Chapter 7 - The Rooftop Chill
By 11:30 p.m., the sit-down was over. The contracts were redrawn, signed, and locked inside Larkin’s private vault bag.
Penelope walked out onto the private terrace overlooking Fifth Avenue. The cold winter air swept across her face, cooling her flushed cheeks and blowing her sharp espresso bob across her dark red lips.
She leaned her hands against the stone balustrade, looking out over the sea of yellow taxi lights stretching down the avenue toward Washington Square.
A heavy wool coat was draped gently over her bare shoulders.
She turned her head to see Larkin standing beside her, holding two fresh glasses of sparkling mineral water.
"You should be drinking champagne," Larkin said softly, handing her a glass. "You just forced the oldest syndicate head in Manhattan to rewrite his entire commercial structure."
Penelope took the glass, her dark eyes looking at the cold city skyline. "I simply read the ledgers, Mr. Steves."
"Stop calling me Mr. Steves," Larkin commanded gently, leaning his hip against the stone railing, his eyes watching her face with an intensity that made the cold wind feel like fire.
"We are still in public... Larkin," she said, testing his first name on her tongue for the first time.
"We are on a private terrace fifty feet above Fifth Avenue," Larkin murmured, stepping closer until his body blocked out the freezing wind. "There is no one here but you and me."
Penelope looked up into his slate-gray eyes.
"Why did you really come to the gala tonight, Penelope?" Larkin asked softly, his fingers reaching out to touch the heavy collar of his coat resting on her shoulder. "You knew Thomas was trying to set you up. You could have called in sick. You could have submitted your resignation."
Penelope looked down at her steel-tipped heels, a small, genuine smile touching her lips.
"Because I was tired, Larkin," she whispered.
"Tired of what?"
"Tired of pretending to be small," Penelope said, her brown eyes snapping back up to meet his, filled with a fierce, brilliant fire. "I spent five years hiding from a corrupt family estate that wanted to lock me in an arrangement I didn't choose. I hid behind gray trousers and oversized blouses because I thought safety meant being invisible."
She took a step closer to him, her black silk dress whispering against his dark trousers.
"Tonight, I decided that if I am going to be in a room full of wolves... I would rather be the hunter than the sheep."
Larkin’s breath hitched in his throat.
May you like
He reached out, his broad hand wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. His fingers pressed into the heavy silk at her back, feeling the warm, rapid beat of her heart through the fabric.
"You were never a sheep, Penelope," Larkin whispered against her lips, his voice thick with raw, undisguised hunger. "You were just waiting for a stage big enough for your war."
