Page 121 of Manhattan State of Mind

“Fifteen more minutes,” he says, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You like lobster tail and king crab?”

“Are you serious?” I peer into the oven, mouth watering at the smells. Take notes, Ramsay. “I’ve never tried lobster tail, but it looks freaking amazing.”

“I have a feeling you’ll love it.”

Well, one can’t deny the man’s confidence. “Actually, I’ve got a deadly allergy to shellfish. Puff up like a balloon.”

He quirks a brow.

“Kidding. I’m seriously impressed. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be able to cook. Why would you bother? You could easily hire someone to do it all.”

He smiles, cracking open a beer. “Yes, but then I wouldn’t be cooking for you.”

I titter like a schoolgirl as he winks. Christ, get a hold of yourself.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve done this a few times. I won’t be serving you up a plate of salmonella.”

“Great. Amnesia’s a handful as is.”

He laughs. I like making him laugh.

Trying to play it cool, I take a sip of my wine and wander over to the giant wall of windows, peering down at the little ants of traffic below. No TV in here, not that he’d need one with this.

A telescope catches my eye. “Ooh, you’ve got a telescope! Mind if I have a peek?”

“Be my guest.”

He steps up behind me, adjusting the telescope to my eye level, his chest sturdy against my back. “How’s this angle?” he whispers, breath tickling on my neck.

Just right.

I eagerly put my eye to the lens, gasping at the details. My God, I can see everything. The intricacies of a couple lost in a passionate embrace in Central Park, the vibrant rush of shoppers bustling down the street, the everyday drama of people hailing cabs.

The world unfolds before me in vivid technicolor.

I tilt the scope north. “You can see all the way to Washington Heights from here! I can almost see my street!”

“That’s right, you can.” His lips blaze a path down my neck, sparking shivers that pool heat between my thighs.

“Hey.” His breath falters as I grind back against him, desire pulsing in my veins. “You comfortable here with me? In my apartment?”

“Should I be worried?” I quip, my voice humming with veiled arousal. “You’re not planning on going allAmerican Psychoon me?”

His growl vibrates through my body, raking goose bumps across my skin. “No deflecting, Lucy. I’m asking how you really feel.”

Jeez, the guy is intense.

My nails dig into the smooth wood of the telescope. Comfortable? Hardly. I feel off-kilter and nervous in the best way. And there’s a healthy dash of fear of having my heart pulverized, plus a generous dollop of self-doubt stirred into this mix.

“The truth?” I lick my lips, catching his gaze in the reflection. “I’m not all the way there yet. I’d love to pull off a confident femme fatale vibe, but let’s be real, you still kind of intimidate me.”

He doesn’t back away. His lips blaze a trail of fiery kisses down my neck, while his hands firmly hold onto my hips. “How can I help you relax?” he murmurs.

Thinking straight with those lips on my skin is challenging.

“This is my own problem,” I confess, vulnerability seeping into my voice. “But it’s normal, right? I mean, you’re this billionaire bossman, and I’m… doing okay. Have a job I like, my own place at this age, despite the crazy roommate and the unfortunate proximity to a brothel. Not on meth. I’m hanging in there. What I don’t get is why you, out of everyone, would be interested.”

“Aside from your obvious beauty and charm?” His palms slide higher, brushing the underside of my breasts. “You’re refreshingly genuine, Lucy. You’re real. You bring humor and light into my life without even trying.”