Peacock Alley is such a gem.

While I sip on my whiskey at the bar in the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, I consider getting a room at this hotel. It’s just that the whole moving-my-things-from-the-W-to-here seems like a real pain in the ass.

Sure, I wouldn’t get to see Keen’s clean-shaven face, which by the way is just as hot as his unshaven look. And I wouldn’t get to gawk at his gray slim-fit three-piece suit that looks every bit as hot as those jeans he wore last night. Still, neither is why I don’t change hotels.

Honest.

It’s not.

Like I said, it would be a pain in the ass.

Don’t believe me.

Refusing to think about him, I set my sights on the tuxedo-clad man in the corner. Admiring the piano player here at Peacock Alley has occupied my time for at least fifteen minutes. It’s not his good looks that caught my attention, but rather the songs he has been crooning.

“Can I buy you another?”

Surprised by the closeness of the voice, I jump a little in my seat, and when my heel gets caught in the rung, I almost slide right off the bar stool.

These damn boots!

A good-looking younger man with shoulder-length blond hair catches me before I fall.

“Thank you,” I say, bracing the bar for stability.

With a smile, he sits beside me on the empty stool and unbuttons his suit jacket. “I don’t usually have that effect on women.”

I take him in, feeling a little buzzed, and full of a lot of bad judgment. “You mean you don’t usually sweep them off their bar stool with a few words?”

The sparkle of good humor remains in his eyes. “So may I buy you another?”

I look down at my glass with only a few drops left and lift it. “Sure, why not.”

He motions for the bartender, and when he arrives, Blondie looks over at me. “What will it be?”

“Whiskey, neat.”

Those brows of his shoot up. “Make it two,” he tells the bartender.

The bartender nods.

“Drowning your sorrows?” Blondie asks me.

I lean an elbow on the polished wood of the bar. “Something like that.”

“Boyfriend problems?”

I sigh. “Well, he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t like to label relationships, but yes.”

“Care to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

I shake my head no. “Nothing to talk about. He wants other women.”

Blondie looks me up and down. “Damn shame.”

I give him a smile. At least he’s making me feel better.

The bartender sets two glasses in front of us, and Blondie picks his up and lifts it. “Here’s to moving on.”

Wrapping my hand around my glass of amber liquid, I lift it and clink his glass. “To moving on.”

But what if I don’t want to?

Blondie sets his glass down and holds out his hand. “I’m Kyle Langston.”

I take his offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Kyle. I’m Maggie May. And if you even breathe a word about the famous Rod Stewart song, I’ll shove you right off that stool.”

He gives me a quizzical look and it makes me wonder just how young he is.

“Never mind.”

Kyle smiles and leans closer. “So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this all alone?”

I practically spit out my drink. “You did not just say that!”

“Yeah, I did. Do you have a better suggestion for a line to pick up a beautiful woman?”

I give him a little snap of my tongue. “Considering I just told you why I was here, I think you need to concentrate more on the conversations you are having and less on the boobs you think you are having them with.”

Embarrassed, he bows his head. “My bad.”

Yeah, I’m not only empathetic, but I like the attention, so I don’t kick him to the curb. Don’t look at me like that. Tell me you wouldn’t feel the same in my situation. I point my finger at him. “You’re in luck because I am willing to help you out. My roommate is a screenwriter and I feel like all we do is watch movies and discuss the best lines. How about this one? ‘Now on the one hand, it’s very difficult for a man to even speak to someone who looks like you. But on the other, shouldn’t that be your problem?’”

“Hitch,” he calls out.

I snap my finger and point to him with a wink. “Bingo.”

He downs his scotch. “But I think the line is, ‘should that be your problem?’”

Following suit, I down my drink and slam the glass down. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.” I laugh.

Another drink and way too many movie lines later, I think I have little Kyle here more prepared to pick up women.

The piano player begins to play “Layla” by Eric Clapton and I start to move to the beat. “God, I love this song.”

Kyle puts his hand on my thigh. “I’ve never heard it, but do you want to dance?”

Slowly, tactfully, I put my hand over his and try to ease it off my leg. “Kyle, you’re a little young for me, don’t you think?”

He slides his hand back up my leg. “I’m twenty-two. How old are you?”

This time I let tactful fall by the wayside. “Too old for you.”

Although technically the three-to-four-year age difference probably wouldn’t have mattered before. Before Keen. The truth is I am not interested in him or anyone, except Keen.

And doesn’t that make me sigh.

The persistence is getting annoying as he slides his hand back up my thigh. “We could take this to my room?”

“Or better yet, you could take that hand of yours back up to your room and use it to jerk off, kid—now get lost.”

My head snaps around to see Keen towering over us, his dark gaze flicking between Kyle and me.

My little pupil jumps to his feet in a fit of fright. I have to admit, Keen is looking pretty damn intimidating right now, even to me.

“I’ll just be going,” Kyle says and then looks at me. “It was nice to meet you, Maggie.”

“You too, Kyle.” I smile and give him a little wave.

“Kyle,” Keen hisses.

When Kyle is out of earshot, I twist around in my seat. “What the hell was that?”

Keen’s fingers are clenching into fists at his sides and it takes him a few seconds to say anything. “That was me, with all my restraint.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you?” he huffs.

I say nothing. Suddenly pleading the fifth seems like the best course of action.

“You weren’t where you were supposed to be, Maggie.” He stresses my name as if pushing it through his teeth.

I twist back around and look at the half glass of whiskey I have left. I must be getting old, because there is no way I’m going to finish that.

As if reading my thoughts, Keen’s hand wraps around my glass and he downs it like a shot.

“Hey,” I protest, “that was mine.”

He takes hold of my elbow and gently guides me off the stool. “I need it to handle you right now, and besides, you’re done. It’s time to go back to the room.”

I jerk out of his hold. “What if I don’t want to?”

His features harden, and I swear he breathes in a deep gust of air as if to calm himself down.

Calm himself down!

What about me?

He’s the one sexting his women all over the city.

“What has your panties in such a wad?” I ask with a snicker. Okay, I might be a little buzzed.

Instead of answering, he grips my elbow again and begins marching us both right out of the Waldorf Astoria.

I’m not sure why, but I let him. Okay, I know why, and so do you. I like the feel of his skin against mine, his hard body next to mine, and I love that scent that makes me drool.

Sad, but true.

He manhandles me right out onto Park Avenue and as crazy as it sounds, I find it sexy.

As soon as the cool air of Forty-ninth Street hits my face, though, it is like sober slams right into me. Suddenly I’m aware of just how pissed I am, despite how much I really like the fact that he came to find me.

Hey, just being honest.

I whirl around. “Are you done,” and I air quote, “‘catching up’ with your little girlfriend?”

Confusion sets across his brows.

“Sar…rah.” Okay, it shouldn’t have two r’s and sounds rather childish, but I don’t care.

“What the hell, Maggie—Sarah?”

“Yes, Sarah with the hugs and kisses.”

Keen looks at me, and I mean really looks at me, and then starts laughing.

What.

The.

Hell?

I shoot him my dirtiest look. “You are an asshole,” I mutter and whip around. Luckily it isn’t that far to the hotel, and if I can get there before him, I am so locking him out of the room.

Quick footsteps behind me have me walking faster and my adrenaline pumping. But then his arm is around me and he’s whirling me around in his wool trench coat and messy hair looking like a GQ model. Gagh! And that thought makes me even madder.

“Maggie.”

Again with my name.

“What?” I snap.

“I haven’t seen Sarah in two years.”

“Well, somehow she magically got your new number, and from that text message, she also magically knows you’re in town and she is looking to …‘catch up.’” I air quote the last words—you know, for effect.

That smirk remains in place, and it infuriates me. “My brother called her looking for me last week. I’m sure she must have called him to check on me—that’s how she got my number and knew I’d be in town.”

Flabbergasted, I motorboat my lips together. “Right. A little convenient, don’t you think?”

“If you would have read the whole thing, you’d know it’s true.”

I straighten my shoulders. “I speed-read it, you know…to the ‘meet for drinks like old times’ part, and the ‘XOXO’ part.”

Clearly frustrated with me, he pulls his phone from his suit jacket and swipes the screen, taps a few buttons, and thrusts it toward me. “Read it, Maggie—this time all of it. She says she talked to my brother. And you also might want to notice, I don’t have her assigned as a contact.”

I read it, and my stance droops a little. Hey, I read it fast the first time so I wouldn’t get caught reading it, okay? And not on purpose. It popped up on his screen when I was making a call from his phone. Then I couldn’t ignore it. It’s not like you wouldn’t have read it either.

“Now read what I answered her back,” he says, rather calmly, I have to say. I would not be so calm if I were him. Just saying.

Next, I read his text, my stance slouching even more, and when I finish, I look up at him. “So you weren’t sexting her?”

That laughter is back. “No, the one I was sexting is you.”

“So you aren’t interested in her?”

He shakes his head no. “Maggie, you are the only girl I’m interested in.”

I find myself invading his space, making room for myself as close as possible. “Oh, I might have jumped to conclusions.”

“‘Oh’? That’s all you have to say?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I also said I jumped to conclusions.”

“Yes, you think!” His voice is loud.

“Turns out, I’m a very jealous woman; I can’t help that.”

Those eyes narrow on me. “The only reason I’m not putting you over my knee right now is because I get that.”

“You do?”

“Maggie, Maggie, Maggie,” he murmurs. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you want,” I breathe. “Anything you want.” Then I add, “Well, not the spankings. I’ve never been spanked and I’m not a fan of pain.”

Those eyes darken as he shakes his head and suddenly he’s not smiling anymore. In fact, he’s entirely serious.

Cars speed by with horns honking. People pass us on the street. The streetlights glow and snowflakes fall and melt on the ground. But all I can really see, all I can really hear, all I can really smell, is him.

There’s a fire in his eyes, and when he looks at me I swear I’m the one burning. And then, as if the flame is too hot and he can’t take it anymore, his head dips and his lips come crashing down on mine.

And I kiss him back. Boy do I kiss him back. I wind my arms around his neck and curl my fingers in his hair, tugging it, making him groan.

Our tongues stroke in desperation, searching for even ground that I’m not sure we’ll ever find, and not sure I want to find it.

Our mouths pull at each other for an eternity, or maybe more like five minutes, and then he leans back and brushes his thumbs against my cheeks. “I don’t know what this is developing between us, and I want to find out. But you have to know, the thought of any other man’s hands on you is enough to drive me to the brink of insanity.”

I lean back and use my linked hands as support. “Keen, I was not interested in that guy at the bar one bit.”

“I know,” he growls into the cold night air. “Or I would have broken his hand.”

I gasp at the thrill of his jealousy, although I know I shouldn’t.

Wouldn’t you, though?

“Still, Maggie, you left and didn’t tell me. I couldn’t even concentrate tonight not knowing what the hell was going on with you. That is not like me. At all. And then I had to backtrack your steps to find you because you weren’t where you were supposed to be. Do you have any idea how infuriating this night has been?”

The wind picks up and I shiver. “I do. And I’m sorry. It’s just I was mad at you.”

Keen pulls me right up close to his body. “I know and I get it. If I saw something like that on your phone, I’d feel the same way. That’s the only reason I’m remaining sane right now. But you have to know that I want you to be mine, Maggie—how do you not get that?”

I’m trembling, and I swear the earth is moving under my feet. Trying to keep myself from attacking him right here on the sidewalk, I take him by the collar of his trench coat. “I do now, Keen. I do now.”

Be his?

“So we’re clear. No one else, just you and me.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “We’re clear.”

Keen straightens and wraps his arm around me, tucking me into his side. “Good,” he says, and then swats my ass. “Now, let’s get back to the hotel. It’s fucking freezing out here, and you have some apologizing to do.”

My breath hitches and I give him a nod. And then as I snuggle close to him, I can’t help but think…Keen Masters is my boyfriend.

And for as long as I can remember, I am actually okay with putting a label on it.

On us.

On him.