The doctor stepped into his path. "Her X rays showed no sign of a concussion. Ms. Brockway is fine. But you won't be if that arm starts bleeding again."

"I want to see her." He started past her again, but she grabbed his good arm.

"If you want to see your Ms. Brockway, get in the chair."

He hesitated.

"I can get you to her faster in the chair because I know where she is. You don't."

He looked at her, almost amused. "You have a lousy bedside manner."

"Yeah." She grinned at him at he settled himself in the chair. "But my patients do what I tell them because I figure out their weak spots. And yours is Ms. Brockway. You're crazy in love with her."

Zach said nothing as she wheeled him down the short hallway. He didn't even speak to Sam when they rolled past him at the nurse's station. All he could think of was that he couldn't be in love with Chelsea. Attraction was one thing-but love? Fear bubbled up. No. It was impossible.

"I'll bet you even smell flowers when there's none around," Dr. Tong said.

"How did you...?"

"I'm a very good doctor."

Zach scanned the waiting room. It took him a moment to spot Chelsea because she was surrounded by men. In some part of his mind he recognized Ramn standing behind her and he registered that two of the others wore green scrubs. But his attention was riveted on the man kneeling on the floor with his head up her skirt! Zach was out of the wheelchair and across the waiting room in two quick strides.

"There," the headless man began. "I think that should-"

Zach grabbed the front of the man's shirt and jerked.

"Zach!" Chelsea blocked his raised fist at the same time that Sam wrapped his arms around his waist from behind.

He was about to shake both of them off when the red mist in front of his eyes cleared enough for him to recognize Daryl and to see that Chelsea had moved in front of her roommate.

"Peace." Daryl plucked a white handkerchief out of his pocket and waved it around Chelsea's shoulder. "I was just doing some damage control with the skirt."

"To h.e.l.l with the skirt. I wish I'd never seen it," Zach said, then winced as he tried to wrap his bad arm around Chelsea. "You're all right?"

"I'm fine. But your arm's not." She turned to the doctor. "Is it?"

"It should be fine if he can control his impulse to punch people out," Dr. Tong said with a smile. Then she signaled for the two men in scrubs to follow her.

Keeping his good arm around Chelsea, Zach turned to Sam. "Have you learned anything more about the man who knifed me?"

Sam glanced at Daryl and Ramn.

"You can talk in front of them," Zach said.

"The knifer's done it before. One of the detectives on the case thinks he may have been hired."

"That settles it." Zach turned to Chelsea. "We're going back to my apartment and you're going to take off that skirt for good."

"I can't. I'm wearing it to your aunt's ball tonight."

"You're not going."

"Of course, I'm going. You're the one who should stay home."

Zach drew in a deep breath. He wasn't going to win this argument by shouting. "I can't protect you. I thought I could, but I can't." Even as he spoke, he thought of that moment when he'd seen the blood staining the ice and thought it was Chelsea's. Shoving down the panic that was bubbling up all over again, he said, "I won't allow you-the magazine can't allow you to put your life in danger for the sake of a foolish article."

Chelsea stepped back from him. The hurt and anger he saw in her eyes sliced through him, but he didn't reach for her. The only thing he could allow himself to think of was keeping her safe.

"It's my life and my foolish article," she said. "I'm not the one who was knifed."

But you could have been. It was the image that had been flashing through his mind since they'd left the ice rink. He hadn't been able to stop it.

"The skirt articles are over. Metropolitan won't be running the last two."

Chelsea's chin shot up. "Fine."

"You'll stay at my apartment tonight. Sam will be able to protect you there."

"No," Chelsea said, taking another step back from him. "I won't be staying at your apartment."

"Chels-" But when he reached for her, she stepped even further away.

"The super got in touch with Daryl and Ramn. The apartment door's been fixed and a security system has been installed. I'm going with them."

When she turned to walk away, Zach managed to keep from reaching out to her. Instead, he said to Sam. "Take care of her."

"My pleasure."

He grabbed Sam's arm as the man moved past him. "She's mine."

Sam grinned. "Yeah. I can tell. You're acting like a total jerk. That's a sure sign you're crazy about her."

12.

FANTASY. GLITZ. GLAMOUR. It was everywhere that Chelsea looked. Miranda had worked a miracle, transforming the top floor of the Miramar Hotel into a true Christmas wonderland. Twinkling lights cascaded from the ceiling, and flowers were everywhere, banking the food and drink stations and lining the walls of windows that offered breathtaking views of the Manhattan skyline. It was a treat for the senses-the scent of food mingling with flowers, candlelight gleaming off crystal and silver, violin music mixing with the sound of laughter.

And Chelsea was absolutely miserable. Zach was furious with her. He hadn't spoken to her once since she'd arrived at the ball with Daryl as her date.

Even now, he was seated across from her at Miranda's table just as far away as he could get.

Of course, he'd been talking to board members. She'd been busy, too. Her feet hurt from dancing with all the men Miranda had introduced her to. She'd even managed a dance with Sam Romano. He'd a.s.sured her that every possible precaution was being taken to protect Zach. But not even his rea.s.surance had melted the tight fist of fear that had settled in her stomach ever since she'd seen Zach's blood on the ice. If the knifer's aim had been just a bit more accurate...

No, she wasn't going to dwell on that. But did Zach think that while his life was in danger, she was just going to sit at his apartment and wait? Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely! Not when she could keep an eye on him herself.

When she realized she was looking at Zach again, she tried to look away and couldn't. Thousands of little champagne bubbles b.u.mped against her heart. He was so reserved, so aloof, so controlled. The complete opposite of her. She could probably stare at him all evening like some lovesick puppy and he wouldn't so much as glance her way. If she made the first move and approached him he might merely ignore her and walk away.

Tearing her gaze away from him, she tried to gather her thoughts. She'd come here to gather data for her article and that's what she was going to do. Miranda had been so helpful, introducing her to several celebrities, including a rap star who'd not only complimented her on her dress, but had even asked her to dance. She could already imagine how she was going to write that up.

She'd danced with James McCarthy, the host of Good Morning, New York. He'd been very sweet, thanking her again for appearing on his show and raving about the spike in his ratings. He'd even very thoughtfully straightened the strap that had become twisted on her shoulder and offered to escort her out on one of the balconies for a breath of fresh air. They'd been stepping through the French doors when Miranda had interrupted and dragged her away.

The skirt was clearly a success. Daryl had outdone himself. The black sequined top he'd designed had thin straps over the shoulders and fit snugly to the waist. But the real miracle he'd worked had been on the skirt itself. Somehow, with tape, staples and a little bit of smoke and mirrors, he'd fixed it so that it looked like it had been made to go with the top.

When Miranda had introduced her to three of the board members' wives, they'd asked for the name of her designer. Luckily, she'd been able to introduce them to Daryl. Because he was her date, not Zach.

She pressed a hand against her heart just as the champagne bubbles bombarded it again.

"Your boss is looking daggers at me, too," Daryl complained in a low tone as he pantomimed pulling one out of his arm and tossed it on the floor.

"I don't want to talk about him," she said.

Miranda leaned close to Chelsea. "I haven't had this much fun in years. Zach is clearly taken with you."

"He likes me about as much as he likes poison ivy."

"You didn't see his face when James McCarthy was fiddling with your dress. I won't tell you what he threatened to do if I didn't drag you away from him. He rarely lets a woman-or anyone else for that matter-get under his skin. And you got him to go skating at Rockefeller Center. He hasn't skated since he was five."

"Why not? He really does know how," Chelsea said. "He just needed to get the feel of doing it on a single blade."

Miranda looked at her. "He didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"He was skating with his mother on Christmas Eve when she collapsed. They rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late. Her heart had always been weak. The doctors had warned her not to have children. I think deep down my brother blamed Zach for Mary's death."

Chelsea couldn't prevent herself from looking at Zach then. She didn't see the man who'd rejected her that afternoon. Nor did she see the cool, aloof man who was ignoring her now. Instead, she saw the little boy who'd been skating when he'd lost his mother.

And yet, he'd gone with her onto the ice. Hope was blooming in her heart when his gaze met hers. Cold, blue ice was what she saw. It nearly made her teeth chatter. It definitely made her spine stiffen.

"I'd like to dance with someone," she said.

"At your service," Daryl said.

"No offense, Daryl, but we've established that the skirt doesn't work on you. I need to do my job and finish gathering data."

Miranda scanned the dance floor. "Let's see if we can kill two birds with one stone. Ah," she said, rising and drawing Chelsea with her. "I have just the person. Have you met Zach's brother?"

"Briefly," Chelsea said. "Our meeting didn't go well."

Miranda took her arm and urged her toward the dance floor. "We have him at a disadvantage now. He's in public and he can't afford a scene."

"He's still not going to want to dance with me."

Miranda shot her a grin. "Let's see if the skirt can take on a challenge, shall we?"

ZACH WANTED to throttle her. He wanted to grab her and drag her away to safety. But he couldn't go near her. Keeping his distance was the only way he could keep her safe. It was the only strategy that he and Sam could come up with once Daryl had called to warn them that Chelsea was determined to come to the ball and that he was coming with her. Of course, Zach should have expected it. Why had he thought even for a moment that she would do the sensible thing and stay home where she would be safe? He owed Daryl for offering to escort her.

Unclenching his hands, Zach rose from the table and moved toward one of the drink stations so that he could keep Chelsea in sight. It would have been easier if they were any closer to figuring out who was behind the threats, but they weren't. So far all Sam had been able to come up with was that the police had eliminated Boyd Carter because he had been out of the country skiing for two weeks.

That left Jerry at the head of the suspect list.

As he ordered a drink, he scanned the room and saw that he wasn't the only one who had moved closer to Chelsea. Both Daryl and Sam had shifted to spots near the edge of the dance floor.

Taking the drink from the bartender, Zach nearly let it slip through his fingers as his aunt tapped his brother on the shoulder. He'd taken two steps toward the dance floor before Daryl stepped into his path. "I have two messages. But I want to make sure you're not going to kill the messenger."

"Go ahead," Zach said.

"Miranda wants Chelsea to work a little magic on your brother and I'll cut in at the first sign of any trouble."

Zach studied him for a moment. "I want to thank you for bringing her tonight."

"No problem. After seeing the apartment, I wouldn't have let her come alone. Ramn couldn't possibly get away from the restaurant or he'd be here, too."

Zach's gaze narrowed as he studied Daryl's face. "What about you? They can't have been happy when you told them you weren't coming in. Are you going to have a job after tonight?"

Daryl grinned at him. "Who cares? After seeing Chelsea, four of your board members' wives want me to design them outfits and several others want replicas of her skirt. One of them gave the card of a buyer at Bloomingdale's and told me to use her name."

"It sounds to me like you need a financial backer. On Wednesday, why don't you come to my office. We'll-"

"I'm sorry." Miranda was slightly out of breath as she reached them. "I need to borrow Daryl."

Zach watched them thread their way through the other couples on the dance floor until they were close to Jerry and Chelsea. Then he took a long swallow of his scotch.

In another hour it would be midnight and he'd nearly finished what his aunt had mapped out for him to do. The only board member he hadn't spoken to yet was Harrison Marsh, the president. When Chelsea had danced with him, the man who was known for his poker-faced sobriety had laughed three times.

If he told her she had worked a minor miracle, she'd just shake her head and give that blasted skirt the credit. And all the while, it was... Chelsea.

He was in love with her. Even as he admitted it to himself, a flood of sensations swamped him-a tightness in his throat, a strange pressure near his heart and a sharp sinking sensation in his stomach. The same sensations he'd been experiencing since he'd first seen her in that restaurant with Daryl's head up her skirt.

He was getting used to it. Almost.

He intended to do something about it. He'd gotten the ring-his mother's-out of the safe in his apartment the moment he'd gotten back from the hospital. He'd planned on going to her apartment after the ball... Now, he had to change his plans. But he was still going to ask her tonight-just as soon as he could get her away from this place-right after the stroke of midnight when it was officially Christmas Eve. Both of them had memories to replace.

AFTER SIXTY straight seconds of dancing with Jerry McDaniels, Chelsea had decided two things. First of all, Zach's brother was about as smooth on the dance floor as the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. Second, and more important, the skirt was having no effect on him. No doubt after the full day she'd put it through, it was worn out again. Congressman McDaniels seemed determined not to even talk to her. Instead, he was exchanging pleasantries with any other couple who came within range. Since he was a whole foot taller than she was, she didn't get in his way at all.

Glancing past Jerry's shoulder, she caught Miranda's encouraging wink and Daryl's thumbs-up. Beyond them, she saw Zach leaning against one of the drink stations chatting with a pretty, blond bartender. Shifting her gaze to Jerry, she decided to be blunt.

"Why don't you want your brother to run Metropolitan?" Jerry missed a step and Chelsea watched the friendly politician's smile disappear. He started to frown, then caught himself. But he wasn't ignoring her anymore.

"That's none of your business, young lady."