New York, Actually: A sparkling romantic comedy from the bestselling Queen of Romance
“Only when no is the answer I want. And in this case it wasn’t.”
Laughter drifted across to them and she glanced up and saw a woman in a long white bridal dress embracing a man in a suit while a photographer snapped away. The couple staged a few intimate embraces and Molly wished they’d picked a different place for their photos. The scene made her feel awkward. It didn’t feel as if it was something she should be witnessing, especially not with a stranger.
“Never understood the point of that.” Daniel stretched out his legs, as relaxed as she was tense. “Staged photos. As if they need to make a public statement about how happy they are.”
“Maybe they are happy.”
“Maybe.” He turned his head to look at her. “You believe in Happy Ever After?”
There was something about the intensity of that gaze that made it hard to remember what she believed about anything.
“Of course.” She believed in it for other people, just not for herself. Happy Ever After Together was her goal for other people. Her own goal was Happy By Herself. And she was doing well with that. “I guess it’s a good time of year for wedding photos. The blossom is pretty.”
“Let’s hope they don’t look back on those photos in five years’ time and think, ‘what the hell were we thinking?’”
It was exactly the sort of remark she might have made herself, except in her case she would have also been wondering how they met and what they had in common. Would it last?
“I gather you’re not married.” She took a sip of her tea, thinking that a man like him, who probably had the pick of women, was unlikely to tie himself to just one.
“I’m not married. How about you? Have you left some guy sated and exhausted in the bedroom?”
“Ten guys. There’s a chance they may never recover. If they’re still there when I get home, I’m calling an ambulance.”
He laughed. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that about you. If you’re ever looking for one guy to replace the ten, you know where I am.”
“You have the stamina of ten?”
“Want to test it out?”
“Not right now.” This was the type of exchange she was comfortable with. The type that went nowhere and was all superficial. And he was good at it. Good at that breathless, heady flirtation that was as light as a butterfly and just as unlikely to linger in one spot. “How about you? Do you have ten women waiting at home?”
“I hope not. I’m pretty sure I locked the door.”
He was so outrageous it was impossible not to laugh, too.
“You don’t believe in marriage?” The moment the question left her mouth, she regretted it. She wished she had picked an impersonal topic, like the unpredictable weather, or the sudden rush of tourists crowding the New York streets. Anything other than the intimate topic of relationships. Now he’d think she was invested in the answer, and then he’d wonder if, for her, this was more than a cup of tea on a park bench on a sunny spring morning.
“I’ve taken a lot of risks in my life—parachute jumping, BASE jumping—never marriage.” His tone suggested that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.
“You see marriage as a risk?”
“Of course it’s a risk. If you find the right person, I’m sure marriage is great. But finding the right person—” he shrugged “—that’s the hard part. Easier to get it wrong than get it right. How about you?”
The dogs chased each other back to the bench and Daniel leaned forward to make a fuss over Brutus. She saw his shirt pull tight over his shoulders, molding to powerful muscle.
“Never.” She watched as he picked up one of the other cups and took a sip. “Who is the fourth cup for?”
“Me.”
“You bought yourself two drinks? You have a problem with decision making?”
“No. I have a problem with staying awake when I work until two in the morning. As I said, it’s my drug of choice. I need two coffees in the morning. These are my two coffees. So what do you do, Molly? No—let me guess. Your dog is well trained and you’re clearly a strict disciplinarian so you could be a teacher, but I sense that you’re not. I think whatever it is you do, you’re your own boss. You’re clearly smart, so I figure you have your own business. You work from home, maybe? Somewhere close to here. Writer? Journalist? Am I right?”
“To a point.” She felt herself instinctively retreat. She reminded herself that she worked under a pseudonym. It was like sliding on a disguise. “I do some writing as part of my job, but I’m not a journalist.”
“What do you write? Or are you going to make me guess? Is it dirty? If so, I definitely want to read it.”
She knew enough about human nature to know that not telling him would simply make the subject more interesting. “I’m a psychologist.”
“So you’re analyzing my behavior.” He lowered his cup. “I don’t mind admitting that’s a little unsettling. And now I’m going back over our conversation trying to remember what I said. On the other hand you’re still sitting here so it couldn’t have been anything too bad.”
She was still sitting here, and no one was more surprised about that than she was.
“Maybe I’m still sitting here because I think you’re a lost cause who needs help.”
He nodded. “I’m definitely that.” He watched as Brutus and Valentine played a rough game that involved rolling on the grass. “So are you going to take me on?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said I need help. It’s only fair to give me that help. If you want me to come and lie on your couch, that works for me.”
“You wouldn’t fit on my couch. How tall are you? Six-two?”
“Six-three.”
“Like I said. Too big.” In fact he was too everything. Too handsome. Too charming. Too much of a threat to her equilibrium.
As if to confirm that, he smiled at her. Might as well have turned a blowtorch on to ice, she thought, feeling herself melt. “It won’t make a difference if you smile at me. You still won’t fit on my couch.”
“You don’t need to worry.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I promise to be gentle with you.”
“Oh please—did you really say that?” Because her hand shook, she sloshed tea over her leggings. “Ow!” She sprang to her feet and his smile turned to concern.
“Take them off.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m serious. Basic first aid for burns. The fabric will carry on burning your leg.”
“I am not removing my pants in the park.” But she tugged the Lycra away from her skin and sure enough the burning eased.
“I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely contrite.
“Why are you sorry?” She grabbed a handful of napkins and pressed them against her thigh. “I was the one who spilled my tea.”
“But only because I made you nervous.” His voice was soft, his gaze intimate, as if they’d shared something personal.
“You didn’t make me nervous,” she lied. “I’m not used to sexual innuendo this early in the morning. Or men like you. You’re—”
“Cute? Irresistible? Interesting?”
“I was thinking more of annoying, predictable and inappropriate.”
His smile promised fun and sin and a thousand things she didn’t dare think about while she had hot tea in her hand.
“I made you nervous. And flustered. And if I were to analyze you, I’d say you’re a woman who hates to feel either of those things.”
Flustered? Oh yes, she was flustered. Being close to him made her feel light-headed and dizzy. She was agonizingly aware of every single detail, from the dark masculinity of his unshaven jaw, to the wicked glint in his eyes. But beneath the humor was a sharp eye for detail, and that worried her more than anything.
She had a feeling he saw far more than people usually did.
It was like hiding in a cupboard and knowing that someone was right outside the door waiting for you to reveal yourself.
And that was closer than she ever let anyone step.
“Thanks for the tea.” She threw the cup away and reached for Valentine’s lead.
“Wait.” He reached out and caught her hand. “Don’t go.”
“I have to work.” It was true, although that wasn’t why she was leaving. She knew it. He knew it. Conversation, a light flirtation—that was all fine. She didn’t want more. “Goodbye, Daniel. Have a great day.” She whistled to Valentine, put him back on his lead and took off through the park without looking back.
Tomorrow she was going to take a different route.
There was no way she was going to risk bumping into him again.
No way.
Four
He didn’t have a great day. He had a frustrating, long and tiring day during which Molly kept popping up in his thoughts. He wondered where she went after she’d run in the park. He wondered who her friends were and what sort of life she led. He had a million questions about her, and very few answers.
Most of all he wondered what he’d said to make her run off.
He’d enjoyed the snap and spark of the conversation, the flirtation. It was the verbal equivalent of waterskiing— speeding and bouncing over the surface, but never delving into the deeper, murky waters below. It suited him fine, because he had no interest in going deeper.
He guessed she was the same.
He knew from the look on her face that she had issues. He’d seen that same look across his desk more times than he could count and he recognized the shadows of hurt. It didn’t worry him. He’d never met a human being over the age of twenty who didn’t have some issues. That was what being alive did for you. If you engaged in life, eventually you’d have scars to show for it.
He wondered who was responsible for Molly’s scars.
It was that urge to know more that drew him back to the park the next morning, with Brutus tugging at his lead. It didn’t occur to him that she might not show up. For a start she had to walk Valentine, and something told him she wasn’t going to change her habits in order to avoid him, so he took the usual path, Brutus by his side.
Without Valentine to keep him in line there was a strong chance the dog wasn’t going to come back, so he kept him on the lead. He’d even yelled “Ruffles” once to see if that made a difference but all that had done was confirm what Daniel already suspected, that the dog didn’t have a problem recognizing his name. He had a problem recognizing authority.
As someone who had grown up challenging and questioning, Daniel empathized.
He was hauling the dog’s nose out of a muddy puddle when Valentine appeared.
There was no sign of Molly.
“Where is she?” Daniel stooped to pat the Dalmatian. He was no expert, but even he could see that Valentine was a beautiful dog. And that heart-shaped nose was pretty cute. “Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. I need a heart-shaped nose to win her over.”
He was wondering whether he should hold on to the dog or let him go, when Molly appeared, out of breath and annoyed.
“Valentine!” She reached them and frowned at the dog. “What did you think you were doing?”
Valentine wagged his tail hard.
It seemed to Daniel that whatever the dog had thought he was doing, he’d done it.
He guessed Molly hadn’t intended to walk this way today, but what the hell. She was here. That was all that mattered.
Today she was wearing a pair of running leggings that clung to her body in a swirl of purple and black. Her sleek dark ponytail curved like a question mark over her back.
Daniel unclipped Brutus’s lead and he sprinted off with Valentine. “Whenever I let him off the lead, I worry that might be the last I see of him. I only let him off when Valentine is here.”
“Valentine never usually runs off.” She frowned after the dog. “I don’t understand it.”
“I guess he wanted to play with his best friend. Look how happy they are.” He gambled on the fact that seeing her dog so content would stop her leaving and judging from her smile, he was right. She’d decided to forgive the dog for his transgression. “So how do you persuade a dog to come back when you call?”
“Training.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then you’re in trouble.”
He loved the way her eyes lit up. He loved the tiny dimple that flickered at the corner of her mouth. He loved the way her hair whipped across her back when she ran. He loved the way she ran like she owned the park. He loved the way she loved her dog—
He was definitely in trouble.
“Are you in the mood for an Earl Grey tea? Say the word.” He couldn’t believe he was suggesting tea when what he really wanted was champagne, moonlight and her naked.
“What’s the word? Please?”
“Fetch.”
The smile turned into a laugh. “You ‘fetched’ last time. It’s my turn.”
He liked the way that sounded, as if this was something regular that was going to happen again. “But then I’d have to watch the dogs, and you’re the responsible adult.”
“You’re not responsible?”
He looked at her mouth. “I’ve been known to be irresponsible once in a while.”
* * *
Molly sat on the bench, watching the dogs play. Irresponsible? Irresponsible was her sitting here waiting for him to come back instead of finishing her run and going home.
She’d started the day being responsible. She’d taken a different route on her run, but Valentine had protested. He’d sprinted away and for the first time ever had refused to come back when she’d called him. And now she was here again, on their bench, waiting for Daniel.
It was still superficial, she reminded herself. It was everything light and fun.
A heart couldn’t break if it wasn’t engaged.
“Tell me about him,” she said to Brutus, but he was too busy trying to bite Valentine’s ear to pay any attention.
Daniel returned as Brutus was tangling himself with Valentine. “I don’t suppose you specialize in dog psychology? My dog needs help.”
She took the tea from him, careful not to touch his fingers. “I’m better at understanding human behavior.”
“Behavioral psychology? That’s what you do?”
“Yes.” She saw no reason not to be honest about that.
“And do you prefer good behavior or bad behavior?” His smoky voice slid under her skin. She sensed this man could deliver a hefty dose of bad when it suited him, probably another thing that made him a magnet for women.
“Most people are a mixture of both. I observe. I don’t judge.”
“Everyone judges.” He took another mouthful of coffee. “So what does a behavioral psychologist do? Do you ever advise on relationships?”
“Yes.”
He lowered the cup. “So if you’re a psychologist, and you’ve studied this stuff, all your relationships must be perfect.”
She almost laughed, but knowing it would be a hysterical sound she held it back.
It was surprising how many people assumed her relationships would be perfect. It was like expecting a doctor never to get sick.
“You’re right. My relationships are all totally perfect.”
“You’re lying. No one’s relationship is perfect.” He glanced from her to Valentine. “And you’re here in the park every morning with your dog, which tells me he’s your most meaningful relationship.”
The conversation had somehow edged into the personal and she instinctively backed away. “I agree that no one’s relationships are perfect. The best you can do is make them perfect for you.”
He stretched out his legs, relaxed and comfortable. “Perfect, for me, would be short. I don’t like to get involved past a certain point. Judging by the way you react, I’m guessing you’re the same.”
He guessed correctly. And she couldn’t help being curious.
“You’re afraid of intimacy?” Why was she even having this conversation? What was wrong with her? She should be drinking her tea and leaving.
“I’m not afraid of intimacy. It’s more that I don’t have time for the demands that come with intimacy. My job is pretty all-consuming and in the time I have to myself, I don’t want complications.”
“That’s common among people with avoidance issues.”
“You think I have avoidance issues?”
“Love avoidance.” She noticed Valentine nosing something in the grass and stood up to pull him away from it. “People who avoid intimacy often do so because they’re afraid of being hurt. It’s a self-protection mechanism. Typically those in avoidance relationships don’t introduce their partner to friends and relatives because they don’t think the relationship will last long enough. They use a variety of distancing techniques. And it isn’t really about the current relationship, but about what has happened in the past. Often the roots of the problem are established in childhood. They are often people who didn’t establish a proper parent-child dynamic and healthy bonding.”
“My childhood wasn’t what you might call nurturing, but I put that behind me a long time ago. If you’re wondering about the origin of my views on relationships, I can assure you it has nothing to do with my parents. I’m not the sort of person who believes in carrying the past into the future.”
“Everyone carries at least a little of their past.”
“So what are you carrying?”
She’d walked right into that. “We were talking about you.”
“But now I’d like to talk about you. Or do you always deflect conversation when it becomes personal?”
“I don’t deflect.” She sighed. “All right, maybe I do. Sometimes. You asked me if my dog is my most meaningful relationship. The answer is yes, right now he is. I’m enjoying the simplicity of my life.”
“So are you avoiding intimacy?” He mimicked her question and she gave a reluctant laugh.
“Definitely. And I’ve never been happier.”
“So if we carry on seeing each other, are you going to be analyzing my every move?”
“We’re not going to carry on seeing each other. We’re having a conversation in the park, that’s all.”
“You already know me better than the last three women I dated, and you’re telling me that’s it?” He was smiling, and it was the smile that proved her downfall. That and a late night updating Ask a Girl, which had left her tired and lowered her defenses.
Sleep deprivation had a lot to answer for.
She sipped her tea, almost spilling the last of it as Brutus nudged her leg.
“Sit.” Daniel gave the dog a severe look. “This animal is out of control.”
“He needs to know who is boss.”
“He thinks he’s the boss. It’s a problem we’re addressing.”
“Brutus!” Molly said his name firmly but the dog didn’t even turn his head. “Maybe it’s not a behavioral problem. Is there something wrong with his hearing?”
“Not to my knowledge. Why?”
“Because he doesn’t seem to know his own name. It’s unusual for a dog to ignore his name, even if he ignores the command that goes with it. Hey—Brutus.” She pulled a dog treat out of her pocket and the dog’s head turned like a whip. “You know your name when there’s food involved. Why doesn’t that surprise me? How long have you had him?”
“Not long. How long have you had Valentine?”
“Three years.”
“Is that when you moved to New York?”
Molly reminded herself that thousands of people moved to New York every day. He wasn’t likely to take her picture and do an image search. “Yes.”
“What brought you to the US?”
Romantic disasters.
Professional and personal humiliation.
She could have given him a list.
“Career advancement. And I have family here. My dad is American. Born in Connecticut.”
“Career? For a moment I wondered if it was heartbreak.” He studied her face. “So do you think you’ll go back at some point?”
“No.” She kept her smile in place and her tone light. “I love New York City. I love my job, my apartment and my dog. Going back doesn’t interest me.”
“How about dinner?” Daniel reached down and stroked Valentine’s head. “Does that interest you?”
Molly watched, transfixed, as those long, strong fingers caressed her dog. Her pulse sped forward. Her insides tumbled and turned. And still she stared at those hands, watching as he seduced her dog with easy, comfortable strokes.
He’d asked her something. What was it? Why was it so hard to concentrate around him?
Dinner. That was it. Dinner. “You’re asking me to dinner?”
“Why not? You’re good company. I’d like to buy you something other than Earl Grey tea.”
There had been a time when she would have been tempted. She certainly would have been flattered. What woman wouldn’t? But that time had passed.
“I’m pretty busy right now.” She sprang to her feet, clumsy in her haste, and stepped on Valentine’s foot. He gave an outraged yelp and leaped away. “Sorry.” Racked by guilt, she stooped and kissed his head. “Sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?” Valentine wagged his tail, endlessly forgiving. “I should go.” She was aware that Daniel was watching her, his blue gaze speculative and a touch amused.
“I’m assuming you don’t have a fatal allergy to food, so I’m going to take that personally.”
“I don’t date guys I meet in the park.”
“How is it different from dating a guy you meet in a bar?”
“I don’t date them either.”
He finished his drink and rose, too. He was more than a head taller than her, his shoulders wide and powerful. His hair gleamed in the early morning sunshine. “What are you afraid of?”
“I turn you down and you assume I’m afraid? Isn’t that a little arrogant? Maybe I simply don’t want to have dinner with you.”
“Maybe. But then there’s the alternative possibility. That you do want to have dinner with me, and that is freaking you out.” Brutus nudged his leg, hopeful of another game, but Daniel kept his gaze fixed on Molly.
Awareness seeped through her skin and sank deep. “I’m not freaked out.”
“Good. Do you know the little French bistro two blocks from here? I’ll meet you there at eight. It’s a public place, so that should satisfy your ‘is he a stalker or a serial killer’ worries.”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is salsa dancing.”
“Salsa dancing?”
“I go Tuesday and Friday nights whenever I’m free.”
“Who do you dance with?”
“Anyone. Everyone. It’s pretty casual.” And hot, sweaty, sexy and fun. Harmless fun. Nothing deep. Nothing serious. Nothing that made her feel the way she felt when she was with Daniel.
“So you’re happy to dance with strangers, but you won’t have dinner with one. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is Wednesday.”
“And Wednesday is…? Tango?”
“Wednesday is Italian cooking class.”
“You’re learning Italian cooking?”
“I started recently. I want to make tortellini as well as my neighbor. If you’d tasted his tortellini, you’d understand.”
“Thursday?”
“Thursday is spin class.”
“I never understood the point of cycling hard to get nowhere. Saturday? Don’t tell me—Saturday is quilting.” The paths around them teemed with joggers, walkers and people pushing strollers, but they were focused on each other.
“Saturday I keep free. I usually meet up with friends.”
“Great. Eight o’clock Saturday it is. If you don’t want to meet me in a restaurant, you can cook. I’ll bring the champagne.” He was comfortable and relaxed, whereas she felt as if she was floundering in the deep end of a large swimming pool.
“If you want to eat dinner with me you can join me at Italian cooking class.”
He shook his head regretfully. “Italian cooking is Wednesday, and Wednesday is poker night.”
“You play poker? Of course you do.”
“Why ‘of course’?”
“Ruthless killer instinct combined with the ability to mask your emotions. I bet you’re good.”
“I’m good.” There was a devil in his eyes. “Want to find out how good?”
Her mouth dried. If he was flirting, she was going to ignore it. “I don’t play poker.”
His smile widened but he let it go. “It’s mostly an excuse to catch up with friends and drink alcoholic substances. I’m not that competitive.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment.”