His hand felt hot when it stroked along my back, lazily seeking my attention. I turned to face him and mustered a small smile. The clock read 12:13. He’d lasted almost six minutes.

“Come here,” he whispered and my insides melted. I hesitated, wanting to go to him but afraid, too.

I was saved from having to make a decision when my phone rang loudly in my bag. Jumping away, I went to get it.

It was my friend, Mackenzie. Her name flashing on the screen pulled me back to reality.

“Hey girl,” she chirped as soon as I answered, her voice a welcome relief. “Facebook’s ‘not creepy at all’ location tracker was kind enough to inform me that you’re back in the city. How was New Hampshire?”

I forced a snicker at her trademark snarky attitude. “It was wonderful. Rick and I had a great time,” I replied as I felt two strong arms coil around my waist. Sean’s nose nuzzled into my neck before he sucked my earlobe into his mouth. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to moan. He was already hard again. I could feel his erection pressing into my backside.

“So, I know you probably don’t want to dive straight back into work, but if what I’ve heard on the grapevine is true, Carly Stevens and Dean Newman are going to be dining at Le Cirque in an hour. It could make for some great pics for the blo-og,” she said, finishing in a singsong voice.

I batted away the encroaching fog of lust inspired by Sean’s seductive movements and focused on my excitement at the opportunity for some new content. The Socialmedialite site had been wanting for articles in the last few weeks since I’d been home visiting and then at the retreat. Mackenzie was a photographer for Cosmopolitan, which, if you knew her, was just hilarious. She was the least Cosmo girl I’d ever met.

Sean continued to lavish my earlobe with attention as I considered my options. Stay here for the next forty-five minutes and enjoy fleeting but sweaty hotel sex with Adonis himself—falling deeper into this pit of irrational whatever it was—or venture out into the stress of the city and get some work done.

I encouraged myself to embrace my guilt. Annie would be really disappointed if she knew I’d turned down the chance to picture Carly and Dean, so, with this thought in mind I knew what I had to do.

“Sounds great. I’ll see you there,” I told Mackenzie before hanging up.

Sean let out a slow breath. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” he said as I turned in his arms to look up at him.

“I’m sorry, duty calls,” I answered regretfully. The obvious disappointment on his face had me blurting, “Do you want to come?”

His brow arched. “To photograph celebrities?”

I felt suddenly unsure, probably because the idea of Sean Cassidy crossing over into my everyday life felt way too relationship-y. “Uh, yeah.”

He shrugged. “Okay, well, just let me grab a quick shower first.”

He went into the bathroom and I put on my dress. My hair was a mess so I threw it up into a haphazard bun. Unfortunately, my camera was back at Annie’s apartment, where I’d been living for the last few months, and we wouldn’t have time to go there and get it. The one on my iPhone would just have to do.

About five minutes later, Sean emerged completely naked, droplets of water coating his fine, fine skin. I swallowed, feeling suddenly shy, and busied myself with checking my Twitter notifications. Meanwhile, he seemed oblivious to my ogling, which was so entirely frustrating. When I looked up again he was dressed.

“You ready?” he asked. I nodded and before I knew it we were outside the hotel, flagging down a yellow taxi.

“East 58th Street, please,” I told the driver as I pulled up the restaurant’s address on Google.

Sean sat next to me, his legs spaced in what was the quintessential definition of man-spreading. Though being as large as he was, I imagined he couldn’t really help it. He stared out the window, watching the city go by (albeit slowly since it was rush hour in Manhattan). My eyes traced the strong, masculine line of his jaw and how his dark blond hair was sexily tousled on top but shaved tight at the back.

I noticed his mouth start to curve in a smile before his eyes flicked down and to the side.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, his voice quiet, intimate, and edged with a deeper question.

“You must know how beautiful you are,” I murmured.

His lips firmed and it took a second for him to reply. When he did he cast his hooded gaze on me, taking my hand and smoothing his fingers over my knuckles. “I’m too big and imposing to be beautiful.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” His eyes searched mine. “Most beautiful things are delicate, so fragile that even to look at them feels like they might break.” He whispered this last part and I found myself catching my breath. It felt like he was trying to tell me something; that I was the delicate, fragile thing he described. My heart beat fast like the wings of a butterfly.

“That’s not true. Beauty comes in many forms, and the strong, powerful kind is the most admirable. It’s easy to be weak; you simply do nothing, but strength takes courage and effort.”

His eyes blazed as he lifted my hand, bringing it to his mouth and pressing his lips to the inside of my wrist. I shivered. “You have this incredible way of showing me new ways to look at things, do you know that, Lucy Fitzpatrick?” he asked, and my tummy flipped over on itself.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I blurted.