Page 107 of Manhattan State of Mind

“Not quite,” I reply with a smirk. “Most of the time I’m here alone.”

She roams around the room, taking in the minimalist decor, feigning bravado. “Look, I need to know that whatever happens, it won’t blow up my career. Matty says I can blame any strange behavior on the amnesia, but…” Her voice falters. “I need to be sure.”

“Relax,” I say. “Your job is safe. You’ve got my word on it.”

I grimace inwardly at the reminder of what I’ve already done. But in this context, when it comes to her job—I can promise, with absolute certainty, that I’ll never jeopardize it.

She wanders toward my walk-in closet with the full-length mirror.

Following her, I stand behind her, towering over her smaller frame, our sizes a striking contrast in the glass.

Her gaze meets mine in the reflection, a potent mix of apprehension and anticipation dancing in her eyes.

I trail my fingers along the soft curves of her arms, sending shivers dancing across her skin.

The air between us is charged with a familiar electricity.

For a heartbeat, the world rights itself. It’s Lucy and JP, as it should be. No forgotten memories, just the passion that once defined us.

I brush my fingertips along her neckline before planting light kisses all over her exposed skin.

“We’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you’re comfortable with,” I whisper huskily into her ear as I tug at the strap of her dress. “No pressure.”

Her breath catches as I gently unfasten the straps of her dress from behind until it falls to the floor and she’s standing in only her panties.

“That’s the issue,” she rasps. “I want to do everything.”

“Fuck,” I groan, my eyes skating over her body.

Feels like an eternity since I’ve seen her like this. I’m desperate for her, and I can already feel myself losing control.

For a moment, I just stare at her in the mirror, my eyes unashamedly exploring every inch of her body. Her slightly parted lips, her breasts rising and falling with each labored breath, her hard nipples begging to be touched. Her gorgeous toned thighs. Even the scrappy scar on her knee.

My cock throbs against her ass. She has no idea how much she turns me on.

She’s a fucking goddess and she doesn’t even realize it.

My goddess.

Turning crimson under my gaze, she tries desperately to breathe in deeply, to suck in her stomach.

“You’re magnificent,” I murmur into the nape of her neck as I cup her breasts possessively. My lips trace a path down to her collarbone, making her shiver.

“I must be lumpier than what you’re used to. Staring at a computer screen twelve hours a day isn’t exactly a core workout, so if it’s washboard abs you’re after, you’ve got the wrong girl.”

I give her an admonishing look in the mirror. “I’ve definitely got the right girl. Do you feel how much I want you? You’re perfect; every inch of you.”

Like a man deprived of sustenance, I greedily massage her breasts, savoring the feel of her warm skin against my palms.

She makes a soft mewling sound, her eyes in a daze with heat. Her chest heaves as she melts into me, all shyness gone. I feel her hard nipples against my palms.

Damn, those whimpers.

“Goddamn, baby,” I growl, almost angry at how she makes me feel. “You have no idea how much you turn me on, do you? How much power you have over me.”

My hand moves lower to her stomach, feeling the contracting muscles there before pushing past the waistband of her underwear. I groan when I make contact with her sweet, sexy, throbbing pussy.

“You’re aching for this,” I breathe against her ear.