The Rogue's Fortune

“If you think I’m going to let you wander around the city alone at this time of night, you’re crazy.”

Her heart did a silly little flip at his chivalry. Not one of the men she’d dated previously would have left a warm bed to escort her home. “I wasn’t going to wander around. I was going to take a cab back to my apartment.”

“At 4:00 a.m.”

“You say that as if I haven’t done it before.”

His eyes narrowed. “You make a habit out of heading home at this hour?”

She could see where his mind had gone. He was trying to ascertain how often she’d spent half the night with a man and then headed home in the quiet hours before dawn. Her chin nudged upward.

“I am an event planner. That means I stay for hours after a party winds down. New York is the city that never sleeps. Sometimes that means I don’t either.”

“I’m starving.” He tossed the covers to the foot of the bed, exposing both of them. “Let’s get out of here.”

His abrupt change of subject was almost as startling as the rush of chilly air across Elizabeth’s warm skin. She squawked in protest, but Roark was already off the mattress and striding toward his discarded clothes.

She forgot all about being cold, and about her own nudity at the sight of all those amazing naked muscles that rippled beneath his skin. A purr rose in her throat. The man was a work of art.

He glanced back and caught her staring at him. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m not going to let you out of bed for a week.”

Heat rose in her cheeks as he perused her naked body. She slid off the bed and walked toward him. He’d already donned pants and shirt, but looked open to removing both if she insisted.

The purr rumbling in her chest intensified as she slid her arms around his midsection and hugged him. The move seemed to shock him because it took a couple heartbeats before his arms circled her.

With her cheek resting against his broad chest, she relaxed into the steady thump of his heart. “I really enjoyed myself tonight. Thank you.”

She felt as much as heard his sigh. He tightened his arms.

“The night’s not quite over.” But he made no move toward the bed. The moment wasn’t about sex. He seemed to get that. None of the other men she’d dated would have. With a gusty sigh he dropped a kiss on her head and pushed her to arm’s length. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

In ten minutes they were settled into a cab and heading uptown. Roark had his arm around her shoulders. Elizabeth snuggled into his side, delighted that he was sharing his heat with her. The temperature had dropped. Last night’s slush had become rock-hard ice, uneven and treacherous beneath her four-inch heels.

Fifteen minutes later, the taxi stopped on Fifth Avenue in front of an elegant building. The entire block was residential.

Elizabeth scanned the area. “What are we doing here?”

“Breakfast.” He tapped her on the nose, eyes dancing at her confusion.

“I don’t see a restaurant.”

“That’s because there isn’t one.”

Roark paid the driver and stepped out of the cab. Elizabeth shrank from the hand he offered her.

He regarded her wryly. “Don’t you trust me?”

Elizabeth pondered the loaded question even as she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “I think you enjoy keeping everyone guessing.”

“Perhaps I do.”

With a gusty sigh, she resigned herself to being surprised by whatever he had in mind. Her curiosity increased as he nodded at the doorman and escorted her into the building without being announced.

They disembarked from the elevator on the top floor and he strode into the penthouse as if he owned it. At this hour, the lights were off, and the space had a vacant vibe.

“Who lives here?” she whispered, reluctant to disturb whatever ghosts lingered about.

“Mrs. Myott, she takes care of the place.”