When Staci Takes Charge (Leave Your Shoes On 2)

Evan polished off the veal chop while she finished the duck. They sipped wine in silence. The fire snapped, the flames flickered. The snow kept falling.

He stared at her the whole time he worked out his internal debate.

Then he set his glass aside and said, “If we can possibly devise some way to spare your feet in any capacity so that you’re able to continue wearing the shoes that you love—until it becomes impractical to do so,” he added as a caveat, “then it’s absolutely worth helping you.”

“It’s not just me, Evan.”

“I understand that. And I appreciate the sensitivity you have toward your customers’ podiatric health and care. But at the very top of my list of high-heel-wearing patients is you.”

Warmth flooded Staci’s veins. Not in a million years would she have ever imagined that Dr. Evan Hart would be so compassionate toward her. Nor would she have guessed that everything about the man—even when he tried her nerves—could permeate her insides so that she was consumed by him. Addicted to him.

In desperate need of him—in more ways than one.

This most definitely was not just about shoes.

Perhaps she’d known that from the moment he’d steadied her when she’d run into him in the hallway at Mount Sinai—as the podiatric surgeon, not the hotter-than-hell man who’d fucked her on his sofa. Certainly when he’d nearly kissed her in his office. She’d just been in denial the rest of the afternoon, when she’d tried to keep the upper hand as it related to her goal.

But then he’d walked into the bar, looking so damn sexy it was a wonder she could concentrate on what Jean was saying to her.

And now here Evan was, playing knight in shining armor first and foremost to her—but also to her customers.

How could she not adore the man even more?

When Jean returned they raved about the food, but Staci was stuffed to the gills and Evan confessed to the same. So Jean packed up a sample of six crèmes brûlées and a bottle of Taittinger and handed over the bag to Evan.

“Take this someplace romantic and enjoy it,” Jean told them.

Staci gave her friend a big hug. “You’re the best.”

“Come see me again. Soon,” he insisted.

“I promise,” she said, then left the restaurant with Evan. The snow continued to fall.

He said, “I have a car service.”

“And I’m a phone call away from a limo ride back to the Plaza.”

“Ah, the Plaza. You do enjoy your luxuries.”

“So do you.”

He nodded. Then said, “Since neither one of us is driving and I’m not working in the morning, popping open this bottle of champagne isn’t such a bad idea.”

“It’s a fantastic idea,” she said, heat flaring in her belly. “Come back to the Plaza with me.”

“I was going to invite you to my apartment.”

She leaned in close, her lips brushing his. Against them, she said, “I have an expensive suite. Let’s make good use of it.”

He groaned in a titillating way that went straight to her pussy. Then he said, “Jean Marquis was right. It really is impossible to say ‘no’ to you.”

“Then stop trying.”

“Come on,” he said as he took her arm and held her steady once again, this time so she didn’t slip in the snow. And likely because she still had a really nice buzz from the wine. “Small steps. We’ll walk off this food on our way to the Plaza.”

“I really do like it when you cross over to my side.”

“Resistance is futile,” he joked.