It's only two avenues and three subway stops from Columbia to the penthouse apartment. Barely time to feel the sweet relief of the air conditioning before I'm on the street again.

I run up the subway steps. Fuck. It's hot. Really hot. But it doesn't bother me.

My first day of college is over. The college part, at least. The school's art department loved my portfolio so much they offered me a spot in the fall class. A full scholarship, too. Meryl's money is still safely tucked away in my account, there for a rainy day.

God knows there will be plenty of rain soon. The city never relents. If it's not heat, it's rain, snow, wind. Still, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Two blocks and I'm in the blissfully air-conditioned lobby. I wipe the sweat from my forehead as I wait for the elevator.

I'm not the picture of grace, but at this point, I've got nothing to prove.

"Good afternoon, Miss Wilder." The guard waves at me. "How is your sister?"

"In California. It's awful."

He shakes his head. Only a born-and-bred New Yorker can really understand. Who could leave the greatest city in the country for California?

The elevator doors open. I step inside and wave my key card for access to the penthouse floor.

The mirrors reflect my running makeup. I did my best college girl cat eye, but most of it has melted off. No matter. The only thing I want besides a glass of cold water is a shower.

Ding. I step into the hallway and dig into my backpack front pocket for my keys. It's silly that this door locks at all. The only way to get to the floor is with a key card. A lock is overkill. Three locks is insanity.

But it's so Blake.

There. I slide my key into the door, turn the lock, and step inside.

It's dark.

The lights are off.

The curtains are drawn.

Huh?

Something whizzes past me and bounces off the wall. Something small. A cork.

The curtains pull open.

Blake is standing in front of the window holding a foaming bottle of champagne. That explains the cork.

He points to the ceiling. There are a few dozen balloons in blue and white. Columbia colors. There's a banner hanging across the incredibly long main room. Congratulations, Kat.

And, my God, he's wearing one of those silly men's racerback tank tops. Blue, with Columbia in big, white letters.

He catches me staring. "If you think that's something, you should see the matching boxers."

"Oh, yeah?"

He nods, takes three steps closer, picks up the champagne flutes on the coffee table, and hands one to me.

"Aren't you glad you started college old enough to drink?" he asks.

"You graduated too young to drink."

"Don't compare yourself to an old man." He smiles.

"Old at twenty-six?"

"Ancient." He pulls my backpack off my shoulders and sets it next to the couch. "Your shoulders aching from carrying that thing around?" He runs his finger up my arm.

Desire courses through me. Those are some amazing fingers. I clear my throat, getting ahold of my senses. "More like my neck."

He rubs my neck with his palm. Traces the neckline of my tank top with his other hand. "I don't like you wearing that to class."

"Would you feel better if I wrote Property of Blake Sterling on it?"

"Yes." He presses his lips against my neck. "But I don't suppose you're offering."

"Well, maybe if I hadn't bought the tank top."

He laughs. It's a hearty laugh. Ever since we flew to Paris together, I've heard a lot of that laugh.

I hear it every day and it still makes me melt. It's still the sweetest sound in the whole damn world.

He presses his lips to my neck and lets out a low groan.

Okay. That sound is a close second. A very, very close second.

I take a sip of my champagne. Sweet, fruity bubbles slide down my throat. Damn. It's good. I finish my glass with one long swig.

Blake places it on the coffee table. He brushes the messy hair from my eyes. "I got you something."

I fight my urge to clap. Surprise presents are always such a nice, well, surprise. "Let me see."

He laughs. His grin is ear to ear. His eyes crinkle. His cheek dimples. He shakes his head like I'm just so ridiculous, and he grabs a wrapped present from the bookshelf.

He hands it to me. "You'll like it."

"You're not supposed to say that."

"You're not supposed to say let me see."

"Oh, using my own words against me, are you?" I pull the wrapping off the present. It's a graphic novel. Falling Petals. The same thing I titled my portfolio project. And the cover image is one of my drawings. A self-portrait.

Right there where the author name is supposed to go it says Kat Wilder.

Shit. I'm the author. This is my portfolio project, the latest version of it.

"It's a mockup," he says. "You do like it?"

My jaw must be hanging open. It's a mockup of my portfolio project, and it looks like a real graphic novel. It looks amazing.

I flip through the pages. It's laid out perfectly. Each vignette is shaded with a different color and each one is just right, as vivid or muted as it was in my original drawing.

I let out all the air in my lungs. "I love it."

"It's meant to inspire you."

He picks at the pages, flipping to the vignette about Blake, well, inspired by Blake. It's all technically fiction.

He flips right to a page where the two characters are about to have sex. "I know it inspires me."

"Pervert."

Blake points to the panel at the bottom of the page—the one where the bedroom door shuts. "Cruel of you not to let your readers see what happens."

"Is that right?"

He nods. "Sadistic, even." He nips at my ear as he sets the book on the coffee table.

"It's not that kind of story."

"It could be." He works his way down my neck. His fingertips side over the waist of my denim shorts.

"Hey, Sterling. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it my way." There, I throw his words back at him. Though I am really fond of those words. And of his way.

He pulls back, straightening his Columbia tank top like he's my apt pupil. "And what is your way?"

I plant my hand on my hip. "Take off your clothes."

"Where have I heard that before?"

"Don't make me ask twice." I fight a giggle. I'm not pulling this off.

But he's indulging me anyway.

Blake pulls his tank top over his head. The light from the window streams over his body, highlighting all those deep, perfect lines. The man is cut. He's like a statue.

He slides out of his shorts and tugs at his boxers. He points to a label on the side. Columbia.

A laugh escapes my lips. "That's commitment. But take it off."

He slides his boxers to his knees.

Oh hell yes.

I motion come here. "Take off mine now."

We work together. I lift my arms as he pulls my shirt over my head. I shimmy my hips as he slides my shorts to my feet. He runs his fingertips over my calves, outer thighs, hips, stomach, back.

Want buzzes through my body.

His way or my way, we're doing this.

"I didn't tell you to do that," I say.

He unhooks my bra and pulls it off my shoulders. His fingers trail over my breasts. Draw slow circles around my nipples.

"I should give you a spanking for disobeying my orders," I say.

"You should." He pushes my underwear to my knees, grabs my ass, and pulls our bodies together.

His cock presses against my pelvis. I rise onto my tiptoes so it's pressing against my clit.

Oh, hell yes.

Blake kisses me. It's hard and hungry and sweet all at once. In one smooth motion, he lifts me. My legs hook around his hips. My arms slide around his neck. He carries me to the wall and presses me against it. Yes. Oh hell yes.

"Hold on tight." He kisses me hard.

His nails dig into the flesh of my ass as he adjusts me. A nice hint of pain. Just enough to feel good. To draw all of my attention.

His tip enters me. It's still as good as the first time. Still as good as every time.

I'll never get tired of fucking this man.

I kiss Blake, holding on for dear life as he thrusts into me.

Yes. Oh hell yes.

He presses me against the wall, rocking into me harder and harder and harder.

There. Perfect. He digs his nails into my skin, shifting my hips so every thrust goes deeper. My bare chest presses against his. Our bodies still feel so good together. We're so good together.

This is damn perfect.

His tongue slides into my mouth, exploring it like it still fascinates him. I do the same. God knows he still fascinates me. I want to know everything there is to know about Blake—about his mind, his heart, his body. Especially his body.

I dig my nails into his back, and he groans into my mouth. I squeeze my legs around his hips, rocking against him. My clit slides over his pubic bone. It's a delightful bit of friction.

Pleasure whirs inside me. It winds tighter. Tighter.

I pull my lips away, tilt my head back, groan his name.

His next thrust pushes me over the edge. Bliss fills my body. Free fall. It's everywhere, all around me.

He holds me tighter.

His breath hitches as he moves faster, harder. His eyelids press together. Groans escape his lips.

He's almost there.

He squeezes me tighter. Presses me against the wall.

There.

An orgasm overtakes him. He groans, digging his fingers into my skin as he comes inside me.

I collapse into his arms. Still, he holds me tight, pressing me against the wall. I unhook my legs and plant my feet on the floor.

Blake runs his fingertips over my chin, tilting it so we're eye to eye. "I love you."

I press my lips to his. "I love you too."

* * *

After dinner at the Thai restaurant down the street, we climb into the limo.

Blake pulls a blindfold from the seatback pocket and places it over my eyes. "The next destination is a surprise."

"What kind of surprise?"

He kisses my neck. "Not that kind. Not yet."

I lean back onto the bench seat. Okay. Our destination is a surprise, and we're not spending the trip having sex. "Want to give me a clue?"

"No."

I shake my head. "You're so difficult. I shouldn't put up with you."

"You shouldn't."

"Why do I?"

"My body."

I laugh. "Not your money?"

"No. It's the sex."

"It helps."

"Only helps?"

"I also happen to adore you."

"Not as much as I adore you."

Blake slides onto the bench seat next to me, trailing his fingertips up and down my inner thigh, right under the hem of my skirt.

So, so close.

I yelp when the limo stops and he pulls his hand away.

"You can take it off," he says.

I pull the blindfold over my head, toss it aside, and step out of the limo.

We're in Midtown, in front of a tall building. The Empire State Building. It's blue and white today.

"For your first day of school," he says. "The whole city is celebrating you."

"It's celebrating the college, and it was purple for NYU yesterday."

He takes my hand and leads me into the building. It's past the hours for the observation deck, but a little thing like that would never stop Blake. He motions hello to the guard and steps into the elevator.

"Last time I checked, you're not afraid of heights," he says.

"Not at all." There's nothing like the rush you get from being up in the clouds.

He waves a key card at the elevator and presses the button for the observation deck. I don't even ask myself how he does these things anymore. It's some rich person trick.

It's just like when I was a kid. The elevator goes so many stories so fast that my ears pop. I swallow three time to unpop them. Ah. Finally.

The doors slide open, and we step outside. The entire observation deck is empty save for a lone security guard in the corner.

I press the double doors open and step onto the deck balcony. It's windy up here but the air is warm. Perfect September weather. Perfect for the city.

The sun is setting behind us. It sets so late this time of year. Blake slides his arm around my hips as I squeeze the guardrail. The city is all around us, and it's beautiful.

A smile creeps onto his lips. He brushes the hair from my eyes again. He laughs as the wind blows it back. "That shows me."

He pulls me away from the edge, so we're in the middle of the deck.

Blake's eyes find mine. He looks at the concrete. It's almost like he's nervous, but that can't be possible. Blake Sterling doesn't get nervous.

"Let's hope this goes better than last time." He takes my hand and drops to one knee.

Holy shit.

"Kat Wilder, I'm madly in love with you, and the only thing missing in my life—" he pulls a ring box from his pocket and pops it open "—is making you my wife."

I stare at the ring.

"It's the same one," he admits. "It really does suit you."

I reach for the words. My voice cracks. "Yes. Of course."

He slides the ring on my finger.

I tug at his hands, pulling him to his feet. He slides his arms around me, leans in close, and kisses me.

He kisses me like he never wants to come up for air.