Chapter 2
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Cruise
He had to admire her gumption. And it didn’t hurt that she’d come to his door in short shorts and a tank top that left very little to the imagination. Usually when he saw her, she had on a stuffy pantsuit or a tailored jacket that made him itch to see what was underneath.
Ever since Jenna Stanton had moved next door, he’d spent more nights than not imagining her sans business attire. In fact, he usually imagined her without any clothes at all. Those dark eyes would lock on his as he plunged into her, finding a release that only she could give.
Damn it. He’d even dreamed about her, which was starting to piss him off. The only thing they had in common was age. Other than that, she’d probably bore him senseless.
Cruise turned off the music and plopped on the couch with his acoustic guitar.
He was T-shirts and guitar picks. She was high heels and laptops. He was beer and whiskey. She was wine and martinis.
Hell, she probably didn’t even listen to music. Or it was some classical Beethoven bullshit like every other up-and-coming professional who lived in this apartment complex.
Most people picked it because it was Yuppieville, USA. Right across from the light rail, scattered above a shopping center that boasted the city’s finest cappuccino and clothing stores with pieces that were worth more than his car.
He’d only moved here because his sister was gone for the summer and she needed someone to stay in the place. That and the sushi. The place downstairs was stellar.
But still, if he’d have known how stuffy the complex was, and how stuffy its tenants were, he’d have thought twice. The other members of his band made fun of him every time they came over.
Of course, Jenna had let her guard down tonight. She’d shown a side of her he didn’t know existed. Too bad she had a boyfriend or he might have tried to see what else was under that polished exterior.
Cruise played a short riff that was supposed to take his mind off of his neighbor. When that didn’t work, he went back to the stereo and turned it on. If he couldn’t play away his arousal, he’d chase it away with some hard core rock. And if it annoyed Ms. Perfect next door…well, he couldn’t help that.
And if she happened to stop by again, all long legs and braless under her tank top, it wasn’t his fault.
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He strummed the last chord on the final song and flashed his most devastating smile to the crowd amidst cheers and whistles. A few young women screamed shrilly at the front of the stage. He tossed a pick in their direction, not waiting to see where it landed or how hard they fought over it.
Cruise walked backstage and snagged a bottle of water. It was a small venue, but he and his band were regulars and they were accommodated as such. A spread of cold cuts, chips, and drinks lined a table near the exit.
He bypassed all those and crouched at his guitar case.
“Good show tonight,” Maya said, propping her hip on the table next to him. “You killed it on that last one. Channeling your inner demon?”
He chuckled, but didn’t answer. No, more like channeling his sexual frustration into something more productive. Not because he wanted to but because he didn’t have a choice.
If his damn neighbor hadn’t strutted over to his place halfway naked earlier today, he’d have his mind on the right track and he would have been able to focus tonight. He’d nearly gone after her the day she moved in, despite the stuffy suits she often wore and the fact that they seemed polar opposites. But then he’d seen the man who’d been helping her move in and backed off.
She was taken. But shit, that didn’t stop her from popping up in his mind all evening.
Maya nudged his arm with her studded boot. “You staying for drinks?”
He should. A good buzz might help him forget all about Jenna. But then it could also make the need for her worse.
“Not tonight.” He stood, taking another swig of water. “I’m out.”
“You know where we’ll be if you change your mind.”
Cruise walked home, guitar case swinging at his side, and breathed in the fresh air. His mind still wasn’t clear by the time he reached the complex. Just inside the doorway he checked his mail.
He flipped through it, but stopped when he came to the third letter. “Shit.”
Another letter for Jenna Stanton. What the hell? How hard was it to get the mail in the right slot?
Cruise took the stairs instead of the elevator, up three flights until he reached his floor. Jenna’s door was the second on the right. He stopped outside of it, debating whether or not to bang on the outside or slide the mail underneath.
It was late. At least by stuffy business lady standards.
But he was still curious, so he set down his guitar and leaned in, almost pressing his ear to the surface. He heard a thump and a slide and nearly tripped over his case trying to back up.
Jenna whipped open the door, then gasped when she saw him. She slapped hand to her chest. “What are you doing?”
He lifted his arm, the envelope still tight in his grip. “Your mail.” He eyed the box on the floor at her feet. “What are you doing?”
She made a face at him. “None of your business. Finishing unpacking.”
He grunted out a laugh because she’d answered him anyway. “Bout time.”
Jenna arched one eyebrow before she snatched the envelope from his grasp and tossed it on a table inside. He tried to peer past her, curious about her apartment. If her decorating reflected her stuffy style.
“It’s kind of late, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Seriously?”
He frowned. “What? You seem like the early to bed, early to rise type.”
“My new neighbor makes that sort of difficult.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He couldn’t help but grin. Mostly because she seemed pissed off and it was his fault. “I think you have lovely neighbors.”
“Of course you would.”
She ducked down for the box, trying unsuccessfully to heft it into her arms. She bumped into the doorframe, then glared at him. “Excuse me.”
He stepped back. “Why don’t you get your boyfriend to help you with that?”
“My boyfriend?” She huffed and dumped the box back on the ground. “What boyfriend?”
“That guy who helped you when you were moving in. Tall, pink polo, weak chin—”
“His polo wasn’t pink and he does not have a weak chin.” The fire in her eyes flashed dangerously at him.
“Just an observation.”
She folded her arms in front of her, still in that same revealing tank top as earlier. His dick went rock hard as her ample breasts were pushed up. He backed up another step, realizing it was time to go. Until she spoke again.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said.
No boyfriend? So he’d been curbing his sexual frustration this whole time because of a boyfriend that didn’t exist?
“Now, excuse me.”
He put his hand on the frame of the door, blocking her way. “Hold on. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
She arched her eyebrow again. This time it was murder in her eyes. “Move.”
He shook his head. “I think it’s about time we cleared things up.”
He’d played sarcastic neighbor long enough. Now that he knew Jenna Stanton didn’t have a boyfriend, he planned on fixing this mess between them. And then…he planned on making Jenna his.