Made in Manhattan

In silent agreement they began walking again, wandering among the dirt paths, zigzagging from east to west, meandering farther uptown and then cutting back south again.

“I see why you like it here.”

She carefully hid her smile of triumph that her mission was thus far successful: finding a little corner of the city he didn’t loathe.

“You walk here every day?” he asked.

“No, not every day. And not usually this far. But I try to get here a few times a week. Coco loves it, and it’s a refreshing break from the car horns and subway rumbles.”

“I bet Toto would love it more if she didn’t have to wear that ugly sweater,” he said, jerking his head at the dog, who was zipping back and forth in front of them, inspecting every leaf, every mound of dirt.

“She likes her sweater!”

“No, Duchess. She doesn’t.” He took a deep breath. “You and Toto always come to the park alone?”

There was a slight emphasis on the last word.

“Usually. Sometimes I can coax Edith into getting a bit of fresh air.”

“What about romantic strolls with some stuffy suit?”

She looked over sharply.

“Ah,” he said with a laugh. “So there is a stuffy suit in the picture.”

“Keith is not stuffy.”

“And yet, Keith came to mind when I said the words stuffy suit. What’s the story there? I don’t see a ring.”

“I’m wearing gloves,” she pointed out.

“You weren’t the first day we met, and I didn’t see one then either.”

“You looked?” she asked.

He lifted an eyebrow. “You care?”

She sniffed and focused on Coco darting around in her little red-and-white-striped sweater, which she did too like. “We’re not engaged,” she said. “Just… sort of dating.”

“?‘Sort of dating,’?” Cain repeated mockingly. “Meaning, he’s screwing you when he feels like it but won’t commit?”

“Why do you always have to be like that?” she snapped. “Crude and rude and… awful.”

“Because it’s the fastest way to cut through your fake-ass bullshit,” he said impatiently. “Because it’s easier to read you when you look like this.”

He nodded downward, as though to indicate her current facial expression.

“And what,” she asked, coming to a stop and glaring at him, “do I look like?”

“Honestly?” he said, stepping toward her.

She nodded, though a bit warily.

Cain stepped even closer. “You look like a woman who hasn’t been properly fu—”

Without thinking, Violet’s hand flew up to his face, resting the tips of her fingers over his mouth. “Do not finish that sentence. I know it’s your favorite word, but you don’t get to say it to me. Especially not in that context.”

Neither of them moved, anger swirling around and between them as they faced off.

His lips parted, and she felt a puff of warm air against her fingertips that caused an immediate answering pull low in her stomach.

Dangerous.

She snatched her hand back as though he’d burned her.

“So the royal duchess has a pulse after all,” he said gruffly. More statement than apology.

She swallowed. “Keith and I have been together for years. I won’t have what he and I share belittled by someone I’ve known less than a week.”

Coco seemed to sense her owner’s agitation and trotted back to them, anxiously skittering around their ankles as they argued.

Cain continued to gaze at Violet with mocking eyes. “I think you’re more pissed at yourself than me, because you don’t know the answer to a simple question.”

“Was there a question? All I heard was you being a jerk.”

“Sure there was a question.” Cain moved closer, his thumb pressing at the very center of her chin, lifting her face upward. “Are you his girl? Or are you not?”

Violet let out a breathless laugh. “Am I his girl? What is this, 1912?”

“That’s not an answer.” He studied her closely. “Then again, maybe it is.”

“Make whatever assumptions you like. I’m nobody’s girl. Woman,” she added, hating how flustered she felt by the question.

“Damn shame, Duchess,” he said, stepping back and looking bored. “I’ve gotta say, the more I see of your life, the worse it looks.”

“You’re insufferable,” Violet muttered, pivoting away from him to end their standoff. Only Coco, for all her tiny size, had managed to tangle her leash around Violet’s ankles, and she stumbled slightly.

Cain’s hands came out to steady her, just as Coco did another agitated lap, looping the leash around his ankles as well, then ran off after a bird, the shortened tether bringing the dog up short and pulling the leash taut around their legs.

Violet tried to step out of the loop, as did Cain, which only tangled them further.

“Stop,” he commanded, and Violet froze, both from the firm tone in his voice and the feel of his palm pressing against her back. Even through her coat and sweater, she swore she could feel the heat of his hand and had the inexplicable urge to press closer.

Her heart beating harder than it should, she glanced up, and he stilled as their eyes locked, him looking as puzzled as Violet by the strange pull between them that had nothing to do with the leash.