It was only when Times Square exploded around us in a riot of billboards and lights, that she finally went quiet. Just stared, drinking it all in, her reflection ghosting across the glass.
“It’s even bigger than it looks in movies,” she finally said.
I’d been to New York dozens of times. Business trips, client meetings, the occasional weekend getaway back when my lifelooked very different. The city had never felt particularly special to me.
It did now.
When we pulled up at the boutique hotel in the heart of Times Square, Emily shot me another one of those,Oh no, you didn’tlooks that I was starting to adore. It was all sleek glass and sharp angles, with a liveried bellhop who whisked us through the lobby and into a private elevator. He swiped a card, pressed the button for the top floor, and the door slid shut.
The elevator opened directly into the suite and Emily let out a gasp.
The far wall was nothing but glass, floor to ceiling, and beyond it Manhattan sprawled in every direction. Times Square pulsed directly below, a living, breathing organism of light and movement.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, drifting to the window like she was being pulled by a magnet.
I tipped the bellhop and waited.
She wandered into the bedroom, then spun back to me, her face flushed. “Cam. There’s a terrace.”
Sure enough, a sliding door led out to a private outdoor space, complete with lounge furniture and greenery. I dragged it open and she stepped out, into the wind, wrapping her arms around herself, gazing down at the chaos below. “Honestly, I feel like I’m dreaming.”
I slid my arms around her from behind, pulling her against me. She leaned back, letting out a soft sigh that shivered over my skin.
Pressing a kiss into her hair, I said, “Now, I hate to ruin the moment, but we have about fifteen minutes to get changed before we head out again.”
“Where to?”
I stepped back, reluctantly letting her go. “You’ll see.”
Ten minutes later, Emily emerged from the bathroom in a deep green dress that skimmed her curves and stopped just above her knees. She’d pinned part of her hair back so it fell in soft waves over one shoulder.
She caught me staring. “What? Is it too much? Not enough? I wasn’t sure what the vibe was?—”
“You look fucking amazing.”
The worry melted off her face, replaced by a slow smile that hit me square in the sternum. “You look pretty good yourself.”
When she got close enough, I wrapped my fingers around her wrist and tugged. She stumbled forward, her hands landing on my chest. I dipped my head and kissed her, hungry and deep, drinking in the taste of her lip balm and the little gasp she made against my mouth.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing herself against me and shoving her fingers into my hair. I was seconds away from dragging her to the bedroom when my phone beeped.
I tore myself away, breathing hard. “Fuck, that’s the driver, letting me know it’s time to go.”
“Maybe we should, uh, just stay in,” she said, just as breathless.
“As tempting as that is, sweetheart, you won’t want to miss this. And besides, I have plans for you later.”
“Oh, okay, then.”
I pressed another hard kiss to her lips, then linked my fingers with hers and led her to the elevator.
The drive through Manhattan to Chelsea was a slow crawl, which gave Emily plenty of opportunity to gawk.
When we pulled up outside the gallery, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She recognized the name on the discreet signage instantly, barely waiting for the car to hit the curb before she was climbing out, standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the sign,Transcendence.
“Ready?” I asked.
She nodded, already moving forward. “Let’s go.”
