Chapter Two
I stared through the tinted window of Christopher’s Porsche, admiring the brick homes towering down Society Hill. I live here. The thought never got old.
The exquisitely maintained brick townhomes along Delancey Street were so picturesque, day or night, with their high gloss painted shutters and waving American flags. Sometimes I felt as if I’d been transplanted from a government crisis into a Norman Rockwell centerfold.
“Can I walk you up?”
My gaze drifted from the handsome street dotted by antique streetlamps to rest on my date’s hopeful smile. He was a gentleman, but I suspected others often missed his softer sides. Disinterested in what hid under that designer suit, and fully aware of the wedding ring on his finger, I played the sweet innocent who always abided the rules.
My polite smile softened my eyes. “Thank you, but I don’t want to trouble you. Parking’s a nightmare and it’s only a short walk to my door.” I couldn’t wait to wash off the ten pounds mascara weighing down my lashes.
“I don’t mind. I’m sure I can find a spot nearby.”
Keeping my expression friendly, I noted the non-verbal invitation he was fishing for, careful not to fall for the bait. He would park, walk me to my door, try for a kiss and use his best moves to secure an invitation inside. If I were privy to his imagination, there would be some pretty intense petting that would undoubtedly lead to sex. But that wasn’t what this was, and I remained unshakably grounded in my own mind, which only entertained fantasies motivated by my own personal benefit.
“Christopher,” I said gently, brushing my fingertips over the back of his hand. “You know that’s not how this works.”
“Maybe we should renegotiate our arrangement.”
Maybe we should, but I wasn’t a fool and I never agreed to anything after cocktails or midnight. “We could, but I think that’s a conversation best had in the light of day.”
By then he’d reconsider because everything came with a price and I’d yet to appraise the true cost of my dignity. Chances were, no matter how rich the client, none of them could afford the whole package. My heart wasn’t for sale.
Appearing to accept I wasn’t going to budge, he eased back in the driver’s seat, out of my personal space. “I’ll call you.”
“I hope you do. Tonight was wonderful. Thank you.” Only because I rejected him did I press a kiss to his jaw, a consolation he wasn’t used to receiving from me. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. I’ll wait until you’re inside.”
So thoughtful.
I exited the car and pulled my wrap over my shoulders. It was chilly for autumn and I longed to strip out of this dress and these four-inch heels to snuggle into my fuzzy slippers and sweats.
As the doorman greeted me I glanced back to give Christopher a wave, sighing as he pulled away. Some nights were more exhausting than others, but the perks of my job always far outweighed the drawbacks.
On the elevator to the third floor, my finger slipped into my wristlet to glide along a crisp envelope. Whoever said cash was cold comfort didn’t understand the warmth of a renovated eighteenth century gas fireplace or eight hundred thread count sheets.
I wasn’t a snob. Snobs didn’t appreciate the finer things. I appreciated every luxury I came by, each one a jagged reminder of where I’d been. This envelope would go home to Blackwater—another consolation to make up for my recent avoidance. My mother would be satisfied with the money and forgive me for not calling as much as I probably should.
Stepping onto the ivory tile of the third floor I gasped as my foot slipped and my ankle twisted painfully. A quick pinch shot through my heel and my little purse flung from my hand. I went down with the grace of an antelope attacked on the nature channel.
The cold tile floor smacked against my knees and palms as I caught my weight and my arms and legs sprawled inelegantly. Of course, the door across from mine opened.
“Jesus, are you all right?”
Bare feet stepped into my line of vision and I quickly swiveled to sit. I slipped my heels off, struggling to stand without exposing any concealed body parts.
“My shoe broke.” I stood, applying too much pressure to my ankle and hissed with pain as I lost my balance.
“Careful.” A large hand gripped my elbow and steadied me, jolting my body with an almost electric shock as my eyes lifted and stared into his.
Everything I was, everything I thought, everything I believed I knew disappeared, as his gaze swallowed me whole. I was drowning in an ocean of arctic blue, those full lashes the most majestic shade of gold, prettier than the belly of a blushing cloud just as the sun sinks into the horizon below. I wasn’t breathing, but I didn’t have to. Drowning had never felt so good.
I jerked my stare away and breathlessly took account of all my belongings. My purse was behind him on the floor. “Th—thank you.”
Embarrassment curdled in my stomach as I jerkily pulled my arm out of his steadying grip. The flawless picture I’d painted a few nights ago was now smeared with the image of a graceless klutz. I needed to get into my apartment and out of this hallway.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“Only my pride.”
Although my palms stung, and I was certain there would be a nasty bruise on my knee by morning, it could have been much worse. I gave my ankle a slow wiggle before putting weight back on the leg. It was tender but didn’t appear sprained or busted.
“No wonder you fell.” He lifted my hand holding the unbroken shoe and another bolt of electricity sizzled up my arm. “Look at these things. They’re stilts!”
I pulled my hand back and scowled at him. That was a mistake.
His crystal blue eyes pinched at the corners. Such creases weren’t caused by age, but charisma, charm, and a good sense of humor. There literally seemed to be some sort of magnetic pull coming from those eyes so I forced my gaze lower. His lips were full, surrounded by the perfect amount of dark blonde stubble. He was tall, at least a foot taller than me. Of course, I wasn’t wearing shoes, but neither was he.
My head tipped away, and I couldn’t hide the flush warming my cheeks, not with my pale hair twisted into a tight bun. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
My gaze returned to my wristlet and held, silently begging him to go back inside so I could gather my belongings and nurse my wounds in private. Mainly, I wanted to ice down my ego, which was pretty wounded at the moment.
His head turned, his stare following mine. And then I was looking at his hair. The tousled, flaxen waves struck me as Nordic, and maybe he was. It made sense, given his height. He bent to collect my purse, his body folding low and springing back up with the grace of a jungle cat.
Tiger.
I swallowed, only to find my throat bone dry. I was a cornered antelope. Running would only entice the predator.
“You dropped this.”
My focus lingered on the ridiculously long fingers clutching my tiny purse and a frisson of servility spiked in my blood, changing my inner temperature from uncomfortably warm to scorching hot. I cringed at the docile way my body responded in his presence. I was the alpha.
I didn’t want to take the purse for fear I might touch him again, but apparently, he didn’t register my personal boundaries.
Clasping my free hand, he lifted it, pressing the wristlet into my palm and curling my fingers around the leather. The pad of his thumb was slightly rough and his skin warm. The contact disappeared before I could truly decide if I liked or hated it.
“I’m Noah.” The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver up my spine.
Clumsily, I took a step back. “Thank you, Noah. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself since you moved in, but you always seem to be on your way out.”
I nodded because my vocal cords had dried up like an old mollusk. I could almost taste the sand clogging my throat.
Blinking up at him, I got lost in his expectant stare. Damn it! Stop looking at him!
It happened so suddenly, like Alice falling through the looking glass, there one moment, gone the next. No matter how much I wanted to find my bearings I couldn’t stop falling. Deeper and deeper into his stare.
All I could think of was when we were kids playing tag at the old quarries. When the person who was It chased me, my heart would race a million miles a second as I hauled ass back to base. My heart was racing like that now. I yearned for sanctuary. I needed to get to base.
A sharp mental smack landed in the back of my head as the last of my commonsense showed up to save the day.
He’s not for you! Stop looking at him like that before you ruin everything! Do you want to move? You don’t shit where you eat!
Without another word, I turned and hobbled to my door, my bare feet slapping along the cool tile and my face pinching with every limping step. With a trembling hand, I removed my key and completely missed the lock, stabbing just past the deadbolt and taking a gouge out of the finish. I tried again, my heart pounding in my ears and fingertips.
I wasn’t a fool. This wasn’t some burst of sexual attraction throwing me off. It couldn’t be. It was my sole desire to appear as if I belonged, to prove I had the right to be there, the eloquence to not stick out like a sore thumb, and the privileged upbringing to never need to explain myself. Busting my ass like a first-rate bimbo wasn’t exactly sending that message.
“I didn’t get your name.”
Head down, I licked my lips as the door gave way. There was no saliva in my mouth. Ash dry. Swallowing was uncomfortable, but I did it anyway.
“It’s Avery. Avery Johansson.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Avery Johansson. I hope to see you around.”
With a tight nod, I pushed into my apartment and shoved my back against the door. My hand gripped the knob as my fingers slackened around my shoes, sending them clattering to the hardwood floor. I panted quietly.
Shutting my eyes, I rested my clammy palm on my chest where my heart beat like a tribal drum. My head fell back and I sighed.
These people were so damn perfect—especially him. I couldn’t embarrass myself like that again. And I certainly couldn’t afford to get near him again. Why was he affecting me differently than every other man I’d met since moving to Philadelphia? I didn’t like it.
Sagging against the wood, I groaned. What was it about him?
“Jesus Christ, he’s pretty. I might have to move even if I don’t fuck him.”