“You went out with Archer.”
“Only because I was angry at you.”
“Well, that’s certainly reassuring,” Jake said, his words ripe with sarcasm. “You don’t go out with men but you went out with this one because you were mad at me. That’s a heck a way to pick a date, isn’t it?”
“I just told you, I don’t have dates!”
“Then, what were you doing with GOTHAM magazine?”
“Reading it,” she said sharply. “You do understand the concept, don’t you?”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t try and play smart with me, Miss Taylor. You know damn well what I’m talking about.” He reached past her, snatched the magazine from the wastebasket and waved it in front of her. “You were in the process leaving your name and phone number at the local loony bin when I stopped you!”
“The local...” Emily laughed. “You’re being ridiculous,” said and started past him, but Jake snagged her by the elbow.
“Ridiculous? When hardly a day goes by there isn’t something in the paper about a woman getting robbed, raped and murdered? When this city’s full of perverts?”
“Let go of me.”
“You want to be a statistic? You want the cops to call me and ask me to come identify the body?”
“You’re not just being ridiculous, Mr. McBride. You’re stark-raving mad.”
Hell. Maybe he was. She wanted to go out with the reincarnation of Vlad the Impaler, was it his business? No, it was not.
“Okay, then.” Jake took his hand from her arm with deliberate exaggeration. “Answer the Personals. Pick up guys on street corners, for all I care.”
“Thank you. It’s good to know I have your permission.”
“Go out with guys you just met because you’re pissed off at me.”
“An excellent idea,” Emily said, eyes flashing as she tried to step past him.
“Date any Tom, Dick or Harry who comes up to you on the subway and says ‘Hi, honey, how about a movie?”‘
“I would never,” she said icily, “accept a date from a man I didn’t know.”
“Except for last night,” Jake snarled.
“Except for last night... but then, why would I assume that my boss would introduce me to an octopus?”
“Is that what he was?” Jake’s eyes glittered. He took hold of Emily’s shoulders and propelled her backwards. “What did that son of a bitch do to you? Tell me. I’ll hunt him down and beat the crap out of him.”
“I told you, he didn’t do anything. And I don’t need a protector!”
“You’re right.” He slapped his hands on either side of her, palms flat against the wall. “What you need is a keeper.”
He was only inches from her, so close that he could see a tiny muscle just beside her mouth. It was moving in time with her heartbeat, fast and furious, and he wondered what would happen if he put his lips against it, if he’d somehow absorb the race of her blood into his.
“Jake,” she said, in a low voice.
His eyes went to hers. She was looking at him as if she’d never seen him before and maybe she hadn’t. He felt like a stranger in his own body, a man wanting to do things he knew were crazy.
This was his assistant. This was Emily Taylor, she of the efficient brain and unremarkable body. Except, he knew that body wasn’t unremarkable at all. He wanted to prove that to her, to put his hands into her hair, pull it free of the clip and let it spill like dark silk through his fingers. He wanted to unbutton her coat, lift her skirt, seek out her heat.
Most of all, more than any of that, he wanted to kiss her again.
“Emily,” he said huskily, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Emily...”
She moved fast, ducked under his arm and reached for the doorknob. But Jake was quicker. He grabbed her arm and swung her around.
“Look,” he said, in what he hoped was a tone of reason, “try and see this from my angle, okay? I, ah, I feel some responsibility for you, Emily. You work for me. You don’t have any family in the city.”
“How do you know that?”
Because he’d pulled out her job application again and read it thoroughly, that was why. All of a sudden, he’d wanted to know her age, her marital status, as much as he could find out about her. It was perfectly logical, too. A man had to research his subject before he could play matchmaker.
“You told me so, when you applied here. You said you were from Rochester. Right?”
“Right,” she said, a little grudgingly. “But that doesn’t mean—”