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25

I lifted her into my arms, carrying her like a child to the bedroom.

“You aren’t going to take me all the way in front of the windows? I

think I’d like that,” she murmured as she kissed along my jaw.

“I’m sure you would, you naughty thing. But I’m quite sure I would

not.” My confliction had a line, it appeared. New York City did not

deserve the pleasure of her naked form.

I set her on the bed, still rumpled from the last night’s restless

sleep, and tugged off first one boot, then the other. She watched me,

rapt, as I followed with the removal of her jeans.

“I like being undressed by you,” she said, when she was only in

her bra and panties. “I like how you’re completely focused on me.”

I couldn’t not be. It was impossible to look anywhere but at her.

She was exquisite and engaging. Irresistible perfection.

The wonder in her comment made me guess that no one had

ever given her the attention she’d craved. What stupidity existed in

her world? Boys pretending to be men, unsuitable and unwo
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