The late August sun beats down on me, but the wind rolling in off the lake cuts through it. It’s the perfect time of the day for a run. I try to get out here every morning. I’ve quickly become addicted to the endorphins pumping through my system. Until I started running again, I never realized how much I missed it and the connection it gives me to my dad.
Once I hit Lakeshore Drive, I continue along the wide path until reaching my halfway point. I started out doing three miles a day. Now I’ve pushed it to four. I don’t have to walk anymore. I’m running the entire distance. Silly as it sounds, it feels like an accomplishment.
The past couple of months and all of its changes- moving back to Chicago, being accepted to graduate school, and gaining some much-needed control over my life- make me feel like everything is falling into place again.
I stop for a moment and survey the rich blueness of the lake. It’s so vast. When you’re standing at the shoreline, it seems as big as an ocean. The white-capped waves continue rolling toward the shore as the breeze cools my heated cheeks.
During the move, I wasn’t sure if I was making the right decision. Change can be scary. Difficult. And I’ve had more than my fill these last couple of years. But right now, everything seems to be working out better than expected. School starts in a week, as does my volunteer position at The Art Institute of Chicago. For twelve hours every week, I’ll be able to walk through the corridors and soak up everything on display in the museum.
And then there’s Chloe.
Now that she’s back in my life, I can’t believe I ever pushed her away. What was I thinking? When I needed her the most, I retreated, because protecting myself felt like the safest option at the time. The pain was just too intense. Too overwhelming. After a while, I couldn’t handle all those people patting me on the shoulder, constantly checking in to ask how I was doing, and giving me sympathetic looks and hugs. All it did was remind me of everything- all the goodness and all the love- I’d lost with one bad decision.
Sucking in a breath of fresh air, I tilt my face toward the brightly shining sun. The heat stroking over it makes me feel alive again.
When my heartbeat finally slows, I turn toward Lexington Place, ready to head home.
Home.
Slowly but surely, that’s what it’s beginning to feel like.
I do a few quick stretches to keep my muscles loose. Just as I’m pulling my knee to my chest, another jogger catches my eye. A few things about him register all at once.
Tall, athletic body.
Dark hair.
Deep olive complexion.
Power, potent and intoxicating, radiates from him in thick, heavy waves. Even from this distance, I feel it. A shiver snakes down my spine as I stare.
I’d know him anywhere.
He has, since that first elevator ride, played a prominent role in my thoughts.
Even though I haven’t moved a muscle, my heart rate kicks back up.
Silently, I prod myself to turn, to run as fast as I can. But I don’t. I feel ensnared by the dark eyes trained on me.
This is the first time I’ve seen him in anything other than a suit.
He’s wearing long, black athletic shorts today.
And no shirt.
My greedy eyes travel over perfectly sculpted shoulders before sliding down the smooth muscles of his chest and abs. A smattering of hair swirls across his chest. His waist is narrow. Defined. Loose shorts hang from lean hips. Powerful thighs and strong calves complete the picture.
The past times I’ve run into him, I could tell he was built. Muscular. Not in an overdone way, but it’s obvious that he works out.
Somehow, he’s more delicious than I allowed myself to imagine. Trust me when I say that I’ve let my wicked thoughts run wild where he’s concerned. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to find out that he’s a model. He’s way too scrumptious-looking. The man is pure male perfection. Every time I’m around him, it feels like my brain leaks right out of my ears.
He has to notice the way he affects me. It’s embarrassing. The only thing that makes me feel remotely better is that it must be the same for most women.
The ones with a pulse, anyway.
How could it not be?
Quite honestly, I hope he won’t recognize me and just jogs on by. We’ve never had a conversation. I’m just the weird chick who lives next to him, the one who got off while he screwed some other woman out on his balcony.
When he’s less than twenty feet away, he dashes my hopes by slowing his pace and eventually coming to a complete standstill. His eyes stay locked on mine.
My breathing hitches, but I don’t say a word. I’m afraid that if I try to speak, all that will come out is a pathetic squeak. The man is too handsome for his own good. It’s like being blinded by the sun when you look at him.
Up close, I notice beads of sweat dotting both his forehead and chest. His inky black hair looks as dark and shiny as a raven’s wing.
I wish I could rip my eyes away from him. Maybe then I would be able to hold a semi-intelligent conversation that wouldn’t further the poor impression he already has of me.
After another moment ticks by with us simply staring, the edges of his lips slowly bow upward.
Damnit!
Why does this man have to be so ridiculously sexy?
It’s unfair.
If he’s a ten, I’m a seven.
I’ve never been one to complain about my looks. I’ve always been content with my blond hair and blue eyes. Sure, I’m a little on the short side. And curvy. I’ve been told countless times that I look like the wholesome girl next door.
I almost snort.
In this case, I really am the girl next door.
This guy, on the other hand, is exotic-looking. If someone picked him up and plopped him down on a fashion show runway in Milan, he would fit in perfectly.
“You’re Thirty-A, right?”
He has a deep, melodic voice. His words are lightly accented. My girly parts roll over in response.
I’m sure he’s waiting for me to jump in and introduce myself. When I remain silent, his brows lift. “You just moved in a few weeks ago?”
All I can think about is the elevator ride down to the lobby after the balcony incident. Just thinking about it has my entire face going up in flames. I want to melt into a puddle on the concrete and disappear between the cracks.
“Yes,” I murmur, “that’s me.” I have no other choice but to brazen this out. Stepping forward, I thrust my hand toward him. I wish I’d had the good sense to wipe my sweaty palm on my running shorts, but it’s too late now.
“I’m Grace. Nice to meet you.”
His voice washes over me like a wave. “Nice to finally put a name to such a pretty face. Matteo.”
My brows quirk. “Matteo.” Like everything else, his name fits him perfectly.
The intensity in his obsidian eyes deepens. “Yes, Matteo. Are you heading back now?”
I glance toward Lexington Place, which is about two miles away. The building is barely visible in the distance. “Yeah, this is my halfway point.”
“We can go together then.”
I grimace and shake my head. Is he crazy? I’m barely holding myself together right now. “No. You should probably go on without me. I don’t want to slow you down. I’m just getting back into running after a bit of a hiatus.”
His dark eyes slowly flick over my legs. “You suffered an injury?”
Matteo’s gaze feels like a physical caress. It makes my heart stutter. “No. Nothing like that.”
His eyebrows rise as if he’s waiting for an explanation. When I remain silent, he says, “I don’t mind slowing down.”
In that moment, I realize that he isn’t going to take no for an answer. I nod my head, accepting that we will be running back to the building together.
True to his word, he slows his pace, and I do my best to pick mine up. Otherwise, he would be speed walking beside me. If the man is trying to get a work-out in, what he’s doing isn’t going to cut it.
Even though I’m focused on my breathing, I’m still hyperaware of Matteo at my side. How could I not be? He’s tall, muscular, and strikingly handsome. The man certainly has a presence.
By the time we reach the glass doors of our building, George is there to open them for us. I’m huffing and puffing. My face feels heated. Those two miles were done in record time. For me, anyway.
Matteo barely looks as though he’s exerted any effort at all.
George tips his hat to us as we head into the wood-paneled lobby. If he’s surprised to see us together, it doesn’t show. We call for the elevator before stepping on and riding up to the thirtieth floor. Before I know it, the doors are sliding open. I can’t help but release a sigh of relief. Sharing the same space with Matteo makes me tense.
Opening my door, I turn to meet his eyes. “Bye.”
His dark gaze rakes over me with no smile in sight. Again, I’m struck by the feeling that this is not a man who makes slow, sweet love to a woman.
No.
This is a man who likes to fuck.
Hard.
The words he uttered and that woman’s cries of pleasure from that night on the balcony ring throughout my head as our stare continues to hold.
I know exactly what’s going through my mind, but I haven’t the faintest idea of what’s going through his. Matteo’s gaze is shuttered, yet still piercing. I feel all but slayed by it. Much more breathless than when I was running to keep up with him.
“Goodbye, Grace.”
I acknowledge his words with a jerk of my head, turning away to escape the impenetrableness of his stare. He has a way of making me feel as if I’ve been stripped bare.
I’m not used to that.
Nor am I sure how much I like it.
Just as I’m stepping over the threshold, on the cusp of freedom, he says, “I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”
My eyes dart to his. Another bolt of electricity surges through me as our gazes reconnect.
“Yes,” I force out the rest of the words, “I’m sure we will.” That being said, I quickly slam the door. The way he affects me is unnerving. The worst part is that as attracted to him as I am, part of me wants to run and hide. I wonder if it’s too late for that.
For some reason, I think it might be.