Manolos In Manhattan

“Oh, Rhys – it’s gorgeous,” she breathed as he joined her.

In the darkened room she glimpsed sofas upholstered in white, flanking a fireplace of dark-brown marble veined with black. Although the furnishings were modern, the high ceilings and paneled walls lent the apartment a distinctly old-world feel.

And the night-time view of Central Park was spectacular.

“I’m glad you like it,” Rhys said as he set the painting down near the sofa and tossed his keys aside. “The Dunleigh’s almost as hard to get into as the Dakota.” He frowned. “It’s a good job we stopped by. The alarm wasn’t armed. Bloody movers.”

Natalie barely heard him as she tipped her head back to admire the high, elaborately molded ceilings. “How many rooms are there?” she asked as she stood, rapt, before the window.

“Ten. There’s a master suite, two guest bedrooms, living and dining rooms, a study, the kitchen, and three bathrooms.”

“My word,” Natalie murmured. “Dashwood and James must be doing better than I thought.”

“We’re getting there. Once we launch the New York store,” he said, “we plan to expand further – Miami, Los Angeles…”

“Ooh, can I go with you?” Natalie implored as she slid her arms around his neck.

“Of course you can.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. “But I won’t get a thing done with you around.”

“That’s the whole idea,” she said, and kissed him back. “I’ll have my wicked way with you in every major city in America before I’m done.”

He raised his brow. “Well, at least we needn’t worry about getting you pregnant – since I already have.”

She smirked. “Well done, you.”

“I’ve an idea,” he said, his lips moving from her mouth to the column of her neck. “Let’s christen our new home.”

“Right here?” she whispered, feigning shock. “In the dark, in front of all of Manhattan?”

Rhys was too busy leaving fiery kisses on her throat and along the slope of her bare shoulders to answer, and he pushed impatiently at the thin straps that held up her gown.

“Yes.” He undid her zipper. “Right here. Right this very minute.”

Natalie let out a soft gasp as his lips moved down to the swell of her breasts, sending shivers of pleasure through her, and she sank down onto the carpet in his arms.

“If you insist,” she whispered, and dragged his mouth back up to hers.

Sometime later, as they lay naked and spent from their wanton but delicious exertions, Natalie stirred and woke with a start. They’d both fallen asleep.

She yawned and reached out sleepily to shake Rhys’s shoulder to wake him and tell him they really ought to be going when she heard a sound in the darkness.

A floorboard creaked.

Natalie froze. What was that? Was someone else in the apartment? But that was impossible. Her hand tensed on Rhys’s arm, and she scarcely dared to breathe.

She waited, but the sound wasn’t repeated. Had she imagined it? After all, these old buildings creaked and settled and made all manner of odd noises. That’s what Rhys would say, at any rate.

She was just about to wake him to tell him she wanted to leave straightaway and never, ever come back, when she heard it again. Another floorboard creaked, this time a bit closer.

Natalie bit back a gasp. No. She definitely hadn’t imagined it.

Someone – or something – was in the apartment.

Chapter Six

But that was surely madness, wasn’t it? she thought uneasily. After all ‒ how could anyone possibly be in the apartment but them? The Dunleigh was secure; it was one of the reasons Grandfather had chosen the cooperative. And Rhys had told her the front desk in the lobby was manned round the clock.

Which meant that whoever – no, scratch that, whatever – was standing nearby might not be human.

As if aware of Natalie’s growing disquietude, the darkness beyond her solidified and materialized into a figure...

...a figure holding a gun.

Natalie dug her nails into Rhys’s arm and let out an earsplitting shriek.

He flew up, disoriented and wild-eyed. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“An intruder,” she gasped as she sat up and scrabbled desperately to find her discarded gown. “Call the police!”

Immediately Rhys got to his feet and grabbed his trousers.

“Shall I turn on a light?” Nat whispered, terrified.

“No. I haven’t a bloody stitch on and I’m standing in front of the bloody window!” he hissed. He yanked his trousers on and moved forward.

She stood and caught at his arm. “Rhys – wait. Where are you going? He has a gun!”

But he didn’t listen, only shook her arm off and made his way determinedly to the front hall. Since she wasn’t about to leave his side, Natalie darted after him, her heart thrumming madly, her evening gown clutched against her chest.

The lamp on the hall table was still on. They crept cautiously forward. “Is anyone here?” Rhys demanded. “Show yourself!”

But the only answer was silence.

Although they checked each and every room – and Natalie looked under every bed and in every closet, as well – there was no one in the apartment and no sign of forced entry.

“They must’ve got away,” Natalie said with equal parts frustration and relief, “while I was screaming and you were jumping round putting on your trousers.”

“Or perhaps,” Rhys said as he turned to fix an accusing glare on her, “you imagined the whole thing.”

She drew in a disbelieving breath. “I did not! I heard him, Rhys. I saw him. He had a gun. I didn’t imagine that.”

“Yes, well then, where is he?” He pointed to the alarm panel. “The security system’s still armed, just as it was when I activated it earlier.” He opened the door and inspected the lock. “Look for yourself. There’s no sign of tampering, no scratches or marks on the paint.”

“Perhaps he came in through one of the windows.”

“What? A cat burglar, like Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief?” He closed the door. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She crossed her arms – with her evening gown bunched up underneath – against her chest. “I know what I saw. And I saw a man with a gun standing over us.”

“Perhaps you were dreaming. These old buildings settle and creak sometimes, you know.”

“I knew you’d say that.” She glared at him. “Aren’t you at least going to call the police?”

“And report what, exactly? A creaking floorboard? A ghost? Cary Grant?”

“Fine. Never mind.” Natalie turned away and stalked back to the living room. “Laugh at me if you want, but I’m telling you, someone was here. Take me back to the hotel right now. It may be a bit impersonal, and it’s not nearly so grand as this place, but at least it’s intruder-free.”

Holly eased the hotel room door open after returning from Chaz’s place and crept inside. She paused. The lamp on the hallway table was off, which meant that Jamie was probably already in bed and sleeping.

She slipped off her shoes and laid her clutch on the table, then made her way as quietly as possible to the tiny kitchenette. Holly yawned. A couple of cookies and some milk, and she’d be ready to tumble straight into bed for some well-deserved sleep—

“So how’s Chaz?”

Holly let out a gasp. Jamie sat on the sofa, his clogs discarded and his feet propped on the coffee table. “Jamie? What are you doing sitting here in the dark?” she demanded. “God, you scared me. I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I just got home a little while ago. Thought I’d wait up to say hello, and goodnight.” His smile was lopsided and tired.

“You must be exhausted,” she said, and sat down beside him. She leaned forward to kiss him. “The party was a massive success, thanks in no small part to your menu. It was amazing.”

“Thanks. I do my best.” He drew her against him, kissing the top of her head. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. It’s crazy, isn’t it?” she observed as she nestled against him. “We were at the same function all night and didn’t speak to each other once.”

“Yes, it’s all very Upstairs, Downstairs, isn’t it? Your father doesn’t like the hired help mingling with the guests.”

Although she knew he was joking, Holly heard the edge in his voice. “I was working tonight, too,” she pointed out. “I’m a store employee, after all, so I was only there to jolly up the guests and flirt a bit with the investors.”

“You looked really sexy tonight.” His hand slid down her side and came to rest on her hip. “And you seemed to make quite the impression on Ciaran Duncan.”

She lifted her head. “Why do you say that?” And why was her heart suddenly beating a tiny bit faster?

He shrugged. “Every time I sent out a tray, one of the servers came back and told me they’d seen you both talking. Catherine said that Mr International Film Star scarcely took his eyes off you all evening.”

Catherine. Holly pressed her lips together. Jamie’s new sous chef was probably only too glad to put the most damaging spin possible on her fledgling relationship with Ciaran.

Although she hadn’t yet met her properly, she suspected that Catherine was attracted to her fiancé. And it bothered her.

Not that she worried that Jamie would stray; no, it was just that Catherine was so gorgeous she made Holly feel like a dog’s dinner. With her long black hair and a slim but curvy build, the sous chef was a stunner.

And, of course, she could cook like a dream.

“Well, Catherine’s wrong,” she said firmly, and drew back to meet his eyes. “We were talking about the publicity thing.”

“Oh, yes. Your father told me. Tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Ciaran’s sending a car to pick me up at eleven.”

Jamie studied her, his expression unreadable. “Should I be worried?”

“Don’t be silly,” she assured him, and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I only have eyes for you.”

“Prove it, then,” he murmured, a challenge in his eyes.

And she proceeded to do just that.

Chapter Seven

At eight-thirty the next morning, a knock on the door echoed through Apartment 1010.

“Hellooo? Mr Gordon? Anyone here?”

Natalie looked up from her seat on the sofa in mild alarm. It was Sunday morning, and she and Rhys were in the living room, having just arrived at the Dunleigh with their luggage a short time earlier. Rhys was hanging her father’s portrait over the fireplace.

“Who’s that?” she hissed. “And what’s he doing in our apartment?”

Before Rhys could answer, a dark-haired young man with a pair of sunglasses thrust atop his head strode into the living room, his hands holding bright-orange carrier bags. He wore jeans, a Ramones t-shirt, and a pale-pink blazer with the sleeves rolled up.

As he saw Rhys, he came to a stop. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were here. I thought I had time to sneak in and leave this stuff before you officially moved in.”

“Quite all right,” Rhys said, and turned away from the mantel. “What’ve you got there?”

“Oh, I have lots of fab stuff,” he said. “I went to Zabar’s yesterday afternoon and got pesto, brie, a couple of pasta salads – so delish ‒ a bottle of Blanc de Blanc, and—” he broke off as he caught sight of Natalie. “Oh, sorry. You must be Mrs Gordon. I saw you last night but we haven’t been formally introduced.”

“Natalie, this is Charles Williams,” Rhys said by way of explanation, “my new personal assistant.”

She nodded and said politely, “It’s very nice to meet you, Charles.”

“Chaz, please.” He smiled in apology. “I’d offer my hand, Mrs Gordon, but they’re full at the moment. Gorgeous outfit, by the way,” he observed as he studied her yellow and black figured tunic and fitted beige skirt. “Marni, last season?”

She nodded, impressed. “You’re good. And please, call me Natalie.”

“Thanks. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Gordon – I mean, Natalie,” he corrected himself as Rhys took one of the bags from him. “The front desk sent me up – I hope that’s okay? Alastair put me on the list.”

“The list?” Rhys echoed.

He nodded. “The guest list. I’m on it, and Alastair, and Sir Richard...and you two, of course. Alastair gave me a key so I could deliver your groceries.”

“No, that’s fine.” Rhys glanced down at the bags. “Thank you for all of this, by the way. It’s unexpected, although very welcome. But you needn’t have gone to the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I knew you wouldn’t have time to go grocery shopping, so I thought I’d stock the kitchen with a few essentials. I can’t stay,” he added as he headed towards the kitchen. “I’m helping Holly choose an outfit for her big date with – wait for it – Ciaran Duncan today.”

“Holly has a date with Ciaran Duncan?” Natalie echoed, surprised. “I saw them talking last night at the party, but...” her voice trailed off. “But Holly’s engaged.”

“It’s not really a date, it’s a publicity thing for the store,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s a ‘film-star-and-retail-heiress-do-New-York’ thing, to be exact.”

“I see,” Natalie said, although she didn’t, really. She couldn’t imagine Jamie agreeing to such a thing...or Holly’s father either, for that matter. He hadn’t seemed very impressed with the actor.

“It was Ciaran’s idea,” he explained as she rose and followed him into the kitchen. “But Alastair was totally on board, since the store needs all the publicity it can get...”

“...so Holly’s spending the day with Ciaran to help her father, and to help the store,” Natalie finished.

“Exactly.” He set the carrier bags on the counter. “Well, folks, I’m off. Enjoy your gourmet goodies and welcome to the Dunleigh.”

And before Natalie or Rhys could do more than thank him, Chaz waved, whipped out his mobile phone, and left.

“So these are our options for your date with Ciaran?” Chaz asked doubtfully as he eyed the three dresses on hangers that Holly held up a half-hour later.

“Yes. And it’s not a date.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?”

He cupped his elbow in one hand and rested his chin on the other. “Sorry, no. The black wrap dress is too plain; and that purple jersey – where’d you buy it, Forever 21? As for the bubble skirt–” he grimaced “–it looks like someone threw up Christian LA Croix.”

Holly tossed them down on her bed in irritation. “Well, what do you suggest, then, Mr Mizrahi?”

“Hey, you asked for my help,” he reminded her. “I could be at home watching The Princess Diaries, thank you very much.”

“No need to throw a hissy. Just take a look in the closet and pick something out. I’ll need accessories, too. And hurry. I have to start getting ready soon.”

“You don’t want much, do you?” he retorted, but threw the door to the hotel closet open and began rummaging through the contents, his face set in concentration. Choosing an outfit was a very serious business.

Five minutes later, he emerged. “I’ve found it,” he announced, triumphant. “I’ve found the perfect outfit for your date with Ciaran.”

“It’s not a date,” she told him again. Holly rose from her perch on the end of the bed, anxious to see what he’d chosen. He held out a beige sheath dress overlaid with lace, nude heels, and a leopard-print clutch.

“That?” she said uncertainly. “I don’t know. It’s so...beige. It looks like something Mum would wear.”

“It’s classic,” he informed her, “but sexy, in a ladylike way. Very Mad Men. You don’t want to look like a hootchie, do you?”

“No...”

“Then shut up and try it on.”

Dutifully she did as he asked, thrusting her feet into the heels and smoothing the silk dress over her hips as she stood before the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. And as she studied her reflection, she had to admit that, once again, Chaz was right.

The nude heels elongated her legs; the dress was fitted and flattering, emphasizing her small waist and slim build; and the leopard clutch provided the perfect pop of contrast.

“We’ll put your hair up in a chignon,” Chaz decided. “Like Tippi Hedrin. It’ll give you that sixties chic.”

“Put my hair up? I don’t know...”

“Sit,” he commanded, and motioned to her dressing table. “I’ll do your hair before I go. All you need,” he mused as he began to brush her hair, “is one of those big, black cartwheel hats, like the one Audrey wore in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“Sorry,” Holly said firmly, “I love this outfit, but I draw the line at cartwheel hats.” She looked at his reflection in the mirror and smiled. “You’re right...it’s absolutely, perfectly…perfect.”

An hour later, bathed and perfumed and dressed in the beige sheath, Holly was almost ready. Jamie had left, off to get his new restaurant ready to open its doors; so Chaz had agreed to stay and let Ciaran in while she got ready.

“Keep him waiting,” he informed her. “It’s never good to appear too soon. Take your time.”

“Right,” she agreed, and lifted her brow. “Leaving you to chat – alone ‒ with the object of your affection in the meantime.”

“Whatever. Go get ready.”

Ten minutes after Ciaran arrived, Holly took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door. The sound of Chaz’s voice drifted down the hall from the tiny hotel sitting room.

“‒so pleased to meet you last night,” he gushed. “Like I said, I’ve seen all your movies, except that last one about the veterinarian. It didn’t do so well at the box office, did it?”

“No,” Ciaran said a trifle stiffly, “but it earned me a BAFTA nomination. Rather proud of that.”

“As well you should be.”

“Listen, I don’t mean to pry, but...do you and Holly live together?” the actor asked, puzzled.

Chaz let out a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. “God, no! I just offered to stick around and let you in while she gets ready. Her fiancé’s normally here,” he added, pointedly, “but he’s working.”

Chaz glanced up as Holly appeared in the doorway. “Holly – there you are. Mr Duncan’s been waiting, and very patiently, I might add.”

Ciaran stood up, and his eyes swept over Holly from her ladylike heels to her upswept blonde hair. He blinked. “You look stunning, Miss James. And very grown-up.”

“Thank you,” Holly said. She could barely form a coherent sentence at the sight of Ciaran, so handsome in his impeccably tailored suit. “Shall we go?”

“By all means,” he agreed, and held out his arm. “First, we’re off to have lunch at The Russian Tea Room.”

“Excellent choice,” Chaz approved, “if a bit...touristy. But that’s the point, isn’t it?” he added hastily as Ciaran cast him a flinty look. “Have a blini for me. And enjoy yourselves!”

“Thank you,” Ciaran replied. “I solemnly promise to have her back before midnight, Mr Williams.”

Chaz shook a finger playfully. “See that you do.”

They emerged from the Midtown Hotel and onto the busy sidewalk five minutes later. “What’s this?” Holly asked as Ciaran drew her towards a black Lincoln Town Car waiting at the curb. A chauffer in a peaked cap and gloves slid out from behind the wheel and held the rear door open for Holly.

“Our limo,” he replied. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly.”

“And generating the most publicity possible at the same time,” Holly couldn’t help adding. She glanced at the gleaming black vehicle and back at Ciaran, who was already attracting a knot of onlookers. “This should definitely do it.”

Without another word, she slid onto the back seat and made room for Ciaran, and they were off.

Chapter Eight

“I thought we’d go for a carriage ride around Central Park. After we have lunch,” he added firmly. “I’m really hungry.”

She looked over at him and smiled. “I’m impressed. The Russian Tea Room...a chauffeured car...”

“And the pleasure of my company,” he finished as he grinned at her. “What more could a girl want?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Holly said as she settled back and the car glided into the stream of traffic headed towards West 57th Street. “A little humility, maybe?”

“Humility is vastly overrated, Miss James. Spend enough time with me, and you’ll soon agree.”

Well, Holly couldn’t help thinking, if this is a typical day out with a film star...I could certainly get used to it.

The Russian Tea Room was as rich and opulent as the inside of a Fabergé egg. They were escorted to a quiet table in the back, where Ciaran ordered appetizers of caviar and salmon gravlax; for their main course they had the most amazing Chicken Kiev. Dessert was a shared plate of cheese and cherry blinis topped with vanilla ice cream.

“That was incredible, Ciaran,” Holly said with a sigh as she pushed her plate away. “Thank you.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” he assured her as he stood up and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

New Yorkers – being New Yorkers – noticed the famous British actor and his date, but pretended they didn’t. Holly saw the covert glances cast their way as they left, and the excited whispers behind hands. She suppressed a smile. Thank goodness she’d listened to Chaz and worn this outfit. As always, he was right – otherwise, she would’ve looked like an over-dressed teenager in the publicity photos their outing would generate.

“Where will we go after our carriage ride?” Ciaran inquired as he slid in next to her on the back seat. “We’ve all of Manhattan at our disposal.” He nodded imperceptibly at the driver, and the car glided forward.

“Well,” Holly said, studying the colorful blur of taxis as they flashed past the Town Car’s tinted windows, “we could take a walk through Times Square.”

“We could,” he agreed. “But I’d be mobbed. Perhaps instead,” he added as he leaned forward, his eyes intent on hers as he took her hand, “we could go back to my hotel room, and get to know each another better.”

Holly stared at him, her lips parted in outrage. “Mr Duncan!”

“Kidding,” he said, and laughed as he let go of her hand and relaxed back against the seat. “Your expression was priceless, Miss James. What would you have done,” he added as he glanced at her in amusement, “if I’d been serious? Would I have lived up – or should I say, down – to your already low expectations?”

She glared at him. “You would’ve ensured that I’d never watch another one of your silly rom-coms again. Especially not the one about the English veterinarian,” she added.

“Indeed?” He wore a hurt expression. “What about the one where I meet the store owner’s beautiful daughter, but I can’t get past her initial bad impression of me?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen that one.”

“It’s a good one, actually, one of my best. Except–” he leaned forward once again, and reached out to tilt her chin gently up to his “–I don’t know how it ends, yet.”

Then he was kissing her, and his lips were warm and persuasive, and all of her resolve...dissolved. A kiss was just a kiss...unless it was Ciaran Duncan doing the kissing. Just as she almost lost herself completely in Ciaran’s arms and the heated dazzle of his lips, reveling in the scent and taste and feel of him, she pulled away.

“We have to stop,” she said, her voice shaky. “I can’t do this, I’m engaged. And this isn’t a date.”

His expression was contrite. “You’re right, and I apologize. It’s just that you’ve bewitched me, Holly,” he said huskily. “But I promise I’ll be on my very best behavior for the rest of the day.”

And he lived up to his promise. The day passed in a whirl of shopping, walking, and laughter. Everywhere they went they were photographed – whether riding a carriage through Central Park, ducking into Prada and FAO Schwarz on Fifth Avenue, or sharing a late-afternoon slice and a pretzel from a street vendor. Ciaran good-naturedly signed his autograph on bits of paper, menus, street maps, and even inked his name on one insistent woman’s bra strap.

“The perils of being an actor,” he sighed as they returned, their feet aching, to the waiting Town Car and climbed in.