by Calista Fox
“You could have made an appointment for your heel ailment.”
She took a sip of the wine and said, “First, I suspect your calendar is booked for the next two years. I don’t have that much time to wait this out.”
His gaze narrowed, concern no doubt etching his face.
“No, no,” she immediately said with a vehement shake of her head. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not dying or anything. No one’s dying. No death. That’s not why I so urgently wanted to see you.”
“Good to know. Very good to know.”
“Second,” she said, “I don’t have a heel ailment.”
“Actually, you do. Plantar fasciitis. Heel spurs, essentially. I felt the slight inflammation when I examined you.”
She gave a slight pout. “Don’t you need more concrete evidence to determine a medical condition such as that?”
“Do you experience sharp, shooting pains in your heel first thing in the morning?”
“Sometimes.”
“And when you’re either standing or sitting for a lengthy period of time—as you likely were when you were waiting for me today?”
“Okay. Yeah.”
“Plus, you feel an ache or some pain or discomfort in your arch. You admitted as much in my office.”
“Doesn’t everyone at the end of the day?”
“No. But heel spurs will do that to you.”
She frowned.
Evan instinctively brushed a few strands of hair from her pretty face and said, “Don’t worry. There are some very simple cures. Nothing invasive at this stage, I promise.”
“Invasive for me would be you telling me to start wearing orthopedic shoes or sneakers.”
His gaze flitted over her, and he gave a slight shake of his head. “No, we caught it in time. And you’re sensational as is, remember?”
“Damn, you can be charming when you want to be.”
Staci’s long lashes fluttered.
Evan’s chest pulled tight. More so than when she’d admitted to being lonely after her big shoe event.
What was that all about?
Was he…falling for her?
Shaking off the wayward thought, he said, “Don’t get me wrong. I strongly suggest you change up your routine and work some lower heels into your week.”
“I gave you two inches this evening.”
He laughed. “I’m sorry. What?”
“These are only four-inch pumps.”
“You did that for me?”
“I conscientiously did.”
“Well, then. That’s a start.” He took a drink of wine. “This is an exceptional Bordeaux, by the way.”
“Finally, we agree on something.” She gave him another smile. An inviting one.
“Yes,” he said. “We do.”
On sheer impulse, Evan bent his head to hers and took her mouth with all of the passion that had been simmering inside him since he’d woken up in his bed without her.
To hell with them being in public.
Chapter Eleven
Holy. Moses!
Evan’s kiss caught Staci off guard at first. It was so unexpected. Spontaneous. Seemingly so unlike him.
But those thoughts only flitted through her mind briefly.
Then, suddenly, there were no thoughts in her head. There was nothing but glorious, overwhelming sensation. Rocketing through her body. Targeting all of her erogenous zones. Making her soar.
His mouth pressed to hers for but a moment before their lips parted and his tongue slipped inside, delving deep, tangling with hers. His hand slid under her hair and he cupped the back of her head, keeping her close—not that she was going anywhere.
Flames instantly ignited, licking at her clit, setting her on fire.
She gripped his arm, her fingers curling around the material of his jacket as she held on for dear life.
He tasted incredibly good. The Bordeaux mixing with something even darker. More tantalizing. Like fiery cinnamon. And good God, did the man know how to deliver a red-hot lip-lock that nearly incinerated her from the inside out.
When he finally pulled away, Staci was breathless. Her veins hummed with electric currents. Her body throbbed in all the right places. And deep in her core, a voracious craving demanded more!
“Holy shit,” she murmured.
The bar erupted with applause—they’d had quite the audience.
Staci was not one to blush. And yet she felt heat flood her face and neck.
Evan gave her a playfully arrogant look—smug bastard—and reached for his wine. He took a deep sip.
Staci had to get her breathing under control before she could douse the flames inside with a drink from her own glass.
A good five minutes had to have passed before she was finally able to speak. “You realize you could make a woman come with just a kiss, don’t you?”
“You’re the only woman I kiss like that,” Evan said with all seriousness, not an ounce of arrogance this time. “I don’t know women like you.”
Staci’s heart fluttered. Things moved inside her. Emotions she was wholly unfamiliar with bubbled to the surface. The crowd melted away again.
She said, “I felt a bit of relief that Tanya interrupted us earlier. Now I’m totally regretting it.”
He stared intently at her. “Why were you relieved?”
“Because I wanted to rip your shirt open. The kiss wouldn’t have been enough.”
He grinned. “I would have neither complained nor resisted.”
“Evan.”
Okay, this was getting crazy. Like crazy deep in that we’re-starting-something-dangerous-here sort of way. Hadn’t she considered earlier that getting involved with him was a bad idea?
“Staci,” he countered. “We got off to an explosive start in Baltimore. Spent more than a week pissed off at each other. Had a rocky reunion today. At first. And I apologize for that. But you have to admit—”
“I’m sorry.” Jean’s front-house manager stepped toward Staci and Evan and said, “Your table is ready, Miss Kay. If you’ll please follow me.”
Staci bristled a little at the bad timing on the manager’s part, but knew she was only doing her job. And Staci could definitely use some food. Maybe she was just buzzing from the wine and not really feeling all of these wicked zings and emotional zaps of lightning because of Evan. An excellent Bordeaux could do that to a woman.
Though in her soul, Staci knew the truth.
It was all Evan.
Because it was exactly what she’d felt with him in Baltimore. And in his office earlier.
They were escorted to an intimate table for two tucked into a cozy nook with a fireplace and a window that looked out on Central Park. The antique sconces on the outer brick wall illuminated the snow falling on passersby, as well as the trees and horse-drawn carriages across the street in the park.
“I don’t have menus,” the manager said, “if that’s all right with you. Chef Marquis has a five-course meal planned, starting with a charcuterie board. And, of course, wine pairings personally selected from his cellar.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Evan told her.
Staci nodded.
The manager gently placed linen napkins in their laps and then left them alone. A server immediately swooped in with a meat and cheese board and pointed out the black truffle ravioli, gourmet pâtés, and terrines.
Staci loaded up a torn chunk of baguette with a pâté as the sommelier brought in a bottle of Syrah, explaining the vintage and bouquet before pouring a sample for Evan. He nodded his approval, and the sommelier served.
When they were alone, Staci prompted Evan to finish his sentiment from the bar. “You were saying…?”
“That you’re irresistible.” He tipped the rim of his glass to hers again.
She laughed softly. “I’m not sure that was the direction in which you were headed, but…okay.” They sipped and nibbled. Staci admitted, “I’m ravenous, so don’t judge. I basically existed off of Cheese Nips and Milk D
uds today.”
“It’s not worth starving yourself in order to stalk me.”
“I don’t know that yet.”
“Okay,” he concurred. “Trust me when I say I don’t mind having such a gorgeous shadow. But it’s a little out of the ordinary. Especially the gorgeous part.”
She smiled. Really, who would have guessed he could be so sweet after he’d been so angry with her, believing she’d been deceptive that night at the Four Seasons?
Clearly, there were many facets to Dr. Evan Hart—and she was fascinated by every one of them. Even if it was a bad idea to get pulled deeper and deeper into the erotic abyss they’d both created.
Over their appetizers of escargot and mussels and their arugula salads with strawberries and candied walnuts, she laid it all on the line with Evan. Every tiny detail she could give him about her company, her mission, and the fact that she’d come to realize she was destined to make a difference in the shoe industry that went well beyond inserts and shock-absorbing rubber soles.
“I’ve done extensive research,” she said. “I know there are scientific advancements to walking shoes that literally springboard the foot with every step. I know there has to be some sort of enhancement that can aid women who live for high heels.”
Their entrees arrived, delivered personally by Jean. He set out three plates and described the duck with berry sauce, veal chop, and beef chateaubriand with the accompanying sides.
As the chef returned to the kitchen, Staci said, “Jean knows I can’t cook, so I think he’s subliminally assuring you that, if you hook up with me, you’ll be well fed regardless of my lack of culinary skills.”
Over the rim of his glass of Burgundy, Evan asked, “Am I hooking up with you?”
“Come on,” she teased. “My shoe idea captivates you.”
“You captivate me.”
She smiled. “But I’ve piqued your interest with designing a better shoe, correct?”
“Sweetheart,” he said.
Her brow jumped.
“Staci,” he amended.
“Sweetheart’s fine,” she mused as she sliced into the ultra-tender veal chop and all but melted off her chair between Evan’s term of endearment and the smooth-as-butter veal. What was happening to her, she hadn’t a clue. Yet she wasn’t inclined to extract herself from this potentially messy entanglement.
She liked Evan too much for that.
And had to confront and accept the fact head-on.
“Anyway,” he said as he placed a sample of duck on his plate. “Let’s first address the fact that the human foot should not be subjected to an unnatural state for any period of time, let alone extended periods of time.”
“I already know that. But, let’s face it, Evan. Women aren’t going to stop buying four-, five-, and six-inch heels just because you’ve declared them ‘unnatural’. I’m not going to stop wearing them—or selling them.”
He chewed vigorously, gave a nod to the excellent food, she surmised, then said, “I don’t want you ending up in surgery. Regina Hines could barely feel her toes, Staci.”
“I told you I was fine with sweetheart.”
He shook his head. Chuckled under his breath. “You are too much.”
“I’m just enough,” she assured him. Then implored, “Help me, Ev. Please.”
“Oh, fuck.”
She grinned. “Come on. Two people don’t kiss the way we just did, in public no less, without ending up with nicknames. Not aliases. Actual nicknames.”
“I’ll accept you as the only person on Earth allowed to call me that. But when it comes to your request to find a better way to support women’s feet in those ridiculously tall—”
“Dr. Hart.” She glared at him. “You’re at the tip-top of the slippery slope called hypocrisy.”
Evan sighed. “Yes. I am.” He devoured half of the beef chateaubriand before he finally admitted, “You take my breath away—and the shoes are a part of the package. Because they’re a part of you.”
“Exactly.” Her heart flipped at how well he understood her.
Evan polished off the veal chop while she finished the duck. They sipped wine in silence. The fire snapped, the flames flickered. The snow kept falling.
He stared at her the whole time he worked out his internal debate.
Then he set his glass aside and said, “If we can possibly devise some way to spare your feet in any capacity so that you’re able to continue wearing the shoes that you love—until it becomes impractical to do so,” he added as a caveat, “then it’s absolutely worth helping you.”
“It’s not just me, Evan.”
“I understand that. And I appreciate the sensitivity you have toward your customers’ podiatric health and care. But at the very top of my list of high-heel-wearing patients is you.”
Warmth flooded Staci’s veins. Not in a million years would she have ever imagined that Dr. Evan Hart would be so compassionate toward her. Nor would she have guessed that everything about the man—even when he tried her nerves—could permeate her insides so that she was consumed by him. Addicted to him.
In desperate need of him—in more ways than one.
This most definitely was not just about shoes.
Perhaps she’d known that from the moment he’d steadied her when she’d run into him in the hallway at Mount Sinai—as the podiatric surgeon, not the hotter-than-hell man who’d fucked her on his sofa. Certainly when he’d nearly kissed her in his office. She’d just been in denial the rest of the afternoon, when she’d tried to keep the upper hand as it related to her goal.
But then he’d walked into the bar, looking so damn sexy it was a wonder she could concentrate on what Jean was saying to her.
And now here Evan was, playing knight in shining armor first and foremost to her—but also to her customers.
How could she not adore the man even more?
When Jean returned they raved about the food, but Staci was stuffed to the gills and Evan confessed to the same. So Jean packed up a sample of six crèmes brûlées and a bottle of Taittinger and handed over the bag to Evan.
“Take this someplace romantic and enjoy it,” Jean told them.
Staci gave her friend a big hug. “You’re the best.”
“Come see me again. Soon,” he insisted.
“I promise,” she said, then left the restaurant with Evan. The snow continued to fall.
He said, “I have a car service.”
“And I’m a phone call away from a limo ride back to the Plaza.”
“Ah, the Plaza. You do enjoy your luxuries.”
“So do you.”
He nodded. Then said, “Since neither one of us is driving and I’m not working in the morning, popping open this bottle of champagne isn’t such a bad idea.”
“It’s a fantastic idea,” she said, heat flaring in her belly. “Come back to the Plaza with me.”
“I was going to invite you to my apartment.”
She leaned in close, her lips brushing his. Against them, she said, “I have an expensive suite. Let’s make good use of it.”
He groaned in a titillating way that went straight to her pussy. Then he said, “Jean Marquis was right. It really is impossible to say ‘no’ to you.”
“Then stop trying.”
“Come on,” he said as he took her arm and held her steady once again, this time so she didn’t slip in the snow. And likely because she still had a really nice buzz from the wine. “Small steps. We’ll walk off this food on our way to the Plaza.”
“I really do like it when you cross over to my side.”
“Resistance is futile,” he joked.
“It took you way too long to learn that, Ev.”
Chapter Twelve
Evan got them safely to the Plaza with no mishaps on the snowy sidewalks. They took the elevator to Staci’s floor. His body was rigid with sexual tension, his desire for her seizing every inch of him.
Staci truly was like no other woman he’d ever known.
&nb
sp; And Evan was smart enough to recognize the significance.
“So…” Skuhe opened the door to her suite and stepped inside, gesturing for him to precede her past the entryway. “Let me connect with my butler, and he’ll put our champagne on ice.”
She shot him a look. Clearly waiting for him to tease in her some way about asking the valet for ice instead of traipsing half-naked down the hallway herself.
He merely snickered.
“That was unexpected,” she said.
“That I didn’t take the bait? Too easy.”
“Right.”
“Have the butler draw a hot bath as well,” Evan said. “We’ll soak your feet.”
He walked into her sitting room and located a small notepad and pen. He scribbled down a few items and folded over the paper while Staci used the in-room iPad to request assistance.
Then she set out the desserts. The butler arrived and poured sparkling water with lime slices, popped the cork on the champagne, served two flutes, and then returned the bottle to the chiller he’d prepared. He retrieved small dishes and spoons from the butler’s pantry and set them out with linen napkins for the crèmes brûlées.
Staci said, “I’ll let Jean know his care package isn’t going to waste.”
While she texted, Evan slipped the note to the butler, along with a hundred-dollar tip, and murmured, “Give us forty-five minutes before you draw the bath.”
“Of course, sir. And thank you for your generosity.”
When they were alone, Evan and Staci made another silent toast and sipped.
“You really ought to sample the desserts,” she said. “Jean is a connoisseur of crème brûlée and only serves the best of the best. Flavors that will blow your mind, I promise.”
Evan set aside his glass. “There’s something else I’d rather sample at the moment.”
Excitement flashed in Staci’s tawny eyes. “Oh?”
“Yes.”
He took her glass and put it next to his. Then he moved closer and kissed her again. Slowly and leisurely at first. Their lips twisting and tangling. Their breaths mingling. Their hands gently exploring.