What happens when you try to find a wife for your billionaire ex…and find yourself in his bed? An irresistibly sexy tale from New York Times bestselling author Cathryn Fox.

Find Alec Carson a wife.

It almost sounds easy. After all, Alec Carson isn’t just a billionaire or “Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor”—he’s six gorgeous feet of power, sex and utter physical perfection. Unfortunately, he’s also the guy I’ve spent eight years thinking about. Fantasizing about. And wishing I could stab a fork in his eye after he took my virginity on prom night and bailed, never to be seen again. Until now.

The success of my business depends on finding Alec Carson a perfect bride. So exactly how is it that I ended up in his bed, lost in the raw hunger that only responds to touch and taste and want? The heat that always blazed between us has only grown hotter, scorching the air…and resulting in my better judgment disappearing in a puff of “I hope I regret nothing” smoke.

Alec Carson already broke my heart once—I need to find him a wife before he does it again. But it’s going to be almost impossible…especially when the guy who was always a stickler for rules no longer plays by them.

Mills & Boon DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.

Four new Mills & Boon DARE titles are available each month, wherever ebooks are sold!

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author CATHRYN FOX is a wife, mom, sister, daughter, aunt and friend. She loves dogs, sunny weather, anything chocolate (she never says no to a brownie), pizza and red wine. Cathryn lives in beautiful Nova Scotia with her husband, who is convinced he can turn her into a mixed martial arts fan. When not writing, Cathryn can be found Skyping with her son, who lives in Seattle (could he have moved any farther away?), shopping with her daughter in the city, watching a big action flick with her husband, or hanging out and laughing with friends.

Also by Cathryn Fox

On His Knees

On Her Terms

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Under His Touch

Cathryn Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09933-2

UNDER HIS TOUCH

© 2020 Cathryn Fox

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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This one is for you Amanda W.

You are a gem! So glad to call you my friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE
Megan

“HE WANTS YOU to do what?”

Heavy spring rain pummels the Manhattan streets, along with the café’s windows as I sip my mocha latte and take in Amanda’s wide-eyed stare. Thick, black lashes blink rapidly as she works to absorb this crazy turn of events; and for God’s sake if she doesn’t pick her jaw up from the table, she’s going to catch the fly buzzing around her jelly-filled doughnut.

“I know. Insane, right?” I say to my best friend, and give a slow shake of my head, still unable to believe what billionaire James Carson has asked me to do. Although, I have to admit, I’m more shocked that I actually agreed to do it. I mull it over for a second and a burst of unease moves through me as I think about putting his plan into motion. Am I making a big mistake? Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to it at all.

Amanda lifts her mug to her mouth and looks at me over the rim before asking, “Is the man losing his mind?”

“He’s ninety.” I flip my hand over. “So, I get why you’d think that, but after talking to him it’s clear he’s as sharp now as he was when I met him back in high school. Hard to believe he’s playing with a full deck, though, considering what he wants me to do.”

Every time the bell over the door chimes as it opens, my stomach does a little somersault. I’m far more nervous about this afternoon’s meeting than I thought I would be. It’s been eight years since I’ve set eyes on Alec Carson. Eight long years and I’ve never stopped thinking about him. Never stopped wanting to stab him in the eye with a fork.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Amanda says. “James Carson wants you to find his grandson a wife?” She rubs her finger between her eyebrows, one of her cute quirks when she’s trying to wrap her brain around something. Her nose crinkles. “But you’re an event planner, not a matchmaker.”

“I know, and I don’t know the first thing about matchmaking. Cripes, the last time I used a dating site, I ended up with a narcissistic lawyer who probably feasted upon the dreams of innocent children.” I give a low, slow whistle. “Not going there again.”

Amanda laughs, and my stomach comes alive when the bell jingles again. By the time Alec arrives, I’m going to be a jittery mess. I need to keep it together, but facing the boy I once loved, the boy I gave my virginity to, is messing with my mind and body in the worst kind of way. Then again, he’s not a boy anymore and I’m not some innocent, naive love-struck teen. Truthfully, I never expected the grandson of billionaire magnate James Carson—a sweet, generous old man who always put family first—to walk away from me after a beautiful prom night in St. Moritz, without so much as a backward glance. We spent nearly all of senior year together, and I thought he was different. I thought we had something special. Thought he didn’t care that I was from the wrong side of the tracks.

I thought wrong.

He always teased that I was the girl-next-door type, and I thought he liked that about me. In the end, however, it was just another thing I was mistaken about. I guess bigger and better, more glamorous, was waiting for him at Harvard. He didn’t want the poor, parentless girl from Philly holding him back. Now he’s a financier at Blackstone Venture Partners, working his way through the ranks at the multimillion-dollar holding company, one harsh corporate takeover at a time.

Ah, what was that you just said about feasting upon the dreams of innocent children?

“And Alec actually agreed to this?” Amanda asks, her damp blond hair brushing over her shoulder as she shakes her head, incredulous.

I run my hand over my own curls, a frizzy mess from the weather, and work to make myself presentable. Jesus, am I seriously preening for the jerk? Suppressed anger surfaces as I reach for my latte, take another fast sip, irritated with myself.

“His granddad set this up, and Alec is meeting me here, so he must have agreed,” I say.

“I get why you’re doing it. You find him a wife and throw him the royal wedding of the century, no expenses spared. That will take you from obscurity in the event planning world to the most sought-after consultant in Manhattan, but why would he agree? What’s in it for him? From what I’ve read about ‘Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor’ in the tabloids, he doesn’t seem like the settling-down type.”

Not only does Amanda know him from the tabloids, as my best friend since college, she knows how close Alec and I once were, and how he ditched me after prom. I look past Amanda’s shoulder, and my heart jumps into my throat when Alec walks in. The air of authority about him draws the attention of every single woman in the room, and some not-so-single ones. Then there’s the impeccable suit he’s sporting, one that was undoubtedly tailor-made for his tall frame and athletic body. The men in the room begin to posture in his presence, but there’s no point. Alec is breathtaking, the most impressive guy here, and for a moment I can’t think, let alone breathe as he smooths his hands over his tie in much the same way his grandfather did during our meeting. With a laser focus, he casts a quick glance around the café. Intense blue eyes find mine, and the muscles in his square jaw ripple as he clenches down, giving me the impression that he had no idea it was me he was meeting.

Wouldn’t James have told him?

As our eyes hold and lock, my insides burn like I’ve just been hit with a high-voltage Taser. Damn, he hasn’t changed a bit. No, that’s not true. He’s grown from a boy to a man, his body wider, thicker, filling out his clothes in a way the young Alec never could. I swallow. Hard.

“I guess I’m about to find out what’s in it for him,” I squeak out.

Amanda’s eyes pop open again. “I take it he just arrived.” Her head angles, and I touch her hand and stop her before she can turn and gawk.

“Yes, he’s here. Right on time, as I suspected.” He always was conscious of the time, a stickler for the rules. Except now, something in my gut tells me he no longer plays by them. “Please don’t look.”

Amanda picks up her mug and half-eaten jelly doughnut. “Then I’m gone. Text me later,” she says. “I can’t wait to hear all about this.”

I stand with her, and run my damp hands over my skirt. No need to greet him with a wet palm and let him know what the sight of him is doing to me—even after all this time. It’s best I give a professional vibe, and the appearance that I’m completely unaffected by him.

If only that were true.

He nods to Amanda as she walks past him to put her mug in the tray, and his overwhelming presence weakens my traitorous knees as he crosses the room to stand over me. All six feet of pure power and testosterone takes my mind back to the night we made love. Scratch that. To the night we had sex. Yeah, lovemaking involves emotions. If there were emotions involved, he wouldn’t have walked away the next day, letting me know in no uncertain terms that there was nothing more between us. If only I’d gotten the memo back then, before I went to his hotel room and seduced him.

I lift my gaze to meet his, and even though he’s offering me a smile, I catch a hint of uncertainty in his gorgeous blue eyes as they roam my face. Obviously, this is as awkward for him as it is for me. His arms lift, like he’s about to embrace me, but professional event planner that I am, I keep it together and hold my hand out.

He stares at it for a moment, his smile dissolving, morphing into confusion, and then he gives me a tight, fast nod as he closes his big hand over mine.

Yeah, that’s right. That’s the way it’s going to be. I’m in charge here.

“Megan,” he says, his voice deeper than I remember it. “Nice to see you.”

“Alec,” I say. “Nice to see you, too. It’s been a long time. You’re well?” I say, always the master at small talk. A wedding planner has to be a good communicator, and I thank the Lord for my training.

Another tight nod. “Yes, you?”

“Never better,” I say and give him my best smile despite the storm raging inside me.

He gestures with a nod to Amanda as she disappears out the door. “Am I interrupting? Granddad told me to be here for two.”

“Two is correct and you’re not interrupting at all. I was just meeting with Amanda to go over some details for the upcoming Bar Mitzvah I’m planning. She’s a caterer. Perhaps you’ve heard of her business. Kitchen Door Catering, in Hell’s Kitchen. I actually rent office space from her.”

He gives a slow shake of his head. “Sorry, never heard of it.”

I’m not surprised, really; making a name in Manhattan and competing with already established businesses that own the core market share is hard. I can throw money at the marketing budget all day, but the rich and famous prefer the status quo, and rarely give newbies like Amanda and me a chance. Any company used by James Carson, however, will become a household name and that’s what I’m banking on.

Alec’s gaze moves from my face to my near-empty coffee mug with pink lipstick staining the rim. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Can I get you anything?”

“That’s my second cup. I’m already jittery,” I say, a little breathless as he gazes at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes.

One brow raises. “Lemon-filled doughnut?”

Okay, now I really can’t breathe. Why would he ask that, or even remember that? I open my mouth, but my damn voice is stuck in my tight throat, so I just shake my head no. He hesitates for a moment, and I take that opportunity to lower myself into my seat and dig my planner out from my bag. He smooths his hand over his tie again and turns, giving me a reprieve from his hot stare, and even hotter body. I take a fast breath and fuel my lungs. Honest to God, a man who had sex with me, and then walked away, shouldn’t remember my favorite kind of doughnut, or my favorite kind of anything. Damn him for giving me a moment of hesitation, a seed of hope that he might have actually cared about me the night I gave myself to him.

I open my planner with a little too much force, grab my pen and scribble “Alec Carson” on the first blank page. I don’t need to look up to know he’s back at the table with his coffee. His presence, and the warm enticing scent of fresh soap and something uniquely Alec—a crisp new day after a hard summer rain—reaches my nostrils. My stomach squeezes slightly. I pinch my eyes shut for a second, to darken all the images that are clamoring to resurface. Alec is a world-class jerk, and I’m not going to waste a second remembering the way he touched me that night, with such deft, gentle hands. Or the way he talked to me, using sweet soothing words, as he fucked me. Over.

He sits, and my gaze goes to his big hands as he drinks his coffee. Still black, no sugar. Some things never change. Then again, some things do, and maybe that’s for the best. I’m not sure I could work with him if I was still harboring a stupid schoolgirl crush.

Oh, but it was so much more than that, Megan.

“Okay,” I say, shutting down that inner voice and working not to sound as breathless as I feel. “I want to be honest with you. I’m an event planner, not a matchmaker, but I’ll do my very best to set up an appealing online profile for you and help find your soul mate.” He goes perfectly still for a moment, and then he laughs, and the dark, jaded sound raises the hair on my neck. “What?” I ask.

“I’m not looking for a soul mate, Megan.” He leans toward me. “I don’t even believe in marriage.”

I sit up a little straighter, and let my gaze roam his handsome face. Every visible muscle is strained, like an overtightened wire about to snap. “If you don’t believe in marriage, what are we doing here?”

He goes quiet, thoughtful for a moment and takes a drink from his mug. He sets it on the table, leans back and folds thick arms over his chest.

“I’m here today because my aging grandfather won’t stop breathing down my neck. He doesn’t like my lifestyle, or my business practices. He says it’s bringing a bad name to the Carson family. He wants me to clean up my act and marry a nice girl.”

Appreciating his honesty, I tap my pen on my notepad and nod in understanding. The tabloids have been having a field day with Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor. He’s been photographed with different affluent women—far outside my social circle—on his arm every week. It can’t be easy having no privacy.

Don’t feel bad for him, Megan.

“I can understand that,” I say.

He angles his head, a thick lock of hair falling forward, and I note that he’s wearing it longer than usual. He rakes it back and asks, “Can you?”

“Sure,” I say and glance at my planner. “But what I don’t understand—”

His big warm hand closes over mine. The weight is heavy, and it takes my mind back to the way he once caressed me. Unnerved and aroused by his touch, my gaze flies to his. “It’s like this, Megan. I’ll get married, but it will be in name only. I’m not interested in anything more. A nice girl will get my granddad off my back, and the stability of marriage will look good to the board of directors who are handpicking Blackstone’s next chief financial officer.” My jaw drops open as he lays the cold, ugly truth out for me. So, this is what’s in it for him? He would actually marry to better his position in the company. What kind of a man would do that? Perhaps the better question is, how did I not see this side of him all those years ago? I pull my hand back fast and wipe my palm on my skirt.

His eyes darken, the black bleeding into the blue as he zeros in on me. “If you have a problem with that…”

CHAPTER TWO
Alec

KEEP YOUR SHIT TOGETHER. Play it cool. You’ve got this, Carson.

Yeah, right!

I can lecture myself all I want, but I don’t “got this.” Not even a little bit.

I draw in a deep breath. “Do you?” I ask again, working to maintain a rigid, professional-like composure, despite the fact I’m telling the one woman I’ve always wanted but can never have what I want in a future wife.

How the hell did we end up here, negotiating a wife for me? Granddad, that’s how. Now that my cousins Tate and Brianna are married, it was only a matter of time before he came after me. I’m not even sure the man’s as weak and frail as he lets on. It could very well be a trick to get what he wants. But can I really take a chance and say no to him? He was there for me my whole life, stepping in to take the place of my dad—his son—when he up and left our family.

I want to make my grandfather happy, and if it means getting married… I clench down on my jaw with an audible click and grind my back teeth together.

I focus back on Megan. She’s clearly shocked at what I’m telling her, struggling to digest my words. It takes every ounce of strength, and I mean every ounce I possess, not to press my lips to hers, lose myself in her sweet honeyed taste like I did on prom night.

You can’t go there with her.

I stiffen my spine, present cold indifference like I do at every negotiation and study her tense body language. I might not have seen her in eight long years, but I know her well enough to know she’s trying to wrap her mind around my need for a loveless marriage. Only problem is, I can’t tell her the real truth.

“I… I suppose not.” She blinks a few times, picks up her empty cup and sets it down again. “I mean, it’s your life.” She shrugs. “But I’m not so sure you’re going to find a woman who would want a marriage in name only.”

I let loose a low, deep humorless laugh. It gives me great pleasure to see that after all these years, little Megan Williams is still as sweet and innocent as the day I met her. I don’t ever want her to change, which is one of the reasons I need to keep my hands and mouth to myself. I’m the last guy she needs in her life.

Where the hell was that resolve on prom night?

“You’re wrong about that,” I say.

Quizzical eyes that once looked at me with adoration narrow, and her thick lashes fall slowly, only to open again. “What makes you say that?”

“Women like power and are influenced by wealth. I’m willing to give whoever we pick exactly that. They can have it all, the money, jets and lifestyle, with the exception of my heart. That’s not on the negotiation table.”

“What…what about intimacy,” she blurts out, then slams her mouth shut and glances around to see if anyone overheard her.

I lean toward her, note the pink flush crawling up her slender neck, pooling on the exact spot I’d like to place my mouth. I take a moment to look her over. At eighteen she was sweet and adorable, but she’s grown more beautiful in the passing years. Prominent cheekbones, beautiful full lips, a body any man would kill for. Perfect then, and even more so now.

“Intimacy? Are you asking if I plan to have sex with my wife?”

She takes a deep breath, and as her chest heaves, my gaze slides downward, to her silky white blouse. From my height, and with the top two buttons undone, I’m gifted with a view of her creamy cleavage. I don’t deserve to look. Don’t deserve anything from her. Despite that knowledge, heat prowls through my blood, and my dress pants become increasingly uncomfortable.

“People…well, people have needs,” she whispers.

I lower my voice to match hers. “True, and I’m not ruling sex out, but right now I have other concerns.”

“Such as?”

“I’m used to living alone. I need a woman who won’t be underfoot in my home. She must be intelligent, likable and a good conversationalist since she’ll be attending dinners with board members.” She stares at me for a moment, disbelief and a measure of repulsion evident in her big doe eyes. Good, that’s the only way I can have her look at me, otherwise… “Perhaps you should be writing this down.”

“Oh, right.” Her pen flies over the blank pages as she fills it with my criteria. She taps the tip on her chin when done, and stares at her notepad. “Do you care if she works?”

“I’d like for her to have her own life. She won’t need to work, but if she chooses to stay home, I’d like to see her involve herself in charitable work.” Her eyes lift. “It will look better to the board,” I say. Yeah, I get it. I’m coming off like a grade A prick, but that’s what I want. That’s what I need. If this woman gives me so much as a seed of encouragement, a hint that she might still want me, I could very well lose my shit. I can’t—won’t—let that happen. She deserves better than that. She deserves better than me.

Last week, when Granddad took me to his study and plied me with brandy, I knew he was up to something. I agreed to his terms, saw the truth in his words. Sure, I come from wealth, but I want to make my own mark in the financial world, want to become Blackstone’s youngest CFO. A wife will help with that and help with my reputation, which will hopefully get the damn paparazzi off my back—Christ knows they destroyed my brother, Will, who is fulfilling the Carson prophecy. But until I walked into this café, I had no idea I’d be facing Megan Williams. The old man never prepared me for her, and I can’t help but think he left the event planner’s name out on purpose. Smart man, because had I known I’d be coming face-to-face with the sweet girl I screwed over in high school, I never would have agreed to any of this.

I’ll never forget the day I met her. It was the summer before our senior year. I was friends with her cousin Sara Duncan, and after Megan’s parents died in a car accident, she moved from Philadelphia to Manhattan to live with her aunt and uncle, who are friends of Granddad’s. Sara introduced us, and just like that I was lost in her and trying hard to keep it platonic. We were pretty inseparable for the rest of the year, then prom night. Jesus, prom night in St. Moritz. She knocked on my door, and when I opened it…

“Alec?”

Shit.

“Sorry, what?”

“If I’m going to fill out your online profile, I have to know what kind of woman you’re attracted to.”

Ah. I need to be careful here. My gaze rakes over Megan, and the frizzy state of her auburn hair, my absolute favorite color. It brings a smile to my face. She always hated it when it rained, but I think her wild locks are adorable. With light brown eyes—the color of a root beer Popsicle—fair skin clear of makeup, save for her pink lipstick, she still has that same girl-next-door look going on.

And that, my friends.

Right there.

Is the kind of woman I’m attracted to.

“I prefer blonde,” I say, and as she nods her head, her drying auburn locks bouncing, she jots it down.

She plants her elbow on the table and rests her chin in her palm. She goes thoughtful for a long time, then blinks her eyes back into focus. “Can I ask something?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to answer,” I say, wanting to be as honest with her as possible, but there are some things I just can’t divulge.

“You date all the time. Thanks to the tabloids, I see the gorgeous women on your arm. Why not one of them? If it’s to be a loveless marriage, and you think women want you for power and money, and they’re probably on your arm because of that, why not just ask one of them to marry you?”

It’s a legit question that deserves an honest answer. I might be a tough negotiator, but deep down I do have morals and I respect integrity as much as the next guy. With Megan, though, I have to be less than forthright with this answer, for her own good.

“The women from my circle aren’t suitable for what I need.”

“How so?”

“They’re glamorous, over-the-top, high maintenance.”

“So, you’re looking for a sweet girl next door?”

“Yeah.”

“The kind of girl you’re not really attracted to,” she says, her voice so low I have to strain to hear it. But before I can answer—and I have no idea how to respond—she blinks up at me. “Does eye color matter?”

I finish my coffee and check the time. If I’m going to have a nice girl in my home, her appearance at least must be the antithesis of Megan’s. Otherwise the daily reminder of what I want and can never have would drive me over the edge. “No, but I do prefer blue.”

I watch her throat work as she swallows, and my insides twist. Jesus, that sad look she’s trying to hide is ripping me wide-open. Hurting her is the last thing I want to do. But it’s also killing me that she looks at me with distaste. Maybe I should put a stop to this. End it now before we go any further.

“Megan,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Look at me,” I command in a soft whisper. Her eyes slowly lift, lock on mine, and as she stares, a bolt of need grips my chest. I fight it down and ask, “Do you really want to do this? We have a history.”

She takes one deep breath, lets it out slowly and lowers her pen. “And that’s exactly what it is, a history.” The chirpiness is her voice contrasts the visible pain in her eyes. “It’s all in the past, where it needs to stay. We’re both adults and both professionals and it comes down to this—you’re not the only one getting something out of this. You see, Alec, once I find you a wife and throw you the best damn wedding Manhattan has ever seen, I’ll be the talk of the town. It will get my business off the ground in a crowded market and skyrocket me into prominence.”

“I guess we’re both doing this to get ahead, then?” I say.

Her brows knit together. “When you put it that way.” She casts her eyes downward for a second. “Looks like we’re not so different after all. I’m scratching your back and you’re scratching mine, so to speak.”

“Tit for tat.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, my gaze once again goes down to take in the curve of her breasts. I catch a hint of white lace, and my dick thickens. I want her. I’ve always wanted her. But am I going to do anything about it? No fucking way. Being around her might just kill me, and I’m going to need a drink, or an entire bottle, by the time we’re done here. Because now that I know what’s in it for her, I can’t walk away and find another event planner. I clear my throat. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

She instantly switches back into professional mode and pulls a laptop from her bag. She sets it between us and boots it up. “Are there any particular dating sites you prefer?”

“Never been on one.”

She clicks a few buttons. “I’ve not had much luck myself—”

“You use dating sites?” Why the hell would a woman like Megan need to use a dating site? She must have men falling at her feet.

“I have in the past,” she admits.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, and glance at the barista, anything to keep my mind off Megan in bed with another man. I have no hold on her. She can date any guy she likes, but goddammit, the thought of any man’s hands but mine on her still bothers me. Eight years later.

“I see the ads for that Match Made in Heaven site all the time,” I say. “Should we try that?”

“It’s a good jumping-off point. If we don’t get any matches, we can set you up elsewhere. Although I’m sure you’ll have a million matches in the first hour.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Look at you,” she blurts out. Her gaze moves from my chest to my face. “Ah, I mean, you’re not bad to look at, and you’re successful. All we need is a catchy bio. Let’s have a look at it, see what other criteria I might need before I set you up.” She points to the seat beside her. “Why don’t you sit here, so we can look at the screen together.”

“Coffee first. We might be here for a while. Do you want something?”

Her gaze slides to her empty cup. “I guess I’ll have another mocha latte.”

She reaches for her purse, but I hold my hand up to stop her. “I got it,” I say and walk away, needing a moment to pull myself together before I sit close to her.

I order our drinks, and as the barista makes them, I grab a lemon-filled doughnut and a piece of cheesecake. I press my Apple Watch to the payment terminal and hold until it vibrates. After the charge goes through, I carry the sweets to our table.

She shakes her head. “I didn’t want—”

“They’re for me. I came here straight from the gym and I’m starving. The barista will bring our coffee over.”

I lower myself into the seat next to her, and her sweet scent reaches my nose. I devour her with my eyes and throw up a silent prayer. Sweet mother of God, give me strength. Her gaze goes from the pastries, to my fork. Her eyes narrow in on the silverware, and her fingers curls into fists.

“You got something against my fork?” I ask.

“No.” She shakes her head as if to clear it. “I was just remembering my mom’s Philly cheesecake,” she adds, and I get the sense she’s redirecting the conversation. “Best in the world, and that’s not a very healthy choice for after the gym,” she says.

I grin at her. “Yeah, I know, Mom.”

“Not funny,” she says, and crinkles her nose, those cute freckles bunching together.

“I know but remember when we used to go to my place after school and raid the fridge before dinner. Mom used to—”

“Chase us into your bedroom with her broom, warning we were going to ruin our appetites,” she pipes in, finishing my sentence, much like we used to do years ago. “But we were always hungry back then.”

We both laugh, but it sizzles out fast, the space between us going perfectly quiet.

“Yeah,” I say after a moment, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” she repeats, and then angles her head to glance at my clothes as the barista delivers the coffee. “You put a suit on after the gym?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I pick up the doughnut and take a big bite. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Do you always wear a suit? Everywhere?”

“Yes, always. Except in the gym, the shower or in bed.” I wink at her. “I like casual sex, and wearing a suit to bed just makes it formal,” I say and wonder what the fuck I’m doing. I shouldn’t be teasing her, flirting with her.

Her cheeks darken. “Well, some dates will be more casual than others. What if you go skydiving, or to the movies, or even a romantic hansom cab ride around Central Park?”

“When was the last time you took a horse ride around Central Park?” I ask.

“Ah, well. Never. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but I’m not dating right now, and we’re talking about you, not me.”

A thrill I don’t want to feel races through me. “Are you trying to say you want to dress me, Megan?”

“If that’s what it takes to find you a wife, then yes. I want complete control.”

Megan in bed, completely in control. Yeah, that visual is helping my cock. I take another bite of the doughnut and moan as I hold it out to her. “Try it.”

She stares at it for a moment, and her mouth goes slack. “It does look good.”

“It is good.”

I hold it closer and she bites into it. Her lids close and lemon oozes from the doughnut as powdered sugar gets all over her face and nose.

I chuckle. “You always were a messy eater.” I reach out, brush my thumb over her cheek.

She draws in a fast breath, and my hand freezes. Jesus, how can I do this? How can I spend the next month, possibly the next two, with this woman, without giving in to the things I feel?

I’ll be fucked if I know, but somehow I have to find a way.

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