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confession. ‘I meant to shake things up when I moved here. New York was my chance to reinvent myself. I started, I bought new clothes and chopped off some of my hair and thought that would be enough. But I’m still the same. I don’t know how to talk to people any more, not when it doesn’t involve work or superficial stuff. I don’t...’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know how to make friends, how to have fun. Maybe this will help me loosen up. It’ll be a talking point if nothing else.’
    â€˜You want me to help you loosen up?’ Her pulse quickened at the velvet in his voice.
    â€˜Yes. No! Not you exactly. What I mean is that I need to try something different, to be different. Posing for you will be new, unexpected.’
    â€˜Okay. Let’s try this.’
    She hadn’t known how tightly she was wound waiting for his answer, how the world had fallen away until it was just the two of them, sharing an intimate space even though they were half a mile apart, until he agreed.
    â€˜Great.’ She inhaled a shaky breath. ‘So what now? Do you want me to come over and...?’ Her voice trailed off. How was she going to do it if she couldn’t even say it?
    The laughter in his voice confirmed he was probably thinking the same thing. ‘Not today. I think we need to warm up a little first. You, Hope McKenzie, have just admitted you need me to help you discover new things.’
    That wasn’t what she had said. Was it? Certainly not in the way she thought he was implying. ‘And you think you can do that for me, do you?’
    â€˜Maybe.’
    She didn’t have to see him to know that he was smiling. Anger rose, sharp, hot and a welcome antidote to the sudden intimacy—but she wasn’t entirely sure if she was more angry with Gael for his presumption or herself for laying herself open like that. ‘How very altruistic of you, and what’s in it for you? A better painting or the virtuous glow of helping poor, virginal Hope McKenzie? Sprinkle a little of your privileged, glamorous Upper East Side fairy dust on me and watch me transform? Well, Professor Higgins, this little flower girl doesn’t need your patronage, thank you very much.’
    â€˜Are you sure about that?’ Before she could respond Gael continued smoothly. ‘In that case why don’t we get started on planning this whirlwind wedding? Any venues you want to see?’
    Hope glared at the laptop as if it were to blame for her lack of possibilities. There was no way she wanted to admit she didn’t have one idea as yet. ‘Yes. Meet me...meet me on top of the Empire State Building in an hour and a half.’ Did they do weddings? It almost didn’t matter. It was iconic and it was a start.
    â€˜On top of the Empire State Building? How romantic. What a shame it isn’t Valentine’s Day. Am I Cary Grant or Tom Hanks in this scenario?’
    â€˜Neither, you’re not the hero. You’re the wisecracking friend who ends up handcuffed to a stripper on the stag night.’
    â€˜I must have missed that scene. Oh, well, there are worse things to be handcuffed to.’ And he hung up leaving Hope with a disturbing image involving Gael O’Connor, handcuffs and the red chaise longue. What was more disturbing was the swirl of excitement in her stomach at the very thought...
    * * *
    It was predictably busy at the top of the Empire State Building, the sun and the wind combining to make the walkway uncomfortable in the early afternoon heat, but none of the tourists seemed to be complaining, too busy taking selfies and pointing out landmarks to notice the conditions.
    And they would all be tourists. No self-respecting New Yorker would be up here at this time, during the height of the sightseeing buzz. In fact Gael couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot up here. It had probably been for a photo shoot—that was why he visited most