New York, Actually: A sparkling romantic comedy from the bestselling Queen of Romance

“I don’t date guys I meet in the park.”

“How is it different from dating a guy you meet in a bar?”

“I don’t date them either.”

He finished his drink and rose, too. He was more than a head taller than her, his shoulders wide and powerful. His hair gleamed in the early morning sunshine. “What are you afraid of?”

“I turn you down and you assume I’m afraid? Isn’t that a little arrogant? Maybe I simply don’t want to have dinner with you.”

“Maybe. But then there’s the alternative possibility. That you do want to have dinner with me, and that is freaking you out.” Brutus nudged his leg, hopeful of another game, but Daniel kept his gaze fixed on Molly.

Awareness seeped through her skin and sank deep. “I’m not freaked out.”

“Good. Do you know the little French bistro two blocks from here? I’ll meet you there at eight. It’s a public place, so that should satisfy your ‘is he a stalker or a serial killer’ worries.”

“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is salsa dancing.”

“Salsa dancing?”

“I go Tuesday and Friday nights whenever I’m free.”

“Who do you dance with?”

“Anyone. Everyone. It’s pretty casual.” And hot, sweaty, sexy and fun. Harmless fun. Nothing deep. Nothing serious. Nothing that made her feel the way she felt when she was with Daniel.

“So you’re happy to dance with strangers, but you won’t have dinner with one. How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is Wednesday.”

“And Wednesday is…? Tango?”

“Wednesday is Italian cooking class.”

“You’re learning Italian cooking?”

“I started recently. I want to make tortellini as well as my neighbor. If you’d tasted his tortellini, you’d understand.”

“Thursday?”

“Thursday is spin class.”

“I never understood the point of cycling hard to get nowhere. Saturday? Don’t tell me—Saturday is quilting.” The paths around them teemed with joggers, walkers and people pushing strollers, but they were focused on each other.

“Saturday I keep free. I usually meet up with friends.”

“Great. Eight o’clock Saturday it is. If you don’t want to meet me in a restaurant, you can cook. I’ll bring the champagne.” He was comfortable and relaxed, whereas she felt as if she was floundering in the deep end of a large swimming pool.

“If you want to eat dinner with me you can join me at Italian cooking class.”

He shook his head regretfully. “Italian cooking is Wednesday, and Wednesday is poker night.”

“You play poker? Of course you do.”

“Why ‘of course’?”

“Ruthless killer instinct combined with the ability to mask your emotions. I bet you’re good.”

“I’m good.” There was a devil in his eyes. “Want to find out how good?”

Her mouth dried. If he was flirting, she was going to ignore it. “I don’t play poker.”

His smile widened but he let it go. “It’s mostly an excuse to catch up with friends and drink alcoholic substances. I’m not that competitive.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment.”

He laughed. “I should take you along. You could read their minds and send me clues.”

“I’m a psychologist, not a clairvoyant.”

“So with this packed schedule of yours, when do you date?”

“I don’t.” Damn, she shouldn’t have said that. Not only did she sound like a loser, but a man like him would take it as a challenge. “I mean right now, I don’t date. I’m focusing on my work. I love my life exactly the way it is.”

“Now I understand why you do so much exercise.”

“Because I like keeping fit.”

“No, it’s because you’re not getting hot sex. So you have to find another way of relieving pent-up frustration and releasing endorphins.”

Molly gasped. “I am not frustrated! We don’t all walk around thinking about sex the whole time.” Until she’d met him. Since meeting him that was pretty much what she did.

“Not the whole time, but a lot of the time. And you must know that. You’re a psychologist. We cloak ourselves in the trappings of civility because that’s what society expects, but underneath we’re all driven by the same primal urges. Want to know what those are?” He leaned closer and she saw the devil gleam in his eyes. “To procreate and win bigger than the other guy.”

“This is why we are never having dinner.”

“We’re not having dinner because you’re too busy. And you’re too busy because you’ve substituted spin class and salsa for sex.”

“I would rather take a spin class than have sex with you.”

“Shouldn’t you have sex with me before you make that decision?” His smile widened and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Maybe you’re turning down the night of your life, Molly-with-no-second-name.”

“I have a last name. I just don’t choose to share it with you.”

“One meal.” His voice was wicked temptation. “And if you’re bored, I’ll never bother you again.”

Bored? No woman would ever be bored with him. But they’d be a lot of other things. Most of all they’d be vulnerable. There was no male weapon more lethal than dangerous charm. And this guy had it in spades. “No thanks.”

He gave her a long, searching look. “So who made you scared, Molly? Who made you choose spin class and salsa over sex?”