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I set our plates on the table. “I imagine so.” I’m doing my best to engage in polite conversation, but part of me wants to say,You should be living in a mansion, and storage space shouldn’t even be a concern.But I can’t say that quite yet. She needs more time to get used to the idea.
I realize I’m gawking at Kennedy. While I’m trying to be a gentleman, part of my brain is acknowledging the fact that she’s naked beneath that robe.
She makes a circling action with her finger. “Would you mind?”
I quirk a brow. “Seriously, Ken, I’ve kissed every inch of your body, and yet you’re making me turn around?”
“Fine,” is her one-word reply. She unties her robe and, while I stare in anticipation, she lets it fall to the floor, leaving her completely naked.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of all that gorgeous skin and those luscious curves. On impulse, I start toward her, but she stops me with an outstretched hand. “Don’t get any ideas because we don’t have time.” She looks at the clock on the wall. “We have to leave in fifteen minutes.”
She slips her panties on. “You’re welcome to watch, but that’s as far as it goes.”
I swallow hard and have to clear my throat before I can form anything close to an intelligible sentence. “I’m good with watching.” I watch as she pulls on each item of clothing, one piece at a time, from her silky knickers and matching bra, to a pair of sheer stockings and a sexy gray pencil skirt.
I watch as she shimmies into that tight skirt. “Baby, you’re killing me.” And by god, I’ve never spoken truer words. Being so close to her, watching her dress, and yet unable to touch her—it’s sheer torture. “You are a cruel woman, Kennedy Takahashi.”
She grins as she reaches around to pull the zip up on her skirt. Her dark lashes flutter as she glances up at me. “I warned you to turn around. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”
She does that cute circling motion with her finger again, and it takes all of my restraint not to walk over there and pull her against me so our bodies are flush.
She slips her bra on, then slides her arm into the sleeve of a white silk blouse. “Fourteen minutes, Connor.”
“Fine.” I return to setting the table while she finishes dressing.
With my back to Kennedy, I spy the landlord’s letter lying on the kitchen worktop. While she’s busy dressing, I swipe the letter, fold it, and tuck it into my back pocket. Although my PA did well in finding out information on Mr. Brown, she was unable to provide me with a current contact number. This should do it.
Kennedy joins me at the table. “This looks wonderful,” she says. “Thank you. I never take time to make a decent breakfast on workdays. I just grab a bagel on my way to the subway station.”
“Well, today you’re having a hot breakfast. You can eat bagels tomorrow.”
With our eyes on the clock, we eat quickly with minimum conversation. Afterward, we brush our teeth, one of us at a time because the bathroom’s too small to accommodate both of us at once.
Soon, we’re out the door. I have to hustle to keep pace with Kennedy as she jogs down the stairs to the ground floor. Despite her petite stature, she sure can move quickly.
She pushes open the building’s front door, and soon we’re down the steps and on the pavement, joining the early-morning rat-race. I focus on keeping up with her.
We stop at a red light.
“It’s not much farther,” she says.
I presume she’s referring to the subway station.
“Be sure to keep up.” She gives me a wink. “I’d hate to lose you in the crowd.”
The crowd thickens as we near the station, and soon we’re like sardines packed in tight, side by side. “I’m not the one likely to get lost,” I say. I tower over most of my fellow pedestrians. Kennedy, on the other hand, being on the petite side, would be easy to lose in this sea of humanity.
Finally, we reach the station, jog down the stairs, and I follow her to the proper platform. As our subway train arrives, I take Kennedy’s hand so we won’t be separated when the doors slide open and the crowd surges inside. Once again, everyone is packed tightly together. I’m not a snob when it comes to public transport—I used to take buses and the tube routinely before I had a chauffeur—but this is a lot.
With no seats available, we stand and grip the handrails above us, or at least I do. Kennedy is too short to even reach the rail, so I wrap my arm around her to hold her steady. She relaxes against me, slipping her arm around my waist. It’s a simple gesture on her part, but it goes a long way to soothing some long-festering wounds.
When the subway arrives at our destination, we exit the car and walk up to the street level. The streets are again alive with a rush of people all heading in different directions. The brisk pace reminds me of London and makes me just a tad homesick.
In Manhattan, the buildings are huge, skyscrapers everywhere I look. The term concrete jungle seems quite fitting. It’s intimidating, yet oddly enthralling. I wonder how many people work in this amazing city, how many companies operate and how much money changes hands on a daily basis. The streets are packed with cars, buses, taxis, and bicycles, all rushing past, bumper to bumper.
“That’s my office there,” Kennedy says as she points to a building just ahead of us. Her steps quicken.
“Are we late?” I call after her.
