Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

‘I know you will.’ He ached to pull her close and kiss her and tell her not to worry about the damn price of anything. But he wasn’t going to do that to her. He respected her need for independence. For space.

They were things he needed himself.

They walked into the Great Hall of the museum. She inhaled a deep breath, she even seemed to grow taller. Yeah, this was definitely what she’d needed.

He glanced around the interior—taking in the vaulted ceilings—and felt his own spirit revitalise. Yeah, he needed it too. To keep busy—his mind busy.

He let her pick which collections to tackle, happy to follow in her wake—the requisite ‘five paces behind’ perfect for checking out the inherently seductive sway of her hips as she walked. She wore another floral dress that accentuated her waist and the lush curves of her breasts. Ah, he shouldn’t be thinking of her breasts. It was going to be hours before he could bare them and set his mouth over her pretty pink—

He slammed the brakes on his thoughts and stared hard at a painting instead.

Focus, James.

But it was hard. He was hard. Why had he thought trailing around a gallery, unable to touch her, would be a good idea? He gave up on looking at the painted 2D beauties and concentrated on the live, warm, real woman right in front of him.

‘You don’t want to take photos? Buy postcards?’ he asked as they wandered from hall to hall.

‘No. I put things in here if I need to.’ She pulled a small sketchbook from her bag.

‘You draw?’ He peered over her shoulder to see the pages.

‘Enough to remember what I need to.’ She snapped it shut.

But he’d got a glimpse—small, neat, pencilled pictures. ‘What kinds of things?’ He was intrigued.

‘Patterns. Ideas. Scraps of memory. But mostly it’s all up here.’ She tapped her temple. ‘Treasures.’

Yeah, she was smart. Intense. Enthusiastic.

His brain wandered off course again. Hell, he needed some fresh air.

‘So are we going to Central Park?’ she asked when they finally headed back to meet the cabbie.

‘That would be too obvious.’ He grinned.

‘Oh.’ Her brows arched.

‘This is a park where you wouldn’t expect to find one.’

‘Where’s that?’

He pointed a finger to the sky.

‘This is really cool—the views are amazing.’ She almost bounced in excitement a half-hour later as they walked along the disused railway line that had been developed into an elevated, slim park. She turned to him and blushed. ‘You’ve seen all this.’ She glanced at him. ‘I’m sorry if this is boring.’

‘Never boring. I love New York.’ Hell, he’d forgotten just how much fun the city could be. When had he last had a holiday? He honestly couldn’t remember. Not a real holiday anyway; he always combined travel with work. ‘And I’ve not seen any of this with you before. Come on.’ He nodded to a stand ahead. ‘You can buy me lunch.’

She glanced at him. ‘You want this for lunch?’

‘I love those pretzels.’

‘Real carbs man, aren’t you?’

He nodded. ‘I find I need the energy at the moment.’

Laughing, she went to the stand and bought two of the giant, doughy pretzels.

She handed him one with a flourish. ‘I know you’re doing this to soothe my penniless pride.’

‘Careful,’ he said softly. ‘Looking at me like that might make me want to kiss you.’

‘Uh-uh.’ Laughing, she stepped a couple of paces ahead of him.

They walked along the High Line, eating. Ruefully he pondered how amazing it was that the decision not to touch made him so aware of how close she was. How easy it would be to touch. He glanced up and saw she’d caught him—no doubt his thoughts had been written all over his face given she was blushing now. But she shook her head provocatively, as if she were the mistress remonstrating with the misbehaving boy. She was going to pay for that. Later.

‘We’d better keep moving,’ he growled. ‘The Public Library,’ he instructed the cabbie when he met them at the end of the park.

‘The lions are called Patience and Fortitude,’ James informed her as they walked towards the entrance a short-ish drive later. ‘Which do you identify with?’

‘Definitely Fortitude,’ she answered wryly. ‘And you?’

‘Patience,’ he groaned. ‘I need much patience today.’

‘Poor James,’ she cooed. ‘Are you suffering?’

She had no idea.

The library was beautiful, stunning, fascinating. Just like her. James struggled to contain the rising sense of impatience as they slowly walked through the massive reading room. But he was determined to control himself—and his wayward urges. He could do something for someone else, put someone else’s needs first...

Except he was starting to wonder what her needs might be right at this time. She was looking at him more than she was looking at the building and the treasures within.

‘James?’ she asked softly—all the sass gone. Her blue eyes had gone smoky.

‘You got lunch, I’ve already got dinner.’ He sent her a quelling look and marched her back to the waiting cab. ‘No arguing. Central Park please,’ he called to the cabbie. ‘Best entrance for the Delacorte.’ He couldn’t let her derail his carefully laid plans. Not so quickly.

‘Sure.’

James peeked into the basket the driver had collected for him while they were at the library. ‘Thanks,’ he said as the car pulled over. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Nine-thirty?’

‘Perfect.’

But when he followed Caitlin out of the cab, she stood in his way, her hands on hips. ‘See him tomorrow?’

‘He owes me big time.’ James nodded, switching the basket to his other hand.

‘James—’

‘Shall we go to a show?’ He walked past her towards the park, ignoring her half-frustrated laugh. ‘Come on.’

‘James!’

‘Don’t worry.’ He pointed to a poster. ‘It’s free. All the tickets are free.’

Diverted, she stopped and scanned the print. Her gaze flickered to him accusingly. ‘I don’t recall you queuing for tickets today... How did you do this?’

‘Pulled strings,’ he answered honestly. ‘And I have a picnic in here for us to have first.’

One thing he could do was organise.

‘Thank you.’ She stepped in front of him, looking up at him. ‘I mean it. Thanks for taking me to all these places today. I have had the best time.’

So had he. But honestly? The best was yet to come.

‘You just thanked me?’ He opted to tease her—mainly to stop himself from pulling her close and plundering her mouth the way he’d been thinking of for hours now. ‘Have I finally redeemed myself in your eyes?’

‘Hmm.’ She put a hand to her chin and pretended to think about it. ‘Maybe one more night of sexual slavery will do it.’

James groaned, hard and hurting. ‘Don’t torment me. We have hours of Shakespeare to sit through first.’

He was almost bursting out of his skin with desire for her. Why had he agreed to the no-PDA idea? Madness.