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Oh, yeah. Archer, the bastard, had called it right. Her legs were good. Excellent, as a matter of fact.
“Thank you,” Emily said.
Jake lifted his eyes to her face. “You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat, looked down at the foot, still in his hands, and tried to think of something intelligent to say. “You’re wearing socks.” Brilliant, he thought trying not to wince, just brilliant, McBride. “I mean—you’re wearing—”
“Socks,” she said stiffly. “Wool socks. Double knit. I guess that’s the reason the boots are so hard to get off. I wore them because I thought I might have to walk at least part of the way home, if the snow keeps up, and these boots aren’t really warm...”
Her voice trailed to silence. Why was she telling him all this? He was holding her foot in his hands, looking at it as If he’d never seen a foot before. And she was explaining why the was wearing wool socks, as if it mattered.
“Socks,” he murmured, and looked up at her again. He had such a strange look on his face. That darkness in his eyes.
Maybe he thought she was going to walk around the office in heavy wool socks all day.
“Yes. But I’ll take them off. I have panty hose underneath...”
Oh, good. Now she was telling him about her underwear Emily colored and pulled her foot from Jake’s hands.
“Thank you again,” she said briskly. “I’ll get to the m immediately.”
“Not without taking that other boot off.” “I can manage.”
“I doubt it.”
“Honestly, Mr. McBride—”
Jake knew he could get the boot off with one quick tug but considering the condition she’d put him in, with that comment about her underwear, he figured it was best to take his time.
“There,” he said, when it was safe. He dropped the boot beside its mate and rose to his feet. “All done.”
Emily nodded. “Thank you,” she said again.
“You’re welcome.”
He looked as if he were going to say something more. A few words of apology, maybe, for the way he’d snapped at her before? No such luck. He gave her a quick nod, swung away and went back inside his office.
The door closed silently behind him.
Emily sat motionless. Her feet were tingling. Not the way they’d tingle if the circulation were coming back after they’d been freezing cold. She’d felt that, once, when she was a little girl and she’d missed the school bus and ended up walking home in the snow. No, they were tingling in a very strange way. As if they were still in McBride’s lap. As if his big hands were still holding them. As if he were still looking up at her with his eyes all dark and hungry...
The room seemed to tilt.
Emily dragged air into her lungs. Then she took off her socks, slipped her feet into the shoes she’d brought with her, and got to work.
Hours later, she sighed, blinked owlishly at her computer screen and pushed back from her desk. It was almost one o’clock. Time for lunch, she thought, and rose from her chair. She gave a ladylike stretch, opened the drawer to get her purse... and saw the copy of GOTHAM, still opened to the personal ads.
She made a face, picked up the magazine and dumped it into the wastebasket.
“Goodbye and good riddance,” she said, and dusted off her hands.
Last night had cured her of even thinking about going out for an evening with a man she didn’t know anything about.
On the other hand, choosing a date from the Personals would be different.
She might not really “know” the man, but she wouldn’t go into it blindfolded. At least, she’d have some information about her date beforehand. And she wouldn’t have to waste an entire evening. She could suggest they meet for lunch, or coffee, or for nothing more complicated than a walk in the park. She could control the character of this kind of date and not end up finding out, as she had last night, that the only thing the man in question wanted was to get into her pants.
Emily plucked the discarded magazine from the wastebasket, opened it and laid it on her desk.
Handsome, sexy, successful male, 40, D, Br & Br, ISO beautiful, sexy female, preferably br&br, too...
Handsome, successful, sexy, Romeo, 33, S, BL and bl, looking for his beautiful, sexy Juliet...
Sexy, handsome guy, 38, ND, blond and blue, very successful, ISO sea, beautiful lady, preferably Br&B...
It was like reading a code. ISO for “in search of.” D for “divorced,” S for “single,” ND for “newly divorced.” B’s for hair and eye color. Unless you had red hair. Or gold. Or...
Oh, this was ridiculous. Advertisements by men for women. Reading them was a joke. They were so phony. If every guy who was dateless in New York was sexy, easy the eyes and successful, why were they running these ads She knew better than to fall for all those adjectives. In f if she had to come up with the name of a gorgeous, sex successful man, the only one she’d be able to muster w that of Jake Mc...
