“Hello, Nick.” Two simple words, but somehow full of accusation.
He smiled over at her. “Marianne.”#p#分页标题#e#
All shapely legs and loaded tone, she stood on the edge of the cobblestone, clutching a cardboard box, blinking like an owl behind those ubiquitous glasses. A glance at the box told him it was overstuffed to the point of bursting with books. The only books he owned were law books and the thrillers his sister gave him every Christmas. Not a book guy. He reached for the box, but she tightened her grip as if the damn thing contained the secrets of the universe. He peered over the top of the cardboard. Romance novels and a Kindle, probably full of ’em. So Little Miss Cardigan had a romantic side.
“Let me help you.” He shot her a smile meant to charm and pried the box from her grip.
She gave him a wary look, turned to grab another box from the front seat, and swiveled to close the door with the rounded edge of her hip. Her prim skirt rode a little higher on her thighs, and Nick dragged in a breath. Man, like being kicked in the solar plexus. He shook off his reaction a second time. Funny how he’d never been taken in by her rockin’ curves before today. Probably had something to do with the tied-back hairstyle and the stressed-out attitude.
“Are you coming?” she asked over her shoulder, her tone clipped as she marched toward the front door. Right on cue—all uptight and inflexible.
Nick hefted the moving box onto his shoulder and followed his brand-new fiancée into the marble lobby. Six weeks, six survivable weeks. This partnership better be worth it, he thought, striding behind her. At least her swaying hips in that librarian-style skirt were a side benefit.
Behind the desk, his doorman gave him a knowing smile. “I hear love caught up with ya, huh, Mr. Wright?” Max said, hustling over to hold the door open, “Congratulations,” he offered with a nod toward Marianne. “She’s a real cutie.”
A real cutie. Even his doorman knew the librarian wasn’t his type.
“Thanks, Max,” he said, his voice full of affection for the man. “Keep an eye on her for me. Don’t let her get into any trouble.”
“You can count on me, sir.”
Nick glanced over at her, standing by the elevator, all buttoned-up in her cardigan, unlikely to indulge in any kind of trouble, certainly not the fun kind. From the corner of his eye, he saw Max behind the desk, still smiling, and a twinge of guilt twisted in Nick’s chest. Why did he have to be such an asshole? If not for Marianne, he’d be a man without a fiancée, a man without a shot in hell of scoring his partnership. So what if she was a little prim? She looked back at him over the top of her glasses. Okay, a lot prim. He could spend the next six weeks appreciating her killer legs. From a businesslike distance.
The elevator’s bronzed doors slid open with a ding that echoed through the lobby like the death knell of his single man status. Marianne stepped inside and, with her chin pressed against a wayward flap of the cardboard, turned to peer at him over the top of the moving box. Leaning forward slightly, she pressed the inside button with her elbow to hold the door for him.
Nick couldn’t remember the last time a woman had held an elevator for him. Kinda sweet. He walked over to the elevator, stepped inside, and the doors rumbled closed behind him.
He gave her a short nod and pressed the button for the tenth floor. “If I neglected to say it earlier—thank you. For saving my ass.”
A nervous smile. A quiet voice. “You’re welcome.”
The elevator ascended with a whirr, and a palpable silence settled between them. Nick caught a glimpse of her in his peripherals. She stood ramrod straight, her tense gaze focused on the glimmering bronze ceiling. Nick shifted his weight from one refined Barker Black cap toe to another. The elevator buzzed higher—L, 1, 2, 3—its hushed, confined space growing close as the clean, sweet lemony scent of her skin floated toward him, a faint reminder of some sexy moment he couldn’t recall…a kiss, maybe…the provocative tang of citrus on a woman’s lips…or her hair, her skin.#p#分页标题#e#
Damn, he couldn’t quite remember.
He imagined pinning Miss Cardigan 101 into the corner, breathing in her fresh scent, kissing her up against the electronic grid, letting every floor light up as he unlooped each button on her sweater, hell-bent on discovering what an impossibly proper girl kept tucked away under her sensible cotton.
Ding.
Whoa, what was that? Nick shook his head in an attempt to lurch back to reality. The elevator doors opened on ten and Marianne slipped past him in a breeze that smelled like the kind of summer vacations he’d always imagined. Not the kind he’d shared with Jane and Jake. The girl gliding past him vacationed in the warm sun on some white sand beach. She didn’t float empty soda cans down the East River and call it a getaway. She didn’t wish for a family trip full of laughter and fun. She didn’t shoot off bottle rockets all summer and dream of something better. No, this girl was better.