Lara would have ripped off his shirt and licked him all over. And not because she was hoping to lap up a few stray drops of champagne.
The man paused, his powerful frame preventing the elevator doors from closing. “After you—”
Old-fashioned chivalry was so underrated, Matilda thought. She slid past him, wondering if he were equally chivalrous in bed. Not that she was an expert, but she was willing to bet this man never let a woman walk away unsatisfied.
She glanced at him and her gaze grazed his.
Heat uncurled deep inside her, and every nerve and muscle tingled with awareness. Still he stared at her until her knees became as liquid as ice cream left too long in the hot sun.
Shaken, she turned and walked through the basement, following pipes until she saw the set of steps that led to street level.
She reached for the door, fumbling, and he reached past her and pushed it open with the flat of his hand.
His body brushed against hers, and Matilda closed her eyes briefly.
She felt hard, unyielding biceps and knew that beneath that jacket was a power-packed body, honed to the extremes of physical fitness.
It was barely a touch, and yet enough to render her immobile. She stood, hardly breathing. She might have stayed frozen to the spot forever if he hadn’t gently nudged her through the door.
“How did you discover this exit?”
It was the entrance used by staff, but she didn’t want to tell him that. “It’s part of my job to know all the exits.”
“So you work in security?”
Security. Matilda smiled to herself. That sounded glamorous. She could be FBI, or CIA or—something. She could be Black Ops. Well, maybe that was taking it a little far given that she hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a tray of drinks for months. Covert—no, she definitely wasn’t capable of anything remotely covert. She’d trip and land in the lap of the enemy. “I can’t tell you.”
His eyes gleamed. “Or you’d have to kill me?”
“Something like that.”
No way was she going to tell him the truth about her job. It might not kill him, but it would definitely kill the moment and she didn’t want to do that. Maintaining tension was her job. Her writing job. Unfortunately writing was now her only job, which was a shame, because it didn’t pay her anything.
“So you’re a woman of mystery.”
Matilda opened her mouth to correct him and then closed it again.
Why shouldn’t she be a woman of mystery for a moment or two? It wasn’t as if she was ever going to see him again.
“I can’t discuss my job.” It wasn’t a lie. She couldn’t discuss her job. Mainly because her job had only recently drowned in a puddle of very expensive champagne.
The street outside was alive with people. This close to Broadway there was no peace to be found. People merged together in a blur of color and sound; mostly tourists, because locals knew better than to frequent the area around Times Square. The numbers would increase as summer progressed, until walking became almost impossible in the square itself.
Matilda stepped over litter and dodged a couple locked in a tight embrace. She watched them curiously, the way she watched everyone, hyperaware of the man by her side.
“I don’t recognize this entrance. Which direction is Central Park?”
“Make a right at the end, and then go straight and keep walking.”
He paused and turned to look at her. “Come with me.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “That way I won’t get lost.” The way he was looking at her made her feel as if all her clothes might melt from her body and puddle on the floor.
“You don’t live in New York?”
“I do live in New York. I don’t often get to walk.”
“No? I walk all the time.” Mostly because she couldn’t afford public transport.
“Which makes you the perfect person to show me the way.”