A Cowboy in Manhattan

angle, sending blinding sparks shooting through her body.

She gasped his name over and over again, wrapping her body around him, feeling them meld to one.

He picked up the rhythm, and she rode the crest of his wave, rising higher and higher, until a guttural groan was torn from her throat. Reed cried out her name, and fireworks went off behind her eyes, bursting over and over in impossibly vibrant colors.

An hour later, Reed had banished his guilt and self-recrimination to a far-flung corner of his brain, allowing himself to absorb the experience. Katrina was still naked, submerged now beneath the roiling water in the cedar hot tub on the hotel suite’s deck. The scattered lights of Central Park fanned out behind her, while the midtown towers rose up in the distance-a beautiful city framing a beautiful woman.

“So, what do you think of my world?” she teased, voice soft and sexy, tone melodious. A wineglass dangled from her polished fingertips. Her face was flushed and dewy, her hair mussed in a soft halo.

“It’s a pretty great world,” he responded, popping a rich dark truffle into his mouth.

Leafy green plants surrounded them, placed in huge, ceramic pots on the floor of the deck and in smaller containers on a variety of wooden shelves. A lattice screen delineated the hot-tub deck, offering privacy. Candles flickered on polished wood, on occasional tables and on nooks and crannies in the shelves around them.

He slid his calf along her smooth leg. He wished she’d come closer. He didn’t like her sitting so far away.

“View’s nice over here,” he told her.

“Is that a hint?”

“Absolutely.”

“Promise you won’t feed me another truffle?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, you like truffles, and I’m going to feed them to you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, mulishly screwing her face. “Then I’m not coming over there.”

“Oh, yes, you are.” Reed leaned forward, wrapping his hands around her rib cage, easily lifting her, pushing a wave through the tub ahead of her as he moved her to his lap.

“Hey!” She held her glass of merlot out to one side to keep it from spilling.

He settled her. “That’s better.”

The water sloshed back to level, and he retrieved his own glass of wine.

“You are impossible,” she huffed.

“Not my fault,” he defended, giving in to temptation and placing a soft kiss on her hairline. “I did try to talk you out of this.”

“The hot tub?”

“All of this. Coming to my hotel room. Making love again.”

“Oh, that.” Her body relaxed, curling into his. “I guess that was my first mistake.”

He loved it when she cuddled against him. She felt custom-made to fit his arms. Her hair held the subtle scent of wildflowers. Her skin was petal-soft. Her face was as beautiful as an angel’s.

“Or maybe it was my second mistake,” she mused, kissing his wet shoulder. “The first was forcing you to take me up to Brome Ridge to fix that broken pump.” She rubbed the water droplets on his bicep. “Then again, I suppose I never should have looked into your eyes that first day I came home. That’s where it all really started.” Her tongue followed her fingertips, swirling against his heated skin.

“You were attracted?” he asked, curious.

She nodded. “I could feel the sparks from across the room.”

“I was pretty much a goner then, too.” He sighed. “Why did you have to turn out so beautiful?”

Though beautiful didn’t even begin to describe her. She was smart and sassy and funny, and she messed with his hormones simply by breathing.

“It’s an anthropological defense mechanism,” she offered. “If I can’t accomplish any hard work, I can at least be decorative.”

“Stop that,” he told her gruffly.

“Stop what?”

“Quit insulting yourself. You work damn hard dancing.”

She gazed up at him, apparently unaffected by his angry tone. “Do you think you might be just a bit biased?”

“No.”

Some of the light went out of her blue eyes. “It’s not the same thing as being productive.”

Wanting to be clear on this, he sat up straight, moving her to face him.

She sorted her legs out and straddled his lap.

“It’s exactly the same thing. You’re an incredibly accomplished woman, princess. Your family, any family anywhere, should be thrilled and proud to have you as a member.”

A smile grew on her face, and she reached up to touch his cheek. Her hand was warm from the water. Her breasts rose above the frothy surface, nipples peeking in and out.

“Yet, you still call me princess.”

“Do you hate it?”

She shook her head. “Not when you say it.”

“Good.” He liked having a special name for her. He’d once meant it as derogatory, but those days had long since passed.

She gave a poignant smile. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“Neither are you.” He’d thought she was spoiled, frivolous, skipping merrily through life on her looks, never giving a thought to anything beyond her own sphere of luxury. She was anything but that. She was a hard worker, a deep thinker, emotionally sensitive, easily hurt and acutely aware of the negative opinions ignorant people formed about her.

Their gazes met, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from kissing her. The kiss deepened and his arms wound around her. Her smooth body pressed intimately against his, heat building between them, tantalizing him, making him ache for her all over again.

He drew back sharply, his breath ragged, frightened by how close he was to throwing caution to the wind. “I am not making love to you without a condom.”

She downed the rest of her merlot, setting aside both of their glasses.

To his surprise, her eyes danced with amusement. She stroked the pad of her thumb across his lips. “Reed, darling,” she purred. “You have got to stop telling me things you won’t do.”

“You’re like a spoiled child.” But he didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it at all.

Despite her rebellious words, she obviously took pity on him, turning in his lap, sitting sideways, still tempting, but not nearly as dangerous.

“We’ll do it your way,” she agreed, looping her arms loosely around his neck and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Because I know we can’t make love right now. And I like it here with you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I want to make love. I really want to.”

“You’re killing me, Katrina.”

She sighed against him. “Get used to it.”

And that was the biggest problem of all. He was already used to it. He liked it here, too. The merlot was delicious, the truffles delectable, the view memorable and, if he had his way, he’d hold Katrina naked in his arms forever.

“You said they didn’t know who you were,” Reed challenged from where he stood in the glassed-in atrium of the harbor-tour cruise ship.

He was staring at the small magazine rack, the Statue of Liberty visible through the glass behind him.

“They didn’t,” she assured him, peering at the small square photo on the bottom corner of the tabloid newspaper. It had been taken last night as they exited the limo.

“Well, not last night, anyway,” she allowed “They must have looked it up later.”

“Katrina Jacobs on the town,” he read. “You want to buy it and read the story?”