Savor and Intoxicated by Monica Murphy

Author:Monica Murphy [Murphy, Monica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-04-22T18:30:00+00:00

Matt

I’m exhausted. The jet lag, the running from one session to the next at the conference, the information coming at me from all sides, it’s all depleting my energy. I should’ve just gone to my room, ordered room service, and collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But none of that matters because here I am, waiting for Bryn at the entrance to the Blue Fin, eagerness at seeing her making my stomach jump like a pond full of hyperactive fish. I’ve hardly seen her since we arrived in New York City. We’ve been on separate schedules, meeting up in odd spots, like in the corridor of the event center earlier this afternoon. I’d been rushing by, but I called her name when I noticed her exiting a room.

She’d waved, looking adorable in dark-rinse jeans that fit her sexy legs perfectly, a secretive smile curling those sensual lips.

My cock had literally twitched at seeing her, even for such a fleeting second.

“Hi. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

I turn at the first sound of her sultry voice, smiling when I see Bryn standing before me. She’d changed and is now wearing a sleek, simple long-sleeved black dress that covers pretty much every available inch of her save her face, hands, calves, and feet. Yet somehow she still manages to be sensual as hell, what with the way the fabric clings lovingly to her body.

“Miss James. I must say you’re looking extra beautiful this evening.”

Her cheeks color, turning a beautiful shade of pink as she clutches her hands in front of her. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her gaze meeting mine for the briefest second before she lets it drop. “You look good too.”

I’m still in the black trousers I’ve worn all day but changed into a white button-down shirt right after I texted her, wanting to dress up a little bit since I figured the Blue Fin had something of a dress code. I’d planned on going to dinner alone. Well, I told myself that. “Thank you. Ready to be seated?”

When she nods, I lead her to the front desk, requesting a table for two. The hostess grabs two menus and leads us up the floating stainless steel staircase to a semi-private alcove, filled with quiet booths that line the wall and overlook the bright lights of Times Square. A small jazz quartet plays along the opposite wall—soothing, soft music that adds to the hushed atmosphere.

“You’re not hungry?” I ask after the hostess leaves us, flipping open the menu immediately. “I’m starved. Conference chicken and dry rice pilaf doesn’t do much for my appetite.”

She laughs, the sweet sound washing over me, making me yearn. For her. “Sounds awful.”

“It was.” I glance over the entrees, my stomach grumbling at some of the offerings, especially the blue cheese–encrusted filet mignon. “I know what I’m having,” I say, shutting the menu.

“So do I,” she says, closing hers as well, her sparkling gaze meeting mine. She looks extra pretty in the candlelight, and I can smell her. That intoxicating scent of hers that drives me wild.

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