I grab my phone with a sigh. Cat’s going to hate me asking her to come home now, but what else can I do? It’s already close to midnight and I don’t fancy sleeping on the lobby floor. But when I call her it goes straight to voicemail, so I leave a message. Then I scoop the contents back into my bag and trudge over to the stairs, slumping onto the bottom step.
I’m just about to attempt a sexy selfie when the front door to the building opens and I look up expectantly. But it’s not Cat, it’s—fuck, notagain—him. My heart jumps and I silently curse Cat for making me wear this preposterous costume. I, once again, look like an idiot, while he’s still wearing his suit, his gaze focused down on his phone as he strides across the lobby.
From where I’m perched on the bottom step he looks taller, his shoulders broader than I remember. Each time I see him it’s like he’s gotten a bit more handsome—and a bit more grumpy.
He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, lifting his gaze to meet mine. His brow furrows into its default frown and he heaves out a breath. “You know, I’m trying to think of a time recently when I looked up and you weren’t there.”
Okay, alotmore grumpy.
I raise my eyebrows, huffing in disbelief. What is he implying, that I’m loitering out in the lobby, desperate to run into him? It’s hardly my fault he happens to live in the building where I’m staying. And I’m getting pretty sick of his unpleasant attitude, if I’m honest. Maybe, I think, as the alcohol courses through my veins, it’s time to give him a piece of my mind.
I push to my feet, ready to say something scathing, but as I do his expression shifts. I watch as his gaze dips down my dress, lingering on my bare legs before returning to my face. His espresso-dark eyes lock onto mine and I feel a flicker of heat low in my belly. I mean, what the hell was that? Did he just—was he checking meout?
No, that can’t be right. He’s possibly one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen in real life, and I’m quite sure I’m not in his league. Gorgeous, successful New York businessmen don’t tend to find themselves interested in women like me. Jesus, I must be pretty drunk if I’m imagining that.
But drunk I am indeed, because next thing I find myself imagining is him lifting me up onto that table over by the mailboxes and sliding one of his big hands up my thigh. I shiver at the thought of it, my whole body flushing with heat.
Oh God. Drunk and horny isnota good combination.
I clear my throat, hoping my little fantasy is not evident on my face. And now we are standing, staring at each other in silence, and I can feel the tension gathering around us, thick and heavy.
Shit, say something.
“You, uh, don’t take Henry trick-or-treating?”
He shakes his head, pocketing his phone. “He goes with his uncle. They do a whole”—he gestures vaguely and scrunches his nose—“Star Warsthing.”
“Oh.” I can’t help but smile, picturing Henry dressed up as Yoda or something. How cute.
Michael narrows his eyes at me. “What are you doing lurking in the hallway at this time of night, anyway?”
I smirk. “Hoping to run intoyou, obviously.”
There’s a little twitch in his lip, a spark dancing in his eyes as they explore my face. For one crazy moment I actually think he’s going to laugh. But, no—he manages to suppress what is clearly a foreign and unnatural urge for him, his expression returning to neutral.
“I’m locked out.” I smooth my hands down over the tiny skirt of my costume, watching as his gaze follows them. It was sweet of Cat to make this for me, but I’ve had about enough of dressing up since arriving in this city. I smile to myself at the thought that I’ll never have to wear that hideous wedding dress again. Geoff is a lifesaver.
Michael cocks his head. “What are you so happy about?”
“Nothing. I just… I got a new job tonight. At a bookstore,” I add proudly.
He raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Which one?”
“Between the Lines.”
He nods, scrubbing a hand over his beard. His gaze lingers on me and I feel a spike of self-consciousness again. I attempt a casual laugh to cover it.
“And what have you been up to? Hot date?” I say, then immediately cringe. I don’t know why I’m trying to banter with him when the two interactions we’ve had have been nothing but awkward and unpleasant. Maybe I was trying to see if he could crack a smile. I’m sure he was close a moment ago.
Anyway, I’m quite certain he was at the office again, closing on a deal or something, given he’s still in his suit. That delicious suit.
“Something like that,” he mutters.
Oh.
I feel an unusual twinge in my chest, and it takes me a second to recognize it as envy. He might be grumpy as fuck, but lucky bloody woman.
“And you’re coming home alone?” I joke awkwardly. “Shouldn’t you be bringing her—”Shit! Abort! Abort!What the hell am I saying?
