Manhattan Holiday

by Linda Engman

  She pushed the covers back and sprang up, glancing about on full alert now. This was definitely not her bedroom. Done in black, gray, and natural woods, it screamed Roman Vasquez. Without a doubt she’d spent the night in his bed.

  She peered under the covers and noticed somewhere or somehow her dress had been removed, since she was only covered in her black lacy bra and panties. Fiery heat flooded her cheeks, realizing he must have helped her into bed last night.

  Oh…just great. Sexy lingerie was one of her weaknesses. With a groan, she fell back against the pillows and pulled the covers over her head.

  Okay, she needed to look at this rationally. The man has seen me in a skimpy red bikini. What difference does it make if he saw me in a see-through bra and panty set? She was positive it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already witnessed a hundred times before.

  An abrupt flash of her whipping off her dress before climbing into bed last night played on repeat in her memory. Oh, no. He probably saw that too. She groaned out loud and blamed it on a lethal combination of lack of sleep, one awesomely wicked Sex on the Beach cocktail, plus one too many glasses of pricy French champagne.

  She pushed the covers back and noticed her bag at the foot of the bed. In the scrumptious adjoining bathroom, she quickly showered and put on minimal makeup before blow-drying her hair. The only winter clothes she had with her were the black cashmere v-neck sweater and jeans she’d left in two days ago. With that being her only warm choice, she quickly pulled them on and exited the bathroom.

  One glance at his bed made her raise a brow. How many women had spent the night with him in that sexy bed? She gave the sleek platform-style bed another close onceover. It was definitely sexy, modern, low, and sensual looking. The rest of his sanctuary was equally smoldering, with rich thick carpet underfoot and drapes flanking either side of a soaring wall of windows. The only furniture other than the bed was twin night tables with matching lamps, a low-slung dresser, and the required flat screen.

  She quickly pulled the sheets and comforter over the bed and smoothed them out before replacing the pillows. She stood back and glanced at it one last time.

  At least he hadn’t been next to her this morning.

  She couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

  On that note she grabbed her overnight bag, along with the garment bag containing her now used wedding dress, and cautiously pulled open the bedroom door, taking a peek out into the hall before walking into the main loft area.

  “Roman?” Her voice echoed slightly in the cavernous living space.

  Abandoned on the long black micro-suede sofa was a rumpled pillow and blanket. She guessed it was where he’d spent the night. By the looks of it, it had not been a restful one at that.

  She glanced about the apartment. Should I leave? Stay? What did one do after one got married for business reasons? Was she required to hang around and say goodbye?

  The thought of not seeing him one last time didn’t sit well with her. Especially after how much they’d been through in the past seventy-two hours.

  Has it really been only three days since he first kissed me and turned everything upside down in my life?

  After dropping her bags at the front door, she walked back into the living area, amazed he’d actually plugged in the lights of his very sad-looking Christmas tree. That by now was even more threadbare, with a pile of needles mounded underneath. The poor thing seemed to struggle to keep the single strand of white lights on its droopy limbs. Typical single guy tree. She sighed heavily, shook her head in contemplation, and finally decided a quick cup of coffee would perk her up before heading home. If he wasn’t back by the time she’d finished her coffee, she would write him a note.

  In the kitchen was a large Italian coffee maker. It was a beast of a machine with all the instructions and buttons labeled in Italian. Of course he couldn’t have a simple old-fashioned coffeepot, she fumed, bumbling with what button to push and where to add the coffee beans.

  As she searched in vain for coffee filters, the apartment door opened and slammed shut. Her body tingled uncontrollably with anticipation, and she watched him saunter into the living room from the entry hallway. He shrugged out of his heavy winter coat and ran a quick hand through his damp black hair. From the surprised look on his face, he obviously hadn’t expected to see her in his kitchen making coffee. She stared back at him and held her breath. This morning he was dressed in sweat clothes and big heavy-duty Sorel boots. Without even trying, the man possessed the ability to be impossibly handsome and sexy first thing in the morning.

  “Good morning,” she chirped lightly, her voice higher than usual.

  “Morning,” he murmured, still watching her from across the room with a look of wariness on his unshaved face as he kicked off his boots.

  Neither of them moved but instead stood staring at one another. She felt her breasts swell uncomfortably under her tight sweater as he looked her up and down. The thought of him seeing her in her bra and panties flashed in her mind, and she quickly turned away from him, her face blushing beet red.

  “I was trying to make coffee, but I can’t understand how to get the blasted thing to work,” she complained, stepping over a foot as he came up behind her and took the bag of coffee beans out of her hands.

  “Allow me,” he whispered, looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. “You have to open the top here and pour the beans unground into it. Close the lid and push this button here. You don’t need a filter, and it grinds the beans for you. It has a direct water line so you don’t have to add water. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Oh…” was all she could get out. His nearness was unnerving as she fought back the urge to lean into him and all his warm maleness. Fresh air radiated off him, and she could see glistening wet drops in his black silky hair where snowflakes had obviously landed and melted.

  “Simple,” he said, still looking down at her with an intensity that made her wilt with uncontrolled heat.

  “Speak for yourself,” she choked out, sidestepping him to take a stool on the other side of the island. “I don’t speak or read Italian.”

  He laughed and leaned both arms on the slate-topped counter across from her. “So, did you sleep well in my bed?” he questioned, his voice both teasing and mocking.

  “Yes, but I would have slept better in mine. Why on earth did you bring me here? You could have simply dropped me off at my apartment. It was on the way.”

  “Yeah, it was, but unfortunately you were fast asleep and I was dead tired and couldn’t remember your street address or house number. So you ended up in my bed.”

  “Oh, please,” she whipped back with a roll of her eyes. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. Soon as I have a cup of coffee I’m heading home to salvage the rest of my holiday weekend.”

  “Good luck with that plan, Mrs. Vasquez. Have you taken a look outside today?”

  She grimaced, not liking the overconfident way he spoke. “No.”

  “We’re having a blizzard at the moment. Looks like you’re going have to make do by salvaging your weekend with me.”

  She slid off the stool and ran to the window, glancing to the snowy street below. Like he’d said, not a car was moving and the street was completely deserted. The normal bustle had been replaced with what looked to be a ton of snow, with more falling by the minute. It was a real New Year’s Day blizzard. Complete whiteout with high winds to match.

  “Oh, no! This is awful,” she moaned with unbridled dread. “I’ll be stuck here for the rest of the weekend.”

  “So…how do you take your coffee?”

  “Cream and sugar,” she murmured, totally defeated while seriously wanting to throw something at him.

  He fixed her a mug and pushed it across the island to her along with a self-satisfied look. “By that disparaging tone, I’d say the honeymoon is over.”

  She dished out a scathing glance in his direction.

  He only chuckled at her grumpy state. />
  She finally relented. “Well, I guess it could be worse. I could be stuck at the Department of Motor Vehicles or on a sequestered jury panel.”

  He produced a fake-wounded expression and clutched his heart. “Oh, that one hurt. Thanks for that ringing endorsement.” He chuckled again and plunked his coffee mug on the counter before making his way down the hall to his bedroom, turning to address her while walking backward, a devilish smirk on his handsome face as his eyes narrowed sexily. “At least you didn’t say staying here with me was better than prison or Hell.”

  Despite herself, she couldn’t help but laugh as he disappeared into the bedroom. The sound peeled from her easily. She loved the fact that she couldn’t dent his armor. The man let anything she threw his way roll off his back with a humorous comeback, along with a sexy lopsided grin thrown in. He was much easier going than she first pegged him to be.

  She glanced at the clock above the big stainless steel refrigerator and noticed it was close to noon. Her empty stomach also made her aware of that fact by growling loudly. All she had eaten yesterday was a croissant, a few leafs of lettuce at lunch with Emily, a fork full of wedding cake from Roman, and the few bites he’d also fed her at the wedding reception. She wilted from the tantalizing memory of how he’d so enticingly fed her, and the way he’d gazed into her eyes with those liquid tawny-brown eyes of his. Hot shivers of remembrance bolted through her as she thought back to the night before and how passionately sexy he could be without even trying. It was simply a part of who he was.

  She took a deep breath to clear her head and went over to his refrigerator, surprised at the amount of food inside. It was almost as if someone had stocked it full. She suspected he had outside help who cleaned and took care of grocery delivery. She took out a carton of eggs and a few other ingredients to make omelets, one of the few things she was good at preparing. From having watched him cook pasta the other night, she remembered where his pans and cooking supplies were. Within minutes she had two omelets almost complete, with mouthwatering hickory-smoked maple bacon sizzling in another pan.

  As she cooked, bits and pieces from the night before continued to flash in her mind, making her hands shake slightly from their intensity: Roman and the way he looked so proud and handsome as she walked toward him, the warmth of his hands holding hers while he slipped the gorgeous band of diamonds next to her engagement ring, how sensually he’d kissed her when the judge pronounced them husband and wife. And how he’d deepened the kiss despite the fact he didn’t have to.

  With unsteady hands, she slid the second omelet out of the pan and onto a plate, hearing his bedroom door open. A quick glance over her shoulder told her that he’d showered and changed into some casual clothes; dressed today in well-faded jeans and a half-zip sweater in a slate gray color. His hair was slightly damp, and it appeared he’d passed on shaving, opting instead for a scruffy devil-may-care look that definitely made him even sexier.

  She placed their food on the dining table next to the windows. “I made omelets. I hope you like yours with everything?”

  “Sounds great. Thanks for making breakfast. Everything smells delicious,” he said quietly. In a contemplative mood now, he looked down at the food and then back at her. “Before we eat, I need to say something.” He paused, looking almost unsure as he swallowed hard and shifted his feet. “Uh, about last night—I’m sorry for getting pissed at you on the plane and storming out of the cabin. I was being a jerk to you when you deserve so much more. Yeah, well, that’s what I wanted to say.”

  She hid a grin at his very uncomfortable expression and at the same time found herself melting inside. “Totally forgotten. Besides, it’s not every day a guy has to get married because he’s in trouble.”

  He barked out a strong laugh and helped her with her chair. “Guess I never thought of it in those terms before,” he admitted, seating himself across from her. She laughed with him and watched fascinated as he tied into his food like his life depended on it.

  “This omelet is great,” he remarked, smirking wickedly at her. “Little did I know when we married I was also getting an experienced cook in the deal.”

  “Well, you’d better enjoy your first married meal—it’s also your last married meal. I hate to inform you, but this is my whole cooking repertoire.”

  “Not to worry. I can do all the cooking during our marriage.”

  “Absolutely. Why do you think I agreed to marry you so quick?”

  He chuckled at their banter and seemed to be enjoying the fact they were snowed in together. They finished their meal with Roman refilling their coffee mugs and then clearing the plates from the table. She took her coffee and leisurely wandered around his apartment, looking at photos and collectibles while he loaded the dishwasher and put his kitchen in order. At the tall windows that lined one side of the loft, she watched the snow swirl and blow with unbridled force, and a thought came to her.

  “You didn’t go out running this morning in this blizzard, did you?” she asked as he joined her by the windows with coffee in hand.

  He looked down at her with a sheepish expression. “No, I didn’t go out running,” he echoed, taking a drink before continuing. “I went downstairs and took out my neighbor’s dog. Mrs. Holland is very old, and I guessed her usual dog walker wasn’t going to make it here today, so I took her dog, Pixi, out myself.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” she said tenderly, her heart softening. “What kind of dog does she have?”

  He eyed her over the rim of his coffee mug and took a big swig before answering. “One of those poodle things,” he finally confessed with extreme reluctance.

  Her body shook with laugher. Finally she couldn’t hold it in any longer. “A poodle? Weren’t you afraid of a tabloid taking a photo of you and ruining your macho image?” she teased, loving the way his face actually reddened under his swarthy skin.

  “Not in the least,” he protested, sounding very Latin. “I’m secure with my manhood.”

  “I’m sure you are,” she answered, still smiling. “So what do you want to do today?”

  “What are my options?”

  April saw the flicker of desire in his eyes, along with recognizing the suggestive tone in his husky voice, and knew exactly what he had on his mind, but she was determined to keep things between them neutrally amicable. Even if he is totally hot, and spending the day in bed with him is also on my mind? She looked up at him innocently, pushing her treacherous thoughts aside, and leaned closer to whisper, “Oh, I know exactly what we could do together. I’m dying to see your blueprints.” She savored the dejected look he gave her.

  “Blueprints?”

  “Yes. You know—plans for the hospital wing. ” She looked up at him with another naïve expression, well knowing he was disappointed. “Since I was the deal breaker, don’t you think I have the right to see the proposed plans? I’m interested, especially since I was the one who had to sacrifice myself for the addition to the hospital.”

  His dark eyes burn dangerously. “Of course, what else would a couple do on their honeymoon?” he grumped, giving in and walking over to his desk to open his laptop.

  In less than a minute he had the blueprints for the hospital on the computer screen while she observed over his shoulder. “These plans look amazing,” she murmured, thrilled at what she was seeing.

  He rose from his desk chair and held it out for her. “Have a seat. You’ll be able to see the screen better,” he urged, holding the chair for her as she gingerly took a seat.

  She looked at the screen but was instantly distracted as he leaned over her shoulder, firmly planting both hands on the desktop on either side of her. Patiently he talked her through the intricate and mind-boggling set of plans in a tough, husky voice that made her wilt.

  “Is your background in architecture or engineering?” she asked, wishing he would stop being so overly male all the time. Once again she was surrounded by him, assaulted by his warmth, male scent, and strength. If anyone had told
her that talking about plumbing and electrical wiring would turn her on, she would have thought them nuts. But coming from Roman Vasquez with his Latin drawl, it was as if he were taunting and teasing her, like foreplay with words. The man didn’t fight fair. She guessed he knew exactly what he was doing when he suggested she take the chair. Surround the enemy and make them—or in this case, her—break.

  “Both. I have degrees in each,” he stated. “I went to college first before joining the Navy and becoming a SEAL.”

  “What made you want to join the military?”

  He shrugged and mulled over her question. “I guess I felt like it was something I needed to do. I have no regrets. The military was the best decision I ever made.”

  “But why become a SEAL?”

  “Again, it was more of a calling than a decision on my part. Being a SEAL is who you are. I think inside we all knew beforehand that being a SEAL was in our future. It’s hard to explain, but there was no question in regards to what I wanted to do when I joined the Navy.”

  “How long were you in the Navy?”

  “Eight years.”

  “Do you miss it? Being a SEAL?”

  “Sometimes. I miss the guys in my team and the adrenaline rush of a mission and the feeling of making a difference. But by the time I was due to re-up, my father’s health was failing and I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could, so I left the Navy and moved back to Miami and decided to split my time between there and New York. At the same time I took over running the company.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re still making a difference.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled, obviously gun shy about accepting praise.

  She nodded and concentrated on the layout in front of her. “I have to say it looks as if you have a beautifully planned out wing. But I see a few things missing.”

  Normally so self-assured, he looked puzzled, obviously not comprehending he hadn’t taken care of every last detail. “And what do you think is missing, Mrs. Vasquez?” he questioned, his dark eyes connecting with her as she swiveled around in the desk chair to face him.