He glanced back at her, not wanting to spoil the surprise. "No. I just called ahead. They're getting our tickets for us." He didn't want to tell her that he had bought out all the tickets for a fifteen-minute period, so they would be alone on the observation deck. He wanted to see her face when they reached the top and it was just them and all of Manhattan below.

They went through security with everyone else, Allison grabbing his arm multiple times to point out something. She was a whirlwind of words.

"Look at that girl's shoes. Oh my G.o.d, I'm in love. Seriously, did you just see that mom roll her eyes at her three-year-old? I think that couple is drunk. Ooooh, I bet they're on a first date. Wait. What's this? This picture of how they built this is freaking me out. It doesn't look stable. Does that look stable to you?" She pointed to the prints framed on the wall in a series of photos detailing how the building went up.

"I think it's been standing here a long time, with a lot of people going in and out. I'm guessing we're okay." Her commentary amused him. She didn't require input, just an audience. She also didn't seem to notice how many girls in their teens and twenties had discreetly snapped pictures of him, doing the old selfie over the shoulder trick. He was very aware of it, but Allison was either choosing to ignore it, or she was oblivious. Given that she was highly observant from what he had seen, he was guessing she refused to acknowledge his fame. Which was fine with him.

"What do you know about engineering?" she scoffed.

"About as much as you do," he told her flatly. "Besides, you don't seem like you scare easily."

"You've never seen me in Walmart. That terrifies me."

"Is that what you want me to believe? That you're the bored rich girl who can't tolerate bad fashion?" If that was all there was to her, maybe he wasn't interested. He'd seen enough of that to last him a lifetime.

Allison looked taken aback. "It was a joke. And until today, I wasn't rich. I mean, I grew up comfortably and my parents paid for my education, but... I didn't mean..." She worried her lip. "Never mind. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I should go home." She turned, like she was going to leave.

Marco blocked her path. "Hey. I'm sorry. You don't need to go home. I was out of bounds. You can say whatever you want. I have no business judging either."

Allison moistened her bottom lip and her eyes narrowed. "What's your end game, Lucky? Why are we here?"

"We're just seeing New York." He leaned forward and he tucked a hair that had come loose from her ponytail back behind her ear. "And maybe we're going to get to know each other. Tell secrets." Eroding the remaining s.p.a.ce between them, he leaned down and murmured, "Share kisses."

So much for his vow to be nothing more than friendly.

Allison held her ground and his gaze. Her nostrils flared a little. "I'm not going to fall in bed with you because you use the same ch.o.r.eography on me you have on about three dozen girls before me."

"The ironic thing is, I haven't used these lines on anyone." He kissed her forehead, because it was close and he could. "And I really do mean I want to get to know you. You puzzle me."

"I'm not a sudoku. But I know what you mean. I feel the same way about you. I can't figure out what you're after, and I hate that. I'm guess I'm sudoku-ing you too. Ironic, huh? We're circling each other."

How had they both gotten like this? So suspicious.

Lately he'd been wondering what the h.e.l.l was the point of anything. His music had grown commercial and stale as it was processed and manipulated. He understood that his job was to deliver what people wanted, but he felt like he'd been a vehicle for other people's demands. He honestly wasn't sure anyone actually cared about him, Marco. That was a lowering thought. He'd spent a decade on his career and he had money and property and a fat bank account, but he didn't trust anyone to have his back, or with his deepest, most intimate thoughts.

That was what he'd thought to himself wandering New York. He had a sense of amazing awe that he'd seen and done so much, and yet he was seeing it alone. The world was a beautiful place, and he genuinely wanted to share that with someone. If that meant fifteen minutes at the top of the Empire State Building with a beautiful woman, then so be it. He was grateful.

"I'm just here for the view," he told her.

It was the truth.

Allison was suddenly afraid. Like the champagne buzz was gone and she was flat-out terrified, because she wanted to believe Marco. She wanted to trust that he had no agenda, that he was lonely, and bored, just like her. That they were two people who maybe had lost their way just a little, and wanted to find it again. That they could talk and laugh and part ways.

Yet she didn't trust that. Him. She couldn't. And that terrified her. She didn't want to be that person, beaten down and jaded by the city. She wanted to have faith in humanity. In herself.

She swallowed hard, not sure what to say. She couldn't be a smarta.s.s right now. She'd despise herself if she was. So she opened her mouth and forced herself to say one of the most honest things she'd uttered in months. "Me too. Thanks for coming with me, I appreciate it."

"Mr. Lucky, the elevator is ready for you."

Allison whirled to see a security guard had opened the roping creating the queue and was expecting Marco, and presumably her, to step through. "Are we line cutting?" she asked, feeling bad for everyone ahead of them. But then again, she was very aware Marco's presence was causing a stir. There had been nudging friends and selfie taking, though so far no one had approached him. Maybe the people in charge considered it a security risk if teen girls decided to lose their cool and start mobbing him.

"No, I called ahead." He held his arm out. "After you."

"Sure. Great." Tempted to turn and wave and give an apology speech to everyone else in line, she restrained herself, afraid she'd just look like a show-off. As it was, she was curious what the back of her b.u.t.t looked like on everyone's phone screen right now as they tried to capture pictures of Marco. Hopefully they were zooming and leaving her out of their shots.

G.o.d, she hadn't thought this much about the presentation of her a.s.s since the first time she'd had s.e.x doggy style. This was just as awkward.

When they got into the elevator, the guard and the elevator man smiled at her. "How are you this evening?" Elevator Operator asked.

"Great, thanks. How about yourself?"

"Can't complain."

See, that was what was wrong with her. She would find plenty to complain about being stuck in a box going up and down all night long. She was pretty sure the usual ride, with people pressed up against him, was hot and oppressive and not really one of those jobs that anyone would covet. Yet he looked cheerful, his smile genuine.

She sucked. That was the lesson here.

"Why are you frowning?" Marco asked. "Are you claustrophobic?"

"No." She shook her head. She wasn't going to complain that she was a complainer. How ironic and heinous would that be? Her stomach felt tight, and she couldn't believe that she was actually feeling melancholy on the night when she'd won the lottery. Who did that? Who stood on an elevator with a rock star and thought that she might actually cry? "My stomach feels weird. Maybe I drank too much champagne."

"We're almost there," Elevator Operator told her, his voice sympathetic. "Hang tight. Three seconds."

The security guard also looked like he understood where she was coming from, though she noticed he did shift away from her, presumably to save his shoes. Marco, however, reached out and took her hand, pulling her in closer to him.

"Hey, you're okay. Just focus on one spot on the wall."

"How about this zipper on your jacket instead?" she asked, a wave of dizziness accompanying the newly grown pit in her gut.

Marco laughed. "I don't think it matters what you focus on. Whatever works for you."

She homed in on his zipper, one hand squeezing his tightly, the only gripping the front of the leather jacket. She felt like she'd left her guts on the ground floor. Given that she'd never been afraid of heights or elevators, it was disconcerting. It was the booze. It had to be. Though honestly she hadn't drunk that much. Her three gla.s.ses was amateur night compared to what she'd been putting away back in college.

It wasn't the alcohol. She knew it wasn't. It was everything. Life. The lottery. Marco. What did she do next? She was out of excuses for why she failed.

"We're here," the elevator operator said, and yanked the gates open.

Wherever here was.

Trying to shake out the weird vibe she was experiencing, Allison strode across the few feet to the ramp leading them outside. The minute she stepped out onto the observation deck, her unexpected worries disappeared. It was beautiful. She hadn't even reached the edge and all she could see was twinkling lights as New York encircled them, like a sparkling quilt. It was eerily quiet, nothing but the wind whistling past the railings, and when she spoke, she automatically dropped her voice to a low tone, murmuring, "It's beautiful, Marco."

"It is, isn't it?" He sounded as stunned as she felt. Making his way to the edge, he looped his fingers through the chain link fencing. "It's endless. Nothing but lights and buildings everywhere. Can you believe there are people down there?"

"It seems impossible, doesn't it?" She moved in next to him, scanning, trying to get her bearings. "That's the Brooklyn Bridge." She pointed through the fence, which somehow made her feel like she was going to pitch right through the tiny hole. She instinctively jerked her hand back then laughed. "That was weird. I felt like I was falling forward."

"Perspective is off up here, isn't it?" Marco put his hands at his sides and rested his forehead on the fence. "Let go and see how it feels."

"Uh, no." She'd been dizzy enough on the elevator, she'd pa.s.s, thanks. She wasn't normally so tender, but she was going to respect that her nerves were strung tight tonight, and between the excitement and the champagne she seemed lightheaded. So be it. "I'm good standing up straight. Besides," she told him when he turned to her, "now you have grill marks on your head."

It made her laugh. The rock star with the dents on his skin was amusing. She reached out and rubbed them, hard, making his head rock back and forth.

"I don't think that's going to make them go away."

"Maybe I just want to shove you around," she teased.

"Now that I believe." Marco pulled her hand down and pretended to bite her fingers. "Come here, let's see what's on the other side."

"Shut your face, look, it's the Flatiron Building." Allison didn't bother to remove her hand from Marco's, and he didn't bother to let go.

They cruised around the whole observation deck, the night air making her nose go cold, the wind pulling hairs out of her ponytail. It made her feel alive, being up this high, just the two of them, yet knowing there were eight million people down below. The security guard was hovering discreetly in the doorway that returned to the elevator bank, and Allison fully appreciated what Marco had done. She tried to picture this with a hundred people, everyone jostling for fence s.p.a.ce, taking camera shots, shoving each other accidentally and sometimes intentionally. Her view would be obscured, at the very least, and it would be loud. This way, she got to fully appreciate the silence, something that happened so rarely in the city.

That had been the hardest adjustment when she'd arrived in New York, and she'd been in a fairly quiet neighborhood, comparatively speaking. But the constant sensory input, the sense that everyone and everything was coming at her, had been overwhelming. Sirens, cars, cabs, people. It had been hard to learn that the solitude she wanted would have to just be internal, because it didn't exist anywhere else.

Except for now. It was transcendent being up there.

"The air smells clean," she said. "No exhaust fumes, no fried foods."

"It smells like the night." Marco closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "And wind."

"I've never thought of those as having a scent, but I think you're right."

His eyes popped open. "Did you just admit I'm right? Wow, I think we're making progress." He squeezed her hand. "Maybe even becoming friends."

It was instinct to roll her eyes. But she resisted the urge. This wasn't the time or the place to have walls up, to hide behind sarcasm. "You're not so bad, Marco Lucky. Thank you for buying this out. It wouldn't be the same with a ton of people crowding us."

The look he gave her made her want things she couldn't have. He looked at her with naked desire, and maybe something akin to admiration. But she was done with wanting. She'd spent a decade moaning and lamenting and craving. Now she just wanted to live. So she slipped her hand from his, cupped his rough cheeks with her palms, and gave him a soft kiss. It was meant to be tender, appreciative. Not s.e.xual. She wasn't sure how long they had at the top, and as much as she wanted to make out with him, she wanted to savor the view more. Making out could happen anywhere, anytime.

When she stepped back, away from him, his smile was enigmatic, puzzled.

But then he turned and went back to the edge. "What happens if someone drops something, like their phone, by accident? Would it kill someone on the street?"

"Probably. But would it fall straight? It might land on one of these ledges." She gripped the fencing with both hands and stood on tiptoes, trying to see straight down. "Just don't drop your phone. I don't want to be responsible for calamity."

"Calamity? Someone got herself a fancy degree." Marco put his boot up on the fence. "What did you study in school?"

"Don't laugh." She hated this question.

"Why would I laugh?"

"I studied fashion design. And now I work at a boutique store for ten bucks an hour. That was money well spent. Not."

"Why didn't you go work at a fashion house?"

"Because you don't just go work at a fashion house. And I screwed up my one shot at an internship and didn't get the job. Now I'm just too old. n.o.body hires someone my age." She could have hustled more in the first few months after school, but she'd been so sure it would all just land in her lap. It was the naivete bred from nothing much ever going wrong in her life up to that point. She hadn't understood how the odds were stacked against her, and how creative and vehement and sometimes aggressive to the point of stabbing people in the back she would have had to be to get ahead.

"What are you, eighty-three?" Marco gave her a skeptical look.

"Twenty-seven. Which is eighty-three in fashion." She shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter. I guess every girl who comes to Manhattan wants to make it big, but there just aren't enough spots at the top. And oh my G.o.d, why are we being gloomy? This is supposed to be my time to celebrate." She honestly didn't know what the h.e.l.l was wrong with her. This was like the ninth time in two hours she'd gotten weird. She was on top of the world. Literally. So why was she suddenly running through every mistake and missed opportunity she'd made in her life?

"Race you to the binoculars," he suggested.

That she could do. She might not know what she was doing tomorrow, but this she could handle. Childish compet.i.tion was her forte. "Okay. One, two, three, go."

They both took off, and Allison realized she'd miscalculated what she could do in high-heel boots. Look s.e.xy? Check. Walk ten blocks? Sure. Sprinting at breakneck speed was not all that easy, and Marco beat her by at least four feet.

"Ha," he said. "I dusted you."

"It's not easy running in these," she said. "I also feel like I may have sprained my ankle."

His triumphant look turned to concern. He stepped toward her as she slowed to a limp. "Are you okay?"

She bolted past him and stuck her face up to the binoculars. "Sucker."

"You're evil, Allison."

He didn't sound angry, though. As she peered through the binoculars, not really sure what she was looking at, or rather, looking for, Marco crowded her personal s.p.a.ce from behind. If it was designed to make her uncomfortable and turned on, it was working. His arms came around either side of hers, and his legs did the same. He shifted her ponytail and nuzzled his lips into the back of her neck.

They'd reached neck nuzzling? Interesting. She wasn't sure when either of them had established what exactly they were doing, but what was becoming more and more bizarre and apparent was that it was like they'd skipped s.e.x. They had just glossed right over it and were acting like the morning after, with no night before. It was odd. But kind of nice. Cuddling without commitment. Or c.u.n.n.i.l.i.n.g.u.s. Though come to think of it, she wouldn't mind a little bit of them crossing the flesh-hold. What was a little oral s.e.x between friends?

She couldn't exactly even remember the last time she'd had s.e.x, and that was just ridiculous. But she was supposed to be resisting Marco so as to not be a notch on his headboard, though that conviction was melting away. "You're missing the view," she murmured, fighting the urge to sigh. His lips were warm on her skin and his body felt big, hard, behind her.

"You're hogging the binoculars."

"There are other pairs."

"But then I couldn't be with you."

She couldn't argue with that logic. "Okay, your turn. Since technically you did win."

He stepped aside to let her by and then did his own scan through the binoculars. "It's like New York in a snow globe. Minus the fake snow."

Allison laughed. "Oh my G.o.d, no snow yet, please. Though I have to say, there is nothing quite as beautiful as the city at Christmas. That's when I fall in love with New York all over again every year. Then by March the honeymoon is over. But then May rolls around and I think yeah, I'm in this relationship to stay, you know?"

Marco looked back at her. "I get that. I mostly live in LA. I do like that it's always the same weather-wise. It gives me a sense of stability when I get back home between all my traveling and touring." He nodded to the door. "We should probably go. The line needs to start moving again, I'm sure."

"Yeah, of course." She spun around slowly, taking in one last long look. "It was wonderful while it lasted-thanks, Marco Lucky."

"You're welcome, Allison... what is your last name?"

"Parker."

"Miss Parker." He smiled at her in a way that was so very, very dangerous. "Thank you for the pleasure of your company."

"Is this where we part ways?"

His body crowded hers. She stood her ground.

"Not unless you want to."