it.
“My aunt’s new husband selected this apartment. He frequently comes down from Boston.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. Fernando Layne was no favorite of his. Definitely no substitute for Uncle Mel. Fernando was a plaything for Aunt Louise. Ethan tolerated him.
“I will remodel this property while I am in New York. Perhaps you can advise me?”
What a stupid thing to say. He was never going see Holly again past this awkward evening interlude. An unfamiliar sense of disappointment came over him.
He generally steered clear of his feelings. When they did arrive they were usually of the painful variety and proved too confusing.
“Do you want to look at my website?” Holly gestured to the tablet he still had in his hand.
“I am sorry to be rude but I have a phone meeting in five minutes. I need to prepare.”
“At this time of night?”
“I am expecting a call from Tokyo, if you must know.” He also wasn’t used to explaining himself to anyone. “I will take it in the bedroom,” he declared.
Then he picked up a roll of architectural blueprints from the desk and marched down the hall, perturbed in twenty different ways.
* * *
Ten o’clock on a rainy New York night.
Holly had left Fort Pierce at eight that morning.
Hungry and tired, she absentmindedly ran her hand along the sofa where Ethan had been sitting when she came in. The leather still held his warmth.
She probably should have been afraid when she’d opened the door to find a total stranger in the apartment. Yet she hadn’t felt the slightest inkling of fear. She’d felt ticked off, maybe. Or something else entirely.
It might have something to do with the fact that Ethan Benton looked less like a serial killer than he did the lord of a countryside manor. With his imposing height and lean muscles and that stunning wavy brown hair that had a touch of red flecked in it.
His tone was bossy, but she supposed it must have been quite a shock for him that a woman with a blue face, a tattered duffel bag and a squeaky-wheeled suitcase had just barged into the apartment he’d thought he had to himself.
Now she was trapped here with him unless she was willing to face the stormy night. The man—who may or may not have a British accent—definitely had the most soulful eyes she had ever seen. The man who was now in the next room, conducting business halfway around the world.
New York was getting off to a rollicking start.
Would he be angry with her if she checked to see if there was anything to eat? Should she care, given that this apartment was supposed to be hers?
A rumbling stomach propelled her to the kitchen. She’d picked at snacks all day, but had not had a proper meal. On the counter lay one basket of fruit, and another of breads and bagels. The refrigerator held beer, milk, eggs and cheese.
Had this food been purchased for her arrival as a hospitality custom? Or was it Ethan’s? Or did it belong to his aunt’s husband, who Ethan had said used this apartment frequently?
The sight of the food rendered Holly too hungry to care. Being hungry was a unique ache that she had experience with. Surely Ethan wouldn’t mind if she took one shiny red apple.
She hoisted herself up to sit on the countertop. Let her legs and bare feet dangle. Smiled remembering the apple’s symbolism here in New York. Like so many others, she was here to take her bite. With one satisfying chomp after the next, her mind wandered about what might be.
“Miss Motta!” Ethan looked startled to find her sitting on the kitchen counter after he finished his call. “Must you always make yourself so...so comfortable?”
Holly shrugged her shoulders and slid off the countertop. Whatever. If her sitting on the counter was a big deal to him, she wouldn’t do it.
She jutted out her chin. “I bet you haven’t eaten.”
“Not since early this afternoon on the flight,” he confessed. “Is there food?”
“Looks like there’s eggs and some things for breakfast.”
“We will have something delivered.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“What would you like?”
“You know what? I haven’t been to New York in years. Want to get some famous New York pizza?”
“Pizza it is.” He swiped on his tablet. “Yes, Giuseppe’s. I ordered from there quite a bit when I was last in New York, working on a project. What type of pizza do you like?”
It was nice of him to let her choose. This man was a bundle of contradictions. Scolding one minute, courteous in the next.
“Everything,” she answered, without having to think twice.
“Everything?”
“You know—pepperoni, sausage, salami, mushrooms, onions, peppers, olives. The whole shebang.”
“Everything...” he repeated. “Why not?”
“I’ll pay for my half.”
His mouth twitched.
“Twenty minutes,” he read out the online confirmation.
She eyed the kitchen clock.
“I guess I’m staying tonight.” She crunched on her big apple.
A bolt of lightning struck, flashing bright light through the window.
ETHAN HAD A peculiar urge. The minute he’d said he’d sleep on the sofa tonight he’d wanted to lie down on the bed with Holly. Not to get under the covers. Just to lie on the bed with her. He wanted to relax. To hold her body against his. Caress her hair. Find out if those ebony locks were as silky as they looked.
Huh. A woman he had never met before, who had charged into his apartment and refused to leave. He had no idea who she really was or what she was doing here.
Yet he wanted to hold her.
The thought had interrupted his phone call several times.
He wasn’t going mad. He’d just been working too hard. That was it. It had already been a long evening.
From the moment his flight had landed it had been one thing or another. He’d managed to sort out some of the details for the shareholders’ gala. Many more remained. He’d heard there were construction delays on the low-income housing development in the Bronx that was so dear to his heart. He’d talked to a few people at the Boston headquarters to see how Aunt Louise was doing after the fall she’d taken. The news was not good. Then he’d worked on trying to resolve problems with a building permit in Detroit.
It had only been about an hour ago that Ethan had changed into pajama bottoms and quieted down to read the newspaper. Before Holly had arrived, with the sparkling blue eyes and the creamy skin he now couldn’t take his gaze off.