“You were…rude.” Caitlyn spit the word out and Ben looked at her in surprise.
“I’m sorry?”
“You should be sorry, you were a…a…” He watched her with more than a little amusement as she struggled to come up with a curse word to describe him. The amusement was tempered by a vague, and unfamiliar, sense of guilt.
Why couldn’t he remember that night? Well, he knew why he couldn’t remember that night, but it was frustrating as hell. He would kill to know what he said to make this gorgeous woman spitting mad. Unless it wasn’t something he’d said. The vague guilt erupted into a horrible fear. “If I did anything inappropriate”—he waved his hands vaguely, at a loss for words, which was an even more uncommon sensation—“if I kissed you or touched you in a way that—”
“You didn’t.” She’d crossed her arms in front of her chest and was looking at him now like he was crazy. He exhaled in relief.
“You don’t remember,” she said. It was not a question, and he was grateful for the lack of judgment in her eyes. He felt rotten enough without a guilt trip.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.” He watched her nibble on her lip as she studied him. “Judging by your reaction to me and the fact that I have very little memory of that night, I’m inclined to believe you when you said I was an asshole.”
Her brows drew together. “I didn’t call you an asshole.”
“You were going to,” he said.
“I wasn’t. I was going to call you a jerk.”
“Asshole is better. More vivid. The efficacy of cursing is all about the mental image it summons.”
He thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward, and a jolt of pleasure shot through him at the realization that he’d nearly made her smile. He found himself dying to see that smile. So he fell to his knees.
* * * *
“What are you doing?” Caitlyn’s voice sounded shrill, even to her own ears.
Still on his knees, Ben clasped his hands together and looked up at her with comically wide eyes. “Please let me in.”
Caitlyn didn’t know whether to laugh or shout for help. Her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Dubois, came out of her apartment and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of this handsome man on his knees on her doorstep. And now that stupidly sexy face was turned up to her, his dark eyes looking pathetically like a puppy dog.
She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother the giggle. “What are you doing?” she asked again, this time while tugging on his arm to get him to stand up before Mrs. Dubois came over to investigate.
He didn’t budge. “My dearest…” He paused and Caitlyn raised a brow in disbelief.
“Caitlyn.” Seriously? The man had mental issues.
“Caitlyn. Of course.” He cleared his throat to start again. “My dearest Caitlyn, I unfortunately have very little memory of our lovely night together, but I suspect from your demeanor that I truly was a complete and utter jackass. Am I right?”
She nodded, unable to stop the grin that was spreading over her face at his insanity. He may be a jackass but he was entertaining, at least.
He concluded with a bowed head. “For my behavior that night, I apologize with all my heart.”
Before she could reply, his head snapped back up. “If you could find it in your heart to let this jackass into your apartment so he doesn’t freeze his balls off, he would be forever in your debt.”
She opened her mouth to say no, but stopped as the reality of her situation set in. What alternative did she have? She couldn’t afford rent on her own for this month and it could take weeks to find a new subletter, especially one who was available to move in right away.
This guy was an asshole—that much they’d firmly established—but being obnoxious was not the same as being a sociopath or a murderer. And his references had checked out. More importantly, so had his credit check.
She glanced over his head to see Mrs. Dubois watching unabashedly. “Good evening, Mrs. Dubois,” she called out. The old woman scowled at her and she turned her attention back to the man who was prostrate at her feet.
She conceded with a sigh. “Come on in. But don’t make me regret it.”
* * * *
She watched him unpack his toiletries in her bathroom and tried to reconcile the jerk from her horrid date with this Ben whose references raved about him. Maybe he’d paid them off. But then, she’d had the same issue trying to figure out how horrid-date-guy was the same man who had sent her all of those thoughtful, funny e-mails. The man was an enigma. Or he was just very good at paying people off. One of the two.
He turned then to see her watching him and she felt heat flood her cheeks. Great, now she looked like a creepy stalker. “Uh, I just wanted to make sure you’re settling in all right.”
One side of his mouth twisted up into a grin that made her heart beat double time. He was sexy, there was no doubt about that. Handsome too, and he knew it. He had unruly, short, dark brown hair, rugged features, and a large build—not stocky but solid and well built. Like a lumberjack. A five o’ clock shadow only managed to make him more attractive, which was rather annoying. She didn’t want to be attracted to this man—not only because he was a conceited jerk but because she was going to be sharing a small apartment with him for a month, at the very least.
Physical attraction made her uneasy, it always had. With her last two boyfriends, the physical attraction had grown slowly, a result of their mutual affection. But this kind of sexual energy… It made her nervous. She hated the fluttery feeling it brought on, and she dreaded the thought of being uncomfortable in her own home. Her sanctuary.
She would just have to get over it.
She pointed him to the spare bedroom, and when he went back there to unpack she followed before coming to a stop in the doorway. “If you need anything, just let me know.” The moment the words came out of her mouth, she wished she could pull them back. Hovering in the doorway of his bedroom was weird enough, but somehow the simple offer sounded like she was offering something dirty, or at least that’s what his sexy grin insinuated.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She was just being polite, dammit. She gave this speech to all the new roommates, and there was nothing salacious about it. With that thought, she straightened her shoulders and ignored his childish smirk.
“Towels are in the hall closet, and if you need anything for your bed…”
One of his brows shot up at that.
Oh, why was she still talking? Backing away from the bedroom, she gave a little wave. “Okay, then. Good night.”
She was just about to turn when he stopped her by reaching out a hand and grasping her arm. Flames ignited at the simple touch, and Caitlyn held her breath as she stood frozen in place. It was harmless touch, but the electricity that shot through her was palpable…paralyzing.
Ben dropped his hand and Caitlyn was once again able to inhale.
“Sorry,” he muttered, looking down at her arm. In a gesture that was adorably cute and boyish, he ducked his head and ran his hand through his hair, mussing it further. “I just wanted to say sorry. Again. For…you know.”
That night.
“I really appreciate you letting me stay here and giving me another shot.” He looked up and their eyes met.
Her heart fluttered in her chest at the sweet sincerity she saw there. His gaze was warm and direct. It felt…intimate. Damn. This man was sexy as hell when he was a jerk, but as a good guy? She was certain the temperature in the room rose by another ten degrees. She had to resist the urge to fan herself.
Not trusting herself to speak lest she accidentally put her foot in her mouth, she gave him a smile before turning away and heading back to her room. Once there she let out the breath she’d been holding.
She absolutely needed to find a way to get over this stupid attraction. There was no way she could spend the next month walking on tiptoes around this man just because he had a ridiculous, inexplicable effect on her. This wa
s her home, her asylum, her sanctuary.
Deep breaths. Still leaning against her door, waiting for her heart rate to return to normal, Caitlyn reminded herself yet again that she would get over this initial, crazy reaction. He’d stunned her, that was all. Of course seeing your date-from-hell was going to cause a bit of a disturbance. But now she could move on. Treat him like she would any other temporary roommate. Temporary, that was the key word here. He wouldn’t be here long—a month, that was what they agreed on. Besides, they were both busy professionals, and they would probably rarely see one another while he was there. That much she knew from experience.
She’d had a steady stream of temporary roommates to help her make rent every month in the year since the breakup. She’d always managed to keep a friendly distance, ensuring that the relationship was a professional one. A landlord and tenant, to a certain degree. Friendly but not friends, that was what she wanted out of a roommate. And she certainly didn’t want sexual tension. She inhaled deeply, finally calm enough to fully enter her room and start getting ready for bed. It was settled then. They would just have to do their best to stay out of one another’s way.
* * * *
That proved to be much easier said than done. Two days into her new living situation and Caitlyn was ready to strangle her roommate. She came home from a morning class at the shop to find him sprawled out on her couch, still in a T-shirt and boxers he’d clearly slept in, his hair a mess of bedhead.
And he looked incredible.
He was typing away at a laptop on the coffee table and was surrounded by dirty dishes and stacks of notepads and books, which she assumed were part of his work. She paused in the entryway, and when he looked up, she knew she still wore of look of disgust. She was far from a neat freak, but it was disconcerting to see someone else’s clutter take over her space. Not to mention the disaster he’d made of the bathroom. She was half convinced this guy had lived his life with a maid to pick up after him—but then, if this guy could afford maid service, what the hell was he doing subletting at her rundown place?
“Welcome back.” He glanced up from his computer. “Something wrong?”
Yes. From the moment he’d moved in, he hadn’t left the apartment. He was always there, in her way, every time she turned around.
“No. Just… Don’t you have an office to go to?”
He shook his head and went back to typing. “I typically work from home. I’m more efficient if I’m home alone.”
“That would have been nice to mention in your application,” Caitlyn muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” You heard me. But she let it drop—the only thing more uncomfortable than his presence would be a confrontation.
As she went about her routine over the next few days, she assumed he would at least leave the apartment in the evenings to go out with friends. But every night he plopped down next to her on the couch where she was knitting and watched TV alongside her. To her horror, she soon found that he wasn’t the type who merely watched TV. Oh no, her charming houseguest had to comment on every little thing that occurred on the screen as though television was an interactive sport.
During one commercial break, he’d turned to her with a sudden, avid interest in her knitting project that she had been diligently working on for the past two nights that they’d been camped out on the couch. It was a delicate lace shawl made with fine yarn and tiny needles and she had to knit every stitch with great care.
“Who’s that for?” he asked.
“One of my students commissioned it. It’s for her daughter’s wedding.”
He studied it for some time, inspecting the edges with a surprising gentleness. “It’s beautiful.”
A lightness filled her chest. The compliment made her far happier than it should have. But it was always nice to have her work appreciated. “Thank you.”
And then he had to go and ruin the moment. “How much is she paying you?”
Her hands stopped their monotonous task so she could look up at him. “I beg your pardon?”
He was turned toward her with an interest that was alarming. No male ever had taken such an interest in her knitting. “How much are you charging?”
“A hundred dollars and the cost of supplies,” she said and then immediately regretted it. Why did he even care? It was none of his business.
He was staring at her in horror now. “You’re kidding me.”
“She’s a very sweet old lady,” Caitlyn started to explain.
He cut her off. “I don’t think she’s sweet at all. The old crony is taking advantage of you.”
Caitlyn gasped. Her students loved her. “She is not. She’s—”
“How many hours would you say this project is going to take?”
She clamped her lips shut and focused on the row she was working on.
“I’ve watched you working on this for ten hours, at least, and it looks like you’ve got a long way to go.”
Caitlyn ignored him, but her brain automatically started calculating how many more hours she would most likely spend on this project, and the number was disconcerting. Especially if you divided it by a hundred dollars.
Ben leaned back on the couch and crossed his arms. “Do you realize that taking into account the electricity you’re using and that cup of tea you’re sipping, you’re actually taking a loss on this project?”
Caitlyn pressed her lips together, wishing she had some sort of comeback that would put this infuriating man in his place.
But he was right.
“Shut up and watch your show,” she grumbled. She moved farther onto her side of the couch with a sniff.
Don’t you have any friends? Don’t you have a life? She wanted to ask. But she didn’t, of course. That would be entirely too rude and more than a little hypocritical seeing that she was camped out on the couch right beside him.
Instead she settled on, “Have you found a permanent place to live yet?”
One side of his mouth turned up in a knowing grin. He knew exactly what she was hinting at. You are not welcome here. The day his month-long sublet contract ended, he would be out the door.
“I’m not looking for a place.” He popped a handful of mixed nuts into his mouth.
Dread replaced annoyance. Oh my God, he was the guest who would never leave. Maybe that’s what he did. He just hopped from one apartment to the next until he drove the tenant so crazy that they kicked him out. That was it! That explained why his references gave such glowing reviews. It was a conspiracy. It was—
“I already own a place,” he said.
Caitlyn’s mouth fell open as she stared at him, the shawl forgotten in her hands. “What?”
“I bought a condo on the Upper East Side, but it’s undergoing renovations. I’m just waiting for them to finish. It was supposed to be done weeks ago, but you know how it goes.”
Caitlyn nodded. Yeah, sure, she knew how it went. Oh the troubles of being a homeowner in New York City. His woes were right up there with the plight of the migrant worker.
“So why are you staying here?” she asked, looking around her tiny, old apartment with its drafty windows and peeling paint. “Shouldn’t you be staying at a hotel or something? I know you make a lot of money and—”
He looked over at her in surprised amusement. “And just how do you know that I make a lot of money?”
“You told me.” That night, went without saying. She shifted on the couch and turned back to her knitting.
“I said that?” His face was the picture of dismay. At her pointed look, he added, “I thought we agreed to forgive and forget. I know I have.”
She laughed at that. “All is forgiven and forgotten, but you did tell me that you make a lot of money.”
His look was comically chagrined. “I’m a right bastard.”
“Agreed. But that doesn’t answer the question of why someone who has so much money—”
“I may make a lot of mone
y, but I also lose a lot of money.”
She blinked in surprise at the candor in his tone. He shrugged. “It’s the nature of the game. But that’s what I like about high stakes finance—no risk, no reward.”
“So it’s like gambling then?”
He leaned back against the couch cushion. “It’s not so much gambling as it is taking a risk on something you believe in—something you feel has potential, a diamond in the rough. What? What are you grinning about?”
She shook her head, smothering a laugh. “Nothing, I just—I didn’t take you to be so…philosophical.”
He threw a peanut at her head. “Ah, fuck off,” he muttered as he turned back to the TV. But he was laughing too.
“So you’re subletting because it’s cheaper than a hotel?”
He hesitated in answering and she glanced over. Maybe he’d just been distracted by whatever was on the television because he cast her a charming grin. “That’s me. Financially responsible.”
Caitlyn went back to her knitting. It wasn’t until she was brushing her teeth and getting ready for bed that it dawned on her. When she’d asked him why he was subletting—he hadn’t actually answered her question.
* * * *
On day number five of Caitlyn’s challenging week of being stuck in the apartment with Ben, she got a welcome call from Meg asking her to join them at the bar for some drinks.
The timing was perfect. Not only was she eager to escape her roommate, but the heat in her apartment had broken—again—and the idea of cozying up to a drink in front of a fireplace sounded like heaven.
She had just started to bundle up in the entranceway where she kept all her winter accessories when she heard Ben call out from the living room. He had started the nightly couch tradition without her.
“Hey, where are you headed off to?” He was in the doorway, hunched over with his arms wrapped around himself. Bundled up in a heavy sweater with a giant scarf wrapped around his neck, his voice was muffled.
He looked pretty cute, actually, but Caitlyn would never admit that. She could only imagine what would happen to his ego if she did. It was possible he would no longer be able to fit through any normal size doorway if it got any bigger.
Her Leading Man Page 4
