New York Billionaires Series

“Thank you,” I say. “He did say I was wasting my time at Opate Match, and working for my aunt.”

Anthony gives a low snort of derision. “Of course you’re not. It’s a well-paying job and the company is well-regarded. Give it a year and it’ll be a much larger operation, too. Not to mention you’re great at what you do.”

Every single one of his words lights up something in me. Tugs at my lips until I have to grin. “Never thought I’d see the day,” I say, “when Anthony Winter defends Opate.”

There’s a low scraping across the floor as he pushes the chair back and joins me by the counter. He holds the bowl as I drain the pasta into it, and we both watch as I add the sauce, combining the two into a mouthwatering dish.

“I don’t have to believe in love,” he says, “to respect the fact that you do.”

Something lodges in my throat and I nod, keeping my eyes on his strong, tanned hands. Wanting to reach out and slide my fingers through his.

We grab plates and the food and head out onto the patio. Ace joins us and Anthony uncorks a wine bottle, pouring us a glass each.

“Thanks for not gloating,” I say.

“About what?”

“I didn’t get you love by the end of three dates. I know, I technically lost the bet.”

He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I never expected you to.”

“Ouch.”

Anthony rolls his eyes. “Not like that. Like I told you, dating just isn’t for me.”

“I know. But anyway, thanks for not rubbing it in my face. My one and biggest failure.”

He snorts and takes another bite of his pasta, his hair nearly ink-black beneath the evening sun. A sliver of tanned skin and dark chest hair peeks out from the V of his button-down.NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

“Like I said, Summer, you should embrace mediocrity.”

“I can’t,” I say. “Not when you’ve invited me to a house that’s practically the Garden of Eden come to life. How will I ever be able to settle for anything less?”

“Your apartment doesn’t have a lot of room for an infinity pool,” he points out.

“No, nor does it have an ocean view.”

He clears his throat. “I called the windsurfing company earlier.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” he says. “They can give you a private two-hour session tomorrow. Would you like that?”

My fork and knife drop to the plate with a clatter. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious, if you’d like to.” But judging from the way he leans back in his chair with that half-smile on his face, he can already read the excitement on mine.

“Of course I want to! Where is it? Are you trying it too?”

He shakes his head. “No, this one is all yours. It’s a beach close to here. We’ll drive there.”

“Windsurfing,” I murmur, looking down at my plate. It had been an impulsive addition to the bucket list. The one I’d written two weeks after I cut Robin out of my life. A way to reclaim myself and my goals and interests. To promise myself to push the boundaries.

Windsurfing had been a crazy, wild, totally unlike me suggestion. I was raised inland. But here it was, coming true.

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“Yes, because I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this. I might be awful at it.”

“If you’ve never tried before, you probably will be,” he says. “All beginners are.”

“That’s true. Nothing to worry about then.”

“The instructors are professionals. They’ve seen hundreds of beginners before.”

I eat in stunned silence, contemplating my luck. The man in front of me. The weekend plans I have to look forward to. Anthony looks at me every now and then, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

At this point, I’m not surprised if he does.

The night is warm, but the breeze coming in from the ocean has more than a little freshness to it. Goose bumps rise across the bare skin of my arms.

Anthony notices. He reaches into a woven basket behind the patio door, pulling out a bundled blanket. “The decorator put them here for this very purpose.”

“Thanks.” I sweep it around my shoulders. “I suppose we have an early morning tomorrow, then. Windsurfing and all.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who usually sleeps in, regardless.”

I shake my head. “Not usually, no.”

He sighs and rises to his feet. I follow suit, running a hand through my hair. It’s dried in a mess of disobedient curls, impossible to tame.

He reaches out, catching a blonde lock between two fingers. “Summer,” he says.

“Sing in the shower every day you’re here.”

My hands curl around the edge of the blanket and I sway on my feet. Reach up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips.

He doesn’t respond.

I fall back on my feet and take a step toward the open patio door. Embarrassment makes my cheeks burn. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… sorry.”

He catches my wrist and tugs me against him, tipping my head back and slanting his mouth over mine.

Anthony doesn’t kiss me like it’s our first time.

He kisses me like he already knows how I taste and is addicted to it. Like I might disappear at any moment.

It takes my breath away.