“Broken Cell Phone Repair Shop,” I say.

Her soft laugh greets me. “It drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Many things do. Be more specific.”

“Not knowing what my thing is.”

“Nope.”

“I had a ton of meetings and stuff tonight. Just getting back to messages now.”

That sounds reasonable enough. I lean back, resting my head against the marble. Water splashes.

“Are you in my tub?” she asks.

“No. I’m in mine.”

“Are you naked?”

“No, I’m wearing flannel pajamas.”

“Did you get me hot chocolate?”

Damn. She’s like Babe Ruth calling his shot. I’m fucking impressed. “Depends on whether you deserve it.”

My phone buzzes again. Glancing at the screen, I see it’s the doorman. “One second,” I say, then click over.

“Hello, Mr. Summers. There’s someone here to see you. She says her name is Tiger.”

My grin is too wide to contain. “Send her up.”

Two minutes later, I answer the door, a towel wrapped around my waist, drops of water sliding down my chest, my hair slicked back.

The breath rushes from my lungs as I drink her in. She wears dark jeans so tight they look painted on, black sling-back heels, and a clingy red top. From her finger dangles a black leather jacket. She leans against the doorframe. “I’m here for my hot chocolate,” Henley says.

“How do you know I really bought you some?”

“You wanted to lure me here. You set a hot chocolate trap because you’re dying to know what I’m up to.”

I snort. “Wow. What an elaborate snare I’ve devised.” I open the door wider and indicate with my eyes that she should come in. She does and I close the door. “And this is all because it drives me crazy not to know what you do in the evenings?”

“It drives you batty, right?”

I shake my head as I pad across the floor to the kitchen. “Can I get you something? Scotch? Wine? Soda? Water? Arsenic? Hot chocolate?”

She winks. “Hot chocolate. Hold the arsenic.”

The click of her shoes echoes as she follows me into the kitchen. I grab some milk from the fridge, pour it into a small saucepan, and heat it up, stirring it with a whisk. She eyes my work approvingly.

When the milk is warm, I pour it into a mug, then I snag the gourmet hot chocolate I picked up for her. It’s Godiva. I scoop some into the mug, stir in the mix, and hand her the cup.

She takes a drink.

“Mmm,” she murmurs as she closes her eyes. “Now this,” she says, tapping the ceramic, “this I like.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Good to know.”

She sets it down. “You don’t want to know what my thing is?”

“I think you want to tell me,” I say. If she came all the way downtown to taunt me about my jealousy, then I’m going to make her work for it tonight.

“You think I’m involved with someone. You think I see him after work. You think I go somewhere and see a guy.”

I grit my teeth at the images she paints but shake my head in my best denial.

“Do you?” she presses.

I shrug so damn nonchalantly they’re going to photograph and frame this moment and hang it in a museum. Title: Unruffled. “I honestly forgot you even had a thing tonight.”

“Liar,” she whispers with a sly smile.

“Truth teller,” I say, tapping my chest. I leave the kitchen and head to my living room.

“Max!” she calls out, stomping after me. Her fingers brush my right arm and I turn. She grabs my towel instead of the hand that she was presumably going for.

Presumably.

Either way I’m unfazed as the towel falls to the floor.

I can’t say the same for her.

Her eyes pop.

They widen more as they drift down. She nibbles on the corner of her lip. She’s so fucking transparent, and I couldn’t be happier that she likes the view.

“Want me to stay like this? Or is it going to be too distracting for you?”

She huffs, grabs my towel from the floor, and chucks it at me. “Yes, Max. Your gigantic dick is super distracting.”

I catch the towel easily. “Good,” I say, deliberately taking my sweet time hooking it back on, making sure the gigantic dick in question remains in her line of sight.

I park my hands on my hips. “Now, what were we discussing?” I stare at the ceiling as if I’m trying to remember. I snap my fingers. “Right. You came over at nearly midnight to taunt me about whether I’m jealous about what you do after hours. Did I get that right, tiger?”

She marches back into my kitchen, snags the cup, and parks herself in the doorway to the living room. She downs a big gulp of the hot chocolate as she stares at me. “No. I came over for the hot chocolate, and it’s so much better than coffee.”

I’m not sure if that’s a compliment. I don’t know if it’s her way of saying I’m hot chocolate now, instead of coffee. As if I’ve moved up on her list of drinks. She’s here, so maybe I am cocoa to her. “Fine. You want me to say it, don’t you?”

She wiggles her eyebrows, standing her ground in the kitchen doorway. “Yes.”

I’m guessing she won’t join me until I give in, so I might as well. “I’m jealous. You win.”

I sink down on the couch, and she struts over, plops down next to me, and runs one fingernail down my bare arm, over my bicep, along my forearm to my wrist. Inside, I shiver. Outside, I reveal nothing.

She brings her face to my neck and licks me. The tip of her tongue traces a path to my ear, and it sets my blood on fire. I breathe out hard, saying her name like a warning. “Henley.”

She says mine, too, in that sexy purr. “Max. I take dance classes at the Hudson.”

I smirk. “You do?”

She nods, a shy little smile on her lips. “I do.”

“Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe? Is it easier to believe that I’m screwing someone or seeing someone?” she asks, affronted.

“I don’t want you screwing or seeing someone else.”

She scoffs. “You’re insane if you think I’d let you do what you did to me on the car if I were screwing someone else.”

My heart squeezes, and it feels like happiness and relief all at once. I’m so damn glad I was wrong. “I’m either insane or insanely jealous. Tell me about this class.”

I reach for her calves and slide off her black shoes, letting the heels fall to the floor. She tucks her feet under her as she answers. “It’s salsa, and it’s sexy, and I’m terrible at dancing. But I love it. My friend Olivia tried it and told me to give it a shot.”

“I doubt you’re terrible.”

She shakes her head. “I’m the worst student in the class.”

Somehow, this makes me laugh. “There’s no way you’re the worst. And even if you are, it’s awesome that you love it anyway.”

“Taking apart an engine is so easy compared to dancing,” she says as she takes another sip of her hot chocolate then wraps both hands around the mug. It’s so cute the way she clutches it. I want to take a picture of how she holds that cup. It’s yet another side of Henley—the girlie side.

“Why do you say it’s hard for you?”

“You have to get your feet right. You have to remember the steps. You have to move in time to the music. And you have to have a good partner. I had one, but he dropped out.”

“He?”

“Did you think I danced with a woman?”

“I didn’t think about you dancing at all till two minutes ago.”

“And what do you think now that you know?” she asks as she sets the cup on the coffee table.

“That the thought of you dancing salsa with some guy the night after I made you come hard on the hood of a car makes me crazy.”

“A lot of things make you crazy. You should get that head of yours checked out. Maybe you’re going mad.”

“So who’d you dance with tonight, Miss Salsa Girl?”

“The instructor.” She arches an eyebrow. “He’s this tall, gorgeous, Latin-lover type, and he can dance like you’ve never seen.”

I narrow my eyes and breathe fire. “When’s your next class?”

“Friday.”

“At the Hudson?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there.”

“What?”

“I’m going with you,” I tell her as I rope my hand in her hair, tugging it back. She gasps, that sexy, needy sound she makes when I get rough with her. “You’re going with me?” She knits her brow in question.

“You need a partner. I need to not have anyone else’s hands on you while I’m fucking you.”

She shoves her palms against my chest, and I let go of her locks. “What makes you think you’re screwing me?”

“The fact that you like making me jealous. The fact that you’re here at this hour. The fact that I’m wearing nothing but a towel, and I’m rock-hard, and you haven’t left. That’s why.”

“That’s presumptuous.”

I shrug. “This is presumptuous.” I lift my hips, take off the towel, and toss it on the floor.

Her breath hitches. “That’s not fair. I mean, seriously.” She flings her arm in the general direction of my lap. “How did that happen?”

I chuckle. “How did what happen?”

She pushes my chest again, her eyes straying to my crotch. “How do you get to be six foot three, with these arms, and have a gigantic dick, too? It's ridiculous.” She crosses her arms. “It’s a completely unfair distribution of male assets. It’s like you got the portion reserved for three other guys. It all went to you.”

I smirk. “I was good in a past life?”

She stares at me and shakes her head. “And those eyes,” she says softly as she gazes at me. Then, her voice is even more faint. “Those eyes.”

My skin warms. I press my forehead to hers, slowing down. “I could say the same about your eyes.”

The moment speeds up again. She darts out a hand, surprising me as she wraps it around my dick. I hiss in pleasure. I do like this kind of surprise. A lot.

“I can’t help it,” she says with a shrug. “It’s like a stick shift calling out to me.”

“A joystick.”

She laughs and strokes my hard-on, and then I stop laughing. I sink back into the couch, spreading my arms over the cushions behind me, stretching my right arm around her. I grip her shoulder, drawing her near, as she busies herself with fondling me. I shudder on an upstroke. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“It was so good last night,” she murmurs.

“So fucking good.”

She licks me again, sliding her tongue along my neck, flicking it against my earlobe. Her hand glides down my shaft, and she cups my balls. I open my legs wider, giving her access to the goods. “Sleeping with you again would be a terrible idea,” she says as she explores my erection.

Her actions say it would be anything but terrible.

“It’s the worst thing we could do,” I say, holding back a groan.

“Sleeping with the competition is foolish,” she adds. “We might be working together now, but you’re still my rival.”

“You’re still mine, too.”

“It’s too risky. I’d be”—she nibbles on my earlobe—“distracted.” She drops her face between my legs and licks the head of my cock.

My whole body jerks in pleasure. “Jesus. That’s fucking distracting for sure.”

“Is this, too?” She paints a line down to the base with her tongue.

“Yeah,” I grunt.

“Then we should just get this out of our system.”

I nod. I’d agree to anything right now. “Yeah, we definitely need to get this out of our system.”

“One more time,” she suggests, then licks her way back up. I’ve become her ice-cream cone.

“That’s all we need,” I say on a broken breath.

“Then we’re done.”

“Completely done.”

“So done.” She moans as her mouth travels, and that sound sends a dark thrill through me. I brush her lush hair away from her gorgeous face and watch her play with my dick. This is the side of Henley that messes with me. That teases. That flirts.

Right now, she’s flirting with my dick.

Her hair spills across my lap, and as she licks, she lets the strands trail over the hair on my legs. The ends tickle my thighs. She flicks her tongue in a long, lingering line going up, up, up. She stops at the head then draws a luscious circle with her tongue.

My throat makes a deep, rumbly sound, signaling my lust. But I don’t push her head down. I don’t ask for more. I let her set the pace and just play with me. The next thing I know she’s kissing my cock. She’s leaving lipstick marks on my dick. Smooches and pecks, and then deeper, throatier kisses. My skin sizzles and pleasure tightens incomparably inside me.

She brings her lips to the tip and gently, so fucking gently, draws me in. I shudder, and clasp my hands around her head, holding her in place as she kisses my dick.

God help me. I’m not sure I can withstand this slow-burn blow job.

“Henley,” I rasp out.

She looks up, the tip of my dick still in her mouth. Those brown eyes shine with gold specks. They twinkle with mischief as she slowly puts my entire dick in her mouth, hitting the back of her throat.

Holy fuck. I will come in seconds if she does that again.

I tug her up. I gather her close, pulling her onto my lap. I run my hands through her hair, marveling at how soft it is, how pretty she is, and how many times I’ve thought this about her. Countless. And countless times I’ve locked those thoughts up tight. Awareness bursts in me. I’ve never told her. I’m nearly ashamed that I haven’t said this, so I say it now. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Her smile is radiant. It lights up her entire face. She glows. “Really?”

My voice is hoarse, and I’ve no idea why. “So. Incredibly. Beautiful.”

She drops her face to my neck and nuzzles me. “So are you,” she whispers.

Warmth rushes over me, and something else, too. Something unnamed. But then there’s a familiar sensation—a deep and powerful desire, jostling every other emotion out of the way as she kisses my neck, and I run my nose across her hair.

I need her.

I untangle her from me, setting my hands on her slim shoulders. “I need you to take all your clothes off.”

“Why?”

“Last night I didn’t get to admire you. I want to see all of you. I need you naked. I need it so fucking much.”

“Then you can have it.” She stands and strips for me, and when she’s down to nothing, I can’t take my eyes off her, nor can I decide where to stare—the swell of her breasts, the softness of her belly, or the curves of her hips. I stare for a long time at the thatch of dark hair between her legs, then I drag my rough hands along those lovely, strong legs.

But her face is where I land. I stand and cup her cheeks. “Every inch of you is beautiful. Now, I’m thinking I’d like you to head over to the window, so I can watch your gorgeous face and admire your perfect ass while I’m fucking you.”

“I like the way you think,” she says, with a wink. She walks to the window and presses her palms against it. As she breathes out, the glass steams up.

So does my blood.

The edge of Manhattan twinkles in the windows, a collection of fireflies in buildings that reach for the sky. Just beyond, the East River seeps its inky dark waters across the night. Someone working late in the skyscraper mere blocks away could grab a pair of binoculars and zoom in on a man brushing a woman’s hair off her shoulder then sliding his lips across her neck. The show would be impossible to turn off.

It’s my peep show. My fucking perfect night.

Henley’s back arches. She shudders. I press my chest to her, caging her in with an arm across her breasts. I map the soft flesh of her stomach, playing with the curls of her hair between her legs.

My fingers travel to the slick heat between her legs.

Her lips part, her eyelids flutter, her hips grind down on my fingers.

I growl against her neck as I slide my fingers deeper inside her. She grips me as she rocks back, her hips swaying and swiveling.

It’s obscene.

It’s wanton.

It’s exactly how a woman should feel when a man touches her. A man she wants. A man who wants her.

“One last time,” I whisper, then I break contact to grab a condom from my wallet on the coffee table.

She whimpers while I’m gone. “Max, get back here now.”

I expect her to stomp a foot. “I’m not exactly lollygagging,” I say, laughing.

“I know, but I’m dying for you.”

I rip open the foil, slide the condom down my erection, and then grab her delicious ass. My palms cover her, my thumbs digging into the crease where her butt meets her thigh. She rises on her tippy-toes. I spread her open, raise her rear higher, and notch the head of my cock against her slick entrance.

“Ready?” I growl.

She sways back against me. “So ready.”

“You sure?” I rub the tip against all that lush wetness.

“Max . . .” It’s a needy, wild whimper.

“Tell me you—”

“I want you,” she shouts. “I want you inside me. I want you jealous. I want you to have me one more time.”

I part her lips so I can ease in, but once I’m there, I don’t go gently. I shove inside, and we both groan in unison as I sink deep into her. Electricity crackles over my skin, and Henley melts into me. I band my arm around her stomach, gripping her tight as I rock into her.

I watch her in the reflection. She’s never been hotter than she is right now. I’m fucking her in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window, Manhattan is at our feet, and the sexiest woman I’ve ever known is giving herself to me.

“I’m just getting this out of my system,” I say roughly.

“Please, please, please get me out of your system.”

Heat rushes through my veins. It’s addictive. I crave more of it. I want to feel this pleasure everywhere. And as much as I fuck her, she fucks me back. She grinds her sweet little ass against my cock, taking me deeper, her arms braced against the glass.

“Someone could see us,” she murmurs, like that would be the height of scandal.

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care who can see me naked?” She’s taunting in her playful way, riling me up.

I cup her tits, squeezing them as I fuck her fast and hard to make my point. She cries out a nearly ear-splitting oh God.

“It’s my hands that are on your tits,” I say roughly. “It’s my cock that’s buried so far in your sweet pussy. You think I care who sees?”

I slam my lips down on her neck. I suck the delicate flesh between my teeth. She shivers, and a wave seems to roll through her.

“My mouth is on your delicious neck. Ask me again if I care who sees me fucking you,” I say, seizing her jaw as I thrust.

“Do you care?” she says in a feathery voice as I bury myself deep inside her, locking my gaze with hers in the steamed-up glass. She’s lost—dazed, glossy eyes, heady expression, features twisted in pleasure.

“I don’t care. Want to know why?” I jerk her closer.

“Why?” she asks, as if she’s begging.

I run my index finger over her bottom lip. “Because it’s my name on your lips when you come.” I thrust. “Say it.”

She trembles, a full-body shudder. A quake rumbles through her. I wrap a hand tighter around her hip, and then she shakes. It’s almost violent. It’s certainly erotic. And it’s soundless at first, as her lips open in the most sensual O I’ve ever seen.

Then the noise comes. A long, sexy howl of ecstasy.

Of falling apart.

“Max,” she moans, and my name is the sound of her bliss.

That trips the switch in me, and my own orgasm rattles loose, tearing through me as if it’s redefining the very notion of momentum itself.

And when we’re nothing but sated, tired, drugged-out sex hounds, I toss away the condom then scoop her up and carry her to the couch. I grab a warm, wet hand towel from the bathroom and clean her, then settle in with this naked beauty in my arms.

She’s smiling, all limbs and soft hair.

Like a lovely foal.

Like a happy little clam.

She closes her eyes and wiggles against me. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” I say, bringing her closer. “You should go.”