Page 14

The whole of Midtown is spread out below us like spilled jewelry.

She runs one fingertip along the edge of the windowsill, slow and absent, the way you'd check for dust.

She doesn't know she's doing it. I'd bet money it's what she does in every room where she doesn't know the rules yet. Straighten something. Fix something. Earn her place.

I add it to the list of things I already know about her that her boyfriend never bothered to learn.

I come up behind her slowly, so she can hear me coming.

I don't touch her yet.

"Still want this?" I ask. "You can change your mind. There's a car downstairs. It will take you anywhere you want to go."

She turns.

Those honey-brown eyes search my face for a long moment.

"I still want this."

"Then you're in charge," I tell her. "Tell me what you want."

She reaches up and pulls my face down to hers.

She kisses the way she argues. Direct. Unafraid. A little furious.

I have to put one hand flat against the glass beside her head to stay steady.

When I lift her, she wraps her legs around my waist without hesitating.

"I won't let you fall," I murmur.

"You already proved that," she says against my mouth. "Twice."

The certainty in her voice nearly undoes me.

In the bedroom, I set her down on the low bench at the foot of the bed.

Her hair is twisted up with a clip at the back of her neck. I slide it free. Dark hair tumbles down her back, heavy and shining.

I run my fingers through it, because I can't help it.

"Perfect," I say.

I kneel in front of her.

Her breath catches.

I take my time. Her knee. The inside of her thigh. The edge of the red dress.

When I slide her panties down, I glance up for permission.

She nods. Her fingers curl around the edge of the bench.

The first taste of her makes her jump.

The second makes her moan.

I learn her the way I learn anything that matters. Carefully. Completely. Paying attention to every signal.