and couldn’t resist impishly adding, “There’s nothing indecisive about you.”
“Are you going to get that?” He pointed to the music box in her hands.
“No.” Marcy set the box down, linked her hand through his arm and pulled him away, smiling at his knowing smirk. “Let’s try this other little shop down the way.”
They exited one of the wonderful specialty shops in Greenwich Village and walked toward another. Marcy could get lost in this part of Manhattan for days. As they walked down the pedestrian-filled sidewalks surrounded by various shades of redbrick buildings on either side of the busy one-way street filled with cars, buses and cabs, Marcy glanced at the barren trees that littered the sidewalk; she couldn’t wait for them to bloom with the arrival of spring.
She had purposefully taken him to five different places simply to prolong their time together. Now she guided him into the store where the wedding present she had ordered for Damien and Natasha was being held.
“Ms. Johnson.” The female clerk beamed as they entered. “I know why you’re here. Let me go and get it.” She disappeared into another room.
Nathan’s lips thinned. “You’ve already bought Natasha and Damien’s present?”
“Yes.” Marcy laughed at his exasperation. “Wait until you see it.”
He sighed loudly and then asked, “Then why did you drag me to all those other shops?”
“I thought you might like some ideas,” she innocently responded. At his look of displeasure, she asked, “Is my company so unbearable?”
Quite the contrary; he enjoyed being with her. She was a breath of fresh air, and in her presence, he felt as carefree as sails of a boat being hoisted by liberating winds. He shouldn’t be here with her, but honestly, he had no desire to be anywhere else.
“I don’t like being played.” He tried to sound stern but failed miserably.
“And I love to play,” she admitted around a chuckle, touching his arm and moving closer to him. “What are we going to do about that blatant contradiction?”
He shook his head at her as a smile played about his lips. He had never met a more brazen or fascinating woman.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he drawled.
“Oh, I’m sure I will,” she agreed.
“Here you are, Ms. Johnson.” The clerk returned carefully cradling a twelve-inch crystal sculpture of a male and female ballerina, limbs frozen in movement dancing close to each other.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous.” Marcy approved, gently taking the figure from the woman’s hands and lifting it for Nathan’s inspection. “Isn’t it, Nathan?”
“Yes, it’s very nice.” He smiled at the joy lighting up her face—joy at doing something for someone she loved.
She carefully placed it down on the glass countertop and flipped a switch in the back to send soft music filtering into the air. She cocked her ear listening and then enthused, “It’s perfect!”
“Is that music from the ballet?”
“Yes, it’s the theme song,” she informed him before returning her attention to the clerk. “You’ve done a wonderful job in such a short time.”
“We’re pleased you’re happy, Ms. Johnson,” the woman assured her as she took Marcy’s credit card. “Shall we gift wrap it for you?”
“Oh, yes in something white and silver. It’s a wedding gift.”
“We have just the thing,” the woman said. “Would you like to wait for it?”
Marcy glanced at Nathan and returned her attention to the clerk. “Yes, we’ll wait.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to top that.”
“Do you really think they’ll like it?” She turned anxious eyes on him.
“They’ll love it,” he responded positively, taking her hand in his reassuringly.
She glanced at their linked fingers and then back into his now slightly uncomfortable eyes. When he tried to drop her hand, she tightened her fingers in his.
“I like Natasha. She’s a wonderful woman.”
“Thanks. Damien seems devoted to her.”
“He is, and she’s perfect for him.”
“They certainly didn’t waste any time deciding to marry, did they?”
She frowned. “Why should they?”
“No reason.” At her curious stare, he elaborated, “It’s just not like Natasha to be so brash. I mean she and Damien haven’t known each other long.”
“It doesn’t matter how long you know someone. When your heart tells you that you’ve found your soul mate, you have to listen to it.” Her eyes never left his as she delivered her double entendre that wasn’t lost on him. “Besides, we Johnsons are a decisive lot, and when we make up our minds, we go full steam ahead until we achieve our goal.”
“Yes.” He warily stared into her twinkling eyes. “I’m realizing that.”
“That’s good,” she softly approved.
Her sexy voice stroked him in all the deliciously wrong places. Why did he have to meet her now when he logically knew he couldn’t do anything about the obvious attraction they both felt? Why did she insist on making things harder by refusing to stay away from him as he had been trying so hard to stay away from her?
“I’m going to look at some wineglasses.” Needing some distance, he disentangled his hand from hers and walked away; of course, she followed him.
“Those are lovely,”
She leaned close to him, brushing her arm against his. The maddening scent of her perfume assailed his over-heightened senses. He wanted to grab her and kiss her desperately. He wanted to press her soft, yielding body close to his and plunder. He wanted... Damn! Get a hold of yourself, man!
“I think I like those better.” He pointed at a pair of champagne flutes a few feet away from her—to gain some space between them.
To his amazement, she stayed put, but when he glanced back at her, she was smiling amusedly as if she was completely aware of what his intentions had been.
* * *
“How about an early lunch?” Marcy suggested as they left the store a short while later, Nathan carrying her package and a set of Baccarat champagne flutes he had bought.
“I really have a lot to do today,” he replied.
That was a lie. The truth was he was enjoying himself with her much too much. He needed to get away from her bubbly, contagious, easy-to-be-with personality. If things were different, though...
“You have to eat, don’t you?” She interrupted his thoughts.
“I’ll just grab something later at the hotel.”
“Hotel food!” She screwed up her face in disgust. “Have you ever been there?” She pointed to the first restaurant she saw.
“No, but some other time,” he declined, preparing to hand her package to her and leave her on Hudson Street.
“There’s no time like the present.” Disregarding the shopping bag containing her gift, she took his free hand and guided him into the restaurant doors.
“Marcy, really...” His protest died on his lips as the hostess walked over to them.
“How many?” the woman asked.
“Two, please.” Marcy refused to release his hand until they were seated at a charming white linen-covered