All the Way (Romancing Manhattan #1)(16)

It’s not exactly fair.

“I do,” he replies. “I just don’t always have time for it.”

“I don’t either, but it seems I have nothing but time lately.” I shrug and throw the potatoes in a pan so they can start frying while I get the gravy going. “I’ve been cooking way more than I can eat.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks casually.

“Better,” I reply, happy to be able to finally say that truthfully. “I still have moments when it hurts, but I think the walking is better, and my range of motion is coming back. My physical therapist is happy with the progress, but I think it’s too slow.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he says, and I just shake my head.

“That’s what he says too. Being physical is what I’ve always done. Dance, theater, is physically demanding, and I’ve always been in excellent shape. So having lost so much of my endurance is disappointing.”

“You’ll get it back,” he says with confidence, and I look up to find him smiling at me, his brown eyes happy. “You’re too stubborn to do otherwise.”

“Boy, that’s the truth.” I pull the biscuits out of the oven. “I know that I probably won’t be able to work the way I used to. They’ve already recast my old part, which, let me tell you, will tear your heart right out of your chest.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

“And I’m not young, Finn.” I’m just talking now, talking about my career, my fears, and it feels like the easiest thing to do with him. I haven’t confided like this with anyone. Not even Sasha.

“You’re only thirty-two.”

“That’s old for theater. Especially in musicals. There are girls more than ten years younger than me fighting for the same parts, and they’re in better shape, and it’s easier for them to keep up with the rigorous schedule.”

“Have you seen Hugh Jackman in the musical movies he makes?” Finn asks. “That guy’s almost fifty.”

“He’s a man,” I reply simply. “Men are given better roles, longer into their lives. It sucks, but it’s true. But I’ve changed my attitude a bit. I was convinced before that I wouldn’t be able to get back to work, but now I’m determined to do exactly that.”

“Would you consider doing film? I don’t know anything about show business, but I would think that might be less rigorous.”

“I hadn’t before.” I stop and lean my hip against the countertop, irritated that my leg is starting to ache from being on it too long. “But I could talk to my agent and see what she thinks. She’s come to me before with scripts, but I have always had a steady job in New York.”

“Might be something to consider,” he says casually. “You’re hurting right now.”

“Not too badly.”

“Look at me.” He grips my shoulders and makes me look him in the eyes. “You’re hurting.”

“Yeah, it’s aching.”

“Sit.” He leads me to the stool on the other side of the island. “I’ve got this handled.”

“I’m supposed to be making you breakfast,” I reply, and rub my thigh, frustrated with it, but intrigued by the man currently commanding my kitchen. He looks good here.

Really, really good.

“You did,” he says. “I’m just finishing up. See, I give this a little stir, and flip the potatoes, and we’re good to go.”

“You’re a nice guy.”

He turns and gives me a shocked glare. “Take that back.”

“Nope. It’s the truth.”

“I object.”

“This isn’t a courtroom,” I remind him with a laugh. “You may be tough in a takeover or a merger, or whatever the hell it is that you do, but at the end of the day, you’re just a nice guy in a sexy suit.”

He cocks a brow. “You think I’m sexy?”

“I think your suit is sexy. That’s what I said.”

He wanders slowly around the island to stand next to me, and before I know it, he’s lifted me onto the countertop and is standing between my legs, his hands flat on the granite at my hips and his face level with mine.

“So you don’t think I’m sexy?”

Oh, you have no idea.

“I didn’t say that either.”

His eyes drop to my lips and back up to my eyes. “Is this hurting your leg?”

“I give zero fucks about my leg right now.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I tilt my head to the side. “No. It doesn’t hurt it.”

Any more than it already hurt.

“Let me tell you this,” he says gruffly. “I think you’re sexy. And beautiful. And funny.” He presses his lips to mine, but doesn’t deepen the kiss. “You intrigue me, and that hasn’t happened in a very long time, London.”

“You’re sexy.” My voice is breathy. I’m gripping on to his shoulders, my nails barely digging in.

He kisses me now. Really kisses me, one hand cupping my jaw and neck as his tongue glides over mine. He nibbles the side of my lips, giving me goose bumps, and then takes my mouth again, as if he’s memorizing me.