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I’m praying it’s not the creepy landlord. But no one knows me here, so who else could it be? I peer through the peephole, and my breath catches. My heart races. Whoever is on the other side clearly has the wrong door.
The man—no, this guy is not just a man. He’s more like a god. The phraseItalian stallioncomes to mind as I stare at the creature just outside my apartment. He’s wearing a dark-navy suit. Three pieces. With a vest and all. A very well-fitted suit, over a defined body. I’d like to see what that body looks like beneath the layers of clothing, because damn, does it look good in them. So, it can only look better out of them, right?
His mouth tips up at the corner. “Dolcezza, this is the part where you open the door,” he says with a small laugh. That voice of his is lethal. Does he know what that tone does to a girl like me? I’m sure he does… How could he not? I’m surprised I’m still upright and not in a puddle on the floor.
Shit…He knows I’ve been standing here staring at him through the peephole. I can feel the heat rush up my neck to my face. I might as well get this mortification over with so I can climb back into bed.
I open the door and smile—a smile I don’t quite feel. “Sorry, mate, you have the wrong apartment,” I say, purposely inserting the Aussie slang. People here like Australians, at least that’s what I’ve been told. Maybe he doesn’t understand me? Is my accent that strong? Surely not.
Yet, the godlike creature stands there with a panty-melting smirk and a fire in his eyes I can’t explain. But that gaze he’s throwing my way as he looks me up and down is doing all kinds of things to my lady parts. Parts that have been lying dormant for a long, long time. Like I’d have to get out the cobweb duster to even find said parts at this point.
It hits me then—that I literally just got out of bed. I must look like a complete mess. I run my hands through my hair, trying my best to tame the long locks. I’m more self-conscious now than I’ve ever been in my whole life.
He tilts his head, stepping into the doorway but not crossing the threshold. I can’t see past him into the hallway though; his body completely blocks me in. This is where I should feel fear. I should be shutting the door on this guy and locking it. However, I stand here, tilting my neck to look up at him like I’m lost in some sort of trance.
“You always answer your door dressed like that?” he asks.
“Huh?”Yep, real intelligent answer, Holly.What does he mean bydressed like that? My feet are bouncing a little as I try to ignore how cold my toes are. “Do you always knock on the wrong door?” I ask him in return, a little bit prouder of my response level this time.
“No, I’ve got the right one, dolcezza, but you should really put some more clothes on before you open your door to strangers. It’s New York; there’re a lot of weirdos around.”
My insides heat up as he slowly drags his eyes down my body.For a second time.Holy shit, my legs involuntarily squeeze together. He notices. I can tell by the cocky-ass smirk he throws my way when his eyes finally meet mine again. This is where I wish I had just an ounce of Reilly’s confidence. She’d be quicker with a comeback and put this guy in his place. Straightening my shoulders, while faking an arrogance that doesn’t exist, I raise an eyebrow at him. “I can see that. Thanks for the warning.” I shut the door on him, or at least I try to. He puts his foot forward to stop the impact.
And I have a moment of panic. This guy is huge. I wouldn’t stand a chance against him if he tried anything. Shit, why the hell did I open the door? One night in New York, and I’m already going to end up on CNN or whatever news channel will report the horrific death of the idiot Aussie girl who opens her doors to strangers—he didn’t even have to offer me candy or ask me to help him find his lost puppy.
“Fuck! Ah, here, this is for you. A littlewelcome to New Yorkgesture.” He lifts the offering towards my line of sight: a cardboard holder with a coffee cup, and a bag with the same logo on it as the café I stopped at last night.
How didn’t I notice he was holding those? I might have been a little nicer just to get that black liquid gold from him. I take the proffered gifts. I’m so tempted to bring the cup to my lips—tempted but not stupid.Instead, I stare at the container, trying to figure out a way to tell if it’s been drugged. For all I know, he could have roofied it or something.
Then one of his big hands reaches forward and plucks the coffee out of the tray. His mouth closes around the lid as he drinks. I now know it’s possible to be jealous of a cup, because thoughts of those lips being wrapped around my nipples invade me.
“It’s not tampered with, but you’re smart for thinking twice about drinking it.” His gravelly voice lulls me out of my own head. He returns the cup to the holder and takes a step back. “Lock the door behind me. Make sure you use the chain. I didn’t hear you unlatch it.”
I nod my head and shut the door; it’s the only thing stopping me from utterly embarrassing us both by throwing myself at him. Leaning against the frame, I bring my hand to my chest. My heart is beating rapidly. What the hell was that?Whothe hell was that? When he put his foot out barring me from slamming the door on him, I was scared. I could feel the panic attack coming on. Yet, at the same time, I was more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life.
“Holly, chain.”
I let out a squeal. Shit, he’s still there. My fingers stumble as they try to slide the chain into the latch. I finally get it on the third attempt. I look out through the peephole and watch his back as he slowly walks away.
Then I turn around and head towards the bedroom. It’s not like I have any furniture to sit on in the living room anyway. Tucked back in the blankets, I reach into the coffee shop bag and pull out a chocolate chip muffin. A huge-ass muffin.
Whoever that man was, he can bring me coffee and muffins every morning. Raising the lid to my lips, I audibly sigh as the sweet caffeine hits my tongue, before balancing the cup between my legs. I reach back into the bag, looking for a napkin. I know I won’t be able to bite into this muffin without dropping crumbs everywhere. As I shake the napkins out, something drops onto my lap. Something I recognize. A fifty-dollar bill wrapped in a piece of paper. The same fifty-dollar bill I left on the counter at the café last night. But the note has someone else’s handwriting on it now. Opening the folded square, I read the three simple lines:
Holly,
You left this behind.
Meet me for dinner. 7 p.m.
Yeah, that won’t be happening. Did he follow me home? I turn the paper over, searching for a name. There isn’t one. As much as I want to insist I’ve managed to attract a psychopath on my very first night here, I can’t seem to imagine him like that. I should be scared, but I remember how drawn I was to him.
His dark eyes looked downright dangerous, tormented even, and conflictingly comforting at the same time. I wanted to drown in them. Meet him for dinner? Where?
I laugh at myself for even consideringthatan option. There is no way I could dothat. I couldn’t even go out with a guy back home, not without dragging Reilly along with me under the guise of double dating. I’m not the daring sister. I’m the quiet one. The one who would rather be in bed and dream of being like my twin. I don’t even have a friend here… someone I could force to come with me.
First dates and I don’t do well together. But is that what the note is? A date invite? No, it can’t be. Why would he want me to meet him for dinner? And where?
Nope, I can’t do this. I crumple the note and throw it back into the paper bag. I am not letting myself get worked up over some guy, albeit some insanely hot guy, on my first day here. Nope, what I am going to do is get up, shower, and go furniture shopping.
