All It Takes (Romancing Manhattan 2)

I want him. I like him. And this is new territory for me, but I’ve decided that I won’t overthink it to death.

I’m going to enjoy him.

“It was stunning,” I assure London an hour later as I offer her a hug. “I loved it. You should be very proud.”

“I’m so proud,” she says with a watery grin. “I’m so happy that you came. I’d love to get together for lunch sometime.”

“I’d like that,” I reply with a nod. “I’ll have Quinn send you my number.”

“Perfect. I’ll text you. Would you all like to come backstage?”

“We will pass,” Quinn says before I can reply, and I’m relieved. I’m ready to be alone with him. “But thank you for the invitation. Sienna’s right, it was fabulous.”

We say our good-byes to his family, and then leave, walking hand in hand to his car.

“Your family is really nice.”

He nods and smiles softly down at me. “They liked you.”

“I liked them too. But you sound surprised. Are you surprised that they liked me?”

“No.” He laughs and opens the car door for me, then walks around and joins me. “You’re a likable woman, of course they like you.”

“They’re all very nice. London is beautiful. I hope the proposal goes well.”

“Finn will be just fine,” Quinn says. “Sienna, I’d like to take you home.”

I frown. “I thought that’s where we were headed.”

“No, I mean to my home. I’d like to show you my condo.”

“Oh, that sounds nice. I’d like to see where you live.” I knew it was going to lead to this. I knew. But I didn’t expect to be so nervous. Butterflies are doing the cha-cha in my belly, but I’m excited too. I can’t wait to see his place.

“Excellent.”

He drives through Manhattan, and it doesn’t take us long to reach his building. He parks underground, then escorts me to an elevator that takes us up to the penthouse level. The doors open, and we step out of the elevator, but I’m struck speechless.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a more beautiful space in my life. I expected Quinn’s space to be modern. Sleek. Simple.

But it’s opulent and lovely. Full of color. Plush furniture and polished oak floors that my shoes click on as I walk through the space.

Quinn is taking his jacket off and rolling his sleeves, the way he always does when it’s time to get comfortable. I set my clutch on a table and continue to wander, taking everything in.

It’s an open floor plan, and the kitchen is ridiculously big, with everything even the most celebrated chef could need.

But it’s the fireplace, and the framed painting mounted above it, that catches my eye.

“My painting,” I murmur as I walk toward it, then cross my arms over my chest and stare up at it. He used reclaimed wood to frame it.

“It’s my favorite piece,” he says behind me. His hands rest on my shoulders, and I feel his touch throughout my whole body. My nipples pucker. My core tightens.

This man is potent.

“It’s like it was made for this spot,” I reply as he holds a snifter full of amber whiskey in front of me. I take the glass and sip, feeling the burn of the liquor all the way to my belly. “Thank you.”

“Sienna,” he begins and turns me to face him. “If you’re not interested in being intimate with me tonight, I need to take you home right now.”

“I’m not going home,” I reply immediately. My voice is strong and sure, just as strong as my conviction to stay.

I want him, and I won’t apologize for it.

His eyes are pinned to mine as he swallows the rest of his drink and sets the glass aside. I take a final sip and pass my glass to him, and he sets it next to his.

“Shall I show you the rest of my place?”

So he’s not going to attack me right here in his living room. Good. There’s no hurry.

I bite my lip and nod, and he slips his hand in mine and leads me down a hallway.

“How long have you lived here?” I ask.

“Three years,” he replies. “I hated it when I bought it. Everything was white. I mean, everything. The walls, the floors, the furniture. Even the appliances.”

“That’s a lot of white. They must not have had kids.”

He laughs and opens a door, flips on a light, and I’m in his home office. It’s a good size, with big windows. Like the man who owns it, the furniture is big and imposing. A bit intimidating.

Sexy.

“So I bought it, and before I moved in I hired a decorator and told her what I wanted. She did well.”

“I like it,” I agree with a nod. “Sounds like when I bought my place.”

“I remember,” he says, his lips twitching. “We have a lot in common.”

He leads me farther down the hall and points out a guest bath, a guest bedroom, and at the end of the hall, he opens double doors to reveal the master suite.