by Lucy Ryder
He may have been watching the skilled movements of Holly Buchanan’s hands but he’d been thinking about those long, slender fingers on his skin. And when he’d realized that he’d been getting turned on, he’d left before someone in the OR had looked up and noticed his jeans had been a tight fit.
The cabbie pulled up in front of a neatly refurbished brownstone and Gabe got out, bending to glare at the guy through the open passenger window when he called out an outrageous fare.
The cabbie shrugged. “I have a wife and three daughters,” he explained, accepting the notes shoved at him.
“My condolences,” Gabe drawled, slapping a hand on the yellow roof as the cab roared off. He swore he heard the guy laugh and call him a crazy dumbass before the taillights disappeared around the corner.
Turning to survey the building he was temporarily calling home, he wondered if he’d made the biggest mistake of his life to have replaced his Santa Monica home with its sunny view of the ocean for this.
Sighing wearily, he shoved a hand through his rumpled hair and headed across the sidewalk. All those boxes waiting to ambush him weren’t going to unpack themselves and he was tired of dodging obstacles and stubbing his toes.
Even before he’d received the phone call from West Manhattan, inviting him to join the P&R department, he’d been questioning the direction his life had taken. And thinking about that direction made him think about his mother, and his heart squeezed.
“Apparently you raised a crazy dumbass, Mom,” he muttered, rubbing the heel of his hand over the pinch of grief in his chest. And then in the next instant he gave a rueful smile as he imagined how she’d react. She’d level her green gaze at him and say that it was better to be a crazy dumbass than a capitalist warlord—which was what she’d called his grandfather. His father, on the other hand, had the dubious honor of being the warlord’s sidekick.
His mouth twisted in a bitter-sweet smile. Damn but he missed her. He missed her oddball sense of humor and the absolute joy she’d found in simple things; like growing herbs and making her own dandelion wine or chamomile tea, or scavenging wild herbs for her colorful salads. As a kid he’d been embarrassed by the weird stuff she’d made him eat and recalled how the other kids had used to torment him for being too poor to afford real food.
They hadn’t been that poor and she hadn’t tolerated any rudeness—from him or his friends. Her narrow-eyed stare had often been used to make him question some of his decisions. Like getting caught on camera, tp’ing the principal’s car or being forced to clean the girls’ bathroom after bombing it with paint-filled balloons.
He wondered what she’d have said about Holly Buchanan, blurting out random facts one minute, falling at his feet or into his lap the next, only to have her duck through the closest doorway to avoid him the rest of the time.
She’d probably laugh, say it served him right for being so pretty and then she’d tell him to hold onto the girl because she was obviously smart and he needed someone who wouldn’t be taken in by his I’m-up-to-no-good smile.
But Gabe didn’t need to hold onto anyone, especially a woman like Holly Buchanan. He’d fallen hard for a girl from her world once and had learned the hard way that they didn’t consider guys like him suitable for anything but a good time. He’d been happy to comply ever since, keeping his relationships superficial and short-lived.
He’d never told anyone about his father out of respect for his mother. She was gone now but he no longer had any interest in people knowing that the owner and CEO of the company holding the largest US government defense contract was his grandfather, a man who’d told Gabe’s pregnant mother to “get rid of it” because “it” wasn’t good enough for the Alexander name.
Holly Buchanan might look at him like he was a decadent dessert and she was looking to fall off the diet wagon, but she’d made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t part of her plan. No doubt she also had some eligible socially acceptable fiancé tucked away somewhere until she could fit marriage into her plan.
Besides not wanting to go down that path again, Holly was a colleague and Gabe didn’t date colleagues—especially the young vulnerable ones depending on his professionalism for their career advancement.
He was heading for the stairs to his front door when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle and turned just as a bright yellow cab pulled up beneath the streetlight. Even before the vehicle came to a stop, the passenger door opened and a strappy black sandal emerged.
Curious, he angled his head to get a better view and caught sight of a pale slender foot attached to the strappy feminine contraption. And when the sight set his heart pounding and his grip tightening on his house keys, he froze, because…because it was suddenly the most erotic sight in the world.
What the—?
Where the hell had that thought come from? Especially as he’d never had a fetish for women’s footwear before. It either meant he needed sleep or had lost what was left of his mind. Considering he’d sold a hugely lucrative practice back in LA to join the staff of a Manhattan teaching hospital, it was most likely the latter.
His fascinated gaze took in the endless length of perfectly creased trousers and the slender curvy form that followed. He let out a soundless whistle when he recognized it as one he’d had plenty of opportunity to study over the past couple of weeks—usually disappearing through the nearest doorway to avoid him.
Oblivious to his scrutiny, she tugged briefly at the neat little black jacket and bumped the door closed with her hip while rummaging around in her shoulder bag.
She bent at the waist—giving Gabe an eyeful of her long slender legs and perfectly rounded bottom—and thrust her arm through the open passenger window. She said something to the cabbie that had him gesticulating wildly and Gabe decided she was probably cursing the hefty fare.
She turned with a muttered “Darn highway robbery,” and stumbled back a step when Gabe chuckled in sympathy. Her sharply indrawn breath was clearly audible on the quiet street.
“Hey, careful,” he called out before he could help himself, and breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t go ass over head into the street.
“Ohmigosh, D-Dr. Alexander, you scared me,” she squeaked, and cast a nervous glance at the departing cabbie as though she was considering running after it. “Um…are you…are you coming to dinner?”
She cast a surreptitious look between him and the neighboring front door as though she was considering making a mad dash for it and suddenly all Gabe’s moodiness and grief vanished and he found himself smiling.
Propping his shoulder casually against a huge earthenware pot halfway up the stairs, he studied her in the pool of light cast by the old-fashioned streetlamp.
Was the lady surgeon a neighbor or visiting? he mused. Or living with her husband or l—?
For some reason the idea of her with a lover annoyed him and then he wondered why the hell he cared. He didn’t. Besides, she was exactly the kind of woman he’d promised he would never get involved with—the kind that fitted perfectly into his grandfather’s world. Rich, classy and uptight.
He arched a brow. “Are you inviting me to dinner, Dr. Buchanan?”
A hunted look came into her eyes. “What? No…I mean…I thought that’s why you’re here.” She sucked in an audible breath. “Aren’t you?”
Gabe watched the conflicting emotions flash across her mobile features. After a couple of beats he took pity on her and held up his keys.
“Relax, Doc,” he drawled, wondering why the idea of her going to dinner with some faceless man made his teeth ache. “These are my new digs.”
She looked stunned and more than a little disturbed by the news as she edged up the neighboring stairs. “Your new, um…digs?”
“Uh-huh.” He looked at her sideways and tried not to laugh at the sight of her nibbling on her thumbnail. It was something he’d noticed she did when she was disturbed. “Why, did you think I was stalking you again?”
“Wha—? No!” She gave
an embarrassed laugh that ended on a cough. “Why would I think that?”
“I don’t know,” he said mildly. “Maybe because you’re usually using escape-and-evade tactics that would do a marine proud.”
“That’s…that’s just ridiculous,” she spluttered, and even in the ambient light Gabe saw the guilty flush rise up her neck into her face. “We work on the same floor and…” She shrugged helplessly. “It’s been hectic.”
“Uh-huh.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Would it help if I told you that you’re not really my type?” He knew he’d thought it before but he’d been wrong. She was so his type. He shook his head and laughed again. This time at himself. Because, really, despite the uptight attitude, she was everyone’s type.
Especially with those big blue eyes and soft mouth that made him think of deep, wet kisses in the dark. Maybe with a big fat harvest moon hanging in a midnight sky and bathing the street in a romantic glow. He could easily picture her beautiful features bathed in moonlight as she turned up her face for a kiss. His kiss.
Snorting softly at his uncharacteristically fertile imagination, Gabe decided he’d been in California too long if he was creating romantic movie scenes in his head.
She looked annoyed and maybe a little insulted, which dispelled his imaginary romantic scene. “What is your type?” she asked curiously, then, as though realizing what she’d said, grimaced. “No, don’t tell me.” She stomped up the stairs to her front door. “Blonde, stacked and vapid, right? And most likely a surgically enhanced beach bunny. Yeesh. Big surprise.” She turned and glared at him. “Did you know that in ancient Greece, blonde hair was associated with prostitution?”
“Is that a fact?” Gabe grinned and realized with a jolt of surprise that he kind of liked the way she scowled at him—like a ruffled kitten ready to spit and scratch at the slightest move from the neighborhood mongrel. It made him want to reach out and stroke her until she arched into his caress and purred.
And as he’d never had any similar urges before, he decided that he’d slipped over the edge for real and should probably have himself committed.
“I thought the saying was blondes have more fun,” he taunted, and chuckled when she snorted her opinion of his questionable taste in women…and in hair color.
“You’re such a…a man,” she growled in that oddly husky voice that did strange things to his gut. Shoving the key into the lock, she pushed open the door before throwing “Incapable of looking past bleached hair, a pair of large breasts and long tanned legs” over her shoulder. Then, without another glance in his direction, she disappeared into the building and slammed the door behind her.
For a long moment Gabe stared at the empty spot, gradually becoming aware of the growing lightness that had replaced his previous black mood. And when he realized he was grinning like a loon, he shoved a hand through his rumpled hair. He was vaguely surprised by his new neighbor’s ability to make him smile when he hadn’t felt like smiling in what seemed like forever.
Yet despite her prickly, less-than-friendly attitude, he kind of couldn’t wait to see her again so he could tease an irritated scowl—or an adorable blush—to her face. Or maybe he just wanted to find out what other weird and wonderful facts she had tucked away inside that dark head.
He had a feeling she had one for every occasion.
With a cheerful whistle, Gabe turned and shoved his key in the lock and pushed open the door. “G’night, blue eyes,” he murmured, before slipping inside. “Sweet dreams.”
His day—and maybe the future—had just got a whole lot more interesting.
Holly’s breath whooshed out noisily as she sagged back against the door. Oh, boy, she thought, feeling strangely buzzed and exhausted. And then, because she didn’t know what else to think, she rolled her eyes, and said it out loud. “Oh, boy.”
The sound of someone clearing their throat made her jump and squeak for the second time in as many minutes. Her gaze flew to where her friend and sometime housemate Tessa stood in the open doorway to the sitting room, watching her curiously. “You’re late,” Tessa accused lightly. “And you didn’t answer your cell.”
Dr. Enzo DellaToro, fiancé to a new housemate, Kimberlyn Davis, popped his handsome Italian head round the door. “She was getting ready to call the police.”
“The police?” Holly squeaked, still feeling a little tongue-tied in his presence. “What for?”
He shrugged. “Maybe it’s hormones.”
Tessa waved that aside and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Who were you talking to? I know for a fact that it’s too early for Mr. Steiner to walk his dog.”
Holly ducked her head. There was no way she could tell them about…well, him. Tessa would ask a million questions and try to set her up again and Holly was honest enough with herself to know that Gabriel Alexander was way out of her league. She’d learned a long time ago that guys who wore that casual confidence like a pair of soft well-fitting jeans mostly didn’t even notice she existed. She was too serious, too quiet, too nerdy and…and boring.
Not to mention scarred.
“I’m sorry,” she said with an apologetic grimace, “but did you know that the actual statistics for people going missing is lower than the reports?”
Enzo and Tessa exchanged silent looks and Holly hid a wince because she knew what they were thinking. Hoping she could head them off before succumbing to the guilty need to explain herself, she pushed away from the door and walked toward them, avoiding their searching gazes by focusing on the three large buttons on her jacket.
Ignoring the questions she could see Tessa was dying to ask, Holly led the way into the living room, where dinner was clearly under way.
“What happened?” Kimberlyn asked in her sexy Southern drawl before Holly could apologize for being late.
She felt her cheeks go hot and bit back a curse. Damn it. What was this, focus-on-Holly night? She tried for a casual “I don’t know what you mean” only it emerged sounding defensive instead.
“You’re flustered,” Tessa, who’d known her the longest, said. “And you always come up with random facts when you’re nervous.”
“Nothing happened,” Holly hastened to reassure them. “Not really. I…er…I just got home and there was a guy on the street.”
“Is he still there?” Sam asked, wandering into the sitting room from the kitchen.
“Why didn’t you use your mace?” Tessa demanded, and Holly laughed.
“Relax,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat. “I, um…I didn’t need to. It was the new neighbor.”
“Ooh,” Tessa said, eyes alight with curiosity. “Is he hot?”
Sam tapped the neck of the beer bottle thoughtfully against his lip. “Next door, huh?” he drawled, distracting Holly from asking Tessa what an almost married pregnant woman was doing checking out hot guys. “Isn’t he the new cosmetic surgeon? The Hollywood guy?”
Holly blushed and gaped at him a little because it was the most she’d ever heard him say. She turned to throw her shoulder bag onto the nearest surface and shrug out of her jacket, hoping they hadn’t seen that annoying telltale reaction that had haunted her adolescence.
“Yes…and it’s, um…he’s from…um, Beverly Hills.” She rolled her eyes at herself. She’d gone for casual and ended up sounding like she had something to hide.
“Ooh.” Tessa grinned, her eyes alight with glee. “She thinks he’s hot.”
She totally did.
“I do not!” Holly said defensively as she kicked her sandals off a little viciously. Her mother would have a fit to see the elegantly appointed sitting room littered with apparel. “Besides, sixty-five percent of men prefer surgically enhanced blondes with fake…tans, not pale brunettes who um…never…get…any…sun.”
“Hey,” Enzo and Sam objected simultaneously, both looking a little affronted by the “surgically enhanced blondes” quip. Holly rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. Damn it, she was embarrassed enough, without getting into a discussi
on about blondes being more fun. Especially with Tessa—who knew a little about Holly’s family—looking empathetic.
Better just to pretend it was no big deal. Because it hadn’t been. Really. No big deal at all.
“Sorry, Enzo.” She shrugged and sent Sam a look beneath her lashes because she’d seen a surgically enhanced blonde chatting him up at the hospital festival a few months earlier. She blinked innocently and added, “I was going to say he’s okay if you like the tanned beach type. Which I don’t.”
“Oh, honey,” Kimberlyn snorted. “Everyone does.”
“Let’s invite him to dinner,” Tessa teased.
“No!” she practically squeaked, and Tessa laughed and threw herself into the nearest chair. She picked up a glass filled with what looked like mojitos from the sweating jug on the coffee table. “So-o-o,” she said, sucking down a mouthful and licking her lips. “What’s he like?”
Holly shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” she lied blithely, and dropped onto the sofa, quickly releasing her hair from its high ponytail so it fell around her shoulders in a dark silky mass…hopefully hiding her expression. “And why are you drinking?”
“Oh, I’m not. Sam made me a virgin.” There was a short pause as everyone absorbed that statement before Holly snorted.
“Won’t Clay have something to say about that?”
Tessa’s mouth curled and her eyes got that dreamy look Holly associated with people in love. The sappy one that made other women sigh with envy. “Of course he would.” She waved aside Holly’s attempts to change the subject. “Don’t change the subject, Dr. Buchanan. Is he the tall, dark and handsome guy with blue eyes and a wicked smile?”
“That’s your fiancé, Tessa,” Kimberlyn pointed out, and Tessa blinked in surprise. Surprise that slid into a secret little smile, making her resemble a sleek cat that had recently swallowed a fat, juicy pigeon. “Oh, yeah, so it is. Lucky me.”
