Strawberries.
She smells like goddamn actual fruit. My favorite kind. So sweet it gives me a toothache.
Fuck me.
I have no idea how old this woman might be, but she looks young. Too fucking young for me. Too innocent. I would ruin her.
My cock thickens at the thought.
She takes the check from me and looks at it, her expression going from shock to relief in a flash. “Oh, thank God. I was about to march into The Ace Bar and tell my asshole ex-boss I wasn’t leaving until he paid me.”
Fuck. I should have been going through my mail. She’s been waiting for this, and it’s been sitting in my foyer all this time.
As she studies the check and the attached paper as if it holds some sort of lifeline, her shoulders drop as she blinks several times. “What the hell?” she mutters.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I stand a little taller. “What’s wrong?”
Whatever it is, I’ll fix it because I don’t like that look in her eyes.
She smiles up at me. Another forced one. “Nothing. Thank you so much for bringing this down to me… Uh…”
“Xander Savage.” I stare at her, wondering if she’ll recognize me, but if she does, it doesn’t show on her face. Now I wish I could remember the name on the check.
“Right. Thank you, Xander. I’m Quinn Summers.” She smiles, her bright doe eyes sparkling up at me. Even her cute name perfectly matches her bubbly sweetness. If you ask me, she’s way too fucking happy. A ray of sunshine that I don’t have the time or energy for. “You probably already knew that, though.” She laughs nervously as she motions to the paper with her name and address on it.
I swear, my heart stops beating.
Sunshine.
Christ.
I didn’t know her name until just now, when she told me, because I was too damn drunk to remember anything other than it coming to the fortieth floor instead of apartment four hundred. I didn’t think to look at the name again before I came down here. Why doesn’t it surprise me that this little ray of damn sunshine has a last name like Summers?
“Of course it is,” I murmur to myself.
Shaking my head, I turn to leave, irritated with the entire situation. I should have checked my mail days ago.
“Wait!” she calls out. “Wait. Please, let me feed you to say thank you. Are you hungry? I just made dinner.”
Her voice and the way she says it, like she’s pleading with me to eat with her, makes me stop. When I look back at her, taking in her small, bare feet, short yet full legs, the sliver of her soft stomach between her shorts and crop top, I’m fucked. A dead man couldn’t say no to her right now.
Before I get the chance to answer, she walks over to me and grabs my elbow. Quinn pulls me into her apartment like we’reold friends and I’m not some strange man she just met. For all she knows, I could be a serial killer. I have killed a number of people. She doesn’t know. God, this woman needs a spanking.
She closes the door behind us and hurries toward the kitchen. As she walks, my gaze lands on her round ass, and I’m glad she has her back to me so I can adjust my cock.
Once I take a few steps inside and get a glimpse of her kitchen and dining area, I become distracted by the sparse space. No table. No barstools at the counter bar.
“Why don’t you have any furniture?” It comes out blunt and commanding, but I want to know. Why is this woman living in an empty apartment?
Quinn moves around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, making a lot of noise. The only thing I’m focused on is her face as she avoids my eye contact. “I recently went through a breakup, and I haven’t bought any new stuff yet.”
I clench my teeth as I watch her scoop some pasta into a bowl. So, she and some asshole broke up, and he left her with nothing? Who is the piece of shit? Because I’d sure as hell like to meet him.
While she’s busy, I slowly take in the apartment. What’s left of it. Feminine colors. Classy touches of gold here and there. A shelf of small, sad-looking cacti near the windows. This place is a lot smaller than mine. I could probably fit this entire apartment into my bedroom. Yet, even without furniture, it’s homier and more comfortable than my designer penthouse.
“Do you like cheese?” she asks softly.
When I look down at her, meeting her wide, glittering eyes, I lose my breath for a second. Does she know how beautiful she is?
