About five years ago, Miriam had finally contacted her. They’d been doing an article on what drove women to marry for status and position rather than love, and her mother had offered up several enlightening quotes. Anonymously, of course.
Miriam doubted she’d ever connect with the woman who’d given her life, but she understood some of what drove her. Since that interview her mother called her on a regular basis. Miriam had tried to assign all sorts of reasons for the contact: Janice felt guilty for leaving her children or she wanted to connect with her only blood relations, but she really suspected that Janice liked trying on the mother role every once in a while. Hence her concern about Ian’s current occupation.
Miriam returned to her office, and picked up her extension. “Darling, you cannot believe what they’ve been doing to poor Raoul.”
Miriam had never met her mother’s latest, and it was hard to work up any sympathy for the man—other than for the fact that he was married to her mother.
“They are canceling his showing. The poor man is having painter’s block. He can’t help it.”
She’d heard of writer’s block, but painter’s? “Well, Mother, it would be hard to have a showing without any paintings.”
“Oh, Miriam, if they weren’t hassling him so much about his new vision, he wouldn’t be having these problems to begin with. He…”
Miriam opened her top desk drawer and pulled out a doodle pad she reserved solely for phone conversations with her mother. She’d never used a doodle pad before, preferring short conversation that encapsulated in five minutes or less whatever pressing business needed to be dealt with. But Rich had purchased one for her after he’d found her mad scribblings all over her desk calendar. He’d not been pleased.
Twenty minutes later, she found herself walking back to the elevator. Wrung out and fully expecting to see an empty lobby. Then she spotted the man leaning against the wall, an anxious expression in his blue eyes. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to race.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice deeper than usual, laced with concern.
She glanced up, meeting his gaze, surprised to hear genuine worry behind his words. The skin around his eyes was tight, and his whole big body seemed tense. The muscles of his arms bunched, as though he was ready to engage in battle.
Battle for her?
The tension in her back eased. “You waited,” she said, not realizing until that moment that she’d secretly hoped he would, but hadn’t really expected it.
A flash of annoyance shot into his eyes. “Of course I waited.”
Something happened to her in that moment. Miriam Cole no longer felt so alone. It felt almost natural to have him at her side. She gave him a tentative smile. “I’m fine. I just want to get out of here.”
He punched the down button. “I know about mothers.”
“Not like mine,” she said.
Jeremy gave her a sympathetic hand squeeze. Among her friends, when the topic of bad parents arose, a competition of sorts began. Whose mother had been the worst? Whose father had the most “other” families? But Jeremy did none of those things. Instead he gave her an easy yet comprehensive form of acknowledgment. And he listened.
She gave him a sideways glance as they waited for the elevator. He’d gotten a haircut since she’d last seen him. Had he done that for her? The thought that he might have warmed her from the inside, even though she kind of liked brushing his dark hair out of his eyes.
He was even better than she’d remembered. And lying in the dark in her big, lonely bed for the past few weeks, she’d recalled him looking pretty damn good.
The downward-facing arrow above the elevator lit up and a bell pinged as the elevator doors whooshed open. She followed him inside and punched the lobby button, and the doors closed.
In a stride and a half, Jeremy was at her side, and tugging her into his arms.
His lips came down on hers. For a moment she was too surprised to respond. Then it all came flooding back. The passion. The heat. The hungry wanting Jeremy evoked in her. She’d missed the fervor, that excitement so much. She’d missed him.
Miriam circled her fingers in the loops of Jeremy’s jeans and yanked. Hard. But she didn’t care. She wanted to feel the solidness of his chest against her breasts. Feel the hardness of his erection pushing into her gray silk business skirt.
With a groan, Jeremy backed her against the wall and his hands cupped her breasts, touching and stroking her in a way that made her wet and hot.
He’d remembered what she’d liked. Just the way she’d liked it.
The rapid descent of the express elevator slowed. They’d be reaching the lower floors now. With obvious reluctance, Jeremy’s mouth left hers. His ragged breathing filled the car, as he rested his forehead against hers.
“I’ve thought of nothing else but that,” he said. And Miriam felt another jolt of tingles at his words. She’d never melted against a guy in her life. But here she was, practically liquefying herself against the man.
Her dry mouth hadn’t recovered from the sight of him propped up against the wall waiting for her. And now she had to deal with the lack of his lips.
The elevator door opened, and they stepped out. Calm, cool and with a respectable distance apart of almost two feet. No one passing by would suspect the heat that had fired up the elevator only moments before.
Jeremy drew her toward the glass doors that led outside, his hand warm on her lower back.
They walked together in silence. But for the first time, she didn’t feel the urge to fill it, rack her brain for some tidbit of information that would keep the conversation going. Actually, she kind of liked the calm between them.
The calm before the storm.
Because they both knew the minute they were alone, the passion between then would take off full force. There should be some sort of awkward tension right now. Some sort of preintercourse nerves or reserve. Instead she felt an affinity with the man whose body heat penetrated her blouse directly to her skin, and couldn’t they walk through this lobby any faster?
Finally they made it outside and Miriam began to flag down a taxi.
“Do you want to walk?” Jeremy asked, his face turning a little green.
Her arm lowered, and she turned toward him. Miriam tried not to look at him as if he was crazy. She really did. But it was cold. She was in heels. It was—
Then she remembered he’d never been to New York before. She could point out a few sights. He could rub her feet afterward.
“Are you wanting to see a few landmarks?” What happened to the hungry guy from her office? The one who didn’t want to wait for a meal in a restaurant to have her?
“You think I drove all this way just to see Manhattan?”
“You drove?”
He nodded.
“All the way from Oklahoma.”
He nodded again.
Forget takeout. She’d take him. Then afterward, they’d order in.
And yet he still made no move toward the taxi.
Wait a minute. He looked about as uneasy as she’d felt alone and isolated on that lonely stretch of country highway.
That had been his element.
New York was hers. And she knew what every out-of-towner commented on after a visit. She stared in his direction. “The traffic getting to you?”
He shrugged. “What’s with all the honking?”
She reached for his arm, and tugged him toward the cab. “Come on, big guy. This time I’ll protect you.”
AVA DID AN INTERNET search to find out what to wear to a nightclub and fifteen minutes later emerged from her bedroom hoping she’d fit in with the natives. She was usually a lot more prepared than this, spending hours researching adornment and attire.
By the fire behind Ian’s eyes, her choice of black miniskirt, sparkly tank and sheer long-sleeved overshirt hit the mark. Going heavy on the eyeliner and sheer lip gloss felt strange, but she went with the advice in an article she’d found in one of Cole Publishing’s own magazines. Dress To Be Noticed.