Sarah Morgan - Sunset In Central Park

“The problem is that October is too late for this project. I need someone who can hit the ground running, who knows how I think and who has the same creative vision.”

“And where are you going to find someone like that?”

“I’m looking at her.”

Those green eyes widened. “You mean me?”

“I saw your expression when I described the project—admit it, you’re interested.”

“It’s true that roof gardens have their own charms and challenges but I have a job. Urban Genie is in its infancy and—”

“And you already told me you have a few too many wedding events this summer. You hate them. Delegate those to someone else and come and work with me.” He handed her the plans and saw the panic and indecision in her eyes.

“I can’t.”

“Take a look at the plans and think about it. Talk to Paige and Eva. It’s not as if I’m asking you to relocate to Alaska. You can still help with Urban Genie. Just reduce your hands-on work for now. What’s the name of that supplier you’ve been working with?”

“Buds and Blooms.”

“You’d be giving them an opportunity to grow their business, you’d be helping me and you’d be doing work you love. Let someone else deal with the froth of weddings. Design me a roof garden. At least think about it. It’s only for the summer. One project.” His gaze caught on a piece of paper on the table. “What’s that? You wrote me a note?”

She made a strangled sound and scrabbled for the paper. “You can’t read it!”

“You wrote me a note I’m not supposed to read?”

“I assumed I’d be gone by the time you read it.” She snatched it from the table, cheeks scarlet.

“Aren’t you going to at least tell me what it says?”

“I was apologizing for Saturday, that’s all.” She was adorably flustered and Matt resisted the urge to take the note from her fingers.

“Why would you feel the need to apologize?”

“Hey, I don’t know. Maybe because I almost trapped your hand in the door two seconds before I shut you out of your own apartment.” She shoved the paper into the pocket of her jeans and shot toward the door.

“It’s your apartment.” This time he was determined not to let her leave without finishing the conversation. “You live there.”

“But you own it.”

“I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s not you, it’s me. It’s all me.”

They reached the door at the same time.

“Wait.” He planted his hand in the center of the door panel to prevent her leaving and saw her freeze.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to say something and I want to do it without worrying about you severing one of my limbs in the door.” He could have stepped back but he didn’t. If what it took to get her to open up to him was to invade her comfort zone, then he’d invade it. But he’d try and invade it as sensitively as possible.

“Look, I know you think it’s strange that I’d wear glasses when I don’t need them but—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I do. You’re wondering why on earth anyone would do something that weird.” She’d dipped her head and all he could see was the sweep of her dark lashes and the delicate freckles that dusted her nose like pollen.

“I’m not wondering that because I already know the answer.”

“You do?”

“You think it puts a barrier between yourself and the world. Or rather, men.” The temptation to touch her was almost overwhelming. “What I don’t understand is why you’re so upset that I know.”

“Because it’s a deeply personal thing.”

“That’s what a relationship is, Frankie. It’s about knowing the deeply personal things that other people don’t see. We’ve known each other a long time.”

“And there’s such a thing as ‘too much information.’” If she pressed any closer to the door she would leave an imprint.

“It’s called intimacy, Frankie. It’s what happens when two people know each other well. And for the record, I don’t think it’s weird.”

Finally, she looked at him. “You don’t?”

“No. But as we’re being honest with each other, it’s only fair to tell you that you’re wasting your time.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have beautiful eyes, and they’re beautiful with or without the glasses. And to save you examining that comment in minute detail I can tell you that yes, it was a compliment.” He removed his arm and opened the door, gently nudging her through it. “Have a think about working with me and thanks again for feeding my cat.”

Reining in his protective instincts, he closed the door before he could do something inappropriate like haul her into his arms.

There was plenty of time for that.

This was only step one.

It wasn’t as if they weren’t going to see each other again. And at some point she was going to realize that he still had her glasses.

A compliment is a gift. Accept it gratefully.

—Eva

Beautiful eyes?

He thought she had beautiful eyes?

Frankie wandered through Manhattan’s flower market in a daze that had nothing to do with the early start or the fact she hadn’t slept.

“I love this place.” Paige slipped her arm through Frankie’s. “It’s calming, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Frankie wasn’t concentrating. She couldn’t stop thinking about the moment she’d been trapped between Matt and the door. He hadn’t actually touched her, but he might as well have because she’d been so agonizingly aware of him it had been almost impossible to breathe. The avalanche of unfamiliar feelings had come as a shock. It wasn’t as if she was the kind of person who thought about sex all the time. Hardly ever, in fact. She’d accepted that it didn’t play an important role in her life, and even though she was intelligent enough to know that at least part of the reason for that lay with her parents, she hadn’t ever considered that it might change.

But it was changing. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that Matt was changing it. He hadn’t touched her, but she’d found herself wanting to touch him. She’d wanted to grab him and kiss him, an impulse that had left her more than a little freaked out. Fortunately, she’d managed to stop herself, but what she hadn’t been able to stop was the strange feeling inside her, the almost breathless excitement that she associated with Christmas Eve and the last day of school. Being close to him seemed to flick a switch in a part of her she’d never accessed before. And she had to remind herself to breathe, something she’d managed to do without prompting up until this point in her life.

Paige elbowed her. “You’re not listening to me. You need strong coffee.” She dragged her into the small coffee shop and ordered two espressos. “This will wake you up.”

Frankie didn’t tell her that her problem wasn’t going to be solved by coffee.

She wasn’t sure how to solve it. Two cold showers hadn’t worked.

They drank the coffee and Paige talked about new clients while Frankie tried to forget the hard strength of Matt’s body against hers and focus on business.

Boosted by caffeine, they tackled the flower market. Nestled between Seventh Avenue and Broadway, the market was a hidden jungle of plants surrounded by soaring tower blocks of glass and steel. It was five o’clock in the morning but despite the early hour, the place was bustling with people.

They went into one of the many stores and Frankie leaned forward and stuck her nose in a bunch of blooms. “These are perfect.” She picked a large bunch and stashed it on a metal shelf to buy later, before carefully selecting another bunch.

“They’re pretty. So did you speak to Matt?”