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

She never would have thought she could feel this comfortable naked, but over the past few hours Alex had slowly and deliberately familiarized himself with her body, exploring in deliciously intimate detail until no part remained undiscovered.

Shyness was something he hadn’t allowed, and once she’d realized that he seemed to like the length of her legs, she’d ceased to feel self-conscious.

Instead, she’d felt perfect.

He’d made her feel perfect.

All the way through their intense sexual marathon he’d told her how gorgeous she was, how beautiful, how he’d never met a woman who turned him on the way she did until, instead of feeling embarrassed about the length of her legs, she’d wanted to wrap them around him and never let him go.

“I owe you an apology.” His voice was husky, and she lifted her chin to look at him, thinking that he was the most incredibly good-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on.

“Why do you owe me an apology?”

If she could have put him on the cover of her book, she would have hit the bestseller charts from day one.

“I brought you here for champagne. I’m afraid I got a little sidetracked.”

It made her smile. “Just a little.”

“It’s important to drink during physical exercise.” He kissed her gently and then eased away from her. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” He stood up and she watched, admiring the flat planes of his abdomen and the strong muscle of his thighs.

“You should walk around naked always.”

He turned, his smile so devastatingly sexy that she almost reached out and grabbed him again. “Right back at you, Lara.”

Lara.

The reminder that this wasn’t real was like showering in ice-cold water.

Thank goodness he hadn’t used that name in the heat of passion. She might have said “who?” and blown everything.

At some point she’d lost track of whether she was Matilda or Lara. She hadn’t thought about names at all. She was just a woman, seducing and being seduced.

As he strolled across the room to a door that presumably led to the kitchen, she lifted herself on her elbow and glanced around. They’d been so busy kissing when they’d arrived she’d done little but glimpse at her surroundings. She’d registered huge windows offering spectacular views across the city, polished oak floors and expensive artwork, but she’d been more absorbed by the man who was holding her than she was by his apartment.

Now, though, she saw that the apartment was spectacular.

She didn’t know who he was or what he did, but if he was able to rent a place like this, then he obviously had influence.

No Cup-a-Soups for him.

She should probably tell him who she really was, but did it matter? Just for one night, why couldn’t her life be fairy tale rather than reality? She wanted a night she would never forget, and she wanted to give him a night he’d never forget. She didn’t exactly know how to do that, but she was going to give it her best shot.

As he walked toward her, carrying the champagne and an ice bucket, she leaned down to pick up her dress.

He pushed it away with his foot. “If you dress, I’ll have to undress you again, and I hate wasting time.” He opened the champagne with a smooth skill that suggested he’d performed the task many times before, then poured two glasses and handed her one. “Champagne should only ever be drunk with friends, don’t you think?”

“I do.” Matilda didn’t have an opinion on the subject, but Lara definitely would have thought that. She waited while he put the bottle into the ice bucket and then raised her glass. “To—what should we drink to?”

“To an evening that wasn’t fake.”

Matilda felt a flicker of conscience as she tapped her glass against his and took a sip. The champagne was light and bubbly, and delicious warmth spread through her veins. It made a pleasant change to be drinking it rather than serving it.

“You’re beautiful.” He spoke softly and she shook her head, about to deny it until she remembered she was Lara not Matilda, and there was no way Lara would have put herself down.

“Thank you.” Saying it was easier than she would have imagined, and he leaned forward and kissed her mouth slowly, savoring every moment, as if trying to draw every last drop of champagne from her lips.

Desire rushed through her and she gave a moan and leaned into him, knocking the ice bucket with her elbow. Ice and champagne spilled everywhere, and he gave a soft curse and sprang to his feet, catching the bucket before it could empty itself completely.