Manhandling

by Karen Anders

  “It sure was. He was an amazing musician. I couldn’t get enough of the Beatles when I was a kid. I once played ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand’ fifty times until my dad told me if I played that song one more time, he would break the CD in half. So I switched to ‘She Loves Me.’”

  Mac chuckled. “I was a Boss guy myself. Couldn’t get enough of Springsteen. Although I was sorry about Lennon. I didn’t discover the Beatles until I was eighteen, but I always thought John had the vision.”

  “He followed his dream and was always genuine. He never let anyone tell him who to be. My tastes run to Nine Inch Nails now.”

  Mac’s eyebrows rose. “Interesting band for a high-class girl from Manhattan.”

  Laurel smiled. “They rock.”

  “I bet your parents hated that you listed to alternative bands.”

  “My parents never knew. Do you think they would have let me keep those CDs? No way, my mother didn’t allow anything in the house with profanity in it. I would have been grounded for a month and everything in my room would have been scrutinized.”

  “Wow. That’s tough, Laurel.”

  She shrugged. “That’s the way they were. Strict and demanding, but I turned out pretty good.”

  He nudged her with his shoulder. “I’ll say.”

  The next stop on the tour was Shakespeare’s Garden, then Belvedere Castle and finally The Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir.

  As they stood on the shore of the reservoir looking out at the great expanse where their tour took a momentary rest, Laurel realized how much she’d revealed to him without really meaning to. It was much too easy to talk to this man. Yet, he was guarded about the details of his own life. Laurel knew that she should keep away from personal questions, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. They were from two different worlds and two very different philosophies. He seemed like he was a free spirit, yet he had a pocket PC. That incongruity in his personality tantalized her. Her curiosity got the better of her. Mac confused and bewildered her. “Do you skip out on work often?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You weren’t at the dealership on Tuesday. Your brother said that you didn’t show up for work. I thought it was odd because you said you had a busy day.”

  He frowned and Laurel wondered if she was stepping on sacred ground.

  “Keeping tabs on me, Laurel?”

  “No. I just found it odd. That’s all.”

  “What? You haven’t blown off work?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  Laurel shot him a disgruntled look at the sound of his disbelief. “No, unless I was too sick to go. Suddenly that seems so pathetic to me. Why haven’t I ever done that? Why hadn’t I taken one day and gone shoe shopping or taken a trip to the Statue of Liberty?”

  “You’re too responsible, Laurel. That’s why I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  Her mood totally broke and she laughed, just as he intended her to do. He was much too cute for her sanity. She shouldn’t allow herself to be amused by this rascal. She was a level-headed, practical sort of person, after all. But there was something about this side of Mac Hayes, something tempting, something conspiratorial. The gleam in his dark eyes pulled at her like a magnet. “And you’re not responsible?”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s that Tyler understands my moods and gives me space. I’m sure you don’t get that at your uptight corporate job.”

  “That seems so irresponsible though. I mean, the least you could do was call and let him know that you’re not going to show up.”

  “I need to do my own thing. Tyler’s cool.”

  It was one aspect of being with this kind of man that caused red flags. Laurel liked letting go once in a while, especially in bed, but when it came to living up to the responsibilities that came with a job and relationships, she wouldn’t skimp. It made her wonder if Mac had had any long-term relationships.

  She did have a grudging admiration for the way he did his own thing and didn’t worry about how the world viewed him. An innate confidence beamed out of his eyes until she felt soaked in it.

  “I did enjoy the day.”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  The tour guide called the short rest period over and they got on their bikes and made it back to where they had started.

  Mac grabbed Laurel’s hand and said, “Come with me. I have one more thing to show you.”

  They made their way into the park until they reached a small enclosure. Laurel gasped out loud with pleasure. “You’re taking me to the carousel right in the middle of Central Park. I love it.”

  “At the risk of tarnishing my reputation, I cautiously say, me, too. My parents brought us here a lot. They really enjoyed the park.”

  He pulled her up to the circular platform and helped her straddle one of the horses. After a few moments, the horse started moving up and down and the carousel began to spin.

  Laurel laughed out loud with a breathless anticipation as the ride started to go faster. She held on to the center pole. Her hair blew in the wind and it slapped her cheeks with massaging fingers.

  The sky started to darken outside and they dimmed the lights in the building.

  They rode the carousel until the manager called out, “last ride.”

  “Let’s sit this one out,” he said softly as he pulled her to one of the seats and dragged her down onto his lap. Her heels rested on the bench and she draped her arms around his neck.

  Looking down into his face, her heart fluttered and started to beat fast.

  There were times like this when she looked into his eyes and saw such depth, such charisma. At these times she wondered who he really was, devoid of the sexy clothes and the devil-may-care attitude. It seemed as if there was a different man there, one that she could love. Not just pretty packaging, but something so real that it would last forever.

  Too bad he wasn’t a forever kind of guy.

  His hold tightened as the carousel began to move. Everyone had gone on and taken their rambunctious kids with them leaving her and Mac alone, except for the operator.

  Refusing to analyze her conflicting emotions when they had no business being a part of her relationship with Mac, she tried to look away, but his soft words stopped her.

  “Don’t Laurel. I’m right here.”

  She swallowed. His dark blue eyes were open and gentle, and her reflection in the heated depths made her experience an out-of-body sensation.

  Her hands tightened in the soft leather jacket he wore. “I always feel this breathless anticipation around you. As if you’re my next breath.”

  He leaned forward, his mouth inches from hers, drawing on her desire like a silken cord that tightened with each pull of those mesmerizing eyes.

  He pressed his mouth to hers, and she groaned as she met those sensual lips. His hand cupped the back of her head and he took her mouth, open and hot. His silky tongue thrust deep and tangled with hers.

  She sunk into his embrace. The whirling of the carousel was nothing compared to the whirling of her senses from the taste and smell of Mac.

  In her opinion, the ride was too short. Laurel felt like she was walking on air instead of the concrete. She slipped her hand into Mac’s as they strolled together away from the carousel. Before long they were back at the curb and his bike. He released the helmets from the motorcycle and handed one to her.

  “Where are you going to take me next? I think I touched heaven on that carousel.”

  He smiled that devastating smile and said, “Dinner sound good to you?”

  She couldn’t believe that she’d only met him a week ago. It felt as if she’d known him all her life. He’d offered her a bit of lighthearted fun after a long week of work and worry over her mother’s memorial, a tempting escapade that spoke to a wilder, badder side of herself, which she had no idea she’d possessed until Mac brought it out in her.

  She grinned, welcoming the rush of excitement infusing her veins. “I’m famished. Riding t
he carousel takes a lot out of you.”

  “I know this great place you’ll love,” he promised. I have something for you,” he said as he opened the locked saddle bag on the back of the bike.

  He pulled out a leather jacket and Laurel squealed in delight. “Mac, you shouldn’t have done this, but I love it. The buckles and the chains are great.”

  He chuckled, pleased at her obvious pleasure. “I thought those would appeal to you.”

  He mounted the bike first and she climbed on behind, settling herself against him. He started the engine, and the whole bike rumbled to life, as did her nerve endings. Her pulse leaped, the vibrations arousing her body and tickling her already titillated senses.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist. She leaned into the solid muscular strength of his back, bringing them intimately close and snug, and locked her fingers over his taut abdomen. He revved the high-powered engine once more, and off they went.

  He drove along Broadway, taking her past the people-packed, sky-high center of New York City—Times Square. As many as one thousand people in an hour crossed the pedestrian island that sat between 45th and 46th Streets where Broadway and 7th Avenue intersected. Laurel craned her neck as the one-hundred-foot billboard flashed by. At night, the sights were incredible in the midst of the city, a mesmerizing combination of endless momentum and unstoppable light. Sitting on the back of the motorcycle, with the wind caressing her face, Laurel felt exhilarated, unrestrained, with a sense of freedom that had eluded her most of her life. She embraced the feeling, and Mac, and enjoyed the invigorating sensations rippling through her.

  Before long he was turning down the street that led to Pier 84 and the trendy Hell’s Kitchen area where there was an abundance of shops, art galleries, music and restaurants.

  He parked the motorcycle and helped her off. It took her a moment to regain her footing since her legs were shaking from the vibrations of the engine. She took off her helmet and ran her hands through her hair. Glancing at him, she couldn’t resist dragging her hands through his hair to tame it and to connect with him.

  His eyes softened and he cupped her cheek giving her a quick kiss.

  She glanced out at the pier as realization dawned. “I haven’t been here in a while. It sure has changed.”

  “I come here often,” he said as they walked across 46th Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues to find “Restaurant Row,” a block of eateries that catered to theatergoers. “The food is excellent and in the summer there are festivals.”

  He came here often? In the theater district? “I wouldn’t have thought that you would frequent their part of the city, let alone enjoy going to festivals,” she said.

  “Ah…well. What can I say, the food is good.”

  Puzzled at his hesitant answer and curious about the nervous look in his eye, she stopped on the sidewalk and said, “Are you worried that we’ll meet someone you know here, like a woman?”

  He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “No. I’m not worried about that, Laurel. It’s stereotypical to think that just because I ride a bike and fix motorcycles I’m a caveman when it comes to anything else.”

  She tipped her head, regarding him speculatively. “You’re absolutely right. That would be like you expecting me to know all about opera because I come from upper Manhattan. To tell you the truth, the quirks in your character only make you more appealing.”

  He dropped an impulsive kiss on her lips, which left her yearning for a deeper, longer embrace. “If I make another stupid comment like that,” she offered, “you have my permission to point out any of my many flaws.”

  “You do have this annoying habit…”

  “Hey,” she interrupted, punching his arm. “I said ‘if I make another comment.’”

  Mac chuckled.

  “Laurel? Is that you, my dear.”

  Laurel froze at the sound of Mrs. Foster’s voice. She turned toward the elderly woman and forced a smile.

  “Mrs. Foster. How are you?”

  “I’m very well. Thank you for your phone call today letting me know that the memorial for your dear mother has moved. The Met is such a fitting place to have it.” Mrs. Foster continued, “She was a fine woman and you are so like her. You must be proud of her accomplishments, Laurel. I’m sure there are big things in your future, as well.”

  Laurel’s stomach knotted and her palms got all clammy. She turned away and murmured a halfhearted agreement.

  “Let me introduce Mac Hayes to you, Mrs. Foster. Mac, Mrs. Foster is a patron of the Met. She served on the board years ago.”

  Mac soothed his hand down Laurel’s back at the same time he offered his hand to the elderly lady. “My pleasure.”

  “I’m sure, you young kids are off to a show, so I won’t keep you. I’ll see you at the auction, dear.”

  Laurel stood there for a moment watching the old woman walk down the street to meet up with a younger woman and a small child.

  “Laurel? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  “I am. Drop it, Mac.” That stupid reaction every time she met someone who knew her mother. It had to be related to the fact that it was coming up on a year since she’d died. She was missing her mother and being reminded of all that she had done in her life only made Laurel miss her more.

  He slung his arm around her shoulders. “Okay, slugger. What do you feel like eating?”

  They decided on an upscale Italian restaurant across the street from the pier. For an appetizer, Mac ordered stuffed mushroom caps. He took a drink of the Long Island iced tea he’d ordered and glanced at her. “Tell me about your bedroom furniture.”

  “What about it?” She sucked the stuffing out of the mushroom and then ate the tender vegetable.

  “It’s the only room in the house that’s decorated like that.”

  She swirled her swizzle stick in the creamy Toasted Almond, a wonderful concoction of cream, amaretto, and khalua. Picking up the last mushroom, she held it to his mouth. His warm lips sucked the morsel from her fingers. Her stomach clenched at the moist feel of his tongue against her sensitive fingers. “I like that type of furniture. It knocks the tenets of architecture on its ear and reinforces functionalism to the tenth degree.”

  Mac wiped his mouth on a napkin. They’d pretty much finished the appetizer, and a man came by and cleared their dishes. It wasn’t long afterward that the salad and then dinner arrived. “Functionalism?”

  Mac dived into his spaghetti and meatballs, while Laurel speared her ziti dish. After chewing her bite, she said, “Functionalism came about in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries that stripped architecture of all ornamentation so that a building’s structure plainly expressed its function or purpose.”

  “Like Jacques-Emile Rhulmann. Art deco?”

  “Yes,” Laurel said incredulously, “You’ve grasped my meaning exactly and I’m thoroughly impressed.”

  “You might want to stop there before I have to point out one of your flaws.”

  Laurel closed her mouth, realizing that she’d almost insulted his intelligence again.

  “That’s all interesting, but I didn’t ask you if you liked that type of furniture. I assumed that since your bedroom is decorated with it. I want to know why it’s different from the rest of the house.”

  She waited while the young woman cleared their dishes, and Mac took the liberty of ordering tiramisu in the round for them to share—clouds of light mascarpone cream on a coffee-and-rum-soaked sponge cake, sprinkled with imported cocoa.

  Once the waitress had moved on to fill their dessert order, Laurel said, “You’re coming dangerously close to asking me to reveal my secret, Mac.”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed, and his expression turned adamant. “Your secret would be safe with me.”

  The rough, edgy sound in his voice thrilled her. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “There’s nothing to fear from me. No pressure, no ties. He took her
hand in his and absently rubbed his thumb against her palm. “No expectations. Easy.”

  Without even thinking about her answer, she said, “That’s just what I’m looking for. Easy.”

  She tried to wrap her mind around Mac, but maybe she was thinking too much, and just as he said, she was grouping him into a category of guys instead of letting him be a three-dimensional man. True, he was a mechanic in his brother’s dealership, yet he’d taken her to the premier theater district and frequented the area often. But how could that be? Black leather and musical theatre didn’t seem to mesh.

  This dinner had to be costing him a pretty penny, but he ordered without worry and even much of a perusal of the menu. More like a cosmopolitan guy.

  “So you like art deco stuff. Like your mother?”

  Laurel shifted. “Yes. My house was covered in art deco when I was a child. She’d collected for years before she actually thought about donating all of it to the museum.”

  “The chair and the table that I pulled out of your SUV were also what you’d call art deco, too.”

  “Yes.”

  Their tiramisu was delivered, the bites tasty and delicious. When the waitress came with the check, Mac pulled out a credit card to pay.

  They left the restaurant and walked down the street toward his bike. “What now?” she asked. She didn’t want to assume that he would spend the night with her, but she hoped.

  “With a decadent meal like that, there’s only one other thing to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  His dark mesmerizing gaze captivated her. “More decadence, of course.”

  Desire began a slow burn inside her, and a hopeful grin spread across her face. “I’ve always been fond of the word debauchery.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  8

  Your choice of aphrodisiac would be:

  a. chocolate

  b. oysters

  c. champagne and strawberries

  d. apple pie

  —Excerpt from Who’s Your Hottie? quiz,

  SPICE magazine

  THAT’S WHAT LAUREL liked so much about Mac—his unpredictability. When it came to Mac, it was so easy to understand why she found him so tempting, so absolutely charming. He didn’t take her home. Instead, he drove them back to his apartment.