Technically Mine (Love, Emerson Book 2)

by Isabel North

  The apartment Anna had been hired to decorate was at the top of the building. Nora eyed the old-fashioned freight elevator with foreboding, struggled to raise the cage front, and was relieved when she was obliged to give up and take the stairs instead.

  The apartment was in a better state than she’d anticipated. It was already livable, in fact. It must have been the first stage of the redevelopment, she decided. Based on the rough exterior she’d expected holes in the floor and pigeons in the rafters, but while the rafters were visible overhead, there were no roosting birds, and no sky.

  The central space was huge. A kitchen area to one side flowed into an enormous living area. A number of doorways opened off it.

  A quick glance at the kitchen showed that it had already been fitted with appliances, including a complicated-looking piece of machinery that could be a coffee maker, although you’d probably need an advanced degree in engineering—or perhaps astronaut training—to operate it. Three stools were pushed up to the breakfast bar, and a battered couch and a pair of armchairs huddled in the middle of the living area.

  The floor had been laid with scuffed hardwood boards, either the original or reclaimed. They were a soft, faded honey color, and had been left unpolished. Tipping her head back, Nora admired the ceiling. It was a cliché, she knew, all the exposed architectural features, the rafters and the ductwork, but it had a cool kind of steampunk feel to it.

  Anna would probably clutch her pearls and insist it all be covered up. Nora hoped not.

  She headed over to the east wall and the bank of wide windows, where the morning sun flooded in to lie in a lake of gold on the boards. Unable to resist, Nora jumped into the light as if it was a puddle and stood there with her face turned up, drinking it in.

  She wondered if any of the rooms she hadn’t yet explored had a similarly stunning aspect. If this was her apartment, she’d make sure to have her bedroom somewhere the sun poured in like this. What a way to wake up.

  Except it wasn’t hers, and she could never afford it.

  After the dent the road trip had put in her savings, and considering the pitiful salary Anna was paying her, she wouldn’t be able to afford a place of her own ever. Let alone a millionaire’s warehouse.

  Making a mental note to buy a lottery ticket the first chance she got, Nora dragged herself back to reality. Anna was now seriously late, and Mr. Sterling was due any minute. If Anna didn’t have time to look around before he arrived, Nora would have to cover. Otherwise she wouldn’t even have the pitiful salary, and she faced a future of slinking back to Beacon Falls, where she’d have the choice of living with her parents, or in her storage unit.

  Toss-up as to which would be more embarrassing.

  Two of the rooms opening off the central space were filled with a mess of lumber, tools and general construction junk. The third room, she walked into and stopped dead.

  The guy with the fantastic ass was standing right there, in nothing but tattoos, a towel slung low around his hips, and a quizzical smile aimed her way.

  Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Smile fading, he tilted his head a fraction.

  Good grief. Come on. He’d made her stupid enough when he was dressed. Now, he was…

  She’d never seen…

  Okay, she’d seen, but not in real life. Not like this.

  She’d called it. He was cut. He had definitely been on his way back from the gym.

  Probably he lived in the gym.

  He’d have to, to get those amazing muscles. His biceps were…wow…but the length of his arms meant they didn’t do that weird bulging thing. And his abs?

  Holy. Shit.

  She didn’t think guys in the real world had abs like that. Just guys in the movies, running around pretending to be Spartan warriors. The six-pack. The V disappearing under the towel…

  “Hey there,” he said.

  Nora’s gaze snapped back up to his face. She couldn’t quite read his expression. He looked amused, but there was something else mixed with the amusement, something unidentifiable.

  “Are you my new stalker?” he continued. “Because I have to tell you, I will defend my virtue.”

  Nora bolted.

  She ran for the first exit in sight, slammed the door behind her, and pressed her back against it.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, hands to her cheeks. What the hell? Why did she run? Like a rabbit. What was she thinking?

  And what was he doing here anyway, standing around flaunting his beautiful body in Mr. Sterling’s apartment? Which was supposed to be vacant!

  She caught her breath. No. It couldn’t be.

  Please. Please don’t let him be the client.

  He was, though. She knew it. It made the most sense. He had to be Mr. Sterling, who was, in fact, living here despite what he’d told Anna. Or maybe he wasn’t living here, maybe he’d come from the gym to use the shower she was looking at right now.

  Nora straightened.

  She’d run into his bathroom. The air was still heavy with moisture from the shower he must have just stepped out of. Whatever body wash or soap he used, it smelled divine.

  Now she was being creepy and smelling the client.

  Do something, Nora told herself. Think. Salvage the situation.

  She had to go out there and introduce herself, and then apologize. Yes. She’d do it. Any minute now. As soon as her face had cooled down and returned to something approaching a normal color.

  On the other hand, she could always go out the window.

  So it was three floors up. Big deal. There was scaffolding, right? She could climb down it and…and knowing her luck she’d fall, break something, and make more of an idiot of herself than she already had.

  No, she wasn’t going to climb out the window. Tempting though it was.

  She’d die in here instead.

  Hearing a familiar voice on the other side of the door, Nora pressed her ear to the wood.

  “Mr. Sterling.” It was Anna, sounding calm and unruffled.

  He must have put his pants on.

  Then again, Anna had the emotional maturity to not react like a sheltered Victorian spinster and run away when she saw a mostly-naked hot dude. She probably saw mostly-naked hot dudes all the time, and was smart enough not to run in the wrong direction.

  “I am so sorry,” Anna was saying with a light laugh, “I hadn’t expected you to be here early, or for me to get here late. My apologies. I’ll let you finish dressing.”

  His pants were still off, then.

  “Hold up,” he said. “Quick question. You know anything about the girl who’s hiding in my bathroom?”

  “Uh—”

  “She’s not mine. I didn’t bring her here. Turned around, and there she was. Cute little thing. Looks like a librarian. I didn’t have a chance to get her name before she ran. Anyone you know?”

  There was a beat of silence, and then Anna called out, “Nora?”

  Nora faced the door. Resting both palms on it, she leaned her forehead against the cool wood in defeat. “Yes?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m in the bathroom. What do you think I’m doing?”

  There was another brief silence.

  Nora processed her own words. Great. Sounded like she’d admitted to using the toilet.

  She rushed to clarify. “I’m flossing. I had a flossing emergency. I have… I have spinach in my teeth.”

  She flinched when Mr. Sterling’s deep voice came close from the other side of the door. “You ate spinach for breakfast?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did. It’s an excellent choice of breakfast food. It is both tasty and nutritious. And it always gets stuck in your teeth. Everyone knows that. Anyway, I’m almost done flossing. I’ll be right out.”

  There. She’d pulled it together. That was polite. That made sense.

  “You sure you’re flossing? Not sitting bare-assed on the—”

  “I’m flossing!”

  “Okay then.”

&nb
sp; The door handle turned and Nora realized with horror that she hadn’t locked it. The soles of her boots slid on the damp floor tiles as he pushed it open, scooting her backward even as she tried to brace it shut.

  Nora backed up to the vanity and he strolled in, still with the towel around his hips, to crowd beside her. He took a toothbrush from the glass on the sink, squirted toothpaste on it, and started brushing his teeth, watching her watch him, wide-eyed, in the mirror.

  After a moment he clamped down on the toothbrush, left it sticking out of his mouth, and turned to her, lifting her chin.

  What was he doing?

  Still holding her chin, he leaned away to get rid of the toothpaste and run the sink clean, then he dropped the brush back into the glass with a clink. His grip on her jaw was firm and warm. He squeezed.

  Nora opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, and stuttered to a stop when he eased her head back and leaned in.

  He was checking her teeth.

  “You missed a bit,” he told her.

  “I did not!” She tried to cover her mouth, but all she did was get her fingers tangled up with his.

  “You did. It’s right there. I’m looking right at it. You missed a bit.”

  Nora smacked his arm. He tightened his hold a fraction before he let go. “I did not,” she said indignantly. “I didn’t even eat spinach for breakfast!”

  Shit.

  He smiled down at her. “Damn cute,” he said.

  The businesslike clip of Anna’s heels on the tiles broke the spell before Nora could do something even more stupid, like tell him he had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

  “This is a great space for a bathroom,” Anna said. “I have a hundred ideas already.” She ducked around Mr. Sterling, wound an arm around Nora’s waist, and began to haul her away from him. “We’ll go and start making notes, let you get on. Let you get dressed. All right? Fabulous.”

  She got them out of the bathroom and shut the door.

  “Holy shit, Nora,” Anna said once there was a solid panel of wood between them and the all-important client Nora had just ogled, lied to, and—finale!—hit. “That was spectacular. Even for you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Gabe watched Anna Holmes drag her assistant out of the bathroom. That was one quirky little handful.

  He was intrigued. Not because she really was damn cute, with her ash brown hair and big blue eyes, but because of the way she’d looked at him.

  He’d been looked at by women before.

  A lot.

  When he was younger, they’d looked at him in the same way he’d looked at them: with sexual interest, or challenge.

  When he was older and had grown more successful, that had changed. Like it or not, once they discovered he wasn’t the uncomplicated bit of rough they’d taken him for, it affected the view.

  Some women were intimidated by his money. Some wanted to help him spend it. Surprisingly often, they took it as a personal insult.

  He’d once dated an environmentalist who had a shaky understanding of what being in the tech industry meant, and considered him up there with oil barons, frackers, and the Dark Lord Sauron.

  She’d been fun.

  And then there was the chick who’d kicked him to the curb—but only after trying to kick him in the nuts—the day she’d discovered he sometimes wore suits and owned the building that he worked in, instead of being the bike messenger that she’d gotten into her head he was.

  Bike messenger?

  Took all sorts.

  But this woman…? Gabe didn’t think he’d ever been looked at like that before.

  He recognized her admiration for his body. The rest, though? What was it?

  Yearning.

  No. Yearning sounded too lustful. There was lust mixed in, sure, but lust wasn’t the heart of it. It was…

  Wistfulness.

  That’s what it was.

  She had gazed at him as if he was a beautiful unicorn on the other side of a set of bars, and she didn’t even consider that she could reach through to pet him.

  He wasn’t sure which one of them, in this scenario, was in the cage. He did know one thing.

  He couldn’t wait to break it open.

  Listening to the murmur of voices in the living area, Gabe dressed in jeans and a tee, pulled on some socks, and hopped into his boots. He couldn’t catch the words, but from the tone, the assistant was having a new one ripped.

  Feeling oddly protective, he hurried, and was startled to hear them burst into giggles.

  He’d met Anna in person once, although he’d talked to her assistant on the phone a couple of times. A different assistant, he thought. The pushy professional who’d left him three more messages than he’d been happy to get, was not the same woman who’d run from him and tried to hide in his bathroom.

  And lied her head off about spinach.

  The fact that Ms. Holmes could find enough humor in the situation to be giggling about it with her employee said good things.

  She’d need a sense of humor working with him.

  Since Jenny had suggested he find himself a real home, Gabe had been through five designers. Holmes Squared was his last shot. He’d already decided that if it didn’t work out, he’d get on his knees and beg Jenny to come and help.

  “Right!” he said as he strolled through to the living area. “Coffee.”

  The women were in a huddle by the breakfast bar. At his brisk tone, Nora straightened, glancing around. When her eye fell on the espresso machine, Gabe knew she was going to head for it and make them fucking coffee.

  He’d been offering.

  “How do you take it?” he asked, speeding up to get there before she made a move for it. He took some cups down from a cabinet and fired up the beast of an Italian-made espresso machine that was the first thing he’d installed when the electricity was switched back on.

  Bracing his fists on the breakfast bar, he looked from one to the other. “What’ll it be? Espresso? Americano? Latte, cappuccino, macchiato? Irish?”

  “No whiskey,” Nora and Anna said at the same time.

  Interesting. He’d been joking about the Irish.

  Gabe ground some beans, tamped the grounds into a smooth puck, and clicked the handle in place. Steam hissed, filling the air with fragrance. He sighed in anticipation. Mmm. Rolling his shoulders, he turned to find Nora watching him. She held his gaze for three seconds before her cheeks turned pink and her eyes dropped away.

  He filled a cup with rich dark caffeinated heaven. Setting it with precision in a saucer, he stretched over the expanse of wood between them and passed it to Nora. “I’m guessing you take it straight up.”

  “Nailed it,” she said. “Thank you.” The saucer trembled, the cup rattling against it. Frowning, she put it down and glared at it, as if it had given away a secret. As if her face didn’t give everything away.

  “We haven’t met formally,” he said, and held out a hand. He wanted to feel that tremble for himself.

  “Oh,” she said. “Nora. Nora Bowman.”

  “Gabe Sterling.”

  “Mr. Sterling. Nice to meet you. Formally.”

  “Gabe,” he said, shooting Anna a glance to include her. “We’re done with formal.” He and Nora shook.

  It was an effort, but he kept his expression even. The reaction he saw flare in her eyes as their palms slid together was all her own, not a reflection of his. Good. They were on the same page.

  He let her go—for now—and switched his attention to Anna. “How about you?”

  “Espresso, and sweetener if you have it.”

  He fixed her a cup and set it on the breakfast bar, then made his own. “Let’s sit.”

  Gabe had thrown himself with enthusiasm into the project of finding a home. It was more appealing than wrestling with the hydra of a problem that was Nebula, anyway.

  The first couple of designers he’d hired hadn’t been a good fit. This was something he had learned after he’d let them go ahead and w
ork their magic on the penthouse apartment in his office building, along with the office itself.

  What was it about him that suggested he’d like chrome? Everywhere? Even the bathroom. A chrome toilet, for fuck’s sake? No. You know where else you had metal toilets? Prisons. And really crappy restrooms.

  The whole experience had left him feeling like an idiot—not a feeling he was fond of, or familiar with—since every time he was in that bathroom, he had to look in the mirror and accept that he was the chump who’d paid five thousand dollars for a prison toilet.

  And all the black marble? What was with that?

  After the first two designers, Gabe had wised up and let the others pitch for the job rather than giving them carte blanche. He’d saved a fortune, not that he cared, but he was still stuck with an apartment he could barely stand to be in, and an office that bore a strong resemblance to a network TV show’s idea of how a futuristic comic book hero would set up his base of operations.

  Which was why he had decided to start over with the warehouse.

  A buddy of his, overreaching somewhat, had bought it eighteen months ago. His big renovation project hadn’t survived a handful of poor investment decisions. When he’d complained to Gabe over a beer about the money pit sucking his finances down into the void, Gabe had seen the perfect opportunity.

  It was win-win. His buddy was back on his feet, Gabe had a brand-new apartment no one at the office knew about, and Bill Anderson, who was about a hair’s breadth away from slapping an ankle bracelet on Gabe to keep track of him, would never dream of looking for him here.

  Plus, he didn’t have to get soul chills from the décor in his own fucking penthouse.

  Once they’d all settled in the living area, Gabe hoping that Nora would sit on the couch next to him and disappointed when she took the furthest possible seat, Anna got to business.

  “I’m not going to waste your time asking what you want, because if you knew, I’m guessing you’d have it already,” Anna said. “Give me a quick idea of what you don’t want.”

  Gabe considered her, surprised and encouraged. She was the only designer who’d begun asking what he didn’t want.