“You must think the Empire State Building is so passé, when you have a friend who owns this building,” she quipped as they neared the balcony.

“No. I’m thinking the balcony here is private, and you can see all of Manhattan when you come.”

She had no retort.

Hot sparks tore through her, lighting her up with more desire than she’d ever known. While she’d dated and had lovers over the years, none had spoken to her like this. None had talked to her as if her pleasure was vital to their happiness. That’s how she felt with Jack. Hard to imagine he was a stranger twenty-four hours ago, yet now, he was a lover on a quest to bring her the best climax of her life.

The balcony circled the peak of the Met Life Tower with a spire above them, a clock right below them. A high fence surrounded the perimeter, and the view of Manhattan was endless, stretching to the rivers and the towns that lay far beyond the city that never slept.

Michelle felt a rush of tingles in her belly that had nothing to do with him at the moment, and everything to do with being this high above her city. She wrapped her hands around the railing at the edge of the balcony, drinking in the view of Manhattan. The headlights from the distant streets below streaked across the dark night; the sounds of horns and music and madness morphed into a quiet radio station din. The dirt and grime was gone, and New York was aerial and beautiful—a darkly gorgeous nocturnal creature, lit up against the night sky.

Jack dropped his hands to her waist, his thumbs rubbing circles against the fabric of her dress at her hips. She murmured something unintelligible, leaning her head back against him, stretching her neck. But then he was gone—he was on his knees behind her, kissing the back of her bare legs, starting at her calves.

“Stay here. Like this,” he told her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she managed to say.

“Don’t close your eyes. Watch the city as I touch you.”

No wonder he did what he did. He was a man in tune with pleasure. A man thoroughly connected to his senses, which was all the more unusual, given his background as a numbers and logic guy. But he also had some intuitive sense of the physical.

Or simply the physical of her. His tongue flicked against the back of her knee, and she felt her legs wobble. He steadied her, his strong hands tight on her thighs as he kissed his way up her legs, pressing his lips against the back of her thighs now. First one leg. Then the other. Higher and higher still, the fabric of her skirt rose in his hands as he exposed her flesh for him. Soon he’d pushed her skirt above her butt, and his sinful mouth was leaving a hot, wet trail of kisses against the crease where her ass met her legs.