“That makes no sense to me,” Jack said, speaking plainly. He could only see Michelle romantically. How any man could look at her and talk to her and not want to know her more confounded him.

  She sighed, took another bite, and then continued on when she’d finished. “And that was three months ago, when it all came to a head. And it’s fine. We’re all good. But my point in bringing this up is I’m the poster child for unrequited love. And while I’m certainly not asking for love, the bottom line is, I don’t think you’ll be romancing me because I can’t risk my heart again for someone who might be closed down,” she said, and her words were like a heavy stone around his neck.

  That described him perfectly. Closed down. Shut down. Battered and broken with guilt. “I’m not closed down,” he muttered, denying the truth he knew inside himself.

  She reached for his hand, and laid hers on top of it. “We don’t have to bullshit, Jack. I’m not some blushing twenty-two year old who read in the paper that you were New York’s most eligible bachelor and wants to nab you. I have a business, a career, a respectable profession, a brother and sister-in-law I love dearly, and very close friends. I’m fine. But when you’ve been in love with someone who didn’t love you, it really makes you protect your heart from anyone and everyone,” she said, and those words stung him more than she could ever know. “We had a great time last night and I’m having a lovely time tonight. But this can’t be anything. From what I can gather your heart is still with someone else.”

  He swallowed thickly. He was so tempted to tell her the truth that only Casey knew. “Why would you assume that?”

  “I could be wrong, but your fiancée died a little more than a year ago. And you go see a therapist who specializes in intimacy. I don’t think it takes a rocket scientist to figure out that’s why your sister sent you to see me. To help you move on, right?”

  “Yes,” he said, and he clamped his lips shut so he wouldn’t reveal the truth out loud. That he didn’t need to move on in the way everyone thought. That he wasn’t some poor widower. Yeah, he had commitment issues a mile long, but not because of what everyone thought about how things ended with Aubrey. Not because she died. But because of what he’d said before. Because of how it was all his fault.

  He winced as the memories assaulted him.

  High school sweethearts in Denver, Colorado where he grew up, Jack Sullivan and Aubrey Sheen were one of those couples. The couple everyone thought would be together forever. He was the school’s star shortstop; she was captain of the ski team and an Olympic hopeful. It was first love. It was true love. It was as real as it could possibly be. She was bright and beautiful, ambitious and determined. They laughed together; they had fun together; they were going to be together always. But then they drifted apart, attending colleges with many miles between them, and the inevitable split set in. There were plenty of tears shed, but plenty unshed too. She was focused on her Olympic dreams; he was focused on school, and then on his time in the service.

  Years later, when he returned from Germany and started Joy Delivered, they found themselves near each other again. With Aubrey living and working in New York, they reunited.

  At first, it felt natural to be back with her. They fit. They made sense. On paper, they should have worked, and so he proposed. But at some point after that, one thing became painfully clear to him. He was living in the past with her. He wasn’t the same person he had been when he was younger. She wasn’t either. But their love had been borne of that time in their lives—young love. He’d mistaken that for forever love.

  He hadn’t realized that when he proposed. When he’d gotten down on one knee, he was sure it would be forever. But once the planning started, the sense that something was amiss kept tugging at him. Finally, he woke up one morning to the stark realization that he was about to walk down the aisle and say I do to a woman he cared deeply for. To a woman he admired. To a friend.

  He was no longer in love with her. Marrying her would have been a mistake. Maybe it made him a jerk; maybe it made him an asshole. He was willing to be the punching bag for all those terms of un-endearment. Better to break it off before the wedding than after. Better to cause the hurt before they took those steps.

  They went away for the weekend in Breckenridge. He knew Aubrey—she’d need to be near mountains to deal with his bombshell. Snow and slopes were her companions for the good and bad in her life. She processed everything through her sport.

  He could still remember the look on her face when he’d told her he didn’t want to marry her. Like he’d sliced her open with a knife. Her eyes had spilled tears. Her lips had quivered, and she’d given new meaning to the word devastated. Because of him. Then she wiped off her stream of tears, stood up and said what he’d expected her to say. “I need to go hit the mountains.”

  Twenty minutes later, Ski Patrol dragged her body down the blue square trail that she’d always owned and conquered, that she’d mastered at age six. This time, she’d slammed into a tree. Dead on impact.

  That’s how he became the widower a week before the wedding that he’d just called off, and no one knew the truth but his sister.

  He wanted to tell all that to Michelle. Hell, if he hadn’t slept with her last night, he might even have started to tell her his truth today. But there was no way he was going to unload on her right now. Not after she’d just revealed something painful about her past. That she’d felt unloved. That she’d been unwanted.

  If she knew he was the kind of guy who’d called off a wedding, she’d run from him right now. He was everything she’d want to stay far away from. The guy who didn’t love back. She was right to try to nip this in the bud.

  But hell, he had no intention of letting a woman like her slip through his fingers. His greatest skill in business had been solving problems. He could always find new ways around the hurdles, and spot the routes others hadn’t seen. The path to her was crystal clear to him. Because he wanted Michelle.

  Badly. So very badly.

  He might not be able to give her love, but he could show her what it would be like to be wanted.

  He also didn’t intend to start whatever this was with a lie. So he cast the truth in a new light as he answered her question. “You’re right. I haven’t moved on entirely, but not for the reasons you think. And since you’re not my shrink, I’d rather not get into it. But I have another idea. Something that I think could meet both our needs. Want to hear my proposal?”

  Her eyes blazed with curiosity.

  * * *

  She scoffed and laughed at the same time. “Thirty days? You want me to sign a contract or something?”

  “Not unless it’s one that requires you to use a safe word and call me sir, but somehow I doubt you’re into dom/sub stuff,” he said, his cool blue eyes twinkling, as if he’d just come up with the most brilliant plan ever.

  Admittedly, it had some appeal.

  “You read me right on that one, Jack,” she said, and took another bite of her pasta, shaking her head in surprise. The food was good; she wasn’t going to miss a chance to enjoy this delicious dish simply because he’d proposed something so ridiculous.

  But he was undeterred. “So? What do you think?”

  She finished her bite, set her fork down and clasped her hands together. “Jack, we had a great night, and I’d really like to sleep with you again because sex with you is spectacular, but suggesting we have a no-strings-attached affair for thirty days and then walk away is ludicrous.”

  “But why? Why is it ludicrous?” he asked in the tone of someone who was damn curious. As if he were asking a business partner why the terms in a contract didn’t make sense. “You’re not in a spot for a relationship. And you’ve already decided I’m not either. Let’s not pretend it’s ever going to be anything more. We’re both mature, reasonable adults who had a fantastic night together. We’re both looking to move on from hurt. Let’s help each other do that.”

  “Through sex?”

  “Yes. We can both be therapists,” he said with a sexy glint in his eyes, and she laughed. “I’ll give you the best kind of therapy there is. I’m very good at sex therapy,” he added, his eyes looking so eager. So boyish for a moment. So young, like a kid at Christmas.

  “I hardly even know you, though.”

  “What do you want to know? I’m thirty-four. I grew up in Colorado. My father taught at the Air Force Academy. I played baseball in high school, studied business in college at the University of Colorado, served in the army for six years, most of it in Europe. I speak German and French. I run a business. I play basketball for exercise with my friend Nate. I live on Fifth Avenue. I like classical music. I’d like to fuck you to Ravel.”

  She reined in the naughty grin that threatened to bloom across her face from the final statement. She could practically hear the rising crescendo of Ravel’s “Bolero,” the way the piece was sex in musical form. But now was not the time for picturing more orgasms from him.

  “And you?” he asked.

  “Thirty. Grew up in Westchester. My parents were in the arts—mom was a choreographer, dad a theater professor. They died in a car accident when I was seventeen.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, tilting his head, his eyes on her, filled with compassion.

  “It’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t okay. But it’s okay now. My brother delayed college for a year to watch out for me when they were gone. Then we went to school together at Yale. I live off Park Avenue in Murray Hill. I’ve never done any sports. I like to go shoe shopping with my friend Sutton. I love wine and scotch and theater.”

  “And fucking to Ravel?” he asked in his deep, sexy tone, returning to his seductive side. The side that thrilled her.

  “That’s not fair. Now you’re playing below the belt.”

  “That’s where I’d like to be playing. So are we good then?” he asked, reaching for her hand, sliding his fingers through hers, as if he knew that contact would help win a yes.

  “Jack,” she said, with a sigh.

  “Why not?” he asked in the barest of whispers, then bent his head to her neck. “You’re beautiful, and captivating, and I loved every second of being inside you last night. The only thing better than fucking you was tasting you on my tongue this afternoon.”

  If he was going to play dirty like that she was going to lose. Because with those words, a heat wave rolled through her body, and she was aching for his touch again.

  “Let me have more of you,” he continued. “Let me have you for a month. Give me your body. I’ll give you mine.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, but she could feel her resistance breaking down with his lips on her neck, buzzing a path to her ear. She lingered in the moment, considering. Was his plan so crazy?

  “I haven’t been with anyone since Aubrey, and last night with you blew my mind. I could sit here and try to break it down, and try to analyze it and understand it, but I’m not a shrink. I’m only a man who wants a woman. I want you. Badly. Let me have you; let me give you the exquisite pleasure you deserve.”

  She burned inside for him. Flames licked her body from head to toe, turning her into an inferno of desire. She’d come to dinner wanting only one more night; and now he was asking for thirty nights with him.

  Thirty nights of pleasure. Thirty nights of bliss. Thirty nights of being wanted in ways she hadn’t ever been wanted.

  She didn’t know how she could say no. She was about to say yes when he spoke again.

  “Let me give you a taste of what I can do to you. If I don’t give you the best orgasm of your life within the next hour, I won’t ask again.”

  She tossed her napkin on the table. She was dying to know how he planned to top this afternoon.

  “Check, please.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After Hours

  She expected they’d catch a cab to his place, that he’d own some swank high-rise apartment overlooking the park. But that’s not where he took her. They were in the elevator at the Met Life Tower, shooting up nearly fifty flights. He had a friend who owned the company that was converting the landmark skyscraper into a new hotel. The friend had called security, and security had waved them in.

  Overlooking Madison Square Park, the building was eerie and shadowy at night, shrouded in secrets of the city after hours. She was about to become part of that after hours New York. When they reached the top floor, the elevator doors whooshed open.

  Jack rested his hand on her lower back as they walked through the hall. The sizzling warmth from his palm spread through her body. Even the simplest touch from him melted her.

  “You must think the Empire State Building is so passé, when you have a friend who owns this building,” she quipped as they neared the balcony.

  “No. I’m thinking the balcony here is private, and you can see all of Manhattan when you come.”

  She had no retort.

  Hot sparks tore through her, lighting her up with more desire than she’d ever known. While she’d dated and had lovers over the years, none had spoken to her like this. None had talked to her as if her pleasure was vital to their happiness. That’s how she felt with Jack. Hard to imagine he was a stranger twenty-four hours ago, yet now, he was a lover on a quest to bring her the best climax of her life.

  The balcony circled the peak of the Met Life Tower with a spire above them, a clock right below them. A high fence surrounded the perimeter, and the view of Manhattan was endless, stretching to the rivers and the towns that lay far beyond the city that never slept.

  Michelle felt a rush of tingles in her belly that had nothing to do with him at the moment, and everything to do with being this high above her city. She wrapped her hands around the railing at the edge of the balcony, drinking in the view of Manhattan. The headlights from the distant streets below streaked across the dark night; the sounds of horns and music and madness morphed into a quiet radio station din. The dirt and grime was gone, and New York was aerial and beautiful—a darkly gorgeous nocturnal creature, lit up against the night sky.

  Jack dropped his hands to her waist, his thumbs rubbing circles against the fabric of her dress at her hips. She murmured something unintelligible, leaning her head back against him, stretching her neck. But then he was gone—he was on his knees behind her, kissing the back of her bare legs, starting at her calves.

  “Stay here. Like this,” he told her.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she managed to say.

  “Don’t close your eyes. Watch the city as I touch you.”

  No wonder he did what he did. He was a man in tune with pleasure. A man thoroughly connected to his senses, which was all the more unusual, given his background as a numbers and logic guy. But he also had some intuitive sense of the physical.

  Or simply the physical of her. His tongue flicked against the back of her knee, and she felt her legs wobble. He steadied her, his strong hands tight on her thighs as he kissed his way up her legs, pressing his lips against the back of her thighs now. First one leg. Then the other. Higher and higher still, the fabric of her skirt rose in his hands as he exposed her flesh for him. Soon he’d pushed her skirt above her butt, and his sinful mouth was leaving a hot, wet trail of kisses against the crease where her ass met her legs.

  “Light blue,” he murmured as he slid his finger under the edge of her lacy panties. “Gorgeous, sexy, perfect sky blue.”

  “Yes. You like?”

  “So much I want to keep them,” he said as he returned his mouth to her skin.

  Pleasure pulsed through her veins. She gripped the railing tighter as the sensations spread, starting deep in her belly, radiating to her fingertips, her toes, the ends of her hair, as he brushed those soft lips against her body. He kissed her with a kind of reverence, with a deep appreciation for her body. He kissed her as if she were the most sensual person he’d ever touched. As if she were made for passion, for pleasure, for this kind of bold desire that ran rampant through her cells.

  Because everything he’d done so far had been a slice of heaven. A heaven for lovers of the flesh.

  He ran his nose across her upper thigh, then pressed a kiss between her legs, his lips grazing the soaked panel of her panties. Useless thing. A completely useless piece of fabric, since the way he’d touched her had turned them hot and damp.

  “Take them off,” he said roughly.

  She obliged, sliding her panties down her legs, then lifting them over her ankles as she stepped out of them.

  “Give them to me.”

  She handed them to him, and he stuffed them into his pocket.

  “You can have them back later. Or not,” he said with a glint in his blue eyes.

  “That will probably be a not.”

  He stood and gently placed his hand on her chin, turning her gaze back to the sky. “Watch the city,” he told her, as he pressed his chest against her back, his long, tall body aligned with hers.

  Anticipation built between them, the tantalizing wonder of what would come next. Only he knew. She was placing her pleasure in his hands, and that’s exactly where she wanted it to be.

  A soft hum whirred through the air. At first, she wasn’t sure what it was. Then she recognized the noise. The way it signaled a response in her body. How the sound tapped into her deepest core, a reminder of something she loved.

  Assistance.

  One hand gripped her hip, and the other slid down her belly, dipping between her legs as he tugged her closer. Her breath fled her chest. The thrill of not knowing ignited her more, and she felt a rush of heat between her legs. She wanted him to feel it too. To know what he was doing to her. She was After Hours Michelle with him, so she let go of her other self, allowing herself to fully be the sexy, alluring woman who appeared when Jack Sullivan was inches away. “Touch me,” she said.