Revisit this heartfelt story of finding love where you least expect it from New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods.
Down on her luck, ex-Wall Street dynamo Gabrielle Clayton agreed to move into Paul Reed’s ramshackle but affordable apartment on one condition: no funny stuff. Then Gabrielle discovered she and Paul shared a good deal more than the rent—including one outrageous claw-footed bathtub located smack in the middle of the kitchen—and things started heating up!
For Gabrielle, the most irresistible distraction of all was the sexy, blue-eyed renovator himself. Paul was the most romantic man she’d ever met! Suddenly, practical, down-to-earth Gabrielle was dreaming of magical nights spent in Paul’s arms. What had come over her? Was it the man, the moon–or love?
“I can’t speak for you, but I’m falling in love for the first time in my life.”
Paul felt his heart stop then start again at a faster beat. He shook his head adamantly.
“You can’t do that.”
“Who says?”
“I do. It won’t work.”
“It was working well enough a few hours ago.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Gabrielle walked toward him until they were standing practically toe to toe. He felt as though he were suffocating.
“I think I have to,” she said softly, curling her fingers into his hair. His scalp tingled and the sensation danced straight down to his… Oh, hell, he thought weakly as her lips claimed his with a possessiveness that captured his breath and robbed him of all sensible thoughts.
Sparks danced in her eyes when she released him. “Remember that the next time you get any crazy ideas about going back to being my pal.”
Sherryl Woods has written more than seventy-five romances and mysteries in the past twenty years. She also operates her own bookstore, Potomac Sunrise, in Colonial Beach, Virginia, where readers from around the country stop by to discuss her favorite topic—books. If you can’t visit Sherryl at her store, then be sure to drop her a note at P.O. Box 490326, Key Biscayne, FL 33149 or check out her Web site at www.sherrylwoods.com.
One Touch of Moondust
Sherryl Woods
For Lucia Macro, who sees beyond my blind spots and always finds the heart of the story, with thanks for her editing skill, her patience and her humor.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
CHAPTER ONE
Gabrielle came to a halt in the middle of a cracked sidewalk richly decorated with dramatic and colorfully executed graffiti. She checked the address she’d marked in the paper against two numbers that dangled precariously upside down beside a dilapidated building’s front door. If the empty space between them had once been filled by a seven, then this was in fact “Recently Renovated Brownstone.” Apparently the renovations were less recent than hoped for.
Tucking her chilled hands in the pockets of her coat for warmth, she regarded the faded facade, dirt-streaked bay windows and dingy, peeling trim with a sense of resignation. It was a very long way from Park Avenue. Taking a deep breath of the brisk fall air, she wrapped her fur coat more tightly around her and stepped into the dreary foyer.
It had possibilities, she decided, viewing the muddy tile floor and dull brass fixtures with a critical eye. The construction looked sound enough and she’d be willing to bet that the apartments all had hardwood floors. She seemed to recall a chimney on the outside, which meant there were fireplaces. Yes, it definitely had possibilities, she thought with a vague sense of anticipation, the first she’d felt in weeks.
In fact, a few months earlier when her career on Wall Street had been ascending at a dizzying pace, she might very well have bought the whole place and restored it as a promising investment. Now, with no brokerage house work to be found for a talented but still very junior financial analyst, she could barely afford the advertised bargain rent. In fact, if she didn’t make some career decisions soon and find another job, she’d be forced to retreat to her family home in South Carolina and live on humble pie for the rest of her life. It was not an alternative she cared to endure.
Gritting her teeth with determination, she began climbing the endless, creaking steps to apartment 4B, where the smell of fresh paint was wafting through the open door. She considered that an encouraging sign after the dinginess and disrepair below.
Gabrielle tapped on the door and waited. The hammering sounds coming from deep inside the apartment didn’t let up. She knocked harder and called out. The pounding stopped.
“Yo,” a husky masculine voice responded cheerfully. “Be right with you, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? Gabrielle’s vivid imagination immediately supplied an image to go with that impertinent voice: a well-muscled, catcalling construction worker atop steel beams overlooking Fifth Avenue. He’d be rugged, impervious to slights and persistent. She’d walked past the type half a dozen times a day and they’d always made her want to check to see if her slip was showing. When this man emerged a moment later she was startled to see how accurately he fit the image. She was also startled to discover that in this case her slip was the last thing on her mind. The man quite simply took her breath away.
Bold blue eyes examined her with a disconcerting, leisurely thoroughness. As if on cue, impudent lips emitted an approving whistle. Light brown hair, still streaked with highlights from the summer sun, waved in casual and charming disarray. Faded, paint-spattered jeans clung to narrow hips and muscular thighs. Despite the chill in the air, a shirt hung open, revealing a chest covered with coarse brown hair that arrowed provocatively downward. Gabrielle was torn between clutching her coat more protectively around her and stripping it away from her suddenly burning flesh. She settled for trying to stare him down.
The attempt failed miserably. He laughed, an all-too-knowing gleam in his eyes.
“So,” he said, amusement lacing through his voice, “what’s a sophisticated lady like you
