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  Thank you for making room for me on your bookshelf or your ereader.

  USA TODAY bestselling author Sarah Morgan brings you From Manhattan with Love, a sparkling new trilogy about three best friends embracing life—and love—in New York.

  If you loved Paige’s story in Sleepless in Manhattan, then don’t miss the rest of the stories in this fabulous, fun and flirty series!

  In the chaos of New York, true love can be hard to find, even when it’s been right under your nose all along. Don’t miss Frankie’s story in Sunset in Central Park.

  It will take a Christmas miracle for two very different souls to find each other in this perfectly festive fairy tale of New York! Find out what’s in store for hopeless romantic Eva Jordan in Miracle on 5th Avenue.

  And see where it all begins in this enchanting novella:

  Midnight at Tiffany’s

  Order your copies today!

  “Morgan’s brilliant talent never ceases to amaze.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  www.SarahMorgan.com

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  Sunset in Central Park

  by Sarah Morgan

  “WHEN DID YOU last go on a date?”

  “Me? Oh...” She hesitated, knowing that her answer wasn’t going to paint a picture of her as the epitome of urban sophistication. “Well—I don’t know—I’ve been busy—I don’t date that much.” What was the point in lying when he already knew she wasn’t a party animal? Her shoulders slumped. “When I date I almost always regret it, so I’m just as happy spending the evening thinking about plants.”

  He removed his sunglasses slowly. “Why do you regret it?”

  His eyes were the most incredible blue—warm, interested...and focused on her.

  She felt as if her insides were slowly melting. “I’m not good at it.”

  “It’s a date. The only requirement is to spend time with someone. How can you not be ‘good’ at it?”

  The fact that he’d even asked her that question revealed the massive gulf in their life experience and expectations, as well as how little he knew about her dating history. And how little he seemed to understand her hang-ups despite the whole glasses incident. And why would he? Matt was confident and self-assured. Dating was unlikely to be something that made him consider therapy.

  “It’s pressure,” she tried to explain. “Will you like them and will they like you? Do you have to be more this or less that? Dating a stranger is pretty fake, isn’t it? People project an image. You see what they want you to see and they often hide who they really are. It’s like going out with a mask on. I don’t have the energy for it.”

  It was an understatement. She found it monumentally stressful—which was why she’d cut it out of her life.

  “How about going out and being yourself? Does that ever happen?”

  “That doesn’t usually work.”

  “How can being yourself not work?”

  She was acutely conscious of the people working around them and wondered how the conversation had blended so seamlessly from talk of buds and blooms to her own phobias. And it wasn’t just the conversation that unsettled her. It was the way he focused on her with that lazy, sexy gaze—as if she was the only person on the roof. In New York City. In the world.

  She’d always felt safe with Matt, but suddenly she didn’t feel safe. She was trying to stay safely in her comfort zone and he seemed determined to nudge her out of it. Which wasn’t like him.

  She was filled with a whole bunch of feelings she didn’t recognize and had no idea what to do with. Her body hummed with awareness and breathless anticipation—although what she was anticipating, she had no idea.

  “I don’t expect you to understand. When you’re with a woman it’s probably very simple.”

  She was about to change the subject when he lifted his hand and pushed her hair back from her face. She felt the rough pads of his fingertips brush gently against her skin and started to tremble.

  “When I’m with a woman,” he said softly, “I want her to be herself. If someone isn’t interested in who you really are, or in showing you who they really are, you’re probably wasting your time dating them.”

  He let his hand drop but the trembling didn’t stop. It was as if he’d hit a trigger point—switched something on inside her. She saw his face through a blur of sunlight and the feverish patterns created by her own brain.

  When I’m with a woman...

  All she could think was, Lucky woman. Lucky, lucky woman.

  The atmosphere was electric, and she felt a strange rush of awareness brush across her skin. Her heart was pounding so hard she expected his entire crew to pick up the rhythm.

  “Are you seeing someone at the moment?”

  Why, oh, why had she asked him that question? She didn’t want to know. She truly didn’t want to know. She rubbed her hands over her arms, wondering how she could have goose bumps when it was so hot.

  “I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “There’s no one who interests you?”

  “There is someone who interests me a great deal.”

  “Oh.” Frankie felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. “Well, that’s...exciting.”

  Not in a million years would she have expected his announcement to bother her as much as it did. Misery descended like a thick winter mist, smothering her good mood. Excitement was doused like a flame.

  She wished she hadn’t asked, but at the same time she was glad she had—because at least it would stop her thinking dreamy thoughts and having anxious moments worrying that their relationship might be changing.

  That comment about her having beautiful eyes had been just that—a comment.

  For some men dating was virtually a hobby, but Matt was different. Matt, she knew, wasn’t the sort of man to sleep his way through the female population just because he could. Nor was he the sort of man who needed a woman on his arm to inflate his ego. If he was interested in someone then she must be special.

  Her ribs ached with the acid burn of jealousy.

  She saw a brief vision of the future...of evenings spent on the roof terrace with Matt and his girlfriend entwined together on one of the low cushions.

  “I’m happy for you.” She said the words even though she didn’t mean them. “That’s great.”

  What sort of woman had caught his attention? She’d be beautiful—obviously. Smart. That went without saying. And sexually confident. Someone who would definitely know how to flirt when the situation called for it.

  Not the sort of woman who wore glasses when she didn’t need them.

  “It’s not great. It’s complicated.”

  Frankie had no idea what to say to that. She felt horribly inadequate. She was the last person to give anyone advice on relationships.

  “Relationships are always complicated. That’s why I don’t bother. I have no idea what a normal, healthy relationship looks like. It’s nothing I’ve ever seen. And there I go again—being the rain cloud on someone’s patch of sunshine. Ignore me. If you want advice, talk to Eva. When it comes to love, she has all the answers. And she believes in it, which helps.”

  “I don’t want to talk to Eva.”

  Was he saying that he wanted to talk to her?

  She was trapped between wanting to escape and wanting to be a good friend.

  She had absolutely nothing of use to say on the subject of love, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t listen. This was Matt. Matt who had given her a lovely home for years.

  “I can’t give advice, but I can listen if you want to talk.”

  And if she turned green with envy at least she’d match the plants.

  “You’d do that?” There was a hint
of humor in his voice. “Even though dating is your least favorite subject?”

  “I don’t want some woman messing you around. I like you.” She felt color flood her cheeks. She shouldn’t have said that. “We’re friends. Of course I like you. If you want to talk—talk. Tell me about this woman you’re interested in. She must be pretty special if you like her.”

  “She is.”

  His words added another bruise to the many that were accumulating.

  “Why is it complicated? I assume she’s not married or still at school?” Seeing him raise an eyebrow, she blushed and shook her head in apology. “Sorry. This is why you shouldn’t be talking to me. When it comes to love, my every thought is warped. So what’s the problem? Just tell her straight out. Or are you afraid she isn’t interested?”

  “She’s interested.”

  “Well, of course she is!” Envy made her irritable. “She’d have to be crazy not to be interested. You’re the whole package, Matt—the three Ss, as Eva calls it.”

  “The three Ss?”

  “Single, sane and s—” She’d been about to say sexy, but she suddenly realized how easily that might be misinterpreted. If he knew she found him sexy she’d never be able to look him in the eye again, and that was already hard enough after the whole glasses incident. “Solvent,” she muttered. “You’re solvent.”

  “Single, sane and solvent?” There was amusement in his tone. “That’s all it takes? That doesn’t sound like a very high bar.”

  “In Manhattan, you’d be surprised,” Frankie said darkly. “All I’m saying is, if you’re interested in someone there shouldn’t be a problem. A million women would jump at the thought of having you in their lives.”

  There was a pause as he scanned the skyline. “The problem is that I don’t want a million women—I want her,” he said. “And she’s scared of relationships. She’s not good at trusting, so I’m taking it slowly.”

  Something in his tone made her glance at him sharply, but he’d slid the sunglasses back onto his nose and she could no longer see his eyes.

  Frankie frowned, confused.

  Surely he wasn’t saying...?

  He didn’t mean...?

  Crap.

  A delicious, terrifying excitement ripped through her. She went from envy to euphoria. She was filled with an equal amount of joy and heat. Matt was interested in her. Her. She was the woman. The thought made her dizzy with elation. Her palms felt sticky and her heart pounded like the drums in a rock band.

  And then it dawned on her that if he knew she was interested, and he was also interested, the next logical step would be to take things to the next level. That would be what he was expecting. That was what normal people did, wasn’t it? That was the reason he was telling her how he felt. And if they took things to the next level...

  Reality poked its way through the joy, puncturing her elation like a needle pressed against a child’s balloon.

  Elation gave way to pure panic.

  “On second thought, forget it. You want to stay away from—from relationships that are c-complicated.” She was stammering, tripping over her words. Stay away from me. “Too much trouble. Seriously, Matt, don’t go there.”

  Admiring someone from a safe distance was one thing. When you thought that they weren’t interested and that it could never go anywhere it was a safe hobby. But this—this was different. It was like admiring a dangerous tiger in a zoo and suddenly realizing that someone had removed the glass between you. There was nothing stopping him coming close.

  Up until this moment she’d had no inkling that he was interested in her, but now she knew that he was it changed everything.

  It made the impossible possible, and she found the possible terrifying.

  “I’ve never been afraid of complicated, Frankie. I’ve never been the kind of guy who thinks something worth having has to be easy to get.”

  “Well, you should be afraid.” Breathe, Frankie. In and out. In and out. “Complicated is bad. If it’s complicated, maybe you should rethink. You deserve to find someone special. A nice, dependable, uncomplicated, sweet girl who isn’t going to mess you around.”

  She articulated each word carefully, her tone transmitting the message: And that’s not me.

  “Frankie—”

  “And talking of working on a plan—that’s what I’m doing now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  She stepped back from him, tripped over a bag of cement, and virtually sprinted towards the stairs that led from the roof to the top floor of the house.

  No way was she going to let this go any further. Not just because she believed that all relationships were doomed, but because it would be impossible to get closer to Matt without him discovering all the things about herself she made a point of keeping secret.

  Because he knew about the glasses, he thought he knew her. What he didn’t know was that the glasses were just the tip of the iceberg...

  Copyright © 2016 by Sarah Morgan

  ISBN-13: 9781459294080

  Sleepless in Manhattan

  Copyright © 2016 by Sarah Morgan

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