Quicksilver Dreams(8)
Pulling up in front of my apartment complex, I managed to convince myself that I’d probably imagined the whole “he’s going to kill me” moment, because really, who does that? Things like that only happen in movies, right? The real situation was more likely that he thought I was an intruder because Reggie didn’t call in advance and warn him that I was coming over right away. I should have stayed and introduced myself so the guy wouldn’t think I was a thief. End of story.
At this point, I was feeling pretty stupid. Here was another episode to chalk up to my extremely overactive imagination, which was seriously starting to worry me. Added to that, the glint of metal caught my eye, and I realized I was still wearing the ring on my finger.
Figures. I really had stolen something from the house.
“Damn.” The word was muttered with no small degree of self-disgust. Yanking the ring off my finger, I set the piece of metal in the unused ashtray and flipped it shut with a snap.
What’s done is done.
I shoved my way out of the car, slinging my purse over my shoulder gracelessly.
I just needed the day to end. I needed sleep. I needed food. I needed weird and strange to leave me the hell alone, so I could hit the reset button and let my life go back to its normal, predictable schedule. I liked normal. I wasn’t adventurous. I didn’t like surprises.
In a reassuring voice as I made my way to the gate, I told myself, “Everything’s fine. I’ll just return it on Monday, and next time Reggie needs an errand, I’ll stay at work and send one of the interns. I’ll just make sure I apologize profusely and throw myself on his mercy.”
Hearing my voice speaking calmly was comforting, though I couldn’t fool myself. I’ve never known Reggie to be merciful. I would likely need to start looking for a new job immediately, since I’d probably managed to freak his boyfriend out. The security gate was propped open again, and I was sure it was the guys from downstairs just being lazy about buzzing their friends in, so I shoved the brick that was holding it open out of the way. Just the act of doing something so normal led me to feeling marginally better. No way should the rest of us be in danger because of those beer-guzzling wannabe frat boys whose train long ago left the station of age-appropriate behavior.
I’ve had my fill of being smirked at and ogled by the gut-growing, hair-receding juvenile thirty-five-year-olds that live in the apartment under me (and trust me when I tell you they’ve made many jokes about the positioning of our apartments). I gain a secret source of pleasure in thwarting their joys.
Just as the gate was closing with a satisfying clang, I turned to head for my apartment and ran smack into a hard, muscular, T-shirt-clad chest with a sound that was something like “Oomph.” Large rough hands gripped my arms, as though to steady me, and I looked all the way up into the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Veins of gold jumped out from their depths, and I found myself mesmerized.
Wow. Such beautiful eyes.
It was all I could think until I realized I was staring. At the same time, I also realized he was still holding my arms, and that my hands had come to rest on his hard pecs during our mild collision. And they were nice pecs. Really, really nice. His eyes did a sharp inventory south of my neck, and I was suddenly glad I had some decent cleavage. Then they lingered on my lips a brief moment before returning to my face. Desire teased me delicately, spreading warm tingles through my stomach, before I came to my senses.
“Jeez. I’m sorry,” I sputtered, pushing back a few steps, though at this point I still couldn’t look away from his compelling, pale green eyes. They jumped out at me, set off by his black hair and sun-bronzed skin.