A Cowboy in Manhattan

Seven

The next day, it took them two hours to make their way back down the washed-out trail. Then it took Reed four hours to dig the truck out of the muddy road. And they had to stop every half mile or so to remove debris from the road or winch the truck across a particularly rough patch.

All in all, as a “morning after” went, it left a lot to be desired. Though Reed continually told Katrina to wait inside the cab of the truck, she donned a pair of leather work gloves and helped as best she could. Her efforts were pathetic, and she ended up with scratches on her arms and a bruised knee.

It was nearly six in the evening when they pulled the mud-caked truck up to the Terrell ranch house. To Katrina’s surprise, her brother Travis was in the yard with Caleb, loading a couple of horses into a trailer. They both waved a cursory greeting and went back to their work.

As Katrina jumped from the pickup, Mandy trotted around the barn on horseback, smiling at them as she dismounted.

“You’re just in time for dinner,” she called, leading the dun mare toward the truck.

“Were you worried?” asked Katrina, keeping her back to the truck, well away from the big horse.

“About what?” asked Mandy, glancing at Reed as he rounded the hood.

“We were only supposed to be gone a few hours.”

“Did the rain slow you down?”

“It did,” Reed confirmed, halting next to Katrina.

“Did you get the pump fixed?” Mandy asked him.

“Up and running again,” he confirmed.

“So, that’s it?” asked Katrina. They’d been stranded out in the wilds of the ranch for twenty-four hours, and nobody so much as blinked an eye? What if they’d been hurt? What if they’d been trampled by horses or cattle?

“You had a phone call from New York City,” said Mandy. “Someone named Elizabeth Jeril.”

“She’s the director of Liberty,” said Katrina.

“She seems anxious for you to call back.”

Katrina’s thoughts went to her ankle. She realized she’d barely thought about it for the past two days. Through all the hiking and climbing, it hadn’t hurt at all. And the dance routines she’d tried yesterday morning had gone exceedingly well.

She was ready to dance again.

“I’ll call her in the morning.” Katrina couldn’t help a brief glance at Reed while she spoke. He was so rugged and sexy against the backdrop of the Rockies that her breath left her lungs.

“I should probably head back home,” she managed, knowing that for the first time in her life she’d have a regret at leaving Colorado.

“But I’m not ready for you to go,” said Mandy, stepping forward and pulling Katrina into a hug.

Katrina hugged back, keeping a wary eye on the mare. The animal moved, and Katrina jerked away, coming up against Reed.

“Chicken,” Reed teased under his breath.

“She’s scared of those, too,” Mandy pointed out.

“I’ll take my chances with the traffic and the panhandlers,” Katrina retorted.

Caleb and Travis approached, stripping off their leather work gloves.

“I’m about done,” said Caleb, lifting his hat and swiping the back of his hand across his hairline.

Travis nodded at the muddy truck, and Katrina remembered to step away from Reed.

“Nice,” Travis noted.

“Half the hillside came down around it in the storm last night,” said Reed.

“You stay at the line shack?” asked Caleb.

Katrina braced herself, unable to look at anyone. Would they guess? Would they ask? What would Reed tell them?

“We did,” Reed answered easily. “The princess was forced to eat pancakes and maple syrup for dinner.”

“Hey,” Katrina protested. She hadn’t been the least bit snotty about their dinner last night. All in all, she thought she’d been a trooper.

“She nearly walked out on me when she discovered there wasn’t a wine cellar,” Reed added.

She shot him an angry glare.

Caleb laughed.

“That’s my baby sister,” Travis added.

“That’s not why you’re leaving, is it?” asked Mandy.

Katrina caught something in Reed’s expression, and she suddenly knew what he’d done. He’d deflected any hint of suspicion that they might have done anything other than fight last night. She should be grateful to him, not angry.

She’d make sure she told him so later.

She turned back to Mandy. “That’s not why I’m leaving. I have to get back to work.”

“I suppose you do,” Mandy allowed, her voice tinged with sadness.

Caleb pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll get Seth and Abigail up here. The least we can do is have a farewell barbecue.”

On the back deck of his ranch house, Reed stood to one side, watching Katrina laugh with her two sisters. She seemed more relaxed on the ranch than she’d ever been, but, ironically, she looked even more untouchable. She’d showered, as they all had, and she’d changed into a simple, clingy, white knit dress. Her legs were bare, and she wore her navy suede ankle boots with a looping, blue-beaded choker and matching earrings.

Her hair was swept up in a wispy blond knot, and her face all but glowed with carefully crafted makeup. Her eyes shimmered a sexy deep blue in the waning light. If somebody were to snap a picture, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind it would make the cover of Elle or Vogue.

Still, he couldn’t help but wish she was back in that ugly old boxy T-shirt, in the line shack, in his bed.

Caleb appeared beside him, and Reed shifted his attention to the river.

“I hear you’re building a house,” said Caleb, handing Reed a cold bottle of beer.

Reed accepted it. “You heard right.”

“Been planning it long?”

“Working on the drawings for a couple of years now.”

Caleb nodded.

“Waylon Nelson,” Reed told his brother into the silence.

“Come again?” asked Caleb.

“You should hire Waylon Nelson.”

“Who is he and why would I hire him?”

“Ranch manager,” said Reed.

Caleb straightened in obvious surprise. “You read the résumés?”

“I told you I would.”

“I thought you were lying to get me off your back.”

“I was. But I changed my mind.”

“Good. Good. That’s great. Waylon Nelson. Okay. I’ll take another look at him. But if he’s got your vote…”

“He does. Hire him now.” Reed took a swallow of the beer. “Right now.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed in obvious confusion.

Reed allowed his gaze to return to Katrina. “You’re going to need the help. I’m heading to New York City.”

Caleb’s head snapped up, and he turned to stare at Katrina. Then, immediately, his attention went back to Reed. He stepped up close, voice lowered to a hiss. “You didn’t.”

Reed lifted his brow in a question.

“You slept with Katrina?” Caleb accused. “You slept with Mandy’s sister? What is the matter with you?”

Reed stared straight into his brother’s eyes. “A, I wouldn’t tell you if I had. And B, that’s not why I’m going to New York City.”

“Then why are you going to New York City?” Caleb demanded, clearly convinced his suspicions were correct, and clearly still loaded for bear.

Reed kept his gaze steady. “I’m a young single guy with fifteen million dollars to spend. There’s a long list of good reasons why I’m going to New York City.”

And on the top of that list was Quentin Foster.

Caleb backed off ever so slightly. “You’re looking for business investments?”

“Maybe,” Reed allowed, though the possibility was exceedingly slim.

“You need Danielle to meet you there? I can call her.”

“How about I call Danielle if I need her?”

“But you will call her.”

“If I need her.”

“Don’t go signing anything without her,” Caleb warned.

“I’ll be fine.” Reed could sign his fist into Quentin Foster’s malicious, conniving nose without any assistance from Caleb’s lawyer.

“Why don’t you take the jet?” Caleb offered.

“Sure.”

“You can drop Katrina off.”

“No problem.”

Reed supposed a better man would feel guilty about misleading his brother. But he hadn’t technically lied. Whether he’d slept with Katrina was none of Caleb’s business. And Reed certainly wasn’t heading for New York City in the hopes of having a fling with her.

He was going along to protect her. Nothing more, nothing less. Hell, once they hit the bright lights and big city, she wasn’t going to look twice at a rangy, weather-beaten cowboy like him, even if he did know something about Dior and had once taken a tour of a winery in Napa Valley.

In the taxi heading into midtown Manhattan, Katrina felt as if two worlds were about to collide. In the backseat next to her, Reed looked relaxed, slouched back, seat belt loosely around his hips.

“Have you been to New York City before?” she found herself asking. She didn’t think he had, but he didn’t seem at all out of place, and he wasn’t gawking around like a tourist at the tall buildings.

“Nope,” he answered. “Anything in particular I should see while I’m here?”

“The Liberty Ballet at the Emperor’s Theater.”

He smiled at her joke. “Wouldn’t miss that.”

“What interests you?” she asked. For that matter, what was he doing here? How long was he staying? And what were his expectations?

When he’d announced he was coming, he’d made some vague statements about seeing the City, maybe doing business even. He hadn’t so much as hinted that he had any intention of continuing their physical relationship. But she couldn’t help but wonder. Okay, she couldn’t help but hope. No. She couldn’t hope. She had to leave it alone.

“I wouldn’t mind meeting some of your ballet colleagues,” he mentioned evenly.

“Really?” That surprised her.

The car came to a smooth halt in front of her apartment building.

Reed gave a shrug. “If you don’t think I’d embarrass you.”

She took in his blue jeans, plaid shirt and the folding tool strapped to his belt in a worn leather case. “You might want to rethink the boots.”

“I promise I’ll clean up.” He leaned slightly forward. “Can you wait a few minutes?” he asked the driver.

The man nodded as he popped the trunk.

Reed turned back to Katrina. “I’ll walk you up.”

So he wasn’t staying. Okay. It would have been odd if he had. She only had the one bedroom. Not that she wasn’t willing to share. Still, he hadn’t asked about being her house guest.

“I’ll be at the Royal Globe Towers,” he told her with a wry half smile, making her wonder if he could read her mind.

Then he hopped out of the car, meeting her on the sidewalk with her suitcase in his hand.

The doorman nodded to her in recognition, and they moved smoothly onto the elevator, riding up ten floors to her compact apartment.

“This is nice,” said Reed, taking in the French Provincial chairs and love seat, the proliferation of plants and the small dining-room table tucked against the pass-through to her tiny kitchen.

“Not much of a view,” she apologized. If you craned your neck, you could just barely see past the stone building next door to the street below.

“You made it nice inside.” He gestured with the suitcase toward a closed door.

“Yes, please.” She quickly opened the bedroom door and flipped on the bedside lamp.

Reed set her suitcase down on the bed.

“You’re rehearsing all day tomorrow?” he asked, standing close.

She nodded, holding her breath. Would he touch her? Hug her? Kiss her?

“Dinner after?” he asked.

“Sure. Yes.” She quickly nodded.

“I’ll call you? Seven?”

She gave another nod, and her tongue flicked involuntarily across her lower lip.

He obviously caught the movement. His gaze held for a long second on her lips.

She felt them soften, tingle, part ever so slightly.

Reed cleared his throat. “I’d better get back to the car.”

Disappointment washed through her.

He took a step back. “Have a good rehearsal.”

“Thank you.”

He moved closer to the door. “Hope the ankle holds up.”

“Me, too.”

He was halfway through the door when he called back. “I’ll dress differently tomorrow.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“You have a favorite place?”

“Anything will do.”

“Okay. Bye.” And he disappeared.

She heard the apartment door shut behind him, and she let out a heavy sigh, dropping down onto the bed.

He didn’t stay. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t even hug her goodbye.

How was a woman supposed to feel about that?

Caleb’s assistant at Active Equipment had arranged for Reed’s hotel room at the Royal Globe Towers. Entering the opulent suite last night, Reed had decided his brother was getting spoiled from being so rich. What man needed a four-poster, king-size bed, a chaise lounge and two armchairs in his bedroom? The living room had two sofas, a stone fireplace and a dining table for eight, along with two dozen candles and three bouquets of flowers and a marble bathtub in the bathroom that could hold a family of six.

It was ridiculous.

He’d have moved into something more practical, but he wasn’t planning to be in New York very long. And Katrina lived in Manhattan, so he preferred to stay in this part of town.

Still, he didn’t want to spend his entire fifteen million in the clothing shops on Fifth Avenue. So, this morning, he’d taken the friendly concierge woman’s advice and hopped on the subway to Brooklyn. There he found a nice shopping district that seemed to cater to ordinary people.

After wandering the streets for a couple of hours, he was enticed into a small bakery by the aromas of vanilla and cinnamon. The place had only a few small tables with ice-cream-parlor-style chairs, but a steady stream of customers came in and out for takeout. He bought himself a sugar-sprinkled, cream-filled pastry and a cup of coffee from the stern-looking, rotund, middle-aged woman at the counter and then eased himself gently into one of the small chairs.

The doors and windows were open, letting the late-morning air waft through. The staff were obviously busy in the back, smatterings of English and Italian could be heard, bakers appearing occasionally as the middle-aged woman and a younger assistant served customers.

Reed could hear a truck engine cranking through the open door to the alleyway behind the store. There was a sudden clang of metal, followed by a male voice shouting in Italian. The bakery went silent for a brief moment, then the customers laughed a little. Reed didn’t understand the language, but it didn’t take much to get the gist.

The older woman marched away from the counter, through the kitchen hallway, sticking her head out the open door and shouting at the man.

Reed thought he could figure that one out, too.

The man shouted back, and she gestured with her hand, scowling as she returned to the counter. The last of the current customers took their paper bags and moved out onto the sidewalk, leaving the bakery empty.

“Engine trouble?” Reed asked the woman, wiping his hands on a paper napkin as he came to his feet.

At first, he thought he was going to get an earful himself.

“The delivery truck is ancient,” she offered rather grudgingly.

Reed gestured to his empty plate, giving her a friendly smile. “That was fantastic.” It was easily the best pastry he’d ever tasted. Same went for the coffee-it’d been strong but flavorful.

She nodded an acknowledgment of his compliment, but still didn’t smile in return. The younger woman, however, gave him a broad, slightly flirtatious grin.

Then another bang reverberated through the alley, and both women jumped. It was followed by a deafening clatter and clang, and another string of colorful swearwords.

Reed moved swiftly and reflexively around the glass display case, down the short hallway, past the heat and bustle of the kitchen, past stacks of boxes, buckets and bins, and out the back door.

The alley was narrow and dusty. Stained, soot-covered brick walls rose up on either side. The awful noise was coming from the engine of a five-fifty panel truck, with Gianni Bakery written on the side in chipping blue paint, that blocked the alley.

A balding man sat in the driver’s seat with the door propped open.

“Shut it down!” Reed called, making a slashing motion across his throat.

The man shot him a glare.

“Shut it down,” Reed repeated, striding forward. “You’ve dropped a valve.”

“Always takes her a few minutes to warm up,” the man responded with confidence.

Reed reached in and turned the key to Off.

“What the-”

“It’s dropped a valve,” Reed repeated. “If you keep it running, you’ll blow a connecting rod.”

“You a mechanic?” the man asked.

“Rancher,” said Reed, stepping back. “But I’ve worked on plenty of diesels in my time. Some older than this.”

“I’ve been limping her along for a few months,” said the man.

“Does it idle a lot?” asked Reed, knowing that was the most likely explanation.

“In the winter,” the man said, reaching for the key.

“Don’t do that,” Reed warned. “You need to call a tow truck.”

“I don’t have time to call a tow truck.”

“If you try to start it you’ll only make it worse.”

The man clamped his jaw, rocking back in the worn, vinyl driver’s seat. “We’ve got deliveries to make.”

“Do you have a backup? Another truck maybe?”

This one wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and probably never. Even on the ranch, where they jerry-rigged pretty much anything back together, they knew when it was time to put something out to pasture. There wasn’t much point in replacing the engine in a twenty-five-year-old truck.

The man shook his head. “I’ve been looking for another truck for six months. The used ones are as worn out as this, and the new ones cost a fortune.”

“Tough break,” Reed commiserated.

“Irony is, these days, I need two trucks.”

“Business that good?”

The man rubbed his hands along the steering wheel. “Walk-in business is slowing.”

“Doesn’t seem very slow today,” Reed observed.

“It’s slowing,” the man reiterated. “We need to strengthen distribution to other retail outlets. We also need to diversify.” Then he stuck out his hand. “Nico Gianni.”

Reed shook. “Reed Terrell.”

“You from Brooklyn?”

“Colorado.”

“On vacation?”

“More business than pleasure.” Reed’s interest had been piqued by Nico’s words, not to mention by his own experience sampling the bakery’s wares. “You’re saying you’ve got enough orders to run two trucks?”

“If I had two trucks, I’d bring my nephew in on nights, and run the kitchen twenty-four hours. The walk-in traffic may be going down, but catering, now there’s some expansion potential. Expensive parties, weddings, dances. The rich don’t stop getting richer.”

“True enough,” Reed had to agree.

Nico seemed to have a good handle on the industry, and he seemed to have a plan for his business. Reed sized up the building. “You own this place?”

“Me and the wife.”

Reed couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Danielle meant by buying a percentage of a business. This wasn’t exactly a start-up. Though, for Reed’s money, it seemed less risky than a start-up.

“So, you’re saying with a little capital for a new truck or two, your business would be in a position to expand.”

“It would,” Nico confirmed.

“You ever think about taking on a partner?”

Nico blinked.

“I mean a minor shareholder. A silent partner.”

“I don’t understand.”

Reed rested his hand on the top of the open truck door, assuming a casual pose. “One of the reasons I’m in New York is possibly to invest in some business opportunities.”

“You’re interested in a bakery?”

“Maybe. Do you know what the real estate’s worth? Have the annual gross and net handy?”

“Is this some scam?”

“No.”

“You an eccentric rich guy?”

“No. I’m a rancher. But if we can make a deal, I’ll kick in enough cash for a couple of new trucks. You cut me in for an appropriate percentage, and maybe we both win.”

“So you’re looking to diversify?” Nico nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m looking to diversify,” Reed agreed. “I’ve got this sharp, prissy lady lawyer who wants me to sit in her office and review balance sheets all day long.”

Nico grinned.

“But I don’t want to invest in companies,” said Reed. “I’d rather invest in people. And I’d rather invest in your pastries, Nico. They’re damn fine.”

“It’s a secret family recipe.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Come inside and take a look?” asked Rico.

“Absolutely,” Reed agreed. “And, can you give me the name of a good tailor who works fast?”

Rico grinned and hopped out of the truck. “Salvatore’s. Around the corner. He’ll fix you up.”

Salvatore turned out to be one heck of a tailor. And he had a business-expansion idea that sounded as promising as Nico’s. So Reed left the store with two new suits, half a dozen dress shirts and another potential business investment.

Back at the Royal Globe Towers, he called Danielle, and her assistant put him straight through.

“Good afternoon, Reed,” her crisp voice came on the line. “How can I help you?”

“I just spent half a million dollars.”

“On a sports car?”

“No.” Reed unzipped one of the suit covers as he talked. “A bakery and a tailor shop.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Reed?”

“Yes?”

“I have a law degree from Harvard, but you’ve got me confused.”

Reed retrieved the charcoal-gray suit. Salvatore had told him he could dress it up with a white shirt or down with steel blue and a diamond-pattern tie. “I need the money to buy a percentage of a bakery and a tailor shop in Brooklyn.”

“Oh. Okay. Give me the company names. I’ll start an investigation.”

“I don’t need some bureaucratic investigation. I just need a check.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I met the guys today. I saw their operations. I looked into their eyes and shook their hands. The deal’s done. Gianni Bakery and Imperial Tailors.”

“How did you meet them?”

“I was hungry.”

“You’re losing me again, Reed.”

“Nico sells some excellent pastries, but he needs a new delivery truck. Well, two new delivery trucks.” Reed stripped off the plastic covering and stepped back. He really did like this suit.

“You ate a pastry today, and now you want to invest in his business?” Danielle confirmed.

“Pretty much.”

“Reed, wandering around Brooklyn is not a reasonable investment strategy. You can’t do things that way.”

“It appears I can.”

“Reed.”

“Danielle, it’s my money.”

She gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Okay. I hear you. But I’m looking at their financials before we cut the check. That’s not negotiable. And if you’re going to spend any more than this, you have got to talk to me.”

“Sure,” Reed agreed easily, holding the diamond-patterned tie against the steel-blue shirt then the white one.

“You keep saying yes, and then you go ahead and do whatever you want.”

“Funny how that works.” Reed decided to go with the blue.

“You are impossible.”

“Know any good restaurants in Manhattan?”

“Dozens. What do you have in mind? Please tell me you’re not buying one.”

“I’m eating at one.”

“Good. Steak? Seafood? Greek? Thai?”

“What about French?” French was elegant. Then again, he was going with the blue shirt. “Greek. Make it Greek.”

“What part of town?”

“Midtown.”

“Try…Flavian’s. It’s near the Park, around Sixty-Fourth.”

“I will. Thanks, Danielle.”

“You’re keeping me awake nights.”

He chuckled and hung up the phone, then stripped off his cotton shirt and headed for the enormous shower that had two massive showerheads in the ceiling and six more jets in the walls. Ridiculous. He didn’t think any man needed to be that clean.

He stripped down, adjusted the water temperature and chose a small bottle of shampoo. There were still a couple of hours before he was meeting Katrina, but his stomach hitched in anticipation. He couldn’t help hoping she liked his suit.

On the other hand, he couldn’t help hoping she’d restrain herself with her own wardrobe. If she looked too good, it was going to be an awfully long night keeping his hands to himself and his promise to Caleb. Though, he supposed, it was going to be an awfully long night no matter what she wore. Katrina would look sexy in a burlap sack.

Katrina was gratified by the way Reed’s eyes darkened to gunmetal when he took in her red dress. She’d been hoping he’d like the short, clingy, off-the-shoulder number. It was made of lustrous silk with hundreds of black beads sewn into the low neckline and in a swirled pattern down one side. She’d paired it with spiky-heeled black shoes and a matching clutch.

Her hair was loose, flowing in waves around a pair of dangling onyx earrings, with a chunky bracelet and matching choker.

“We may have to upgrade the restaurant,” he told her, his gaze sweeping from her hair to her shoes and back again.

“You clean up good, too,” she teased, impressed as always by his athletic physique beneath the cut of his suit.

He was freshly shaved. His hair was neat, his shirt perfectly pressed, and his tie was in a smooth knot. He’d even forgone cowboy boots for a pair of polished loafers.

“What’s your favorite restaurant?” he asked her, stepping back in the hallway to make room for her to exit her apartment.

“Did you make a reservation?” As far as she was concerned, there was no need to change his plans.

“Danielle suggested Flavian’s.”

“Who’s Danielle?” Katrina fought a spurt of jealousy at the mention of another woman’s name.

“Caleb’s lawyer.”

“She lives in New York?”

“Chicago.”

Katrina was confused. “And you called her for a restaurant recommendation?”

“It’s a long story.”

Katrina waited, but he didn’t elaborate.

“Flavian’s is fine,” she told him. “The ballet company goes there a lot. They have a nice deck.”

She pushed down her curiosity and told herself to quit being jealous. Danielle was likely just a friend, a business acquaintance at that. In fact, it sounded as if she was a business acquaintance of Caleb’s rather than Reed’s. Which didn’t explain why Reed would call all the way to Chicago for a restaurant recommendation.

“Will you be warm enough if we eat outside?” he asked, gazing critically at the little dress.

Katrina determinedly put Danielle from her mind. She reached for the black wrap she’d hung on a hook near the door and draped it over her shoulders, tucking her small clutch purse under her arm.

“They have outdoor heaters on the deck,” she told him. Then she stepped into the hallway and pulled the apartment door closed behind her.

He lifted the door key from her hand and secured the dead bolt for her. “You do know there’s something fundamentally wrong with the dress code.”

“What dress code?” As far as she knew, Flavian’s didn’t have a dress code.

“New York City’s dress code.”

She raised her brows in a question.

He pressed the key into her palm then held out his arm. “You’re going to freeze, and I’m going to swelter.”

She replaced the key in her purse and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they started toward the elevator. “That’s so you can be a gentleman at the end of the date and let me wear your jacket.”

“You think this is a date?” he asked. There was a level of unease in his voice.

“What else would you call it?”

He came to a halt at the elevator and pressed the call button. It pinged in response, and the mechanism whirred behind the closed door.

Reed peered down at her, his gray eyes narrowing for a moment before he finally spoke. “I didn’t come to New York to sleep with you, Katrina.”

She held the gaze for a long moment, working up her courage. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

He sucked in a breath. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I think of you like that,” she dared.

“Katrina,” he warned on a growl.

“What? It’s not like you can take my virginity a second time.”

“My brother is marrying your sister,” he repeated for what was probably the third time. “We’re going to be in each other’s lives from here on in. I wouldn’t feel right about having a fling.”

“As opposed to having a one-night stand?”

He didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and the elevator doors slid open to reveal a distinguished-looking sixtysomething couple whom Katrina vaguely recognized.

“Good evening,” Reed offered smoothly, gesturing for Katrina to enter first.

“Evening.” The couple nodded in response.

Katrina moved into the elevator, turned and stood next to Reed. The doors closed, and the car descended.

When the doors reopened, they crossed the compact lobby and went out through the glass exit door, where a massive, white stretch Hummer limousine waited at the curb.

There was a trace of laughter in his voice. “Your ride, princess.”

She stopped short, taking in the polished luxury vehicle from hood to trunk. “That’s a lot of money to shell out just to mock me.”

“You think I’m mocking you?”

“Absolutely.” Why else would he order such an expensive car? They were only going a few blocks, and he clearly wasn’t trying to seduce her.

“I’m not mocking you,” he insisted. “The owner is a friend of Salvatore’s. I guess he’s trying to treat me well.”

“Salvatore?” Reed knew someone in New York City?

He tugged pointedly at the sleeves of his suit jacket and squared his shoulders. “A tailor I met in Brooklyn this morning.” He turned slightly sideways to give her a view.

She took in the crisp outfit and straightened his already perfect tie, but it gave her an excuse to touch him. “You went all the way to Brooklyn to buy a suit?”

The uniformed driver opened the door and stood back to wait for them.

“I did,” said Reed.

“You do know your hotel is mere blocks from Fifth Avenue?”

“I do know that.” He gestured to the open limo door.

She didn’t move. “And did you know Fifth Avenue is famous the world over for fine shopping?”

He raised a brow. “You don’t like my suit?”

“I like it just fine.”

“Then don’t be such a snob about Brooklyn. You going to get in or what?”

“I’ve got nothing against Brooklyn.”

“Good to know.” He moved past her to stand opposite the driver.

Katrina moved forward, accepting Reed’s hand and, sliding onto the limo seat, made room for him to join her.

The driver shut the door and the inside lights dimmed. Subtle violet floor lighting glowed beneath their feet while tiny white lights glowed in a scattered pattern across a black ceiling. A small wet bar was illuminated powder-blue.

“Is this how you normally travel?” Reed asked, a teasing note to his voice.

Katrina crossed her bare legs. “Beats a battered pickup truck covered in mud.”

“Anything beats a battered pickup truck covered in mud.”

She bumped her shoulder playfully against his arm. “Are you coming over to the dark side?”

“Maybe,” he allowed.

“That was quick.”

The limo pulled away from the curb, the lights of Fifty-Ninth Street changing the shadows inside.

“Champagne?” He leaned forward and retrieved a tiny bottle of champagne from a recessed ice bucket.

“Yes, please.” She gestured an amount with a small space between her index finger and thumb, deciding to relax and enjoy herself, even if Reed was going to keep his distance.

He pulled off the wire holder and neatly popped the cork, taking two delicate flutes from the polished wood rack above the counter.

She stopped him at an inch, wanting to save room for a glass of wine with dinner. And he poured the remainder of the bubbly, golden liquid into his own glass before discarding the bottle.

He raised his champagne in a toast. “To…?”

She let herself drink in his handsome features, her tone becoming reflexively husky. “To the finer things in life.”

He touched the rim of his glass to hers, his warm gaze melding with her own. “To keeping them in context.”

“What’s out of context?”

“I am.”

The stirrings of desire whirred through her limbs. As far as she was concerned, in this moment, he was in perfect context. “You worry too much.”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “I worry exactly the right amount.”

She loved the way his mind worked, the practicality, the cool logic, his straightforward confidence. He wasn’t a maybe kind of guy.

“What are you worried about now?” she prompted.

“The dinner bill.”

She couldn’t help but grin at that. “We’re not splitting it?”

“As if,” he coughed out a laugh.

“So it is a date.”

His mouth twitched in a moment of uncertainty, and she laughed at him.

“Got you that time.” She took a sip.

“It doesn’t have to be a date for me to be a gentleman.”

Katrina decided to leave it alone. They both knew she’d scored a point.

“So, how do you like New York City?” she asked instead.

“I like it fine so far.” He took a drink of his own champagne.

“It’s a lot different from Colorado.”

“It’s cleaner.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Noisier.”

“True.”

“Quite tasty.” He took another drink.

“Don’t forget shiny.”

His glance went pointedly to her shimmering red dress, the glossy beads and the glimmering jewelry. “You people like to be noticed.”

She frowned. “Was that an insult?”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t expect to be noticed in that dress?”

Only by him. But she couldn’t very well own up to that. “It’s ordinary for New York City,” she lied.

The car rolled to a halt in front of the brightly lit restaurant, and a doorman paced smartly across the sidewalk toward them.

“I’m not sure there’s anything ordinary about New York City,” Reed mused.

“An ordinary dress, in an ordinary city, for an ordinary evening,” she lied again.

The doorman opened the door of the limo.

Reed exited first and immediately turned to hold out his hand for her.

Katrina took the hand, turning in the seat, feet together, knees tight, rising gracefully, just as she’d been taught by the Liberty PR staff.

A flashbulb went off, and then another, and she glanced up to see a small crowd of people had gathered on the sidewalk. It was highly unlikely they realized who she was. The huge limo telegraphed a false sense of celebrity.

“Just an ordinary night?” Reed muttered in her ear as his arm slipped protectively around her waist.

“Smile and keep walking,” she mumbled back. “It’s the car, not us.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Though she’d been on a billboard or two in the past month, she wasn’t particularly recognizable, certainly not by the general public who might happen to be on the sidewalk outside a midtown restaurant. It was the fancy car, that was all.

Luckily, they were only steps from the glass entry doors. A second doorman swiftly ushered them inside to a compact, octagonal, high-ceilinged foyer where a maître d’ was positioned next to a set of oversize, oak interior doors.

“Reservation for Terrell,” Reed informed the maître d’.

“Of course, sir.” The man responded with professional deference, barely glancing at the small computer screen in front of him. “Would you care to dine inside or on the balcony tonight?”

Reed looked to Katrina. “Were you serious about the balcony?”

“Yes, please.” She nodded. She loved a warm evening, watching the bustle of the street below, feeling the breeze, hearing the sounds of the city.

“You’re not worried about reporters with long lenses?”

“Cute,” she drawled, giving him an eye-roll.

“I can put you behind a privacy screen,” the maître d’ put in without missing a beat.

“Not necessary-”

“Katrina?” The voice from behind her was recognizable as Elizabeth Jeril’s, the Artistic Director of Liberty Ballet Company.

Katrina turned to greet her boss, and was swept quickly into a light, expensively perfumed hug combined with two air kisses.

A former ballerina, Elizabeth was slightly taller than Katrina, dark haired with dark eyes and close to forty-five. Though she didn’t dance professionally anymore, she was still trim and athletic.

“We didn’t get a chance to talk after rehearsal today,” Elizabeth noted, pulling back. “But you looked fantastic. Did Dr. Smith check your ankle?”

“He did. It’s fine,” Katrina assured her. It had been sore immediately after the dancing, but the pain was nearly gone now.

Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Reed, curiosity clear in her expression.

“Elizabeth Jeril,” Katrina obliged. “This is Reed Terrell. Reed is from Colorado.”

“A souvenir?” Elizabeth teased, grinning as she held out her long-fingered, red-tipped hand.

“It was either me or the tacky T-shirt,” Reed played along, taking Elizabeth’s hand gently in his larger one.

“I like him,” Elizabeth told Katrina, eyeing Reed up and down.

There wasn’t much about Reed a woman wouldn’t like, Katrina silently acknowledged. “Elizabeth is Liberty’s Artistic Director,” she finished the introduction.

“You do choreography?” Reed asked Elizabeth.

“Planning, logistics, business management. I get to worry about the money. What little we have of it.”

“I understand that’s a common problem with arts organizations,” Reed acknowledged.

Katrina wasn’t sure what Reed knew about arts organizations, but she was quickly distracted from the question as Brandon Summerfield arrived. He stopped next to Elizabeth and tucked his phone into his suit-jacket pocket.

“There you are,” Elizabeth acknowledged his presence, placing a hand on his arm. The two weren’t officially a couple, but they’d been good friends and colleagues for years. There was an ongoing betting pool at Liberty over when they’d take their relationship to the next level.

“Nice to see you back, Katrina,” Brandon told her. He gave her a perfunctory hug.

When they separated, Reed offered his hand. “Reed Terrell. I’m in town to visit Katrina.”

Brandon shook. “Brandon Summerfield. Good to meet you.”

Elizabeth continued the introduction. “Brandon is the CEO of Seaboard Management, one of our most generous donors.”

“Real estate,” Brandon elaborated, “mostly commercial and industrial.”

“Ranching,” Reed responded, “mostly barns and toolsheds.”

Brandon grinned, and Katrina couldn’t help but smile at Reed’s easy joke.

“Will you join us for dinner?” Brandon offered, surprising Katrina. Liberty Ballet Company didn’t exactly operate on the class system, but dancers didn’t often mingle socially with the donors outside official functions.

She was momentarily speechless.

“Oh, please do,” Elizabeth echoed.

Katrina tried to gauge the woman’s expression, not sure if she should accept or decline.

Reed gave her a look that said the decision was up to her.

“Okay,” Katrina decided.

Elizabeth seemed sincere. And Brandon was an important player in the Liberty organization. With Quentin out there stirring up trouble, Katrina might need all the help she could get.