could only hope. “Me and Shandi.”
Cool now, Marissa raised an eyebrow. “Would you?”
“Hell, no.” When he ran into Shandi these days, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been involved with her. Thinking about it, he saw that she’d dazzled him with her freewheeling zest, somewhat like Marissa. Shandi Lee was an experience. Three years ago, he’d still been new to the city lifestyle, recently removed from a comfortable suburban home. He had commuted to college, then put in a short stint at a small-town paper before realizing that he’d become too settled.
But he’d progressed since his first days in the city. He’d become a lot smarter about what kind of woman he wanted in his life.
“You liked her once,” Marissa ventured.
“Uh, I still do.” Even if he didn’t entirely trust her.
“You liked her in a romantic way.”
“Well, you were with…what was his name?”
“Ivan. He’s a cancer researcher now, you know, at Sloan Kettering.”
“Impressive.” Marissa’s men usually had careers of importance or wealth. Jamie would never accomplish either with his average-paying job at the Village Observer. His big attempt at ambition was ghost-writing a biography with a rock legend, a project that had hit a major pothole when he’d realized the man was functionally illiterate.
Marissa had unlocked the front door. She turned her eyes on him. They were clear and unblinking, framed in a fringe of dark lashes. “No, I don’t want Ivan back.”
“And I don’t want Shandi.”
“Then we’re agreed. We’ll all be just friends.”
Little did she know. After Sally’s sojourn in the park, they’d gone to Blue Dog’s Café, a popular coffeehouse with huge breakfasts and free doggie biscuits at the counter. Marissa had excused herself and come back with her hair finger-combed and the baggy T-shirt knotted above her belly button. Without makeup, her face glowed. Her bare lips were full and soft. He’d found it tough to pull his gaze away, although her natural beauty was daunting. She could emerge from a ragbag and still pull herself together, while he counted himself dapper if he remembered to put on an unwrinkled shirt.
Over a tofu and spinach scramble, she’d continued with her insistence that this wasn’t the right time to start up anything between them. He’d agreed against every instinct, silently planning to bide his time until she adjusted to the idea.
The situation might have seemed hopeless. Except that he’d been struck by the way she’d avoided touching him. At first. And proof that she was as aware of him as he was of her.
The dog, who’d been sniffing at a concrete urn holding only the stiff brown stalks of last year’s planting, suddenly gave one short sharp bark. She shot to the end of the leash. The jolt almost jerked Jamie off his feet. “Sally! Quiet.”
Marissa stood at his shoulder. “What is it?”
“There must have been a cat.” He looked across the street. A woman pushed a stroller. A man in an ill-fitting business suit leaned against a mailbox, head lowered while he lit a cigarette. Sally growled low in her throat.
“I’m jumpy since the mugging attempt,” said Marissa. “I even thought Shandi was a burglar.”
“I’ll keep an eye out.” Jamie squeezed her hand.
The gesture was innocent, then not. They realized their proximity at the same moment. His gaze caught on her lips. She dented the lower one with her teeth. They leaned even closer, inches away, holding their breath—
“Hey, hey, hey! What’s going on here?” called a voice from above. Shandi hung out of the third-floor window. “Break it up, you guys.”
Marissa pulled away, her cheeks almost as pink as her lips.
“Would you mind answering your cell?” Cavalierly, Shandi tossed the phone out the window. “It’s driving me up the wall, ringing every ten minutes.”
Jamie made a lunge and caught the phone. He handed it to Marissa. “I thought it was switched off,” she said when the shrill ringer went off.
Shandi grimaced. “Yeah, well, I had to make a few calls and my minutes are running short. Quid pro quo— you stole my shoes.”
“Great.” Marissa flipped the phone open and said a wary “Hello?”
A deep voice immediately began fast talking on the other end of the connection. Jamie knew by the way her face sobered that the caller was Paul Beckwith. What he couldn’t tell was whether she’d wanted to hear from him.
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