A Cowboy in Manhattan(45)
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.