Since he was old enough to be her father, Chelsea winked at Carleton. It was her chance to get out of the booth. "Ask me to dance and I'll share a few secrets."

"Whoa," the photographer said. "He's a dangerous man, Ms. Brockway. You'd be safer dancing with me."

"Safe?" Carleton's crack of laughter filled the air. "The lady doesn't want safe. You're either a hottie or you're not," he said as he slid from the booth drawing Chelsea with him.

She was just stepping into his arms on the small square of parquet floor in front of the jukebox when she felt the chill of the door opening again. Chelsea knew instantly that Zach had entered the bar. She felt the pressure of his gaze on the back of her neck, a tightening in her stomach and a weakness in her legs.

Drawing in a deep breath, she managed not to sag against Carleton. When he swung her around, she saw Esme first and then her gaze locked with Zach's. For one long moment there might have been no one else in the room. Every sensation that had flooded her system when he'd kissed her moved through her again-the spiraling pleasure, the urgency, the incredible craving for more. It had been too much. It hadn't been nearly enough.

Carleton swung her around again, and she very nearly lost her balance.

"Sorry," she said, glancing up at him.

"Some guys have all the luck."

"What?"

"I'm not too old to know when the woman I'm dancing with is looking at another man."

"If you mean... It's not what you're thinking," she made the mistake of glancing at Zach again. He was scowling. "I'm not. We're not..." She stumbled.

Carleton grinned at her. "Make sure you tell him that when he comes over to pound his fist into my face."

"Maybe I should go powder my nose."

"Much obliged. My nose owes you one."

Unfortunately, the rest rooms were located down a corridor near the entrance to the bar and although she kept her gaze averted, Chelsea was sure that she could feel Zach's eyes on her every step of the way. She even imagined that she could feel the pressure of his gaze as it moved down the length of her body. That was ridiculous. Her legs were tingling because she'd been sitting too long-or because she hadn't danced in a long time. But the feeling was still there even after she turned down the narrow hallway. Running the last few steps, she grabbed a door handle and pulled.

"Whoa, little lady." Huge hands gripped her arms from behind, lifting her off her feet and setting her down in the hallway. "I don't think you want to go in there."

Chelsea glanced at the stick figure of a man on the door she'd just opened. Then turning around, she faced her rescuer-one of the biggest men she'd ever seen.

"Thank you," she managed.

"No thank you is...neceshary." He hiccuped. "Pardon me." One huge hand patted his stomach. "In my part of the country, we enjoy rescuing pretty ladies."

Chelsea recognized him as one of the men with the Texas drawls she'd noticed earlier. "Thanks anyway."

"No problem. But aren't you forgetting shhomething?" He took a shuffling step forward, which she countered by taking a quick step back. His face was flushed and after one quick but thorough glance from the top of her head to her feet and back again, he looked as though he might like to swallow her whole.

"What?" she asked, watching him warily.

He hiccuped. "In Texas, one good turn deserves another. Even you Yankees must live by that rule."

"Sometimes." She tried to figure out a way past him. The man seemed harmless enough, but he literally blocked the entire width of the hallway.

"How about a...dance?"

"I'd love to, but I have to use the ladies' room. It's got to be the next one down."

He smiled at her as he stepped back into the wall and used one hand to wave her by. "Go right ahead, sugar. I'll be waiting for that dance."

She hurried past him and pulled open the door of the ladies' room.

"You're gonna love the Texas two-step, little lady."

Chelsea shut the door and leaned against it for a moment. She'd worry about Mr. Texas later. Right now she had to figure out what to do about Zach McDaniels.

What in the world was the matter with her, she thought as she walked toward the woman she saw reflected in the wall-to-wall vanity mirror. She had to get a grip. She'd been thinking so much about Zach McDaniels that she'd very nearly walked into the men's room.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. "Focus."

She had to prove to Zach that the skirt worked. In her mind, she tried to picture herself doing the two-step with Mr. Texas. Would that do it? Then she tried to visualize herself sitting on one of those burgundy upholstered stools at the bar, her legs crossed, surrounded by men who were laughing at something she'd just said.

That would be better, but even as the image formed, her gaze dropped to her mouth and the memory of Zach's kiss flooded into her mind instead. Lifting her hand, she touched her fingers to her bottom lip. Never had anything stirred her that deeply, that intensely. And it had happened so fast. He'd pressed his mouth to hers and... Bam! Her response had been instantaneous. So...elemental. Nothing, no one had ever made her react like that before.

Narrowing her eyes, Chelsea studied her reflection more closely. There had to be an explanation. But she looked like the same old Chelsea. Her gaze and her thoughts both drifted lower to the skirt.

No. It couldn't be. Zach McDaniels was not her true love. If the skirt was working any magic on him, she'd have to find a way to reverse it. He was all wrong for her. He didn't even want to publish her because her writing style didn't mesh with his new direction for the magazine.

Slowly, she met her own gaze in the mirror. He was exactly the kind of man her mother had warned her about. He was rich and charming-just the type who would walk away from her like her father had.

Hadn't he admitted he'd asked women in bars for their phone numbers before? He'd probably kissed women on the floor of his office before, too!

Hadn't her experience with Boyd the b.u.m taught her anything? She'd been in New York less than a year when she'd fallen for a man who was only interested in a brief fling. She was not going to make that mistake again.

Pressing a hand against her stomach, she tried to push down the panic. She had to get a grip. She didn't really believe in the power of the skirt, did she? Narrowing her gaze, she stepped back from the mirror. It was just a plain, black skirt. Just a plain, black skirt. If she kept repeating that to herself, and if she worked fast enough, she could win her bet with Zach, write the articles and then never have to wear it again. She'd overnight it to Kate or Gwen. Then she'd be safe.

"Have you given up on winning your bet?"

Startled, Chelsea raised her eyes to see Esme Sinclair shutting the door to the ladies' room behind her.

"No," she said, smiling at the older woman. She hoped that when she reached Esme's age, she could look half as put together as the older woman did. Glancing back at her own image she decided it was a long shot.

"Zach sent me to check on you." Moving to the vanity counter, Esme pulled a lipstick out of her purse. "I think that was a foolish move you made back at the office."

Chelsea's eyes flew to Esme's in the mirror and she could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. "If you mean... I didn't. I mean...the kiss...wasn't what you think."

The woman's perfectly plucked brows rose slightly. "Actually, I was referring to how you convinced him to let you demonstrate how the skirt works. It would have been smarter to take his offer. He would have been very generous, I think."

"I wasn't thinking about the money."

"No. But perhaps you should." Esme touched up her lipstick, then slipped the tube back into her purse.

Chelsea ran her hand down the skirt with a frown. "You're probably right. Now, I'm stuck trying to figure out a way to make the skirt work." But not work on Zach.

"Tell you what. I'll make a few phone calls tomorrow and see if someone would be interested in your articles."

Chelsea turned to the older woman. "You've already done so much for me. How can I thank you?"

"You don't have to. I know what it is like to become a casualty of war in the publishing business."

"Thank you." Chelsea beamed a smile at her. "You've given me the courage to go back out there and learn the Texas two-step."

ZACH TOOK the gla.s.s the bartender handed him and pushed a bill across the top of the bar. Then he turned his attention back to the hallway Chelsea Brockway had disappeared into. He'd sent Esme to check on her five minutes ago. Taking a long swallow of his beer, he shifted his glance to the large Texan at a nearby table. It was the same man who'd followed Chelsea down that hallway and ever since he'd returned to his table, he'd been boasting loudly to his friends that a s.e.xy little filly with emerald-green eyes had promised him a dance. Zach didn't doubt for a minute that the man was referring to Chelsea.

What was she going to do next? If he could just figure that out... What would he do then? Figure out a way to stop her?

Frowning, he took another swallow of his beer. Evidently she was prepared to go to any lengths to convince him that the skirt could attract men. He wondered how many others she'd wrapped herself around on that dance floor before he'd come in and seen her in Carleton Bushnell's arms. The man had been with Metropolitan as long as Zach could remember and he couldn't recall one instance when he'd seen the man smile. Miranda had referred to him quite accurately as a grump. But the old guy had actually been laughing when he'd been dancing with Chelsea and he was old enough to be her grandfather.

If betting with her had been a mistake, kissing her had been an even bigger one. Zach took another swallow of his beer. It wasn't just her taste that he couldn't get out of his mind. It was the feeling that had rushed through him. There was something about it-a mixture of the familiar and the totally unexpected that he found...fascinating.

He wanted to kiss her again. No, more than that, he wanted to walk down that hallway, find her and carry her off someplace-to a moonlit beach. He could almost smell the ocean, hear the waves crashing, feel them push forward and pull back, making the sand shift beneath them as he took her- With a sudden start, Zach set his empty beer gla.s.s down on the bar. What in the world was the matter with him? He couldn't recall having that kind of primitive fantasy about any other woman.

"There she is!" The man from Texas erupted from his chair and waved his hand. "I'm right over here, sugar."

CHELSEA SMILED as she waved at Mr. Texas. "Wish me luck," she said in a low voice to Esme before she began to thread her way across the room. She was not going to look at Zach. That would be a mistake. A very big mistake, she decided as she met his eyes across the crowded bar. The moment she did, she couldn't seem to move anymore. Her body seemed trapped, paralyzed between two opposing signals from her brain. A part of her wanted to walk toward the Texan and win her bet. Another part wanted to walk toward Zach. Above the noise, above the bubble of panic rising within her, she heard music from the jukebox. The tune was old, the lyrics familiar-ones about finding your true love.

Could the skirt be tugging her toward Zach?

No! It was just a plain, black skirt. A plain, black skirt.

"Hey, little lady! Over here!"

Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Mr. Texas was plowing toward her.

The two men were both getting closer. She had to do something. But her feet might as well have been planted in concrete.

A large, firm hand closed around her arm. "That's our song they're playing."

Finally wrenching herself from Zach's gaze, she laid her hand on the Texan's broad chest and smiled up at him. "Yes, it is. All my life I've wanted to learn the two-step."

5.

ZACH PUSHED another bill toward the bartender and handed the gla.s.s of white wine he received in exchange to Esme. He'd considered ordering another beer, but decided against it. He'd already had two and they hadn't solved the problem of what he was going to do about Chelsea Brockway.

His gaze moved back to the dance floor where she was still being bounced around the floor by the Texan. From what he could make out, the Texas two-step was just an excuse Texas men invented to be able to touch a woman on various parts of her body. Chelsea seemed to be enjoying herself. Turning back, he signaled the bartender for another beer.

What he wanted to do, what he'd nearly done when that overgrown cowboy had first started walking toward her was to grab her arm and drag her out of Flannery's. If he had, she could have claimed she'd won the bet. Or she could have refused to go with him. It was impossible to predict with her. His gaze shifted back to the dance floor in time to see her laugh at something the Texan said. How could she be enjoying herself?

"She's a clever and determined young lady," Esme said.

Zach turned to study the older woman at his side. "You think I ought to print her articles."

Esme met his eyes. "You're the new boss. You can do whatever you want. If someone had bothered to tell me that you were going to be the new editor-in-chief before I had Ms. Brockway sign that contract this morning, we both could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble."

"I asked that no one be told." Zach thought he saw something flicker in Esme's eyes, but before he could decide what it was, it was gone. "You're upset because my aunt turned the magazine over to me, aren't you?"

Taking a careful sip of her wine, Esme shifted her gaze to the dancers. "Not upset. Surprised. Your aunt Miranda and your father have always been full of surprises. I should have expected it."

But she hadn't, Zach realized. Had she expected that her job as temporary editor-in-chief would become permanent? He didn't much like the fact that getting his own dream caused someone else to lose theirs. "You wanted to run Metropolitan yourself, didn't you?"

Esme's eyes flew to his. "Me? If I had wanted to run a magazine, I should have left Metropolitan years ago."

"Why didn't you?" he asked.

"I was happy working for your father," Esme said.

Raised voices on the dance floor had Zach turning in time to see that one of the Texan's friends had joined him. Neither of the men looked happy and Chelsea stood between them. Zach quickly began to push his way toward them.

"It's my turn to dance with the little filly," the friend bellowed, pulling at Chelsea's arm.

"One more dance and you can have her," Chelsea's partner said, keeping a tight hold on her other arm.

The other man grinned. "Tell him you'd rather dance with me, little lady."

"I don't think the lady wants to dance with either one of you," Zach said as he reached them.

The two very tall Texans dropped Chelsea's arms and whirled to face him. The one who'd been dancing with her slapped his hand against his thigh as if expecting to find a six-gun.

"Thish little lady is goin' to dance with me...and then with my friend," he said.

"Yeah. b.u.t.t out," the other one added.

"Now, wait just a minute," Chelsea said, trying to wedge herself between them. "This isn't a shoot-out at high noon."

They ignored her as they moved in unison toward Zach.

Zach looked from one to the other as he rolled on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Carleton Bushnell and the other members of his staff had moved to the edge of the small dance floor.

"I'm taking the little lady out of here," Zach said.

"Where we come from, we don't take kindly to poachers," Chelsea's dance partner said. Of the two, he was bigger. But his friend looked meaner.

Keeping his eye on his opponents, Zach said, "Chelsea, move over by Bill."

"Not until you stop this-"

Out of the corner of his eye, Zach saw Bill Anderson take his cue and step forward to draw Chelsea away.