Moonstruck In Manhattan Part 14

Standing, Chelsea smiled at the woman and her two daughters. "Sorry we held you up."

SHE WAS AWAY from him in a flash. Although Zach found it difficult to run after her on skates, it got worse once both of his blades. .h.i.t the ice. Immediately, he began to wobble. Quickly, he grabbed for the nearby rail to steady himself, and by the time he did, he'd lost sight of Chelsea.

Fighting down a bubble of fear that had already formed in his stomach, he began to swear steadily and silently to himself as he scanned the skaters moving in a wide oval pattern around the rink.

No need to panic. She was on the rink. She would have to skate past him. All he had to do was wait. When he noticed how white his knuckles were on the hand gripping the rail, he concentrated on relaxing his fingers.

Then he spotted her at the far end of the rink, skating as if she didn't have a care in the world. His relief began to war with anger. At her, at himself. She was safe, he reminded himself. They were in a very public place. No one would try anything here. But nothing in the little lecture he was giving himself was having any effect on the urge he had to shake her.

Frowning, he watched the whirling dervish who'd been wowing the crowd skate alongside of her. He had to clamp down tight on his desire to go punch the guy in the face.

No one had ever gotten to him this way. He'd never allowed anyone to chip through the careful control he'd layered around himself. Not until Chelsea.

He'd made an absolute fool of himself at the museum. Not that he was sorry. That old man would think twice before he put his hands on another young woman. But Zach couldn't forget the fact that for the first time in his life, he'd actually seen red. Just thinking about it was enough to have the fury bubbling up again. If Sam hadn't been there, he might have done more than pin that old guy to the wall.

It wasn't just his temper that he seemed to lose control of whenever he was around Chelsea. Although that was troubling enough. The fact was he couldn't stop thinking about making love to her.

Lord knows, he'd tried. At his insistence, she'd spent the night in his apartment, but he'd put her in his guest room, not in his bed. He'd told her it was because he wanted her to get some sleep. And it was partly the truth. They wouldn't have gotten any sleep at all if she'd been in his bed. He'd told himself that he needed to keep some objectivity if he wanted to protect her. But he'd also wanted to prove to himself that he could keep some distance between them.

Well, he'd done that all right. All in all, it was a night that he could be proud of, he thought as disgust rolled around in his belly. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep and he'd hurt Chelsea. Not that she'd said anything to him. But she'd sensed his withdrawal and no doubt was viewing it as rejection.

"Great work, McDaniels," he muttered to himself as she sailed past without even a glance in his direction. Only the fact that Mr. Show-off was still at her side kept him at the railing. Close up, the young man looked harmless enough, a teenager out to impress an older woman-although, the kid might not realize that Chelsea was older. She looked like a teenager herself, whipping around the ice in that skirt. His gaze was on her skirt when it happened. Mr. Show-off went into a sudden spin and one of his skates caught the back of Chelsea's. She was pitching forward onto the ice when Zach pushed off from the railing.

To offset the fact that his feet immediately sailed out from under him, he lurched forward. Then just as he was about to topple face first into the ice, he jerked his body backward. In a last ditch attempt to find his equilibrium, he flailed his arms in huge circles. Even then, he might have achieved some kind of balance-if he hadn't been struck suddenly from behind. Seconds later he kissed the ice.

11.

THE NEXT THING Zach knew he was lying facedown with a huge weight pressing him into the ice.

"Zach, are you all right?"

Twisting around, he saw Chelsea's face first. He managed to take in one good breath before another face blocked hers out. This one was chubby and freckled, framed in a riot of red curls and grinning ear to ear.

"That was a great trick. Will you show me how to do it?" it asked and then burst into a fit of giggles.

"Who are you?" Zach asked as he lifted the owner of the face off of him. He figured the kid was about seven or eight.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," the kid said.

Zach sat up. "This is my friend Chelsea and I'm Zach."

"Hi. Here come my friends."

Zach turned in time to see a kid in a red jacket throw himself down on the ice and skid into his thigh. A blue-jacketed bullet came next, hitting him in the shoulder as a dynamo in black somersaulted over him.

"Joey, Sid and Carl," the redhead said. "I'm Marty."

"Zach," he said, shaking hands with each one, "and my friend Chelsea."

"We already know her," Marty said. "She's the skirt lady we saw at the TV station yesterday. We got her autograph."

As if on signal, another little boy slammed into her and she ended up sitting on the ice next to Zach. "Cub Scouts," she explained. "They were visiting the TV studio yesterday."

"Can I touch the skirt?" Marty asked, crawling across Zach.

"Sure."

At Chelsea's consent, the boy made a grab for the hem. "It's soft." Then lifting it to his nose, he began to sniff it. "It smells like flowers."

Immediately, three other little guys began to sniff the skirt.

"I'm beginning to think this skirt should come with a warning from the Surgeon General," Zach muttered as he pried the first one loose. "That's it guys. Cub Scouts don't sniff ladies' skirts."

"I'm so sorry," said the blond woman skating to a stop next to Chelsea. "I hope they're not bothering you. You were so nice to give them your autograph yesterday. Marty, let the nice lady..." Her voice trailed off as he gaze fell on Zach. "Oh, my heavens. You're the-" She turned to Chelsea. "It's him, isn't it? The hottie."

Making a quick pivot on the ice, she began to wave frantically. "Mary! Bethany! Come over here! It's him!"

CHELSEA SCRAMBLED to her feet, then found herself quickly edged aside by the two other women who had crossed the ice with the speed and focused determination of Olympic racers. Within seconds, they had admonished their sons not to race, had Zach on his feet and backed up against the railing, signing autographs.

When he sent her a pleading and desperate glance, she couldn't prevent a smile. He was sweet, she thought. There'd been a gentleness in the way he'd handled little Marty that she hadn't seen before. And he was being so patient with the women. As her gaze was held by his, a warmth moved through her that was totally different from the other feelings that he'd engendered in her.

It struck her then and she had to skate to the railing to keep herself from sitting right down on the ice.

She was in love with Zach McDaniels. Keeping a tight grip on the rail, she turned to stare at him. He was still scribbling on the notebooks the women were pus.h.i.+ng at him, but his eyes were on her. Could he tell what she was thinking, she wondered as a sliver of panic skipped up her spine.

Maybe it wasn't too late to nip this in the bud. Quickly, she tried to list the minuses in her mind-all the reasons why Zach McDaniels was the last person in the world she should be in love with. Topping the list was a biggie.

He was not in love with her.

Oh, he might want to have s.e.x with her, but it ended there. She tried to concentrate on this one inescapable fact, but the feelings swirling within her told her that she was sinking fast. That first spurt of panic had given way to something else-something that made her want to go into a spin on the ice that she might not come out of. It made her want to shout and even start singing.

That would clear the rink, she thought with a quick glance around. On the other hand, it would leave her alone with Zach. In her mind, she pictured them alone on the ice, skating toward each other, the music swelling.

The only thing wrong with the picture in her mind was that Zach wouldn't hang around very long-especially if she told him she was falling in love with him.

"I've got to hand it to you. You're one smooth operator."

Chelsea tore her gaze from Zach to find Hal Davidson, the political editor from Metropolitan, standing next to her on the ice. "What are you doing here?"

Hal waved a hand at his skates. "Same as you. The rink's open to the public. I just didn't think to invite the boss."

Chelsea studied him for a moment. His smile seemed genuine, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I didn't invite him," she said. "And it's not what you think. I'm doing research for my next article and Mr. McDaniels insisted on coming along."

"Mr. McDaniels? Surely, you're on a first-name basis with him by now-someone who works as quickly as you do."

In spite of the fact that she was in a public place and perfectly safe, Chelsea felt a sliver of anxiety skip up her spine. It didn't help one bit that Zach was still surrounded by the Cub Scout moms or that she couldn't see any sign of Sam Romano.

"He's usually more careful and more selective about the women he lets himself get involved with."

Chelsea could feel the heat flooding her cheeks, but she managed to keep her voice even. "Since we both came here to skate, I think that's what we should do."

He took her arm as she pushed past him, and he turned up the wattage on his smile. "Look, I didn't mean to insult you. We're two of a kind, you and me. Confidentially, I'm impressed that you convinced McDaniels to honor your contract. And getting yourself on Good Morning, New York was a brilliant move. At least I thought it was until yesterday afternoon. But it's backfired."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Hal frowned. "McDaniels didn't tell you about the bad news we got at the staff meeting yesterday? Three longtime advertisers have canceled their accounts with Metropolitan, and they cited your articles as the reason they're leaving. They don't approve of the direction the magazine is obviously going in. By Tuesday, other advertisers will be stumbling over each other trying to jump s.h.i.+p. It's only a matter of time-a very short amount of time-until your boss and perhaps the magazine will be history."

Chelsea lifted her chin. "I wouldn't count on it."

Hal's grip on her arm tightened. "Oh, but I am. And if you're smart, you'll count on it too. I have an offer from New York Now, and they want you, too. I told them I could get you. McDaniels should be more than happy to release you from your contract now that he knows those articles are going to be the cause of Metropolitan's demise. Think about it. You'll be in a much better bargaining position if you go to them before you're fired by the new editor-in-chief."

Before she could reply, Hal had turned and disappeared smoothly into the throng of skaters now circling the rink.

"Are you all right?"

This time Chelsea was surprised and relieved to find Sam at her elbow. "I'm fine. Better now that you're here. But I thought your plan was to stay off the ice."

"That changed once you got separated from McDaniels. That guy who just left-who was he?"

"Hal Davidson. He's the political editor at Metropolitan."

"Quite a coincidence that he'd turn up skating today, don't you think?" As Sam spoke, she followed Hal's progress as he left the rink and made his way to a bench.

"I don't think it was a coincidence at all." By the time she'd filled in Sam on the offer Hal had made her, Sam was on his cell phone, giving curt orders to someone. "Yeah, I want you to tail him. Let me know where he goes. And call the office, see what we've turned up on him so far."

"You don't think that Hal could be behind everything that's happened, do you?" Chelsea asked.

"I don't think anything yet," Sam said, pocketing his phone. "I learned a long time ago not to jump to any conclusions until all the evidence is in. Speaking of that, I'd like to get you off this rink. You must have gathered all the data you need here."

"So far, with all the interruptions, I've gotten squat."

Sam grinned at her. "You've got to be kidding. Men have been hitting on you since you first got on the ice. First you've got the twirling dervish guy spinning into the railing trying to impress you. Then comes the attack of the Cub Scouts."

Chelsea shook her head. "They're just kids. They saw me on TV yesterday and were fascinated because they think the skirt has special powers. Kids that age are into that kind of Merlin and magic stuff."

Sam threw back his head and laughed. "Sniffing lady's skirts is something guys are into at pretty much any age. From where I was standing, they had some of the smoothest moves I've seen."

Chelsea stared at him. "I never thought about it that way. Maybe I could use it-" She broke off when she saw Zach push his way past his last fan and start toward them. When he started to wobble almost immediately, Chelsea frowned. "He can't skate."

"Yeah. That's another reason I decided to join you on the ice," Sam said.

"Why on earth didn't he just say so? Why did he insist on coming out here with me?"

Sam shot her a glance. "The guy's batty over you."

Chelsea shook her head firmly. "No, he's not."

"Believe me, I saw it happen to my old partner. I know the signs. One of them is you start doing crazy-"

Chelsea never heard the rest of Sam's sentence because she had to get to Zach. Reaching him, she grabbed one of his flailing arms and drew it across her shoulders. "What were you thinking coming out here on the ice? You don't know how to skate."

"I do, too. My mother taught me right here on this rink. It's not something you forget. It's like riding a bike or typing."

Chelsea turned to him then. "How old were you when you learned?"

"Five. What difference does that make? I learned. I know how to skate. I'm just a little rusty."

"If you were only five, I'll bet your skates had double runners on them. That's why you're having trouble."

"What was Hal Davidson talking to you about?" Zach asked.

"I'll make you a deal," Chelsea said. "I'll tell you all about it while I give you a skating lesson."

"I don't need-" Zach began.

"It won't take any time at all. I started skating on runners, too. You just have to make a little transition to single blade skates." Grabbing his hand, she tugged him along. "Push off with your left foot, glide with your right. Then push with your right foot and glide with your left. That's it."

As they completed one full turn around the rink, she filled him in on Hal's offer and he wasn't even thinking about skating or what he was doing with his feet. He was just doing it.

"You've got it," she said. The words were barely out of her mouth when someone smacked into them. She held tight to Zach as the impact sent them both hurtling across the ice. Swerving to avoid other skaters, she was still struggling to keep them both balanced when someone slammed into them again. This time her skates flew out from under her. Her back hit the ice first, then her head. For a moment she lay staring upward watching stars mix with the whirl of snowflakes.

A shout had her rolling over and scrambling to her knees. She saw Sam lying on top of someone on the ice. And Zach was down, too. She could see him, sprawled on the ice, one arm outstretched. Not moving.

For a moment, her heart stopped and she couldn't move either.

Then he stirred, rolling over and levering himself up. She'd started to crawl toward him, had almost closed the distance, when she saw the blood staining the ice.

ZACH THREW his legs over the side of the hospital gurney the moment the doctor stepped out of the room. It had been four hours since they'd arrived at the hospital-four hours since he'd seen Chelsea. They'd wheeled her away first since she'd whacked her head against the ice. His sliced arm had been less of a priority once the bleeding had been stopped.

It was some consolation that the man who'd knifed him was in police custody. Sam had been in contact with the precinct where the man was being held. All he'd been able to find out so far was that the guy had a record. That was when the nurse had shooed Sam out of the room so the doctor could st.i.tch Zach's arm. Dropping to the floor, Zach put his good arm on the gurney to steady himself. He was halfway to the door when the pretty Asian doctor blocked his escape with a wheelchair.

"You can't leave without your limo," she said, waving her hand toward the chair.

If she'd been a man, he could have handled her. But the tiny woman in front of him had bullied and finally bribed him into getting his arm st.i.tched up, so he did not underestimate his opponent. "What did you find out about Chelsea Brockway?"

Her brows shot up. "She's a much better patient than you are."

Zach clamped down on a spurt of temper, only because he was sure it would only delay his escape. Instead, he managed a smile while he glanced at her name tag. Iris Tong. "Dr. Tong. Iris. We had a deal. You got to practice your needlework on my arm and now I intend to find out where you've taken Ms. Brockway." In his attempt to move past her, his elbow brushed the back of the wheelchair and in spite of the anesthetic, pain shot to his shoulder.