“What am I thinking?” he asked, astonished. Well, embarrassed maybe. He hadn’t talked so much about his feelings…ever. “Are you forgetting that I told all of Hell’s Kitchen what I was thinking about twenty minutes ago?”

“No. I haven’t…” She ran a hand down her stomach, across the buttons of her jacket. The belt. “I haven’t forgotten.”

He turned on her, facing her, looking her in the eye for the first time since telling her he’d have died for her. And her face, as familiar to him as his own, was the same as it ever was. Beautiful…so damn beautiful. But unreadable to him.

Untouchable, somehow.

How, he wondered, how did he love her, know her so well and yet not at all?

“How about you?” he asked. “How about you, for once, tell me how you feel. Tell me what you’re thinking. You’re the goddamned Sphinx, Maggie. You always have been.”

“I’m thinking I haven’t been touched in six years.” The words came out of her like a sob. “He was sick and then gone, and there’s been nothing.” She held her hands wide against her stomach, holding herself together. “And I want…”

Oh, God, she was cracking open in front of him. And he saw her loneliness. The sharp pain of it. The never-ending ache of it.

He’d been so busy wanting her and not having her, he’d never thought of what she wanted and didn’t have.

“Maggie, I’ll take care of you.” It would be his fucking privilege to take care of that for her. To ease that particular ache. He’d lie down in traffic for a shot at it. He reached for her, for her hand, but she flinched away.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked up at the night sky, the illuminated clouds, the searchlights from Madison Square Gardens.

“It’s…ridiculous,” she said. “I’m forty years old and I feel like an idiot. Like I’m nineteen again. But not in the good way.”

“Nothing about you is ridiculous.”

“There’s only…ever been Ben. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know if I remember. I don’t know—”

She was saying she’d only slept with Ben.

“This is a mistake,” she said, reading his face, the shock he wasn’t quite able to hide. “We shouldn’t…I can’t…”

She turned to leave, but he grabbed her hand.

Ah, honesty. Was it worth it? Fuck it, he thought. Fuck it. He’d blown up everything else tonight, why not this?

“Even if it’s this is one night, I don’t care. Even…and maybe it’s because I’m drunk…but even if this ruins everything, even if we can’t look at each other tomorrow…I don’t care. That’s how bad I want you, Maggie.”

The apartment building door opened, and Rick and Jack came out and gave Jay his keys back. “All clear,” they said.

He looked long and hard at her, because this had to be her decision. He loved her. He would do whatever she asked. Whatever she wanted.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said to Rick and Jack, and then she took the keys out of Jack’s hand. She took two steps and turned around to face him where he stood, rooted to the ground.

“You coming?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Unable to swallow his grin, he followed her. Into hell if that’s where she was going.

This might go up in flames. But who was he kidding? There was a seventy-five percent chance of this going up in flames—but he was past caring.

All these years and it was finally happening.

At the door to his apartment she stepped aside, and he felt the heat of her all along his left side. It was as if that suit had turned to fire.

“After you,” he breathed,letting her walk in first.

His place was clean because he paid a guy to keep it that way and then never actually lived here. So he didn’t have to worry about dirty clothes and a slightly rotten food smell in his kitchen.

But he had plenty of other stuff to worry about.

She hasn’t been touched. Not by anyone in six years.

And he didn’t know why that was a surprise to him. But it was. It just…was.

Because he’d wanted to touch her every minute of every day for those six years. Because he couldn’t imagine every man on the planet not feeling the same way.

But her not being touched was about her, not people with penises.

She stood in front of his windows. The curtains were closed, so he knew she wasn’t taking in the view. She was just…hiding.

In all their life together, she’d taken the lead. He was her right hand. Her sword. But in this…in this he was going to be in charge. In control. Otherwise he knew it wouldn’t happen.

He stepped up behind her, his hands on her waist. Felt the heat and strength of her through that suit. He felt her gasp, the hitch of her breath, the stiffening and then sudden relaxing of her whole body.

Yes, he thought. Yes.

He ran his hands down her hips and then by touch he began to undo that little back belt. And then the red buttons on the front of her suit.

His fingers felt the silk of her chemise. He felt the heat of her skin, the warm curves of her breasts. And touch was enough…it was almost too much. Almost the end of him.

He groaned and leaned forward, resting his head against her neck.

“What…? What’s wrong?” she breathed, her hands covering his. Or covering herself.

He’d never in his life seen her so unsure. Naked without the confidence she was known for. It broke his heart. Humbled him.

“Nothing,” he breathed. “I’ve just…been thinking about this moment for a while.”

“How long?”

“Since 1994.”

She laughed, her skin rising to meet his touch, and then he cupped her breasts in his hands. Groaning, he stepped closer until he was touching her spine with his chest. Her ass with the hard length of his erection. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and he set his lips to her neck.

She tasted of perfume and sweat, just a little, and her. Maggie.

Jesus.

His cock throbbed, and suddenly he was flooded with every dream he’d ever had of her. Every base fantasy. Every dark wish.

“When are you going on-air?” he asked.

“What?” she breathed.

“How long do we have?”

She lifted her wrist and looked at her watch. “We have six hours.”

“We better get moving,” he said.

“You’re in a hurry?”

“I’ve got a long list of things I need to do to you, Maggie Perkins.”

His hands squeezed, finding the pressure she liked. That made her gasp. That made her lean back against him with more of her weight. Her nipples were hard and hot against his palms and he rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers until she was shaking.

Until suddenly she stood up, away from him, and turned around.

“I’ve got a few things I’ve thought about, too,” she said.

He blinked. Surprised. This had been one-sided his whole goddamn life.

“What…what do you want to do?” he asked.

“This.” She put her fingers against his beard, rubbing one way and then the other, smiling slightly at the sensation. Which made him smile, because he liked seeing her happy on a basic level.

Her thumbs touched the upward bend of his lips, where the smile generated, and she brushed one thumb across his bottom lip.

And then she kissed him. Her mouth against his. Her breath. The taste of her…

He tried to be careful. He did. He tried to be respectful. But everything was falling off him. Chains of restraint and care, all of them gone, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding onto her tight while his lips opened and his mouth claimed hers.

Claimed.

Ravished.

Owned.

And she opened up and claimed him right back.

His blood was gasoline, the touch of her hands, the kiss of her mouth, all of it matches, and he couldn’t breathe for wanting her. He couldn’t think.

She started pushing his jacket off his shoulders, yanking up his shirttails. He did the same to her, pushing that sexy red jacket off her body. Lifting the chemise she wore free from her waistband.

He ran his hand down the outside of her thigh, reaching for the hem of her skirt, dragging it up with him on the return trip.

“Yes,” she moaned into his mouth. “Yes, please. Hurry. Hurry.”

Fuck. That was all he needed. He’d take his time on the second go-round. Right now, this was twenty years of wanting. Twenty fucking years.

He pulled her close, lifting her weight up into his arms, and he turned, pushing her down on the couch. He stood over her, taking her in. Her state of undress. Her blissed-out eyes. Her chemise pulled taut over her full breasts.

Maggie as he’d always imagined her. But better. Real. Here. His mouth tasted like her. His fingers remembered the silk of her skin.

And he’d never be able to forget it.

He fell to his knees on the floor between her spread legs.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, her fingers in his hair. His beard.

“Finding something out,” he said.

“What?”

“What you taste like.”

She gasped, pulling in air like she was dying.

“You going to let me?”

She nodded and he reached up under her skirt and pulled down her nylons. She shifted her long, sweet legs, helping him.

“Take…take your shirt off,” she said.

“Why?”

“I want to feel you. Between my legs.”

He grinned at her, his cock throbbing, and yanked off his tie and shirt. Stood in front of her in his suit pants and nothing else. He had no misconceptions about his looks. He ran when he could. Forgot to eat a lot of the time. His chest hair was going gray. And it was plentiful.

But she looked at him like he was beautiful.

So he felt fucking beautiful.

And he planned on returning the favor. In spades.

Back on his knees, he took his time spreading her legs, shifting her so she half-reclined on the sofa, her hips right up to the edge of the couch.

“Hurry, Jay, please.”

“No fucking way, Maggie. I’m not hurrying this at all.”

Her skirt was hiked up to her waist and he left it there, liking the seduction of it. He pulled off her black silk underwear and the sight of her nearly made him come in his pants. The scent of her desire. The fat pink lips of her sex.

“Jesus, Maggie,” he breathed. And he leaned in and kissed her, tasted her. His tongue found the edge of her slit and and slipped down until he bumped into the hard bead of her clit, and he kept going, mapping the area, getting to know her.

She was salty and sweet and smelled like sex and lust. And his careful introduction of his mouth to her pussy was soon not at all enough. He pushed her thighs out wide, settled himself between them, and got down to business.

“Yes, God…Jay!” She clutched at his hair. Carefully, because it had been a long time, he eased one finger deep inside of her and she arched up off the couch, pulling his hair, her thighs closing down on him like a clamp.

He smiled and gave her another finger.

Maggie. He’d known she’d be like this. All in. Real and sweet.

“It’s been so long,” she said. “So long.” And then she was coming. Writhing and twisting against him. Holding him still, fucking against him.

And when she finally let him go, he sat up, wiping his mouth. Licking his fingers.

Remember, he told himself. Remember. This. Forever.

“You,” she said, reaching for his belt, her hands shaking. He let her undo the belt and take down his zipper. He let her reach into the open V of his pants and the waistband of his boxers.

Bracing himself the whole time. An old habit he couldn’t break.

And the touch of her hand against him was everything he’d dreamed. Everything he’d wanted for so long. Everything he’d never thought he’d have.

And after tonight he wasn’t sure if he would have it again.

“Stop,” he said.

“What?” She didn’t let go of him, and he stepped away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. He reached for her, pulling her to her feet, but she didn’t stand.

“You’re lying,” she said. And this was the fucking problem of knowing each other so well.

“I’m about to come in my fucking pants,” he said with a grin. Trying to play it off.

“Why don’t you want me to touch you?”

“Because I don’t know how to handle it, Maggie. I’ve spent most of my life trying to forget the way it feels when your hand accidentally brushes mine. How do I wake up tomorrow and forget how your lips feel on my cock?”

“You don’t have to forget,” she said. “And if you do, I’ll do it again.”

“Don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend this isn’t…” He swallowed and turned away, his erection dying. She sat up, grabbed his hips.

“Finish a goddamn sentence, Jay.”

“Don’t pretend this isn’t a one-time thing. Don’t pretend this isn’t a mistake we might spend the rest of our lives regretting.”

“You’ll regret this?”

“No,” he sighed. “No. I won’t. I can’t. But I will regret when it blows up our friendship.”

“I think our friendship is stronger than a blow job. I think our friendship might be stronger if we had a few more blow jobs.”

“This isn’t funny.”

‘I’m not laughing. Did it occur to you, Jay, that I….” She blew out a breath. Pulled her skirt down. “That I might feel something for you, too? Or were you too busy writing yourself in the role of the martyr?”

Hope surged in him. Undeniable and bright. Blinding.

“What…what do you feel for me?”

“Right now, lust. Most of the time, friendship. And frustration and more. I’ve felt…more.”

Oh, this hope was going to kill him. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say this because you feel like you should. Because you want to be polite. Because you’re worried about my feelings. I’m a big boy, and I don’t need to be stroked.”

She scowled at him, her lips twisting in that familiar way that he loved.

“And I’m a big fucking girl, Jay. I don’t lie to men to protect their egos. Shame on you for thinking that I would do that to you.”

His cock was hard again. Something about her anger fucking lit him up like the Fourth of July.

“You gonna let me suck your dick?” she snapped, and he laughed. He laughed and he laughed and shucked his pants as fast as he could.

“Please, Maggie. Please.”

She leaned forward, one hand at his hip, the other grabbing the base of his cock, and at the first warm brush of her breath, the soft, sweet lick of her tongue, the wet heat of her mouth, he was done. Gone.

He was nothing but love and lust and a longing he’d never get over. It might have lasted twenty minutes or two. He didn’t know.

“Maggie.” His fingers brushed her face, giving her the chance to lean away. To remain above something as base as swallowing his come. But she pulled him closer, took him deeper. He cupped her head in his hands, curled his body over hers. And he came in spurts in her mouth.

“Fuck.” He staggered back, wincing at the brush of her mouth on his dick. So sensitive. His whole body. Every bit of his soul. Too sensitive for this. For her. He stepped back again. And then again.

“Holy shit, Maggie.”

“I have been…missing that.”

He laughed. “So have I.”

The silence between them was different. Not uncomfortable. Not nervous. Just different.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I know when you’re getting too far in your head. And I don’t want you in your head.”

“Where do you want me?”

She stood up. “Your bedroom.”

“I’m a forty-year-old man. It’s going to take me—”

Her skirt fell to the floor. Her chemise followed. The love of his life stood naked in front of him.

She looked down at his stiffening cock and quirked an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

“Nothing.” He crossed the room in three short steps and had her in his arms. Her skin against his. He picked her up off her feet and walked across the apartment, his mouth on hers. Breathing in her exhales, stroking her tongue with his.

His bedroom was dark, and it was quiet, the city blocked out by the thick curtains he had on his windows.

He laid her out on the bed, following her down, and she reached for him, her legs spread, her hands on his cock. And then he remembered how being a sad sack in love with a woman he had never thought he’d have didn’t give him much of a sex life, and as such—he had no condoms.

“Wait-.”

“No waiting.” She arched her hips up against him. “We talk all the time. Let’s not talk.”

The head of his cock slipped into her body, and he felt electrocuted.

“I don’t have condoms,” he said.

“Do we need them?” she asked.

“I’m clean, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So am I.”

“Pregnancy?”

“I’m on the pill.”

She didn’t need to say another word. And they didn’t. He pushed inside her, inch by agonizingly beautiful inch, and it was as if they each held their breath. Like they couldn’t believe what was happening. What they were feeling.

He couldn’t look at her, because he was scared what she might see in his eyes. It was one thing to tell a person you loved them, another thing to show them the depth and breadth of that love.

She was his world.

And he was terrified of what he might see in her eyes. Or that they’d be closed so she could better pretend he was Ben.

“Jay?” she gasped. He spread his knees out wide, still sinking into her. She was tight and small. And he felt so fucking big.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m good. Sooo good. I’ve never…been this good.”

He smiled, laughed even. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto her breast.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” she asked.

He bent his head, kissed her breast. Tasted the salt of his sweat and hers.

“Jay!” she lifted her hips, taking him deep. All the way. “Look at me.”

He was powerless. Under her control. So he looked at her.

It was mindless after that. Fucking and grinding. Her skin so soft. Her teeth so sharp. It hurt in all the best ways.

“I’m gonna—”

“Yes—”

“With me—”

“Yes—”

She came. He felt her come. The ecstatic pulse of it. The tight-limbed tautness of her.

And then, like he always did, he tried to take her in pieces. To control what he felt. How he felt. Small things first. Her hands in his hair, her leg against his hip. Her hair a dark slash against his pillow. But then the details came faster and faster. Overwhelming him. Her breath against his lips. Her breast against his chest.

The squeeze of her orgasm around his cock.

And he was ruined.

He didn’t know how he was going to survive this.

Survive her.

Maggie.