While APD had corralled, arrested, and pretty much cleared the streets of those troublemakers, it was now up to the conscientious PMC notification officer—Ashley—to track down and notify their, ahem, johns. And she had to do it today, before the men on her list contaminated others with their disgusting body parts.
Ashley cocked her head, sure she’d heard grumbling inside her neighbor’s apartment. “If you don’t talk to me now,” she told his door sternly, “I’ll just come back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. It’s my job, but it’s not my fault. It’s yours. So, open up and take it like a man.”
Wow, that almost made her sound tough. She knocked again, louder this time. Determined, darn it. Wielding that official piece of paper like the sword of truth it was.
Another, louder noise came from inside. Pressing her ear against the polished wooden door, she listened intently. Wait. Was he cursing? “For the love of God, what now?”
My heck, he was swearing. Well, too bad.
The door jerked open. Inward. And there he was, the same vision she’d glimpsed before, when he’d marched down the hall in all his tanned, golden glory, probably on his way to work. Her neighbor. Mr. McClane. The guy she’d only seen coming and going. From behind. His broad shoulders and straighter erect back were worth noticing. So was his butt. His long legs—
“Oh, it’s you,” he said more politely than the intense scrutiny in his green eyes declared. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
Ma’am? Me? He almost sounded respectful.
“I, ahh…” The official notice crunched in Ashley’s palm. She had no more words. Her eyes were too wide. The mouth-watering scene standing in front of her was too… too. He’d been working out or something. She must’ve interrupted him. That was why he’d cussed when she’d knocked. Sweat still glistened on his forehead. His short hair was spiked and wet with it. A single, flesh-toned butterfly bandage peeked above his left eyebrow.
The silly desire to lick the tiny droplets trickling down the steel cords of his neck, before they disappeared beneath the round collar of his short-sleeved t-shirt, made Ashley shift her feet. The shirt couldn’t begin to cover the mounded pectorals beneath it. It was white, well, semi-white, since it was darkened with perspiration, between those pecs, and under his arms. He had mounds and mounds of biceps. The hems of that shirt’s armholes showed off those tremendous curves quite nicely. Quite nicely indeed.
Knee-length workout shorts drew her attention down over the roped thickness of his muscular thighs to his bronzed kneecaps. This guy was gloriously tanned in all the best places. My gosh, his calves were as thick as her thighs. She blinked, trying hard not to stare.
This man is nothing but fool’s gold, her inner, prudish-self reminded her.
Yeah, but… Ashley took a step back, her tongue bone-dry, and her crazy heart hop-scotching up her throat like a three-year-old on a sugar high. “I, ahh…” Don’t remember what I was going to say. When in doubt… “Hi, there.”
“Hey,” he replied quickly. A titch of impatience resonated in that one word. He lifted one massive arm and stabbed four straight, bronzed fingers over his head, raking his damp hair back from the most beautiful, angular male face she’d ever seen. Wide, clear, but sweaty forehead. Straight, slender nose. Arched light-brown brows Ashley wanted to trace with her fingertips. A firm chin masked by golden stubble, darker than his hair. More brownish-red than sandy-blond. What a delightful combination. It looked soft and touchable. Was it?
Wherever he’d lived before, the sun had kissed the heck out of this guy. His hair. His lips. His arms. Even his green eyes. Bottle green. Bright, as if they stored sunshine. They shone like that pretty bottle of sparkling water she’d ordered at her favorite restaurant for lunch the other day. Tiny, darker, emerald spokes radiated from huge, black pupils.
When he blinked, she fell in love with the lashes that fanned like smoky paint brushes against the sheen of his perspiration-dampened cheeks. The contrast between the green of his eyes and his sweat-slick, sandy-blond hair, made Mr. McClane a little overwhelming to behold. Yet there she stood, like a star-struck teenager—beholding.
Ashley hadn’t expected her first notification of the day to be so, so good. She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip and a steamy heat flickered to life in those beautiful, crystal-clear greens. Something crackled in the air between Mr. McClane and her. Felt like electricity—or lightning.
She slipped her free hand into her messenger bag and clutched her secret weapon, in case he wasn’t as nice as he acted and looked. But if he were...
“I’m… ah… I’m… I’m…” —Here to notify you that you might have an STD— “Ashley. Ashley Cox. Your n-n-next door n-n-neighbor.”
Way to go, girl. Should’ve led with your job title, not your home address.
The sunshine inside those gorgeous eyeballs brightened, and she was entranced all over again. This job wasn’t so bad at all.
He stabbed his thumb in the direction of her place. “You’re the lady with the birds.”
She nodded. “Yes, well, just one. Peewee. He’s not disturbing you, is he?”
Peewee was her Moluccan cockatoo, a pretty boy who loved to greet the mornings, evenings, and sometimes, afternoons, with enthusiasm, that, unfortunately, sounded like shrieking to everyone but her. She used to keep him covered until the dangerous times of day passed, but he’d shriek the moment he spied her anyway. Right now, he had the run of the place. He was her favorite silly boy.
Her handsome neighbor crooked one elbow into the corner of the door jamb over his head, framing the opening with a magnificent bicep, the underside of it embellished with thick ropes of purplish veins and more muscle. His forearm draped casually over his head. All by
