Midnight At Tiffany's (From Manhattan with Love 0.50)

Lara would have known.

Lara would have delivered that smile that knocked men off their feet, flirted expertly and shown him just how good she was, one-on-one. Lara would have made the first move.

Matilda’s moves were always clumsy, never smooth. She injured herself on doors and the edges of beds. She’d walked into walls and banged her head on low beams. So far a broken heart was about the only injury she’d been spared.

But this wasn’t love, was it? This was fun. And there was nothing wrong with having fun.

So why did it feel as if she were standing on the top of a very high cliff, about to plunge into deep water?

She wasn’t a brave person. She’d never been a brave person.

She lived a small life in this big city, a tiny flickering candle eclipsed by bigger, brighter lights.

They walked past the Plaza, to the edge of Central Park.

The first spots of rain started to fall, scenting the air and dampening her emergency dress for the second time in one night.

If she was going to make a move, it had to be now. Right now.

But she wasn’t. She couldn’t.

She wasn’t Lara; she was Matilda.

“So, here we are.” She kept her voice light, trying to mask her disappointment and frustration with herself. “Central Park. Your final destination. Where do you live?”

“I’m staying in an apartment a couple of blocks from here.”

It was impossible not to be impressed. “Well, if you can afford to rent around here, then whatever it is you do with your life, you must be doing it very well.”

The rain was falling more heavily now, huge cooling drops that landed on the trees with a hollow patter, drenching leaves and saturating paths.

“Where do you live?”

She thought of her cramped apartment and then took a deep breath. “I live in New York City, and that’s all that matters to me. I’d rather live in a small room here than a big apartment anywhere else in the world.” Not that she’d be able to afford a big apartment anywhere, but the principle was true. She tipped her head back, looking at the buildings rising above the shadows that were Central Park. The rain trickled through her hair and she smiled. “There is something magical about this city. I always have the sense that something unexpected could happen.”

“Unexpected?” His voice was soft and he drew her against him with purpose. “You mean like this?”

And without giving her a chance to ask what “this” was, he took her face in his hands, lowered his head and kissed her.

CHAPTER FIVE

THERE WAS NOTHING but the feel of the rain and the taste of her mouth.

He was lost in the moment. Lost in her.

He wanted to do far more than kiss her, and the impulse surprised him.

She was a mass of contradictions. Brief moments of sexual promise interspersed with fragile innocence and an uncertainty that he found intriguing. She’d confided her dreams quite openly but had refused to talk about her job.

He should have put her in a cab and sent her safely home. Instead, he was coaxing her mouth open with his, exploring her with hot, deep kisses that sent tremors of response running through her body.

Cupping her cheek, he felt the softness of her skin against his hand and tasted the addictive sweetness of her mouth. He felt a thrill of hunger, a rush of lust. Drowning in desire, he hauled her against him. He wanted her even closer. He wanted her to fill every empty space inside him and he wanted to fill the emptiness he sensed in her.

“Come with me.”

Her hands were in his hair, her lips seeking his. “Come with you where?”

“To my apartment. Neither of us drank champagne tonight. It’s time to fix that. I have a bottle in my fridge.”