In the short elevator ride, my mouth turned into the Sahara and I felt traitorous dampness under my arms. It had been nearly four months since I’d seen him in person and my stomach added a gymnastics routine to the trifecta of nerves. At James’s door, I took a steadying breath, then tentatively knocked.

After a few moments, it opened and there he was. My heart leapt as he enveloped me in his arms. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, his lips in my hair.

“Hi,” I said, wrapping an arm around his neck. He smelled divine, like he had when I’d met him in Greece and seen him again in London—citrusy and scrummy and undeniably manly.

James broke the hug first and, with his arms still around me, looked down at my face. “I missed you,” he whispered, tracing my cheek with his fingertip.

I gulped, his overt masculinity and intense expression working in tandem to awaken my nethers. “I missed you too,” I croaked. He kissed me then, and I didn’t even care that I’d spent ten minutes applying my lipstick. I’d brought it with me. I could reapply.

This man wants you, Sarah. You! Of all people!

My inner voice could be a total cow sometimes. I wished she’d shut the hell up.

The kiss ended and James laughed, and I quickly realised that it was at himself. “I haven’t even let you come inside,” he said, pulling on my hand. “Or put your bag down. Here, let me.” He took it from me. “Terrible manners,” he said, shaking his head at himself. “It’s this way.” Is he nervous? I’d seen him like that a few times, and it always seemed incongruous with the confident man I knew, but it was also endearing, and my heart tugged a little.

He led the way from the foyer into the room—a suite, actually—and placed my bag at the foot of a staircase. I was too distracted by the grandeur of my surroundings to say anything about his supposed lack of manners.

The suite had a large living room with a fireplace and a bar—an actual bar—and the staircase led to a loft bedroom and study, which I could see from my vantage point. The most spectacular feature, however, was the incredible view of downtown Sydney, with the sails of the Opera House peeking out over the treetops of the Botanic Gardens.

The décor was a little more modern than I would have chosen for my own place, but it was stylish and edgy. I eyed the couches suspiciously. They were low, leather, and all right angles. They looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Can I get you something to drink? Our dinner reservation isn’t until eight.” I stopped gawking at the room and turned back to James.

“Um, yes please. What do you have?”

He smiled then and indicated the bar—Oh right, the bar! “I think it’s safe to say we have many options.”

“Well, let’s have a look.” I walked over and went behind the bar, taking a cursory inventory. It had quite the selection. There were ten bottles of various top-shelf liquors, a fridge full of mixers, and a wine fridge with a dozen bottles of red and white wine and three bottles of bubbles.