Page 62 of Manhattan Heart

“Sweetheart, thirty is nothing, still a baby yet. You could be forty-five.”

My scowl is horrified and if I didn’t love him so much, I might have ripped out his pretty boy long lashes for that insult.

“You look amazing at forty-five. So shut your gorgeous mouth.”

He smirks and kisses my shoulder. “Tell me what you want, because I know you have a mental shopping list. My girl loves things.”

He makes out like I’m a materialistic bitch… oh wait… okay, fine, I like things, but I’m not greedy and I’m not the typical sugar baby.

If Gray spoils me, it’s with food, always a winner. Or new sportswear, which I adore. Or spa days. Shoes too. But those are as necessary to me as breathing.

“I just want a quiet night, you and me and the pups. Maybe popcorn and a cheesy horror movie.”

He half smiles as I run fingers through his messy bed hair.

He’s so handsome that it takes my breath sometimes that he belongs to me.

“Okay, that we can do.”

He pulls me around and into the curve of his right arm, my legs over his lap. It’s been weeks since he’s been able to hold me like this. I always feel small and dainty andloved.

“Are you really worried about your birthday or having an India moment?”

That means he thinks I’m being a drama queen. The little shit.

I tug on the front of his hair and huff an undignified expel of air. “It’s a scary number. I don’t want to be middle-aged.”

He snorts and buries his face in the side of my neck. His voice comes out husky and amused. “I don’t think whatever age you are, that you’ll be middle aged, baby. You are timeless.”

“Will you love me when I’m 3…0?”

I stare into his gunmetal eyes and watch them crinkle with mirth at the corners. It’s incredibly unfair to the men of the world how scrumptious this man of mine ages.

I’ve seen pictures of him in his teens and early twenties.

I would have done him, that’s for damn sure, he is classically beautiful, but Gray today, the way he’s aged, makes my stomach knot.

I’m completely attracted to the man he is.

The sexy beast ages like malt liquor. Smooth and silky in the mouth.

“Are you going to trade me in for a younger sugar baby?” I tease the corner of his lip with my fingertip. I know he loves being touched in any way, my Gray is a tactile monster because I feel a tremble go through his chest.

Five weeks is a horrible amount of time to not have had my man inside me.

I haven’t taken the edge off myself either and I used to love a little one-on-one time.

“It’s taken me four years to tame you,” he rasps. “I don’t want to start all over again.”

To some extent he’s right.

I was wild and broken when we met.

“Just as well. A cat fight at aged thirty, I might break a hip.”

Gray bursts out laughing and I’m in the middle of smiling, enjoying the rusty sound with my eyes closed, contemplating a tiny nap right here when I feel his hand move down my stomach and it doesn’t stop there.

Oh, no, it does not.

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