Moon Over Manhattan: Book 2 of the Moon Series

by Graves, Jane

  “Are you really that unfamiliar with the concept?”

  “You don’t flirt. You just act obnoxious.”

  “And you act obnoxious right back. Newsflash, Kelsey. That’s flirting. I admit it’s a little combative, but it’s the only kind I can get you to do.”

  Kelsey couldn’t believe it. All that smart-ass stuff? He’d been flirting with her?

  “I tried to ask you out a few weeks ago, and you cut me off at the knees," he said.

  She swallowed hard. He’d meant that? “You were just goofing around.”

  “Yeah, right. Then I tried to make a move last night, and you ran from my apartment as if that gorgeous dress was on fire.”

  “Come on, Brett,” she said, suddenly feeling a little shaky. “We both know why you did that. You were making a move on me only because there were no other women around.”

  His eyebrows flew up. “Are you kidding me?” He walked away a few steps, then turned back, throwing his hands in the air. “I've been trying to get your attention for months, and you stop me at every turn! What more do I have to do?”

  She just stared at him, unable to believe what he was saying.

  “I asked you a question,” he snapped, striding toward her again. “What more do I have to do?”

  She continued to look at him dumbly. Not a single word could make the trip from her brain to her lips.

  “How about this?”

  He grabbed her by her upper arms, spun her around, and trapped her against the side of the nearby building. Before she could get her bearings, he clamped his mouth down on hers. Instinctively she tried to twist away, but before that response could fully kick in, he slid his hand to the back of her neck in a possessive grip, tilting her head and kissing her deeper still. It was all hands and tongues and hot, hard breaths, surprising her so much that all she could do was let it happen. Not once in her life had she been kissed like this. Not once had a man even come close to this. She wanted to hate it. She was desperate to hate it. But the only thing she hated was that she didn't hate it.

  Still kissing her, Brett eased her away from the wall, slid his hand down her back, and closed it around her ass. When he gave it a solid squeeze, she moaned against his lips and eased her hips forward. Her belly hit something big and hard beneath the buttons of his jeans. She couldn’t believe it. He’d already gone from zero to sixty, and his speedometer clearly didn’t stop there. She had the sense that people were walking by and had a fleeting thought that maybe the street corner wasn’t the best place for this, but Brett seemed to think it was, and he was the one in charge whether she liked it or not.

  But she did like it. She liked it a lot.

  By the time he finally pulled away, her knees had liquefied, and she was in serious danger of collapsing. She put her hands on his chest to hold him away from her, not because she didn’t want him to kiss her—she was way beyond that—but because if he didn’t stop she might pass out. Unfortunately, it appeared that kissing her hadn’t even begun to take the edge off his anger.

  “There,” he said, breathing hard. “Now do you get it?”

  She just stood there staring at him, her brain scrambled. Then slowly she started to regain her senses. Men weren't supposed to do things like this. Push a woman against a wall and kiss her? How dare he?

  She needed to object. It was her duty to all womankind to nip such a dreadful act in the bud. But when every neuron in her body had fired in such a spectacularly delicious way, it was hard to muster up the words.

  She looked up at him, still breathing hard. “That m‑might be considered…assault?”

  Well, crap. She sounded like Minnie Mouse. If the women of the world were depending on her to be a shining example of how to stand up to a bold, shameless man, they were shit out of luck.

  Brett's eyes narrowed with anger. “Assault, my ass. I'm just trying to tell you I'm so hot for you I can't breathe, but you're acting as if I'm poison!”

  She just stared at him.

  “Oh, forget it,” he muttered, and started to walk again. When she didn't follow, he spun back around. “Kelsey. I know you're a cop. I don't give a damn. As long as I’m here, you're not walking home alone. Now come on!”

  Dumbfounded, she caught up and walked beside him in silence. Her mind racing in a hundred different directions. Her lips felt swollen. She could still taste him. Still. Blocks later. Maybe for the rest of her life.

  The entire time they walked, Brett wouldn't look at her. She didn't look at him. All she did was flick her gaze at him every once in a while without moving her head. She was afraid if she looked at him directly, he might start spitting fire.

  "Uh…maybe I misspoke," she said.

  Brett screeched to a halt. "Misspoke? What the hell does that mean?"

  "Well…"

  "You told me I assaulted you."

  "No," Kelsey said, holding up her palm. "Now, I did not say that. I said what you did might be considered assault."

  "By whom?"

  She was at a total loss for words, maybe because she was distracted by the fact that he'd actually used the word "whom" correctly.

  "I don't know," she said finally. "I guess women who don't like that kind of thing."

  "So you're one of those women?"

  Well, crap. What was she supposed to say to that? If she said she wasn’t one of those women, she was saying there was nothing wrong with what he'd done. If she said she was one of those women, she sounded so uptight she squeaked.

  “You shouldn't have kissed me like that," she explained. "But I probably shouldn't have equated it with assault."

  "So what should I have done? Asked permission?"

  Permission? That didn't seem exactly right, either. But it would seem a little contradictory if she said no.

  "Yes," she said. "That would have been the respectful thing to do."

  "I bet Michael with the ironed jeans asked if he could kiss you. How did that work out for you?"

  Actually, he hadn't asked. During the three dates they'd had, he'd never worked up the nerve to kiss her at all.

  "That's none of your business," Kelsey said.

  "So it was that bad, huh?"

  "What happened with Michael has nothing to do with us."

  "Ah. Progress. So there is an 'us'?"

  "No!"

  "Here we go again. Do you ever say what you mean?"

  He started walking again, and Kelsey walked alongside him. On the job, she prided herself on being a keen observer of human nature, which meant she could anticipate people’s actions, which meant she could stay one step ahead of just about any situation. But she could never anticipate what Brett might say next. Or do. Like grab her on a street corner and kiss her senseless.

  When they reached their building, they went up the elevator without speaking. The whole time, Brett's face was tight with anger and frustration. She didn't understand. He was the one who'd grabbed her and kissed her, and he was the one who was mad?

  When they got to their floor, he strode down the hall without a word. He unlocked his apartment door, then spun around to glare at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but for once in his life, nothing came out. Finally he just waved dismissively, as if he was washing his hands of the whole thing. Then he went inside his apartment and slammed the door behind him.

  Kelsey just stood in the hall, wondering what the hell had happened.

  Wait a minute. She knew what had happened. He was just looking to get laid, and when he'd done everything he could to make it happen and she still pushed him away, he got angry. It was that simple. Brett Hollister was a devious, opportunistic womanizer who didn't stop until he got what he wanted.

  And what he wants is you.

  Just the thought overwhelmed her, making her feel highly suspicious and hopelessly attracted to him at the same time.

  I'm so hot for you I can't breathe.

  Those words echoed over and over in her head, making her squirm with the kind of sexual thoughts she'd never had before. Y
es, he'd surprised her with that kiss. In the end, though, the only thing she could rightfully accuse him of was making her practically melt into the sidewalk. But that didn't mean she hadn't been right about him, that all he wanted was sex. Just sex.

  Just sex?

  She closed her eyes, touching her tongue to her lips, tasting him all over again. Just sex. And that was a problem because…?

  It wasn't as if she was madly in love with him. In fact, he frustrated the hell out of her. But when it came down to sex…

  Why not?

  If he was indeed just using her, why couldn’t she return the favor and use him too?

  For one of the only times in her life, she felt a swell of recklessness, a drive to do something wild and crazy and unpredictable. Before she could talk herself out of it, she strode to his door and knocked on it. When he answered, his brows drew together in a way that said his frustration hadn't eased one little bit.

  "What?" he snapped.

  With a deep, silent breath, Kelsey reached up, grabbed the elastic holding her hair in a low ponytail, and slowly pulled it out. Brett froze, watching her fingers slide down the length of her hair. When she dropped the elastic carelessly on the floor beside her, he stepped forward, put a hand on either side of her head, and buried his fingers in her hair. As he stared down at her, he'd traded his expression of anger and frustration for one so hot it nearly singed her eyelashes.

  And then he kissed her.

  5

  Brett grabbed Kelsey and pulled her inside his apartment. She stumbled a little, but he managed to keep kissing her even as he shut the door and turned her around and pressed her against it. Yes, she thought, over and over. Yes, yes, yes, YES, YES! How could she even have thought of denying herself this? How?

  "We're not going to have any more talk about assault, are we?" he asked between kisses.

  "No," she said, breathing hard. "No more of that."

  "Thank God."

  He kissed her all the way into his bedroom, where she fell backward onto the bed with his lips barely leaving hers. And then he was pulling her clothes off and taking his off, too. It was exciting. Thrilling. Breathtaking. Sex at the speed of light, with hands and lips and tongues all over the place.

  She wanted him. Now.

  He grabbed a condom, barely putting it on before she reached for him again and pulled him on top of her. He slid inside her, and it astonished her that she was already so slick and wet. He moved, thrusting hard, breathing hard. Beneath her hands, his back muscles tightened, released, and tightened again as he drove her higher and higher. He murmured to her, words of affection and encouragement, and hearing his voice in the dark was the most intoxicating, most carnal, most orgasm‑inducing thing she'd ever experienced.

  And then she was coming.

  She felt as if he’d pushed her off a ten-story building. She might have even screamed a little as she fell, flying, swooping, sailing all the way to the ground. She realized she was clawing his back, but she just couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. She had to grab onto something because she was falling, and he was falling with her. Seconds later, they landed, then collapsed together in a boneless, satisfied heap. Brett fell to one side, limp as a dishrag, still breathing hard. He slowly turned to look at Kelsey, and that was when it struck her.

  She’d just had sex with Brett Hollister.

  Even after her mind returned to its pre-sex capability, it took her a bit to process that thought. At first it seemed like she’d done a good thing. Nothing that felt this good could possibly be wrong, could it?

  Then she remembered. They were oil and water. Black and white. Night and day. Two people who should stay as far from each other as humanly possible so they didn’t collide and burst into flames.

  But it was just sex. No big deal, right?

  Who was she kidding? It was a big deal. Sex had always been a big deal to her, and she’d leaped right into it as if common sense had totally deserted her.

  Then an even worse thought occurred to her. Maybe all this was because of some dumb bet he’d made with another bartender at Gianelli's. Hey, Hollister! Twenty bucks says you can’t get her into bed!

  That thought drove her to scoot over and sit on the edge of the bed, and with every second that passed, she felt more desperate to get out of there. She got up and grabbed her clothes, wanting so badly to dress leisurely, blow him a kiss, and then stroll out of his bedroom as if what happened between them had meant nothing to her. Instead, she fumbled around with her jeans, finally cramming one leg into them as she hopped on one foot, then reversing the process, praying the whole time she didn't stumble and land on her ass. Then she realized, as she pulled her jeans up, she'd forgotten to put on her panties.

  “Why are you getting dressed?” he asked.

  “Because we’re finished.”

  “Finished? One orgasm? Seriously?”

  Her heart thudded hard, her knees about as strong as melted chocolate. One orgasm had practically knocked her unconscious. If he gave her another one, he’d be busted for second degree murder.

  “Once is enough," Kelsey said.

  “Oh, babe,” he murmured. “Once is never enough.”

  Babe? She turned back, intending to tell him that a million years of evolution had taken place, and it was time his caveman mentality caught up. But now he was leaning against the headboard, his arms folded across that beautiful chest, wearing that trademark smile. He looked big and sexy and self‑assured, and it was all she could do not to rip her clothes off again and leap right back into bed with him.

  She turned her back to him again, grabbing her panties from the floor and stuffing them into her jeans pocket. She pulled her shirt over her head and started for the door.

  He sat up. “Kelsey—"

  But she was already out of his bedroom. She had the sense of him getting up to follow her, but she was dressed and he wasn’t. She scooped her purse up from where she’d dropped it on his living room floor and raced out his door. As she crossed the hall, she fumbled for her keys, then ran into her apartment and closed the door behind her. She turned and leaned against it, clutching her hand over her heart. She still couldn't breath. She felt as if she hadn’t taken a good, solid breath since he’d given her that street corner kiss.

  Had she actually done it? Had she actually had sex with Brett Hollister? She felt so damned confused. And the state of confusion was a place she hated to live.

  She went to her kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She opened the cap, but instead of taking a drink, she held the cold bottle against her cheek, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. Okay. Time to think about this logically.

  Conclusion: She was making way too much out of the whole thing. Yes, she’d done it. And it had been good. Quite good. Nice entertainment for the evening, but that was all. And now he was out of her system. Brett could go back to his womanizing, and she could go back to feeling sane and balanced and orderly. And when she saw him again, she'd just act as if she slept with sexy men every day of the week and twice on Sunday, but she had chosen to move on.

  And that would be that.

  * * *

  After Kelsey left, Brett flopped onto his pillow, letting out a heavy breath of frustration. What the hell? In spite of the roundabout route they'd taken to his bed, the sex had been great—spectacular, actually—and then all she’d wanted to do was leave?

  The woman was giving him whiplash.

  And as much as she’d clearly wanted it, she’d also regretted it once it was over. He’d never had that happen before. He could honestly say he’d never had a woman bolt from his apartment. He was only a few months away from turning thirty. Surely that wasn’t the Age of Doom, was it? When he went from attracting women to repelling them?

  He got up, grabbed his jeans, and pulled out his phone. He dialed his brother’s number. After a couple of rings, Jacob came on the line.

  “Talk fast,” Jacob said, a little out of breath. “I’m under enemy fire.” />
  “Jacob. Lay down the squirt gun. This is serious.”

  “Squirt gun? Are you kidding? I’m talking heavy artillery!”

  “Then lay down the Nerf gun. I need to talk.”

  “Aaaghhh! I’m hit!”

  Brett heard some muffled shuffling around. Then a five-year-old voice came on the line. “I killed him dead, Uncle Brett!”

  “Are you sure? Always double tap.”

  “Oh, yeah. Forgot.”

  More shuffling around. More sounds of agony from Jacob. Then silence.

  After a moment, Jacob came on the line again. “Okay. The battle’s over. I’m dead. So what do you want?”

  “I have a question. Am I ugly?”

  “Ugly? Hmm. Well, you’re not as good‑looking as I am, but judging you against the general population, I’d say…no.”

  “Do I smell?” “I don’t know. I guess your basic body odor is relatively inoffensive.”

  “Am I a bad conversationalist?”

  “Does quantity count?”

  “Never mind.” Brett sighed. “It’s hell to walk around with a latent defect you can’t identify.”

  “So who is she?”

  Brett paused. “What do you mean?” “The woman you can’t get.”

  Suddenly Brett felt like the biggest loser alive. “I can get her,” he said on a sigh. “I just can’t keep her."

  “Good for her.”

  “What do you mean, good for her? Whose side are you on?”

  "It's about time a woman made you work at it. Is she worth keeping?"

  "Yeah. I think she is."

  “Then quit whining. To quote the Tao of Frank, ‘Anything worth having is worth fighting for.’ So go fight.”

  Then the line went dead. Brett tossed his phone aside and flopped back on the bed again, feeling no better than before he called. God. Their father and those dumb inspirational sentiments. He quoted them with all the authority of Confucius himself, as if he’d personally made them up, and then he expected his sons to live by them.

  But the more Brett thought about it, the more he had to admit that maybe that particular phrase had merit. Was Kelsey worth having? He thought about what a good person she was. How she didn’t fall at his feet the way other women had been known to. And no doubt about it‑‑she had a body he wanted to get to know even better. That part was really shallow, but hey. It just meant Kelsey was the whole package, making him want her even more. The fact that she might have a hang-up or two about him, or sex, or something else he hadn’t determined yet, didn’t dissuade him.