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“Kiss you.”
The man’s powers of observation were quite terrifying.
“It wouldn’t be a goodnight kiss.”
His lips turned up a little at one corner. “I guess that depends on your definition of a good night.”
Because he planned to give her a good night.
And not kiss her goodnight, but good morning, instead. She could see it in his eyes.
And feel it to her very core.
He was wining and dining her so she’d be agreeable.
Which she already was.
So instead of answering his question, she turned to look out the window. “I love the city, you know. Not just the skyline, but the people, too. Where else in the world can you see so many people from different walks of life within just a few blocks?”
“Not many.”
“There’s nowhere else like Manhattan,” she defended the city she adored.
“True. Have you visited many places, Sarah?”
Heat rushed into her face again. He must think her such an uncultured bumpkin compared to the social circles he traveled in as a Davenport.
“Not many,” she admi
tted. She had barely left Manhattan. There was no need. She loved everything about where she lived.
“Your favorite place?” Apparently, realizing what she was about to say, he added, “Besides the obvious.”
“London,” she answered, although she’d never been. Had never even flown. It was just a place she’d thought she’d like to visit someday. A city whose heartbeat reminded her of her own beloved New York’s. “Look.” She gestured out the limo’s window. “We’re about to see Times Square.”
His grin was infectious. “You’re one of those who stand out there every New Year’s Eve to watch the ball drop, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely, and don’t you dare laugh at me.” It was something she’d done for as long as she could recall. She and her mother would stand in the crowded throng of happy partygoers and cheer in the New Year, thinking January was going to bring good things into their lives. Those hopeful moments were some of Sarah’s best memories.
The one time her mother was optimistic rather than full of negativity.
“So no worries that you’ll turn into a pumpkin at the midnight hour?”
Her lips twitched. “Not on New Year’s Eve, at any rate.”
The driver pulled the limo to the curb and came around to open their door.
Sarah’s breath caught. She was at the Majestic. To watch a real, live Broadway show. One she’d fantasized about for years.
Another throwback to her mother, no doubt, as she recalled them watching the film over and over while Sarah had been growing up.
Now she was going to watch the show live, had arrived in style with a gorgeous man.
Maybe she really had suffered smoke inhalation from her burnt toast and was still locked away in some fantasy world where men like Jude Davenport showered attention on women like her.
If so, she’d enjoy every moment of her delirium.
Excitement burned through her veins and, as she took Jude’s outstretched hand and stepped out of the limo, she smiled. A real smile. One that filled all of her being and left no room for anything other than pure joy.
