He didn't look like someone who should be
alone.
Was she simply projecting? Her friends often
accused her of seeing good where there was none, but that was a
hazard of her job. To be an effective middle school teacher, one
had to see beyond the bravado. Abby taught English to non-native
speakers, so she was often employed in the toughest schools in the
city. She was used to defusing misdirected anger. Profanity was a
cry for help. Harsh words often hid fear. Her patience paid off.
Students returned, year after year, to thank her for believing in
them. For some, she knew she’d been the only one who had. But this
wasn’t her classroom and, in reality, she had no idea who this man
was.
She could almost hear Lil’s voice telling her
that some things were simply not her business and she’d be right.
This man wouldn’t welcome her nurturing any more than her sister
did, but that didn’t stop Abby’s heart from going out to him.
She put the sheets on a table on one side of
the hallway and said, “There are fresh towels upstairs. Why don't
you go take a shower and I'll get some basic groceries from the
corner store for you.”
His back straightened and she caught her
breath, reeling from the full impact of his attention. God, he’s
beautiful. His dark gray eyes raked over her, flashing with
irritation and then something else. He cut the distance between
them in a few short strides. A hint of alcohol reached her as he
stopped mere inches from her. She tipped her head back to look up
at him.
“Did Jake send you?” he asked as he assessed
her. “You don't look like a model.”
She blinked a few times in surprise as some
of her sympathy for him faded. “And you don't smell like a man who
should be wearing an Armani, but I wasn't going to mention it,” she
answered in a huff.
Her words stirred something in him; his
shoulders squared and his eyes narrowed. This was a man who was not
accustomed to people speaking back to him, but if he was trying to
intimidate her, his nearness was creating the entirely wrong
reaction in her body. Even in his rumpled suit, or maybe because of
it, he was the sexiest man she'd ever seen in person. Men like this
existed only on the large screen or in novels. She wanted to reach
up and run a hand over the rough stubble on his cheek.
“I didn't say you were unattractive,” he
growled. “You're just not reed thin like the women I'm used
to.”
That’s it
. She put her hands on her
hips and raised her eyebrows in a silent challenge.
Time suspended as their standoff continued.
His look of annoyance was steeped with an expectation that she
should try to appease him in some way. She simply met his glare
with her own, giving him time to replay his choice of words in his
mind. He looked away first, a slight flush reddening his neck
“Ok, that came out wrong.” He ran a
frustrated hand through his thick black hair, leaving it slightly
awry and sexier ...if that were even possible. He was already a
twelve or thirteen on her one to ten scale, even after she deducted
a few points for lack of social skills. A glint of fascination lit
his dark eyes as something occurred to him. “Did you just tell me
that I stink?”
There was nothing tired about the way he
leaned down until their lips almost touched. The scent of him mixed
with the dash of liquor and the combination was heady. He was all
male, untamed and interested in more than her answer to his
question. No man had ever looked at her with such intensity. His
sexual energy demanded a response that her body seemed all too
willing to deliver.
Abby fought down the urge to close the short
distance between them. She’d lost too much to believe in anything
that felt this good. She took a half a step back and raised a
placating hand. “I wasn’t quite that harsh.”
The corners of his mouth twitched in
amusement. “Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked, somehow
making the question sound more curious than pompous.
Perhaps his tragedy had brought him a bit of
notoriety, but Abby wasn't one to watch much TV and, as usual, Lil
had given her just the information she absolutely needed in a
brief, stilted conversation that typified how strained their
relationship had become.
“I'm hoping you're the man who owns this
brownstone, otherwise I'm going to get in trouble for letting you
in,” she said with some forced humor.
He didn't laugh. “You really don’t know, do
you?” His question sounded oddly hopeful.
Abby shrugged, but the hairs on the back of
her neck tingled. What kind of man was relieved to not be
recognized?
A criminal.
Crap.
Nice clothes meant nothing. His suit might
have become disheveled during a tussle with the actual owner of it.
She shook her head at the thought. “You do own the place, don't
you?”
At his lack of a response, she scanned the
area for something to toss at him if she needed to dash for the
door. The closest object was a large, brass lamp. If he made any
fast moves…
All coherent thought fled when he smiled down
at her while lightly running his hands up both of her arms. “Yes,
I’m the owner.”
Her heart really shouldn't be pounding in her
chest just because the man was preparing to restrain her if she
attacked him with deadly, brass force. It wasn't like she'd never
been near a man before, but even her prior intimate relationships
had been cautious endeavors. No man had ever brought to mind the
words carnal abandon like this one did. When he looked at her, no
one and nothing else existed.
“Before you clock me, would you like to see
my license?” he asked while his thumb traced the edge of her collar
bone rhythmically. Hypnotically. “Would you?” he prompted in
response to her silence.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly, unable to
concentrate on anything beyond the way her body was responding to
his touch. Her skin burned beneath his light caress. Her stomach
quivered with an anticipation she had previously only read about.
Yes, to whatever you’re asking.
Her state of arousal was not lost on the man
towering above her and the answering pleasure in his eyes shook her
out of her daze. She stepped back, away from his touch and gave
herself a mental shake. This kind of passion had no place in the
life she’d built for herself. “I mean no. No, I believe you. You
were right. I should go. I can finish everything tomorrow.”
His lids lowered slightly, making his
expression unreadable.
“Do you know what I'm thinking?” he
asked.
Unless he was also imagining the two of them
naked, rolling around on the thick area rug in the living room, she
was pretty much stumped. “No,” she croaked.
“I'm starving and I hate to eat alone. I'd be
grateful if you joined me for a meal.”
That wouldn't be wise.
There were at
least a hundred, maybe a thousand, reasons why she should leave now
before she made a fool out of herself. Yet, she was tempted.
It was more than the athletic span his
shoulders, more than the strong line of his jaw. She couldn’t even
blame the sadness in his eyes, because the exhausted man of earlier
had been replaced by a virile male who knew exactly how to get what
he wanted – and right now he wanted her.
Every sensible cell in her body urged her to
turn tail and run, but wasn’t that what she always did when life
offered her something she considered too good to be true? She chose
safety and certainty over less reliable dreams and desires.
Just this once she wanted to sample what
she’d been missing. Just this once she wouldn’t run.
Well, not immediately, anyway.
She’d share a meal with the near god before
her, enjoy the way he made her skin tingle with just a look, and
leave before anything happened. He wouldn’t have to eat alone and
she could have an hour or so of pretending any of this was
real.
“Any problems with Chinese?” she asked as she
mentally reviewed the local places she knew would deliver.
The question seemed to jolt him. “Chinese
what?”
“Food?” she added helpfully.
“Oh,” he visibly relaxed, “takeout.”
“Yes, there is a good place right around the
corner that I know delivers -- unless you’d like me to try to find
something else.”
“No.” He shook his head at some private joke.
“Sorry, for a minute there I forgot.” Hands in his pockets, he
rocked back on his heels, still looking highly amused by his
thoughts.
“Forgot what?” she couldn’t help but ask.
With unexpected tenderness, he slid one of
her wayward curls behind her ear. “That you’re exactly what I
need.” Before she could catch her breath, he stepped back and
handed her far too much money, no matter what she ordered. “Order
some food while I take a shower.” His knock ‘em dead sex appeal
returned as he chuckled and sauntered away, tossing over his
shoulder, “I’ve heard I need one.”
Abby fanned her red face with the bills as
she watched him climb the stairs two at a time. Not quite shaking
herself free of the mental image of Mr. Armani naked beneath the
steamy spray of the shower, Abby went in search of her purse and
cell phone.
A man that sexy is just trouble.
Luckily it was highly unlikely that she would
ever see him again after today. They would share one quick meal and
then she’d head back to Lil and reality.
Back to the quiet, predictable life she’d
built for herself.
That thought held less appeal than usual.
Chapter Three
The hot shower he'd taken in a bathroom that
could easily have fit into one of the closets at any number of his
other homes, had been invigorating and brief. As he toweled dry, he
fought off teenage-like excitement. His blood surged each time he
wondered what his housekeeper was doing...and that was about every
ten seconds or so.
She wasn't the magazine cover type; he
groaned as he remembered that he'd told her as much.
Real
smooth.
He could attribute some of his uncouthness to fatigue,
but he suspected that it had more to do with the way she filled out
her jeans.
She was lushly rounded in the places women
were meant to be rounded. Her light complexion, devoid of makeup,
was sprinkled with freckles and those simple brown curls, which had
escaped her attempt to bind them back, added to the guilelessness
of her image. Nothing about her should have floored him, but when
she'd pinned him down with those dark amber eyes, he'd almost
stopped breathing.
She looked innocent and wholesome, exactly
the kind of woman he normally avoided. Not too innocent, though, if
the fire that leapt into her eyes at his approach was any
indication.
Would she stay the night or leave while he
was freshening up? The uncertainty was a novel and somewhat
unpleasant experience for him. He ran an impatient comb through his
hair, threw on khaki slacks, a white cotton button down shirt, and
forced himself to walk calmly rather than bolt back downstairs to
check if she was still there.
He knew he was attractive, but it had been a
long time since a woman had looked through his reputation and his
wealth and seen him. Not only had his housekeeper been unimpressed
by his expensive clothing; she'd actually taken him to task for his
behavior. Outside of Jake's recent outburst, he couldn't remember
the last person who had.
And he liked it.
The woman downstairs either had no idea who
he was or she was using this pretense to heighten his interest in
her. Either way, it was working.
He forced himself to take the stairs one at a
time. Tonight was not about rushing. No, he intended to savor every
moment and every inch of his pony-tailed brunette.
She was kneeling on a cushion next to his old
marble coffee table, opening take-out containers. At his approach,
she looked up and for a moment appeared to reconsider her decision
to stay. She stood quickly, but held her ground as he came to a
deliberately close stop.
Damn, she smelled good.
Her eyes widened and darkened, exactly as he
had predicted they would. He hoped her acquiescence wouldn't come
too easily. It was probably nothing more than the thrill of a good
chase that had him feeling alive for the first time in days.
However, with little or no effort, this woman had done what an
entire bottle of Jack Daniels had failed to do the night before;
she'd silenced the questions that had been thrashing around his
head relentlessly.
She pointed toward the informal meal before
them. “Is this ok?”
The table was set with two glasses of water
and the paper plates the restaurant had sent. He spoke before he
weighed his words. “I don't think I've ever eaten on the
floor.”
She turned away and started to gather the
boxes. “I thought so. A man like you would want to eat at the
dining room table. I can move...”
He grabbed her arm to stop her from
retrieving another container from the coffee table. “I didn't say I
wouldn't like it. I just said I hadn't done it.” Touching her felt
good, too good. He slowly released her arm and took the boxes from
her, replacing them on the table. “Sit,” he ordered.
Her eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Do people
always do what you tell them to?” she asked without sitting.
“Usually,” he answered with an unrepentant,
wide grin.
Fire flashed in those amber eyes. “I’m not
sure I like you.”
A jab of excitement shot through him. “I'm
not sure you have to.”
Their eyes met and there was no hiding the
attraction sizzling between them. She looked away first, busying
herself by settling back onto her cushion and carefully opening a
pair of chopsticks. He knelt on his own cushion without taking his
eyes off her. When she reached for one of the boxes, an odd
anticipation filled him. He knew next to nothing about her, but her
preferences mattered to him.