The second his lips brush my cheek, I go boneless.

I wonder briefly if someone will mop me up from the lobby floor.

I’m warm all over. I don’t know if it’s from the second or two that his lips linger on my cheek, or if it’s because I’ve decided.

I’ve decided I want what comes next after the kiss on the exam table, after the kiss in the high school hall, after the almost kiss on my couch.

After this.

The night has barely started, but I want the ending of it so badly. I can’t think about tomorrow, and I don’t have a plan for more than one night, but I ache for him. Exquisitely and everywhere.

As we separate, the way he whispers, “You look amazing,” makes me feel like I’m not anthrax. It makes me feel like he’s Prince Harry and I’m Meghan Markle. But I can’t process all that’s entailed in that analogy, so I try to root myself in the here and now as I regard his handsome frame.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” I say, trying to sound flirty and playful.

“Yeah, I have a few non-T-shirts and jeans in the old wardrobe.”

I nudge his waist. “You have a suit. I saw the Grammys last year.”

He lifts a brow. “You watched the Grammys?”

“Watched, rooted, cheered, screamed in excitement.”

“Damn, that’s hot.”

“Me watching you on TV?”

He shoots me a mischievous grin. “You watching me is hot,” he says, and he takes my hand. As his fingers link through mine, my chest flutters and my skin tingles.

We walk ten blocks in the summer night, strolling along the quieter streets lined with brownstones. The whole time I feel like I’m floating. We talk as we go, about New York in the summer, our favorite blocks with the best stores, and what Ben is up to tonight as he hangs out with Campbell and his crew. We talk about my dress again, too, because he can’t stop looking at me, and I’ve never felt so beautiful.

“You look incredible,” he says when we near my soon-to-be building. He seems to catch himself, shaking his head with a smile. “I think I said that already.”

My insides flutter. “It’s okay. You can say it again.”

“You look stunning,” he says as we reach the entryway, and I swear he’s going to tug me in close for a kiss right here on the street as the sun slips closer to the horizon, pulling the day into night.

The doorman greets us with a crisp hello.

Miles clears his throat and says thank you, and I tell the man where we’re headed. He checks a list and sends me to the elevator.

Inside the lift, Miles slinks his hand around my waist.

I tingle.

His fingers trace lines along my dress.

I crackle.

His hand dips lower on my back, skirting close to my butt.

I want to throw in the towel and take off the dress.

I try to reroute all my thoughts to real estate. To this new building, and my new elevator, and the new place I’ll soon live in. After all, is there any bigger turn-on in this city than square footage? I think not. “My new home is six hundred fifty square feet,” I say, and it comes out breathy, as if I’ve been seduced by an apartment.

Well, yeah.

A two-bedroom on the Upper East Side equals instant arousal.

“That’s great,” he says.

“Lots of space,” I add, staring straight ahead because if I look at him, I might slam my fist on the red emergency button and learn if elevator sex is all that.

My hand itches to hit that button.

Behave, I warn it.

Somehow we make it to Genevieve’s floor, and we’re swept into a flurry of coiffed hair and canapés.

“So glad to see you. And Daisy and Betsy can’t wait to say hello too,” Genevieve says, then makes eye contact with Miles. “Oh, hello,” she says, blinking.

I make the introduction officially. “This is Miles Hart.”

He takes her hand and kisses the top of it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

He nods to me. “I’m with Roxy.”

It’s patently obvious he’s with me, but still, I love that he’s declared it.

Genevieve offers us champagne then realizes immediately I can’t have any. “Let me get you some lemonade or sparkling water.”

“Lemonade would be great.”

She asks a waiter to bring us the drinks as she chats with Miles about his music. “My daughter shrieked when she heard the Heartbreakers were getting back together.”

His smile is wide and genuine. “We love nothing better than a good shriek.”

“And I have a confession to make. I find myself singing along to your music when I hear it at the gym.”

“I don’t even have to absolve you of that, since that’s definitely not a sin.”

She laughs lightly then tells me the cleaning crew should be finished with my new place tomorrow morning. “Do you want to come by and see how everything looks in the afternoon before you sign?”

“I’d love to,” I say, practically bouncing. “I can finally start figuring out my decorating plans.”

“Will they be pink or blue, or do we not know yet?” Genevieve asks.

“Pink,” I tell her, and she squeaks in excitement.

She introduces me to others on the co-op board, as well as residents of the building, and Miles and I make small talk with them. He’s so smooth and easy as he chats, and I’m grateful to have him by my side.

“Thank you again for coming with me tonight,” I say when we snag a break in the chitchat.

“I’m glad you asked—”

I squeak as someone rides the roller-coaster in my belly.

“What is it?” he asks curiously.

With a sly smile, I take his hand and set it on my stomach. “The lemonade. All that sugar made Luminara dance.”

He spreads his fingers over my bump, waiting for her to ride the car up and down the tracks. She kicks again, and his blue eyes sparkle, and he murmurs, “Holy shit. That’s incredible.”

“She’s having a party.”

As she dances a jig in my belly, he keeps his hand firmly in place, a patient yet eager look in his eyes.

For a split second, I let scenarios unfold as I imagine words I might say to him.

She’s saying hello.

She likes you.

I like you.

I’m falling in love with you.

My heart slams into my rib cage, banging its fists on my chest, as this new world order begs for my attention. All these months, all this time, Miles hasn’t been my plus-one. He’s been the man by my side, and I’ve been falling in love with him. My throat hurts, and I want so badly to say the words, but I can’t and I won’t because that’s not who we are.

He’s made it clear he’s not interested in love. He’s been burned badly, with the third-degree scars to prove it. If I were him, I’d stay far away from anything resembling that fire—like a pregnant woman. The last woman like me in his life abandoned him and his son.

As I stare into his eyes, our words from a few months ago in the limo resonate.

“I bet you don’t ever want to get involved with anyone again.”

“That’s safe to say, and I haven’t been involved since he was born.”

I will clasp those words tightly, clutch them close tonight. Whatever happens, I need to remember it’s a moment. It’s not a promise.

But it’s a moment where his hands are on my belly, and I’m going to savor every second of it.

“I like feeling her move,” he whispers, and it’s possible I’ve become the living, breathing definition of the word “swoon.”

“It’s magic,” I say, breathlessly.

He dusts the softest kiss to my cheek. “It is.” Goose bumps rise on my flesh. He angles closer to my ear. “And I really need to get you out of this dress tonight, Roxy. Please say yes.”

I sizzle from head to toe. Every molecule in me is turned inside out and all the way on. I shiver as his lips brush ever so gently against my ear. “It’s been yes for a long time, Miles.”