Sleepless in Manhattan (From Manhattan with Love 1)

Client. That’s right, he was her client.

He relaxed slightly.

All he needed to do was put her firmly in the box labeled Business. And forget about the hot red shoes.

“Jake?”

“Mmm?” He realized she’d asked him a question. “What?”

“I asked if you were ready.”

“Ready for what?” Ready to find a dark corner in this building, undress her and screw her until neither of them could walk in a straight line?

Hell, yes. He’d been ready for that for a long time.

“I presume we need to go upstairs? The party?” She said it slowly, as if he were a tourist with a language problem. “You seem a little distracted.”

Distracted was one way of describing it. Turned on would have been more accurate.

“Party. Yes. Let’s go.” He strode past her, keeping her out of his line of sight. It would have done them both a favor if he’d taken the stairs but he wasn’t about to run up fifty floors wearing a tux, so instead he chose the express elevator.

The doors slid open and Paige walked in, giving him a perfect view of her back.

Jake admired the straight column of her spine and the line of her shoulder blades.

He wanted to ease those narrow straps over her shoulders and embark on an exploration of all the parts of her body hidden by the dress.

He wanted to drive her to the back of the elevator, close the doors and make the most of every one of those fifty floors.

It was only when her gaze met his that he realized that the elevator walls were mirrored.

Emotion flickered briefly in her eyes. There was confusion and a hint of something else that she tried to hide. He pretended he hadn’t seen.

She was silent, her chest rising and falling unsteadily as if breathing was a conscious effort.

“Jake?” Her voice held a question he had no intention of answering.

He stepped into the elevator and the doors slid closed.

The heat was stifling, the space smaller than he had imagined. Or maybe it was being with Paige that made the space seem small. Torture, he discovered, was being alone in an elevator with a woman you wanted and couldn’t have.

He lifted his finger to loosen his top button and discovered it was already undone.

There was nothing else he could do to cool himself down.

He was probably supposed to be making conversation, but his tongue had twisted itself into a knot.

“I like your dress.” It was the least imaginative compliment he’d ever paid a woman but it was the best he could do. “Linguini.”

“Excuse me?”

“The straps. They’re wider than spaghetti. Linguini.”

She looked amused. “Given that you grew up around linguini, I’m not arguing with you. Aren’t you going to finish dressing?”

For a moment he wondered if she’d been picturing him naked, too, and then he realized she meant his bow tie.

He was about to tie it, but she got there first.