Seduce Me

“You look so disappointed,” she said, her delight clear in her voice.

“I am. I was looking forward to talking some more.”

“I suppose we could go for a few blocks. I’ll cry uncle when it’s too much.”

“You could just take them off.”

“Barefoot in Manhattan? I’m not sure if I’m caught up on my tetanus shots.”

He leaned across the small table and put his hand on hers. Her eyes widened as she stared, then a faint blush tinted her cheeks. “We don’t have to walk far to get to my place. I’ve got some Courvoisier, which goes great with a to-go order of the Italian cheesecake.”

Natalie’s blush deepened. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t really do things like that,” she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp.

“What, eat cheesecake?”

Pressing her lips together for a moment, her gaze swept over his face, everywhere except his eyes. “Cognac and cheesecake at your place? Perhaps to see your etchings?”

He didn’t respond immediately, knowing she’d eventually meet his eyes. When he got the look he wanted, he lowered his voice. “I don’t think guys use etchings anymore, but if I did, would that be so bad?”

Natalie cleared her throat, turned her wineglass forty-five degrees and gave him a hesitant smile. “It would be flattering. Also a waste of time.”

She sounded very sure and serious, and he wasn’t the kind to hear yes when a woman said no. But everything about her body language read that she wasn’t quite as certain as she’d like him to believe. Still, he nodded. “I know we decided not to talk about the cards, but I’m curious. You clearly do want to settle down. Get married. You seem young. Or maybe it’s just that the women in my field tend to be in their thirties before they start to think about marriage and kids. The career track in large firms is brutal.”

“I’m not that young,” she said. “Twenty-seven seems a good age, especially because I want children someday.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

She tapped the edge of her glass with her index finger. “I’m also terrible at dating.”

“I beg to differ.”

She dismissed his comment with a wave. “You don’t count. You did when I thought we shared the same goals, but once that was cleared up...”

“I think I feel insulted.”

“Why? You’re allowed to not want what I want. And anyway, I tried to bow out, give you a chance to go find someone more your speed, but you blew it.”

“I think I chose wisely. You make me want to see old movies with you. No wonder they have you giving tours at Omnibus. Your passion is very engaging.”

She studied him with a tentative frown, as if she was trying to decide whether to believe him. “Thank you,” she said finally.

“Now, how about that dessert? Coffee?”

Natalie shook her head, causing her dark hair to tumble over that obstinate shoulder. “As great as the cheesecake sounds, I’m going to say no.”

He shook his head. “That’s a shame. I’ve got a terrible sweet tooth. Which means I have to spend far too long at the gym, because I’m not that great at denying myself.”

“Well, that’s one thing we have in common. Not the gym part.” She shuddered. “I walk, of course, and I go to yoga twice a week. But big machines and weights? Not for me.”

“Whatever you’re doing works,” he said, and even though it was probably a nonstarter, he didn’t hold back on his smile.

“You must be a very good lawyer,” she said.

“You think?”

“You’re very smooth.”

“Huh. I could take that one of two ways.”

Natalie flashed that wicked smile he’d seen earlier. “I’ll amend that to convincing.”

“Better.” He smiled back. “That’s because I’m telling the truth.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a small bow.

He couldn’t help it. He reached out for her hand again, not sure if she’d put it within reach consciously or not. “Is it at all possible that there’s room in your plan for something a little less permanent until Mr. Right comes along?”

When her teeth scraped against her full bottom lip, he felt his cock stir. It wasn’t the first time that had happened since they’d met, but it was the most insistent. But he doubted words would work when actions said so much more. He leaned in farther, not hiding his desire at all as he gently teased the tender skin of her inner wrist.

* * *

NATALIE WAS EQUAL parts suspicious and tempted. The way he looked at her with such hunger was like something from a movie. However, that, along with his very gentle touch, meant it was also possible that she was being played. In fact, that was likely the case. The question was, did she mind?

There was a reason she didn’t do one-night stands. His name was Cory and she’d met him in college. She’d been won over by his love of literature and the way he’d looked at her. They’d clicked on a level that had been entirely new. The night had been magic. They’d made plans. He never called her again. When she’d run into him at a book signing, he’d said hey in a way that made it clear he couldn’t remember her name.

After that, she had a boyfriend for the last two years of undergraduate studies; another, Tim, for almost all of grad school; and Oliver. Max was another creature altogether. He was gorgeous, sexy, smart. A sophisticated man who belonged to Manhattan in a way she never would. She was a child of her neighborhood. He was skyscrapers and after-hours clubs. She’d only crossed paths with the likes of him at work.

Was she up for something that risky? Although, was there a risk at all, if she walked in with no expectations? Frankly, it would have been easier to throw caution to the wind if she’d worn matching underwear.

His thumb on her wrist was right over her pulse. No way he could miss how her heart was beating allegrissimo. But then, the way he looked at her made her feel entirely exposed, as if he could read every thought.

She wished he would say something. Blink. Because if he didn’t, she was going to say yes. The hell with her blue polka-dot panties and her plain white bra.

He didn’t say a word, but his gaze was a blatant promise of things she’d only read about.

“How far did you say your place was?”

4

NATALIE’S FIRST IMPRESSION of Max’s loft was that she didn’t belong in it. Nothing was overstuffed or secondhand. Of the few things he had, a lot were shiny and black and his television was bigger than her stove. Her second impression was that the only way she’d get through the next part of the evening was if she considered this a visit to another country. She’d always been a brave traveler, never afraid to try the local cuisine or explore the dodgy side of the tracks.

“Courvoisier?” he asked, putting the box of cheesecake on the glossy counter that divided the kitchen from the minimally furnished living room.

“Please.” Noting the bare-but-for-an-elaborate-coffeemaker countertop, she doubted he did much cooking. The well-stocked wet bar looked as if it got a lot more use.