Sarah Morgan - Miracle On 5th Avenue

He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone so deliciously indiscreet.

“You’ve never faked an orgasm?”

“Could you forget I said that?”

He imagined her in bed, naked and uninhibited. Heat raced over his skin and his thoughts were explicit enough to make him uncomfortable. Since his wife’s death he’d had no shortage of offers, from sex to marriage, but had never once been tempted. It wasn’t just that he’d left his bad boy days in his past. It was more that he no longer had the taste for it. Every time he looked at a woman he saw the expression on Sallyanne’s face the last time he’d seen her alive.

But he was definitely attracted to Eva.

To take his mind off sex, he pondered on how someone of her build could murder a man twice her size.

“I’m a writer. Human behavior interests me.”

She interested him.

He told himself that his interest was professional, but part of him recognized that as a lie.

She let her hands drop. “We were talking about Christmas trees. Real Christmas trees, which smell and look beautiful.”

“And drop needles all over my floor.” He remembered the way she’d felt underneath him.

“If needles drop you clean them up.” She unbuttoned her coat. “It’s not hard.”

“I don’t have time. I have a book to finish and I need to be left in peace to do that. If you decorate my apartment, you’ll disturb me.” It wasn’t the noise that worried him, or the intrusion of having someone else in the apartment, it was her.

She made him feel something he didn’t want to feel.

Maybe it was because she was nothing like his wife. Sallyanne had been tall and willowy. In heels, she’d matched his height. Physically, Eva was as different from Sallyanne as it was possible for a woman to be. He knew instinctively that losing himself in Eva’s soft curves would be a whole new experience, with no flashbacks or reminders, but he knew that for a man like him to get involved with a woman like her would definitely be a crime, just not the sort he wrote about.

“You won’t even know I’m here.”

“You’re not the type of woman who blends into the background.”

“You don’t need to worry about me disturbing you,” she said quickly. “I understand that creative genius needs space to work. Also there’s the fact that I don’t find your company that thrilling, Mr. Blade.”

The kitten had claws . “Tell my grandmother you changed your mind about the job.”

“No. I’m being paid to decorate your apartment and stock your freezer in your absence. That’s what I intend to do.”

“I’m not absent.”

“Which is inconvenient for both of us, particularly as you’re not allowing me to disclose that fact to the person who gave me this job. I don’t like lying.”

He discovered that those soft blue eyes and mermaid-like hair concealed a woman with a stubborn streak a mile wide.

The thought that his grandmother might finally have met her match almost compensated for the irritation of failing to shift her from his apartment.

Almost, but not quite.

“Leave, and I’ll match whatever she’s paying you.”

“It’s not about the money, Mr. Blade. It’s about my professional reputation. I take pride in my work.”

“And what is your work, exactly? You’re a Christmas elf? You decorate the apartments of unsuspecting Scrooge-like individuals, thus intensifying their loathing of this time of year?” His sarcasm seemed to slide right off her.

“I’m part of Urban Genie. We’re an events and concierge company.”

“Decorating my apartment is an event?”

“Your grandmother is one of our clients and this request came through her. We can do pretty much anything that’s requested of us.”

He bit back the obvious comment. He told himself that he didn’t want to make cheap jokes at her expense, but the truth was he was trying hard not to think of her that way. “Anything, it seems, except leave when you’re asked to.”

“I’d leave if requested to do so by my client. You’re not my client.”

“Give me the name of your boss, and I’ll call and explain that I no longer need your services.”

“I am the boss. I run the business with two of my friends.”

“How do you know my grandmother?”

“I met Mitzy earlier in the year when she requested a birthday cake. She was one of our first clients. We got talking, and since then she’s used us a few times. When the weather is cold I walk her little dog, and sometimes we just talk.”

No one but his grandfather had ever called his grandmother Mitzy. To everyone else she was Mary, or Gran. Clearly this girl was more to his grandmother than the face of an efficient concierge service. “What do you talk about?”

“Everything. She’s an interesting woman.”

“She pays you to chat? You charge an old lady for company?”

“No. I chat because I like her.” She was patient. “She reminds me of my grandmother. She’s a little lonely, I think.”

Even though there was no accusation in her eyes or in her voice, he felt another stab of guilt.

“She calls you?”

“Occasionally. More often she uses our Urban Genie app.”

“You’re confusing her with someone else. My grandmother doesn’t own a cell phone. She has always refused to have one.” He thought of the number of arguments they’d had on that topic. He didn’t understand how she was allowed to worry about him, but he wasn’t allowed to worry about her.

“She didn’t refuse me. And she regularly uses our app.”

“She hates technology.”

“She hates the idea of it, but she was fine once we’d given her basic training. She’s very smart.”

“You trained her?” How did he not know this? He thought back to the last time he’d seen his grandmother. The summer had been busy with an international book tour. He’d spent less than two days at home in July and August. Since then he’d been busy trying to find a way to start his book.

They were excuses and he knew it.

He could have found the time. He could have made the time.

The truth was he found it hard to be with his grandmother. Her intentions were good, but whenever she tried to soothe his pain she simply made it worse. No one could heal the wound that festered inside him, not his grandmother, and not this woman with eyes the color of a summer sky and hair the color of buttermilk.

He held out his hand. “Do you have the app on your phone? Show me.” He took her phone from her and opened the app. “Your wish is our command?” He raised an eyebrow. “My wish is that you leave and tell no one you saw me. How do we make that happen?”

She snatched the phone from him. “We don’t. Here’s the deal, Mr. Blade. I don’t know why you’re not in Vermont, and I don’t need to know. That’s not my business. My business is doing the job your grandmother paid me to do. I will decorate your apartment, fill your freezer and then I will leave.”

He would have been impressed if he hadn’t been so exasperated.

Finally, after months of struggling, he was ready to write and he couldn’t because this woman refused to leave him alone.

“I could have you removed.”

“You could. But then I’d call your grandmother and tell her where you are. I’m sensing you don’t want me to do that, so I’m sure we can reach a compromise we can both live with.”

“You’re blackmailing me?” After a decade spent exploring the darker side of human nature nothing ever surprised him, but this did.

Her eyes were kind, her mouth lush and perfectly curved. On the outside she was gentle and sweet. Inside she was solid steel. The contrast might have intrigued him, but right now all it did was aggravate.