Chapter 12
twelve
I freeze my ass off on Bleecker Street for ten minutes before finally trudging up the steps.
It’s Saturday night, and all I really want is a cup of tea and some fucking silence. I spent the better part of my “day off” planning for the Strykers’ last-minute engagement party and wrestling with the best way to deal with my latest security risk.
Which is right behind this door.
I shift on my feet, staring at the red slab labeled “2B.” Okay, I think. I’m just going to update the security software on Alice’s work laptop to protect the event details from hackers. And check to make sure her locks are in order. Possibly suggest a couple of cameras for this hallway…
Her indignant face when I suggested this on Monday flashes through my thoughts. I don’t know whether to smile to myself or wince. If she’s mad and I need a distraction, I’ll ask her advice about a gift for the engagement party next weekend.
The best covers always contain a bit of truth, and this is no exception. Because I wasted the afternoon trying to get my team in hand, I now only have six days to find an appropriate present for the people I work for.
Shopping at Williams Sonoma sounds almost as bad as taking a bullet. Possibly worse, depending on where the shot hit.
Carajo. I’m stalling.
I didn’t expect to be so daunted by this little woman. True, I’ve avoided casual dating as much as humanly possible, but I have done it. Rarely, and usually not for long, but still. I’m a grown man with a job to do here. I shouldn’t be nervous.
Although, I can’t recall an occasion when I’ve shown up on a woman’s doorstep without any notice. This would be uncharted territory, even without the whole security angle.
This direct approach may not be the best way to get to a girl like Alice. She seems shy. Overt interest could spook her. Would it be better to start slower?
Jesus. Start what?
I’m here to make sure she’s safe, I remind myself. Nothing more.
Because it doesn’t matter how much time I’ve spent wondering what she hides under her thick, shapeless sweaters. Or how clear her eyes might look without a frown furrowing her brows.
This is just me doing my job. Doing the right thing, protecting an innocent, single woman.
I smooth my hands over the front of my black T-shirt, wondering if I should have gone with something more suave. In truth, I didn’t think about my clothes at all until this very moment. The dark jeans seem normal, but, in retrospect, steel-toed boots may have been a little overkill.
Too late now. I force my apprehension back and knock.
Tris’s voice rings out as her long-legged stride approaches the door.
She throws it open and blinks at me before grinning.
“Hi, handsome. Can’t say I was expecting this, but you can knock on my door anytime.
” She tilts her head coyly. “Did you realize you simply could not live without me and rush right over?”
Tris has been toeing the line between flirtatious and professional since the day we met. Even if I found her lithe figure and boisterous personality attractive, casual shit just doesn’t do it for me anymore. I want something deeper—and I want the right woman. Now, just one that’s right for now.
This is Alice’s best friend, I tell myself. Be charming.
“Miss Dunn,” I return, smiling. “I’m flattered, of course, but I’m actually here to see Alice. Is she home?”
Tris’s hazel eyes bug out, but she recovers quickly, grinning once more. “My little Alley Cat? Yep, she’s… here! Come in, Tall, Dark, & Handsome. I was just on my way out.” Her smile takes on a wicked gleam. “But you are welcome to wait.”
I step over the threshold as she gathers her purse and coat from the rack crammed beside the door. “Alley Cat!” she shouts, not the least bit bothered by yelling beside my ear. “I’m leaving! Love you!”
Some muffled reply comes from the back of the apartment. Before I can ask Tris to let Alice know I’m here, she spins out the front door, dropping the deadbolt behind her.
Well, then.
I turn to face the room. One room. The whole apartment seems to exist within it, but the cramped space is nice.
Really nice. Homey.
The place itself needs some cosmetic updates. Chunks of missing plaster leave patches of bald brick scattered throughout the white walls. Their kitchen looks to be a small galley straight across from the front door, the standing space no larger than an average coffee table.
The main room holds one area for seating.
Its yellow futon showcases an array of indigo, pink, and orange throw pillows, along with a chunky knit blanket.
A blue-patterned chair sits at an artful angle, facing both the couch and a white trunk topped with a small television setup.
Under my feet, their worn rug weaves yellows and pinks and blues together in an oriental pattern.
Everything in the space ties in with a large watercolor canvas hanging behind the futon, a few feet from the door. Though the scene is unfamiliar, I somehow recognize it.
A lake, tranquil and still, holds its breath beside a lone tree silhouetted by sunrise. It’s a place I’ve never visited—perhaps one that does not exist. But I feel like I’ve been there. That I could close my eyes and go there this very minute.
I know little about art, but I can tell it’s an exceptional piece. Full of light, shadow, and feeling. Perfectly coordinated and yet completely out of place in their tiny, simple apartment. The painting seems more fit for the Met than the corner of Bleecker and MacDougal.
While I admire it, a small voice drifts out of the short hallway behind the TV. I assume Alice must be in her bedroom as she calls something I miss, followed by, “… and don’t forget about the laundry!”
Laundry?
A basket lies on the floor next to the steamer trunk. It looks clean and fluffed, obviously unfolded. I gather that was Tris’s job, but she’s left without completing it.
With a shrug, I sit on the edge of the futon and pull the laundry basket over. It’s all I can do while I wait, since she doesn’t have any of her personal stuff in the main area. Maybe I’ll get lucky and fish something useful out of a pocket. Like a hint as to what the hell I say to this woman.
Unlikely. The apartment seems meticulously tidy. There aren’t any papers, pictures, or electronic clutter hanging around. Even the one and only surface in the place—their coffee table—is bare aside from a dark blue candle, flickering as it fills the room with a pleasant citrus and amber scent.
I push the candle to the side and start to fold the clothes. Most are obviously Tris’s. Lots of long, thin strips of neon and spandex. But the other items… confuse me.
They aren’t the shapeless gray sweaters or thick wool skirts Alice usually wears. At first, I think they can’t possibly belong to her at all. But they are clearly too big for Tris’s flat frame.
I hold one of the lacy tops up, turning the silk in my hands. Covered in flowers, with thin, wispy straps. A moment later, I unearth a matching pair of satin shorts.
Huh. It’s pretty. Sexy, actually. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Alice actually does have a boyfriend.
That shouldn’t annoy me, damn it. Knowing she has someone to look out for her would be a good thing. I still have to pry my fists open slowly, shaking out the slight wrinkles I made in the floral fabric.
For some reason, I set the pajamas aside and lay them on the very top of her stack when I transfer the folded clothes back into the basket. I finish placing it all where I found it just as one of the doors in the hall swings open. Mumbling reaches my ears. The scent of lavender wafts into the room.
“… swear if she forgot to fold the clothes again, I’m going to—to—well, do nothing. I’ll do nothing. Which is why she keeps ‘forgetting’ to fold them in the first place. Which is why I’m basically walking around in a napkin—”
Alice breaks off on a shriek as she steps into view.
Wearing a tiny towel.
And nothing else.
It’s hard to tell which of us is more shocked.
I lurch to my feet, and she freezes, allowing my wide eyes time to travel over every bare bit of her.
From her polished toes, over short, shapely legs, to the feminine flare of her hips, where the small towel stretches taut to keep her decadent curves covered.
It hangs a little bit looser around her torso, though I can’t help but notice the top edge is every bit as tight as the bottom, pulled across her breasts in a vise.
Her hair is different—and even prettier than before. Instead of straight and cool, the pale blonde is mixed with warm sand. A head full of curls frames her rounded cheeks and the delicate bow of her chin, bouncing around the soft lines of her face.
Her petrified face.
My hands automatically fly up to hang beside my shoulders, palms out. A classic I-come-in-peace gesture. I fall back a step, dropping my eyes to my shoes.
“I’m sorry,” I exhale. “Tris told me to come in. She didn’t mention that you were…”
Naked.
So naked.
Naked and soft and blonde.
And I can’t keep my eyes off her. I keep forcing my gaze away only to find it right back on Alice before I can develop a second thought.
Have I ever noticed the specific texture of a woman’s bare shoulders and throat before? No. Yet her skin, in particular, fascinates me. Like spring roses steeped in frost—a bright, light blush blended into smooth ivory. Her lips are the same pretty pink—full, and puckered in panic.
“Marco?!” she squeaks, pulling the scrap of terrycloth tighter around her body. “Is Ella okay?”
I can’t even remember who Ella is. My stare leaps from the creamy curves of Alice’s shoulders to the edge of the towel, where her breasts prove rounder and higher—not to mention, bigger—than I imagined.
I bet her nipples are the same color as her lips. That would be striking.
My dick twitches to life, the sensation hurtling me back to reality. What the hell am I doing? I snap my eyes to the floor and grit my teeth through a surge of lust.