Miracle On 5th Avenue (From Manhattan with Love 3)

“You don’t have a dog and I just spoke to Paige a few minutes ago. She asked me what I was wearing.”

“I guess she was trying to work out if I’d given you the dress.”

She twirled, throwing him a cheeky look over her shoulder. “So what do you think? Am I going to get lucky tonight?”

He looked past the dazzle of blue to the irrepressible smile. It was a sure thing. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to go home with her?

“I think it could happen.” And he felt a flicker of unease, because she was so willing and ready and open to love. She had no barriers, no fears, no filter.

Had he ever been that way? Maybe, before life had ripped at his hopes and sprinkled the remains around him like confetti.

“I expect you to introduce me to everyone you know. And if you’re going to score tonight yourself, you need to look extra handsome.” She stood on tiptoe and adjusted his bow tie, the soft scent of her perfume enveloping him. She smelled like summer, like a bunch of freshly picked flowers, like sunshine and long lazy days. He wanted to bury his hands in her hair and taste her mouth. And he didn’t want to stop there.

He could do it right now. He could take this thing to its natural conclusion and he was confident she’d be right there with him.

And then what? What happened afterward?

Heat rose inside him and he tried holding his breath, hoping that whatever she was doing to his bow tie, she’d get it done fast.

“I gave up ‘scoring’ in my teens.”

The backs of her fingers brushed against his throat. “I’m sure. But maybe that’s the first step forward for you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to take that step.” He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth. The lipstick she’d chosen was barely more than a shimmer, but it was enough to hold his attention. “Maybe I’m happy staying where I am.”

“Not an option, Blade. Now smile.”

“I’m going to a ball. Why would I smile?”

“Because your smile is sexier than your scowl, and for you, tonight is all about pulling women.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying that.”

“I’m your wingman. My job is to help you get the girl.” Her husky voice curled around his senses like wood smoke.

“I don’t want the girl, so I don’t need a wingman.”

“I know you’re scared, but I’m right here for you cheering you on.”

“I’m not scared. I’m uncomfortable, and that’s because I don’t like dressing up to make conversation with people who have no more interest in me than I do in them.” And because she was standing so close he couldn’t concentrate.

“You’re going to be fine, Lucas.” The kindness in her eyes took his breath away. His heart, frozen for what felt like a lifetime, started to beat.

“I’m the writer, not you. What does ‘fine’ even mean?”

“Before you continue with your insults, I should remind you that you had writer’s block until I came along.” She nudged him. “I’m going to find you a gorgeous blonde with a pretty smile who will make you forget your fears.”

“I’ve told you, I don’t have fears.” Hell, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want the emotions stirred up.

“Everyone has fears and some people are afraid of showing them, which in fact makes you doubly scared. You’re scared, and you’re scared of being scared. That’s a whole lot of scared.”

“Are you done psychoanalyzing me?”

“I’m just getting started. Why are men so afraid of admitting fear?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m not afraid. And blondes aren’t my type.” He kept his gaze away from her blond hair. “I prefer brunettes.”

“Then I’ll find you the perfect brunette.”