Free Just One Kiss by Isabel Sharpe

to release with the pull of a pin or two or three in a sexy flourish, letting her hair tumble down in a glorious mass about her shoulders. Or that was the plan anyway. On her legs, sheer black hose. On her feet, high black heels she hadn’t been able to wear with Tom because he didn’t like her being so close to his height.
    She’d be late. No two ways about it. But if she found a parking place close to the restaurant, she wouldn’t be rudely late, just coyly.
    Half an hour later, she practically pushed someone’s car out of a spot he was just leaving, wrenching her little Kia into the space the second his rear bumper cleared the car in front of him. Yes.
    She turned off the motor, shot out of the car into air still chilly in mid-April, turned to slam the door and noticed white powder on the front seat. Oh, no. It looked like confectioner’s sugar from the emergency load she’d hauled the previous day. Which meant the rest of it must be clinging to her ass. Black skirt. Not good.
    She twisted around, swiping back and forth at her butt, which of course she couldn’t see, and which made her teeter on the heels and catch her shoulder painfully on the open car door.
    Super.
    At least the parking spot was decently close to the restaurant, which was a small miracle given the parking situation in the city. Otherwise she’d have to sprint for it, and risk arriving breathless and sweaty.
    A deep breath, and she headed down Sixth Avenue in an elegant saunter, aware that Fischer Grill had solid glass all around, so that if Daniel were watching, he’d see her approach.
    A quick glance showed a familiar, very masculine blond head outlined by the entrance, face turned in her direction. Her stomach somersaulted. It was Daniel. Had to be.
    She drew herself up, made her saunter even more elegant, concentrated on looking wildly and confidently sensual.
    Until her heel caught in a crack in the pavement and brought her down. And her pride. And her hair.
    Ow. She’d landed hard on her right knee and hands, scraping all three on the rough cement. Her right stocking was shredded. Blood beaded around bits of dirt over the burning pink mess that had become her kneecap.
    Super.
    Even better? Here he came, loping down the sidewalk toward her, not blown away by her blatant sexuality, but concerned for his clumsy date who’d gone “boom” and skinned her knee like an eight-year-old.
    “Angela. You okay?”
    “I’m fine.” She rubbed her palms together to brush off the dirt, wincing at the sandpaper effect on her raw skin. “Just a klutz.”
    “You came down hard. Let me see?”
    She held out her hands on either side of her knee. “It’s nothing. Really.”
    “Ouch. Those wide, shallow scrapes can be brutal. I fell off my bike last year, going fast. It was not fun.” He took her elbow, helped her gently to her feet. “There’s a drugstore down the street. Let’s get that dirt off you before it causes trouble.”
    “Okay.” She let him help her up, embarrassed to find her body shaking, typical overreaction to pain. If she ever got pregnant, she was asking for medication during the entire last month just in case.
    A picture flashed into her mind of her in labor, Daniel holding her steady, as carefully and calmly as he was now. There’s a hospital down the street. Let’s get that baby out of you before it causes trouble.
    She must be slightly hysterical.
    “Thank you, Daniel.” She laughed breathily, still having trouble calming down. “I’m sorry about this. It’s not at all how I wanted to start our da—”
    No, Angela. As far as he was concerned, this was not a date. Remember?
    “Not a problem. Whoa, hold on.” He pulled her back from the curb, which she’d just stepped off of without checking for cars, and nearly got run over by a speeding Prius.
    Her heart sank. By now it was official: Project Seduction was a failure. In the back of her mind, Tom’s voice again, accusing her of overreaching. Why didn’t she