Mogul (Manhattan #2)(61)

Ian’s gaze slowly rises to meet mine, and his lips begin to twitch. “Do that again. I missed it.”

“No you didn’t.” I smirk and chassé forward, loving the way he looks at me, the way my Suit makes me feel.

“You’d say anything to get me to dance for you.”

“That’s right,” he says, setting the script aside and sitting up on the couch.

I oblige and do a sexy turn and begin dancing for him, the most seductive dance I know. Every bone and muscle in my body hurts after dancing my ass off for the past six months straight, but nothing else matters except pleasing my man.

It doesn’t hurt that I love it when he watches me dance.

It turns me on.

What can I say?

Come on, this guy lights me up so bad I sometimes can’t sleep for fear of waking up and finding him gone.

“Okay, enough.” I stop dancing, head over, and pull him to his feet, pecking him on the lips because I just can’t help myself. “We have guests arriving soon. I’m doing my best to impress, but you still need to pick the wine.”

He squeezes my ass and plants a kiss on my temple as he heads to the small wine fridge he set up by the bar. I hear Ian rummaging through the bottles, taking out one, inspecting the year, before sliding it back in and taking out another.

Getting busy, I plump up the pillows on the couch and straighten a photograph on a small side table. I drink in the image of us—our first photo together. It was a selfie, one we took randomly when we went out to dinner one night after I moved in, and it struck me that I didn’t have a picture to put up in our new place. Which we’d just finished furnishing.

Insisting he come closer for a picture, Ian took a bite out of my earlobe as I snapped the image. My eyes widened and my mouth parted as I faced the camera. I looked like I was shocked that he’d ever bite me.

He’s been the best partner I could have ever hoped for. He makes it a point to come home every day at 6 p.m. so that we can spend time together. We sometimes visit his Gran, or take a walk along the park. We sometimes hit up coffee shops, wine shops, or cafés—and have even found ourselves wandering down the bank of the Hudson, cuddling in the chilly air. He still loves to work, and I love his drive and determination. His ambition, too. So as long as he makes an effort to be with me, I have no complaints.

I know that relationships take effort. Ian Ford can be too much of a perfectionist and a little too possessive sometimes. He’s a territorial man. But still I love him. What can I say? This Suit turned my world upside down. Sometimes I think I left my heart in his pocket on the same day I gave him my panties in a tight little wad.

The sound of the doorbell pulls me out of my musings, and I jerk to attention when I realize Bryn and Christos have arrived.

“I’ll get it,” Ian calmly says when he sees the look of panic on my face.

I rush back to the kitchen to be sure the rosemary potatoes are still in the hot drawer where I left them. Then I thrust my hand into a glove and pull out the brisket from the oven. Setting it on the stove, I hear Bryn and Christos’s voices as they walk inside.

I hurry around the kitchen, trying to make sure everything is perfect.

Bryn and Christos are married now. His ex-girlfriend came clean about some secret dalliance she and his brother Cole had been having, and after a shotgun wedding that made the news all across Manhattan, she’s given birth to his little baby boy. The two lovebirds just left for their honeymoon, and Christos and Bryn are taking care of the baby until they return.

As I watch them come in with the baby in Bryn’s arms, I can tell they’re the happiest uncle and aunt there could be. Christos can’t stop admiring both his wife and the baby, while Bryn coos at the handsome blond-haired little boy like she’d rather talk to the baby than anyone else in the room. Even when she sounds half stupid as she does it. I step out of the kitchen and cross the living room to greet them.

“Oh. Sara! Becka asked me to give you this.” Bryn peers into her tote bag, and Christos murmurs to his wife, “I’ve got it,” as he reaches in and pulls out a large paperback.

“Is this her book?” I glance at the book that Christos hands over, and my heart swells in pride when I read Becka’s initials and last name on the cover.

“Here, hold him while I help Sara,” Bryn tells her husband.

I carry Becka’s book to the kitchen and set it aside while Bryn and I get everything ready to take out to the dining table. I can’t help but suspect the obvious. This girl is dying for a baby, or the stork might already be on the way.

“You’re pregnant,” I say with a smirk. “If not, you soon will be. Look at that.” I nudge her to look at Christos with the baby in his arms. I laugh. “Poop and diapers. Look at you, Bryn Christos.”

“Don’t laugh,” Bryn warns.

My smile fades when I see Christos hand the baby over to Ian. He’s frowning, as if he doesn’t know what to do with the creature.

My heart melts, tumbles, burns. Ian looks up at me with an expression of confusion, as if he has no idea what he’s doing holding a baby in his arms. Our gazes hold. My ovaries explode. Nothing new. My stomach clutches wantonly for my guy.

“Sara,” he says, sounding fierce.

I laugh and shake my head. “I’ve got my hands full of snacks; I won’t rescue you from that baby, Yummy.”