Page 57 of Manhattan State of Mind

“Accepting defeat doesn’t sit well with me.”

I take a step forward, closing the gap between us. For a moment we just stare at each other.

Her eyes widen, lips parting. And right now, I want nothing more than to feel those lips crush beneath my own.

I’m close enough to touch her now. Another step, and I’ll be close enough to hoist her up in the air and wrap her legs around me. My cock strains in my trousers. Damn, this is too hard for me to control.

The doors slide open and with great effort, I restrain the urge. I clear my throat gruffly. “This way.”

I guide her to my Aston Martin, opening the passenger door for her. There’s a moment when she hesitates, like she suspects I’m setting a trap.

Finally, she slides into the leather seat, eyes roving over the luxurious interior like she’s never been in here before.

I casually loosen my tie and chuck it in the glove box. Judging by her wide-eyed stare, you’d think I just put on a strip show rather than discarding a simple strip of fabric.

Suppressing a grin, I watch as she wrestles with the seat belt, scowling when the buckle refuses to cooperate.

Leaning in, my hand finds hers on the buckle, gently pushing it aside. Her breath catches in her throat as she turns toward me, our proximity suddenly making the car feel much smaller.

Our eyes lock, dangerously close now. I can see all the sweet little details that make up Lucy—the flutter of her eyelashes, the light freckles dusting her cheeks, and that small scar on her nose from her fall at my villa. I bandaged her up, kissing the cut to “make it better.” Now it’s just another mark she sees but no longer feels the history of.

Instead, there’s a new scar, a constant reminder of our forgotten life together.

She’s stopped blinking. Breathing too, it seems.

“Relax,” I murmur, my voice low and intimate. I trace the belt down to where it disappears beneath her. My breath ghosts over her cheek, eliciting a visible shiver. “I promise I don’t bite.”

At least, not unless provoked.

Being this close without touching her tests every ounce of my restraint. Although every part of me longs to pull her close, I resist the temptation. Instead, in a rough voice, I ask, “You good?”

“Mm-hmm,” she breathes.

“Excellent.” My lips stretch into a smirk. “Your scar is healing well.”

“My clinic is pretty high-end,” she quips breathily. “They can work miracles.”

I know they can. I’m paying for it.

Breaking our eye contact, I start up the engine.

Lucy jabs the button to roll down the electric window. “Mind if I get some air in here?”

My smirk widens as I press down on the accelerator and drive out onto Sixth Avenue. “Not at all.”

We cruise down Sixth in charged silence, the sounds and smells drifting through her open window. I’m glad I strapped her in, part of me wonders if she’s planning to jump out of the moving car.

An angry honk makes her jump. Damn, she’s jumpy. That’s a hard pill to swallow. She used to feel safe with me. Used to have her knees up in a lotus position, completely relaxed.

Now, she’s all rigid and tense.

I catch her sneaking sidelong glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking, trying to figure out my next play. If only I knew what was going on in that head of hers.

“I assumed a busy man like yourself would have his own driver,” she says.

“I like my privacy. Driving gives me space to think.”

She reaches out to turn on the radio, but her hand freezes over the button. “Oh, sorry,” she murmurs, her frown deepening. “I don’t know why I did that.”