“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I turn to leave, but he stops me.
“What do you do anyway?”
“Do?”
“For a living. The job with unconventional working hours?”
I inwardly cringe, not because I’m embarrassed of my job. In fact, I’m damn proud. I just get weary of the reaction I get from men when they learn I write sultry love stories. The response is sometimes crude.
“I’m an author.” I adjust my feet in the carpeted hallway.
“Wow. That’s awesome,” he says, genuinely impressed. “Anything I might have heard of?”
“No. I write romance. Not something you’d be interested in.”
I start to back away, but he follows me into the hall.
“What makes you think a man wouldn’t read romance?”
I briefly close my eyes then open them and try to explain, “It’s women’s fiction.”
He shrugs. “I believe in love at first sight and kisses that make your heart pound. And trust me when I say, I wouldn’t blush at a sex scene.”
The way his eyes smolder as he says the word sex sends a shiver through my body. I need to bottle his baritone and re-create it in a love scene.
His words surprise me, too, since I’ve seen the amount of gorgeously dressed women who come roaming in and out of his apartment. He doesn’t seem like the guy who is looking for a commitment.
“Well, if you don’t mind just giving me two hours, that would be awesome. Don’t stop your party, just don’t blast the music.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in? Not even for one drink?” he asks again, motioning toward the partly open doorway.
There has to be a dozen people inside, if not more. They’re all laughing and drinking, unwinding after their long day at the office, I imagine. I’m envious of them actually. I’d kill for a drink right now and a coworker to commiserate with.
“Maybe some other time.” I spin on my heel and head to my door.
As I step inside my apartment, I see Jake has already entered his own and closed the door.
Sighing, I walk around my home, past the galley kitchen that looks into the living room. I grab my laptop off the couch and walk it over to my desk by the window. The crescent-shaped moon is bright tonight. The kind that movies use when depicting dreams. It makes me smile, seeing as I have many dreams of my own that I wish to come true. My main dream is taking my career to the next level by being represented by a major publishing house. I’d become the author my mother would be proud of, and I’d have job security that would help plan for my future.
The music coming from Jake’s apartment lowers, and I can hear someone audibly complain. There’s still a dull roar, but I can work with that. I increase my own mood music and get back to work, biting my thumbnail as I reread my words. I’m not sold on them, and I consider rewriting the whole thing.
I’m hitting Delete when there’s a knock at my door.
My eyes squint as I purse my mouth, confused as to who it could be. Since I live in a secured building, all guests have to hit the buzzer downstairs. Whoever is at my door must live in my building.
I pad over and open it to see Jake standing there with a glass in one hand, the other raking through his lustrous hair.
“Since you refuse to come over, I thought I’d bring the party to you.”
I eye him curiously as he strolls in, handing me the glass of wine, and heads straight for my living room.
“Thanks,” I say, closing the door even though I never told him to come in. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“We’re neighbors. It’s the kind thing to do after I annoyed you with my music.”
I’ve lived in this building for a few years and never brought a drink to someone else’s house in kindness. I’m not sociable like that. I take a sip of the wine and nod in approval.
At least he has good taste in vino.
Standing at the kitchen counter, I watch as he strolls around. My apartment is a decent size—one bedroom, full bath, kitchen, and living room/dining room combo—but add in the six-foot-tall man dressed in jeans, a pale pink button-down, and smoldering good looks, it feels claustrophobic. His presence, as well as his honey-scented cologne, lingers in every square inch of the place.
“These your books?” He points to the bookcase near my desk.
“Yep. I keep a lot of extras for people who order signed copies.”
He whistles through his teeth as he takes in the rows of paperbacks. “That’s impressive. Let me buy one off of you.”
I shake my head. “No need. Just grab one.”
“Any suggestions?”
I roll my eyes. It’s not like he’s actually gonna read it, so I walk over and pick the first book I see. It’s called Fire and Gold, and it was my first best seller.
He holds it in his hands, feeling the weight of it. “This is quite the accomplishment. Your parents must be proud.”
Proud isn’t the word I’d use.
“Of course.”
“You hesitated.”
I brush him off. “She is satisfied with my career.”
His eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to decide if I’m lying or not. An attuned man is a dangerous one, as they can read between the lines.
“I’ll let you know what I think of this.” He holds up the book and looks at the cover with the shirtless model glowering with searing intensity. “Nice abs.”
“Did you come here to borrow a book?” I ask with an unsure smile.
He grins. “Kind of. I just wanted to bring you the wine and see what life was like on the other side of the wall. You’ve never knocked on my door before.”
“I most definitely have. When you moved in, I came over to introduce myself. You answered while wearing nothing but a seafoam-green towel, and a woman,
