She leaned back against her door, glad it was behind her and able to take the bulk of her weight. But it made the temptation to part her legs all the more irresistible. Because the look in his eyes told her, captured her, swayed her.
He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him. She was going to let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do with her. She was one of the millions and she didn’t give a damn.
The elevator pinged. The door opened, expelling more people. His fingers tightened on hers. Suddenly he frowned—at the interruption?
But he didn’t look to the too-loud residents. Instead he looked down—staring hard at her hand. Then she felt the way her fingers were pressed together by his. Metal pressed into her skin—hurting. Her ring. The white gold ring with the solitaire in the center. The one she hadn’t been able to bring herself to remove in the two years since she’d been given it. The two years since the accident that had ended all their plans.
No mistaking what kind of ring it was. She swallowed. She should explain.
“I.. um…” She pulled her hand free. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t talk about it. Nor could she pull off any real kind of flirt. Better to escape. “My keys are up by the pool,” she said quickly. “I left my bag up there.”
“I’ll go get them.” He offered instantly, but his expression had shuttered. He stepped back.
“No, I can do it.” She straightened up. “I can get them myself.” She’d have to get past the guys at the desk to get to the pool again, but they’d do it for her. They’d been kind to her before and she was sure they’d be okay with it.
“Of course.” He stood still, glanced again at her ring, his muscles tense.
She walked past him, her limp worse than ever. Belatedly she turned, determined to be polite despite the ferocious chill that was emanating from him now. “Thank you.”
“Any time.”
He still sounded like he meant it.
But he didn’t sound pleased.
Chapter Three
One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.
Xander pounded his feet in time with his counts but still couldn’t lose himself in the rhythm and relax mindlessly into the zone. His brain churned in a tight circle.
The new occupant of unit 1605 had been genuinely scared when he’d found her stuck in the stairwell like a headlights-hit bunny. Her pallor, the fear in her eyes had been too much for a little unexpected fire drill. But she’d gotten distracted—he’d seen to that. To the point that she’d touched him. Then the fear had flashed back. As if she’d thought she shouldn’t have reached out. Well course she’d shouldn’t. Not with that giant rock on her finger.
The fucking engagement ring.
What the hell was she doing coloring up around him, her body responding so swiftly when she was engaged? It hadn’t been the chill tightening her nipples, it had been arousal. The look in her eyes had been pure sexual yearning and he—
“Tell us about the tee-shirt girl.” Hunter interrupted his thoughts with a goading challenge.
“Nothing to tell.” He pushed his pace a little faster, but his buddies easily stretched it out, keeping up with him.
“What tee-shirt?” Rocco asked.
“His Ski Summerhill one. You know. The one from last millennia,” Hunter explained. “Some leggy brunette was wearing that and nothing else during the fire alarm last night.”
“You let a chick hijack your favorite tee-shirt?” Logan laughed. “There’s plenty to tell.”
“There’s nothing. She was swimming in the pool when the fire alarm went off.” He frowned. He shouldn’t have asked for his shirt back. Then he’d have reason to knock on her door again.
“After midnight?” Rocco asked.
“You mean that paddling pool,” Logan snorted.
“It’s not that small. There are very few apartment buildings with rooftop pools in the city, you know.” Xander answered smartly, happy to veer the conversation away from her.
“If you were in my building you’d have a massive lap pool in the basement.” Rocco drawled.
“I loathe indoor pools,” Xander bit back. “Especially ones locked underground.”
“Your loss. I like the mirrors and the white, white tiles of my modernist masterpiece,” Rocco said smugly, deliberately thickening his accent.
“Of course you like the mirrors, you’re a vain perv.” Xander growled.
“So she was swimming at night and filling out her swimsuit nice and tight, right?”
Damn Logan, he’d always been persistent.
“And you made a move?” Logan added.
“Shall we take this to the ring so I can beat the bullshit out of you?”
Xander heard the astonished bark of laughter from his cousin. Yeah, violence wasn’t his thing and they all knew it. But he could do with some kind of fierce workout today—too much aggression was surging through his veins.
“Why the ring? Why not here?”
That’d be right. Hunter was always willing to take up a one-on-one violent challenge.
“What’s her name?” Logan took them back to the topic again.
Xander damn well didn’t know. And he itched to know everything. It wouldn’t be hard to find out some. He’d installed the security systems of their apartment complex. He could access the files of everyone in the building if he wanted to. He’d get name, references, some details. But that didn’t make it right. Spying wasn’t his thing. Certainly not stalking.
So he’d stand down. Plenty of other women in the city to have the easy come, easy go kind of fun he liked. If Blue-eyes was taken, she was taken. He didn’t steal. He’d given that up years ago.
But she’d bothered him the whole damn night. As far as he was concerned she was the biggest temptation ever with her hot body, her sweet but sarcastic lips and her big eyes that reflected a contrary mix of desire and independence. He’d experienced one-look-lust plenty of times. But he’d never felt it so strong. Pure allure. And it had been powerfully reciprocated. She’d wanted him to touch—wanted to touch in return—but she shouldn’t have. He’d tossed and turned all night with a cripplingly painful hard-on. So yeah, he was feeling pissy this morning. Furious with her. And himself.
“You didn’t get what you wanted?” Hunter sounded surprised.
“That’s why he’s thumping the pavement like he’s out for a fight.” Logan laughed.
“Frustration.” Nodded Rocco. “Blue balls hurting?”
“Fuck off.” Xander pushed his pace faster.
“Come on Xan, you know you like a challenge.” Hunter again.
Yeah. And there was the problem. Because part of Xander liked to play with fire. And everything about that new tenant was fire.
It was only 6 a.m. but Chelsea had to escape her small apartment. She’d thought the single bedroom and small lounge were plenty big enough for her. But not this morning. She felt like a hamster without the wheel to burn the calories—bored and bursting with energy. And while the building had the amenities she wanted—specifically that outdoor pool—she wasn’t up to that yet. Heat rippled through her body as, for the five thousandth time, she recalled the moments in the stairwell. In his arms. He was incredibly good looking and charming. Devilishly charming. But so what? She wasn’t here to fool around. Except one part of her that had died almost two years ago, had roared to life.
Libido. Lust. The urge to get jiggy.
She blew out a breath, rationalizing during the elevator ride to the ground, to stop herself reminiscing too closely on the previous night. Having a sexual urge or two was a good sign. Progress. She was getting back to normal—her new normal. But she wasn’t acting on it. Not with the super-sized stud who lived some floors above. She’d re-enter the game at novice level, not with the World Champ of flirt’n’fuck.
Because that’s sure as hell what he was.
Nor did she want to enter the fray again with some guy who did the whole ‘He-man’ over-protective stuff. She could have gotten down those stairs—he’d just gotten off on the ‘rescue’ moment. So not what she wanted. She’d spent the last two years being cosseted and having everything done for her. Here she was all about doing it for herself.
Yet here she was again doing more Kegel exercises to try to stop her body’s rising excitement at the mere thought of him. What she needed was fresh air and sunshine and then a solid day at work to keep her unruly imagination occupied.
She walked, lifting her chin with resolve, giving the doorman a quick smile of thanks before looking out to the street—and stopped so suddenly the person behind almost barged into her.
“Sorry,” she murmured as the woman strode past. But she barely noticed her reply.
“You alright?” The doorman asked.
She barely heard him either, too dazzled by the sight running past on the other side of the road. Four of them running along the opposite sidewalk, looking like a Nike ad. All of them athletic gods in shorts and tees. Hell, one was without the tee. It was—
“Oh my,” she couldn’t contain herself.
“I know.” The doorman stood beside her. “They do it every day.”
Chelsea managed a sideways glance. Doorman’s nametag said he was Brad. Right now Brad was practically drooling. She didn’t blame him. And she too couldn’t resist watching them weave along the pavement.