AMY HADN’T AGREED TO go to his apartment. She just wanted to get warm. She settled into the taxicab seat, then Roper sat down beside her. His body heat rippled through her, warming her when just seconds before she was chilled inside and out.
He rattled off an address to the driver.
“Wait.”
“You need warm clothes and maybe some hot food before dealing with Micki’s grouchy doorman,” he said, before leaning forward and telling the driver to go.
She knew better than to sound like an ungrateful brat, considering she was freezing, hungry and she had nowhere else to go. “Good point. Thanks.” Teeth chattering, she leaned back in her seat for the duration of the ride to his high-rise farther uptown.
When she finally walked into his apartment twenty minutes later, she was immediately reminded that she still wasn’t used to city living. In her old world, one-floor ranch homes were the norm. Her house in Florida hadn’t been huge, but because everything was spread out on one level, the square footage seemed larger. Her father had left her mother with enough insurance money to let them live comfortably, and once her uncle had bought the real estate he’d turned into a retirement community along with his fellow investors, he’d insisted his sisters move there, as well. Amy had lived in one of the smaller units, paying token rent. Here in New York, her new apartment was small and quaint.
Roper’s place was enormous. She sensed how large it was just by looking across, past the sliding doors to the terrace off the living room. Then there was the decor. In a masculine cocoa-and-cream color scheme, the living room held a plush suede sofa and ottoman, two club chairs and a rectangular marble cocktail table in the center. A massive large-screen TV hung on the wall across from the sitting area, while behind the couch, framed artwork made the room come alive.
“Like it?” Roper asked as he tossed his keys into a bowl in a practiced movement.
“It’s gorgeous.”
He grinned. “Thanks. I decorated it myself.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable.
“I’m impressed.” What other hidden talents did he have? Amy wondered.
He shrugged. “Why pay a professional if I can just as easily do it myself? That’s my motto. Anyway, let me get you something to change into. My sister leaves comfortable clothes here in case she’s too lazy to go home, which used to happen pretty often before she met her fiance. She won’t mind if you borrow them.”
Amy rubbed her hands up and down her arms, covered only by her thin blouse. “Thanks.”
“After you warm up, we’ll talk about what to eat. I’ll be right back.”
She turned to study her surroundings once more, her gaze coming to rest on the trophies in a dark wood cabinet with glass doors. MVP, Golden Glove and other notable mentions were inscribed on plaques with John Roper’s name.
He walked back into the room with a stack of clothes in his hand. “Take your pick.”
“Nice set of awards. Once again, you’ve impressed me,” she said as she accepted a sweat outfit.
“I hope the awards aren’t the only things you like about me, because you know what they say, all good things come to an end.” He studied her through narrowed eyes.
“I don’t know you well enough to know what I like about you.” She knew better than to mention the career problems she’d just learned about tonight.
“Good answer.” He smiled and his eyes softened, warming her a bit more.
She supposed it couldn’t be easy to meet women and not know whether they were interested in him or in his status and money. Amy had no use for either. She’d grown up comfortable and didn’t need excessive luxury, although what her mother couldn’t afford, her uncle had always provided. But Amy never took having material things for granted. Love and family were much more important than money. But he didn’t know enough about her to understand she was a genuine person and she knew better than to try to convince him with mere words.
She had already seen there was more to Roper than the player she’d assumed him to be. Like his ability to apologize for mistakes and his chivalry in bringing her back here to warm up with seemingly no ulterior motive.
“Let’s get to know each other better over a good meal. While you change, I’ll fix us up something to eat,” he said.
“There’s no need for you to go to any trouble. We can order in. It’s easier. And I ought to know-I’ve been living on takeout.”
Although she had essentially been the caretaker in the family, keeping everyone busy and out of trouble, she’d also been spoiled by living near her mother and aunt. They’d served her home-cooked meals and delivered them to her doorstep if she wanted to be alone. She hadn’t had to worry about fixing things for herself, which was a good thing, because she was a hazard in the kitchen. Here in New York, she’d been too busy making Micki’s apartment her own and learning her way around the city to attempt making meals, too.
“That settles it, then. I’m definitely cooking. It relaxes me, and besides, it’s healthier than eating the fried food and heavy sauces you’ll find in takeout.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “A man who cooks? Now,
“I’d be happy to.” His eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Bathroom’s down the hall on your right.” He pointed toward the back of the apartment.
She headed to change in his spare bathroom, something her apartment didn’t have, and a few minutes later she returned to the kitchen dressed in sweats that were a little snug but much warmer and more comfortable than the outfit she’d worn to the party.
She stood in the doorway and took in the gorgeous state-of-the-art kitchen. “Wow. My mother would be impressed.”
“I’m impressed, too.” His gaze traveled leisurely over her, his eyes darkening with distinct approval. “You dress down as well as you dress up. The rumpled, fresh-out-of-bed look suits you,” he said with a sexy grin.
Her face warmed at the compliment and her body followed suit.
“I didn’t realize you were that much taller than my sister,” he said, taking in the sweats that she’d rolled around her calves.
She glanced down at her bare ankles. “Well, at least capris are in style.”
“They are and they look great on you.”
“Thanks.” A flush rose to her cheeks. She could say the same about how good he looked, too.
He’d opened the first few buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, giving him an edgy, sexy look. “So let’s get started. You said you wanted lessons. I take it cooking’s not your thing?”
She sighed and lifted her hands uselessly in the air. “Nope. They say children learn by watching, but I’m afraid I never picked up Mom’s talent. Not even the basics.”
“Well, then, sit and I’ll teach you.”
She realized he’d already taken out presliced chicken strips and now he was slicing fresh vegetables on a cutting board. A wok sat ready and waiting for him to use.
“Starting with precut and sliced food helps,” she said, laughing.
He raised an eyebrow. “So you’re that much of a novice, hmm?”
“And you’re that much of an expert?”
He nodded.
Everything about the man took her by surprise. A really pleasant surprise.
She settled herself onto a barstool near the island, where he was working.
“I buy presliced chicken because my schedule’s so hectic I never know how much time I’ll have. On a night like tonight, it comes in handy. You can buy precut vegetables, as well, but it takes me no time and I’d rather eat fresh. Now I’m nearly ready to toss the vegetables into the wok.”
She blinked at how fast he’d prepared a meal that would have taken her an hour minimum. “Maybe I should be taking notes,” she mused as she reached over and plucked a carrot from the cutting board.
“Hey, quit nibbling or you won’t be hungry enough to enjoy my masterpiece.” He playfully smacked at her hand, but she was faster.
She nabbed another carrot before he could stop her.
In two steps he stood by her side, his presence big and overwhelming, the heat in his eyes matching the desire
