“I’ll be right back.” She lunged up the stairs, returning with a pair of flat boots.
He supervised her as she changed shoes, cataloging the reaction on her face as she attempted to hide her pain. He knew the plan to walk and take the subway would have to be scrapped. After forcing her to swallow some ibuprofen, he rigged an icepack with a Ziploc bag.
She rejected the ice, standing to move toward the door, putting weight on her foot despite her white-faced strain. He hurried to support her, but she pushed her way out the front door with grim determination.
“Wait Grace.” He followed quickly, shutting the door behind them.
“I’m fine. I really want to go.”
He grinned. “Okay. I got that, already. But I have a plan.”
“What?”
He could read the suspicion on her face. Before she could react, he scooped her, squealing, into his arms. She giggled, locking her hands behind his neck. It was all he could do not to pull her against him and kiss her senseless. His heart pounded in his chest, even though he was hardly exerting himself to carry her the half block to the main street.
He set her feet down and hailed a cab. By the time they arrived at Madison Square Gardens, she was grinning, her sprained ankle forgotten in the excitement. And the grin never left her face throughout the entire two-and-a-half-hour game, in which the Rangers scored the winning goal in the last two minutes. She was on her feet much of the time, and he was almost convinced her injury was quite minor. But when he noticed her limping as they exited, he forced her to sit and allow him to inspect her ankle. He discovered a pronounced swelling and berated himself for agreeing to take her to the game after the injury.
“I need to take you straight home—this ankle looks bad.”
Her crushed expression broke his heart. “I don’t want to go home yet. We haven’t even had time to... to talk or anything. Not since... you know... since everything happened... And we haven’t... you know... I missed you and...”
He wanted to be alone with her, too. But he didn’t want to talk—he wanted to kiss her. He gave in without further protest, attempting to hide a smug expression stemming from her obvious desire for the same thing he wanted.
“What if we went to the top of the Rock? There won’t be many people up there at this time of night. No, I know... Let’s go to Central Park. Have you ever been on a carriage ride? I know it’s kind of touristy, but since you can’t walk...”
“I’ve lived here all my life and never taken a carriage ride in Central Park. It sounds fun.”
He knelt with his back to her. “Climb on—I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”
Carrying her outside toward the taxi, his nerves were hotwired, firing on all circuits, from the contact of her soft form as she clung to his back. What he really wanted was to get her alone—really alone. He wanted to kiss her lips, her neck, and so much more. But he knew that could never happen. He had to be certain they never had too much privacy, so he didn’t tempt his frazzled willpower.
*****
The carriage ride was as romantic as Grace had always imagined. Brad chatted about Ben’s surgery and recovery as his arm slid around the back of the cushion over her shoulder, his hand rubbing lightly on her arm in a seemingly idle fashion. She didn’t notice when he stopped talking. She was only aware of his hand as it slid up her arm and across her shoulder to caress her neck, sending millions of tiny sparks along millions of tiny nerve endings. He leaned in toward her lifting her chin with his fingertips, while continuing his fiery assault on the skin of her neck. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and she held her breath, waiting for the touch of his lips against hers. And then she heard something strange—a wet, plopping sound. A pungent smell accosted her nose.
“Oh, good grief! That’s awful! Did the horse just...”
Brad laughed. “Are you sure that wasn’t you, and you’re not just blaming the poor horse?”
Her punch landed on his rock-hard bicep. “Ow!” she exclaimed, shaking her hand.
“What do you mean, ‘Ow’? You’re the one who hit me.”
“But you deserved it. And anyway, your arm hurt my hand.” She flashed him a crooked smile as she rubbed her knuckles.
He grasped her fingers and lifted the reddened knuckles to his lips. “Let me kiss it and make it feel better.”
She almost swooned at the combined sight and sensation of his lips as they pressed gently against her hand, causing a warm current to flow up her arm. As if he knew the heat had traveled that direction, he began to move his lips across her hand and wrist, flipping it to kiss a slow sweep up the inside of her forearm, Gomez-style. His lips seared an icy-hot trail on her skin until she squirmed in her seat. By the time he reached her shoulder, her muscles had melted, resulting in her boneless collapse against the carriage seat.
As her head fell back in surrender to her overwhelmed senses, he accepted the opportunity as an invitation. Her breathing was short and shallow, anticipating, reveling in the feeling of his lips nibbling on her neck. But when he reached the soft hollow under her jaw, she saw bursts of light behind her eyelids, and a moan almost escaped her lips.
His low chuckle reverberated against her neck. He whispered, his breath hot against her skin. “Shhh! Not so loud.”
Had her moan been audible? How embarrassing. Her face burned, and she stiffened, opening her eyes to determine if the carriage driver had overheard.
“I made a noise? Was it really loud?”
His fingers stroked along the line of her jaw, causing her eyes to flutter closed. “Don’t worry—he’s not paying any attention.” His voice was soothing and hypnotic, as were his fingers. She couldn’t move, even if she’d had the desire. He returned his lips to her skin, back to the moan-making spot on her neck, and she felt goose bumps rising on her leg. Who knew there was a connection between those nerves?