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I move closer.

Too close.

I know it the second her smile fades. Her breath catches.

So does mine. I bend until my mouth is near her ear and her scent reaches me.

Wildflowers.

Vanilla.

Her.

“If you're really interested in what I know about women, Miss Hawthorne…”

My voice drops.

“I'd be happy to show you.”

She goes completely still.

We're standing on a Manhattan sidewalk with people moving around us, horns blaring somewhere down the block, the whole damn city carrying on like nothing has changed.

But something has.

Because there's barely an inch between us.

One movement. That's all it would take.

Her body against mine.

My hand on that soft waist.

Her mouth—fuck.

Layla turns her head.

Mistake.

Now her lips are dangerously close to mine. Those hazel eyes lock onto me.

No reporter there.

No billionaire either.

Just a man and a woman who both know exactly what's happening between them.

“You wish, Mr. Knight.”

The words are soft. Breathless around the edges.

My cocky response should come automatically. Instead, I stare at her mouth.

Because she's right. I do wish.

Jesus Christ, do I wish.

“You just say the word, Layla.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “And I'll be happy to demonstrate.”