A Cowboy in Manhattan(56)
A smile grew on her face, and she reached up to touch his cheek. Her hand was warm from the water. Her breasts rose above the frothy surface, nipples peeking in and out.
“Yet, you still call me princess.”
“Do you hate it?”
She shook her head. “Not when you say it.”
“Good.” He liked having a special name for her. He’d once meant it as derogatory, but those days had long since passed.
She gave a poignant smile. “You’re not at all what I expected.”
“Neither are you.” He’d thought she was spoiled, frivolous, skipping merrily through life on her looks, never giving a thought to anything beyond her own sphere of luxury. She was anything but that. She was a hard worker, a deep thinker, emotionally sensitive, easily hurt and acutely aware of the negative opinions ignorant people formed about her.
Their gazes met, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from kissing her. The kiss deepened and his arms wound around her. Her smooth body pressed intimately against his, heat building between them, tantalizing him, making him ache for her all over again.
He drew back sharply, his breath ragged, frightened by how close he was to throwing caution to the wind. “I am not making love to you without a condom.”
She downed the rest of her merlot, setting aside both of their glasses.
To his surprise, her eyes danced with amusement. She stroked the pad of her thumb across his lips. “Reed, darling,” she purred. “You have got to stop telling me things you won’t do.”
“You’re like a spoiled child.” But he didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it at all.
Despite her rebellious words, she obviously took pity on him, turning in his lap, sitting sideways, still tempting, but not nearly as dangerous.
“We’ll do it your way,” she agreed, looping her arms loosely around his neck and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Because I know we can’t make love right now. And I like it here with you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I want to make love. I really want to.”
“You’re killing me, Katrina.”
She sighed against him. “Get used to it.”
And that was the biggest problem of all. He was already used to it. He liked it here, too. The merlot was delicious, the truffles delectable, the view memorable and, if he had his way, he’d hold Katrina naked in his arms forever.
“You said they didn’t know who you were,” Reed challenged from where he stood in the glassed-in atrium of the harbor-tour cruise ship.
He was staring at the small magazine rack, the Statue of Liberty visible through the glass behind him.
“They didn’t,” she assured him, peering at the small square photo on the bottom corner of the tabloid newspaper. It had been taken last night as they exited the limo.
“Well, not last night, anyway,” she allowed “They must have looked it up later.”
“Katrina Jacobs on the town,” he read. “You want to buy it and read the story?”
“I don’t need to read the story. I was there, remember?”
“You think they caught us kissing in the park?”
“Do you care?”
“Not at all. Well, maybe if Travis saw it. He’d sure be ticked off. But to these anonymous New Yorkers?” Reed waved a dismissive hand. “I’m the guy who kissed the prima ballerina. I can strut.”
“I’m a principal dancer.”
He gave a mock frown. “That doesn’t sound nearly as exotic.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Quit complaining. I had to kiss a cowboy.”
He leaned in close and snagged her hand, voice gravelly. “You did a hell of a lot more than kiss him.”
The words spurred a hot shiver of remembrance. But she couldn’t act on it in public.
Then a family entered the atrium, adding to the crowd, and Reed gently urged her toward the glass door. It slid smoothly open, and they exited onto the windy deck, finding an empty place at the rail.
“You going to come and watch me dance tonight?” she opened. She wished she dared ask him how long he was planning to stay in the city. That was what she really wanted to know. But she’d promised herself she wouldn’t push.
“Am I invited?” he asked in return, his gaze fixed on the Manhattan skyline, growing closer as their two-hour tour came to an end.
“Absolutely.”