Mr. Right, Next Door! Read online

  Forced enthusiasm or not, his touch was making her insides quiver. She wanted desperately to look away and refuse to make eye contact with him, but pride wouldn’t let her. Instead, she forced herself to keep her features as bland as possible so he wouldn’t see that a part of her—the very female part—did want to go with him. It also wanted to feel more of his touch, too, and the common sense part of her was having a hard time forming an opposing argument.

  “If so, then no doubt you know they’re saying, ‘remove your hand.’”

  He chuckled. Soft and low. A bedroom laugh. “Did you know they flash when you’re being stubborn?”

  Rather than argue, Sophie swallowed her pride and looked to his feet. That only earned her another maddening chuckle. “You so don’t want me to move my hand, either.”

  “You’re incorrigible. You know that, right?”

  “Thank you.”

  “I still want you to move your hand.”

  “If you insist....” Suddenly his hands were cupping her cheeks, drawing her parted lips under his. Sophie’s gasp was lost in her throat. As she expected, he tasted of peppermint and coffee and…and…

  And oh, Lord, could he kiss!

  It ended and her eyelids fluttered open. Grant’s face hovered a breath from hers. Gently, he traced the slope of her nose and smiled.

  “Your eyes told me you wanted that, too.”

  If she had an ounce of working brain matter, Sophie would have turned and stormed out of his apartment then and there. Problem was one, she was trembling, and two, the fact she’d kissed him back probably wiped out any outrage she’d be trying to convey.

  So she did the next best thing. She folded her arms across her chest and presented him with a somewhat flushed but indignant expression. “Do not do that again.”

  “Do what? Kiss you?”

  “Yes, kiss me,” she snapped back. His smug smile upped her indignity. “I don’t care what you think you saw in my eyes, it’s not appropriate, and I’m not interested.”

  He didn’t even have the dignity to look chagrined. “I don’t know about inappropriate,” he drawled, “but you and I both know you’re lying about not being interested.”

  Arrogant, overconfident, caramel-eyed… Before she could finish the thought, he’d wrapped his hand in hers and was leading her toward the door. “Come on,” he said, pausing only to pick up his wallet from off the coffee table. “You can lock your door on the way out.”

  * * *

  And that was how Sophie came to be mutely escorted down her front steps and across the street.

  “Loosen up, Sophie. You look like you’re being held prisoner.”

  Wasn’t she? Sophie looked at the hand that had clasped hers since Grant led her from the apartment. His large fingers entwined with hers, gently and loosely. She could pull away anytime she wanted. The one holding on was her.

  “Ever been to the flea market before?” Grant asked, ignoring when she let go and stuffed her fist in her shorts pocket.

  “No.”

  “You’re in for an experience.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted another experience. Her fingers were tingling and her insides had become a big ball of confusion from the last one. Only yesterday she’d given herself a long lecture about decorum and professionalism and what have you, and what did she do? Let Grant kiss her. Kiss him back. Then, instead of doing the sensible thing and refusing to go with him, here she was strolling along as if they were on a date!

  Her briefcase at home was filled with pressing work. With the day ticking by, she had absolutely no business traipsing about the city under any circumstances, let alone traipsing about with a man a decade younger than she was. No matter how romantic and enigmatic he seemed to be. And, since when did she use words like romantic and enigmatic, anyway?

  To make matters truly bad, her lips could still feel Grant’s kiss, and her body really, really wanted another.

  Beside her, Grant nudged her shoulder with his. “I promise, the world won’t stop because you took a few hours off.”

  “Easy for you to say. You weren’t kidnapped and forced to go against your will.”

  “Forced to spend a beautiful summer’s day outside. How horrible!” He clutched his chest in mock horror. “There’s no need to be dramatic. You had plenty of opportunities to reject any or all of my advances. If I recall, you didn’t put up much of a fight.”

  No, she hadn’t, unfortunately. Hard to when you’re dazed and dizzy. “Why did you kiss me?” she asked him.

  “I told you, because your eyes said to.” He grinned. “Along with certain parts of my body.”

  Sophie was not amused. “I’m serious, Grant. You’ve been flirting with me for days now and I want to know why.”

  “All right.” His expression sobered. “Because you’re a beautiful woman, and I’m attracted to you. Satisfied?”

  No. “I’m a decade older than you are.”

  “Big deal. I don’t give a rat’s behind about age. You could be two decades older and I’d still find you attractive. And,” he continued, preempting her by wagging a finger, “before you go talking about how it’s unprofessional, it was one kiss. If you don’t want me to kiss you again, say so and I won’t.”

  “I don’t want you to kiss me again.”

  “Liar.”

  Oh, for crying out loud! “This is a bad idea. I’m going back.” She started to turn only to feel him grip her at the elbow.

  “Relax. You have my word I’ll be on my best behavior. No more kissing.”

  “Promise?”

  “Absolutely. Unless you ask me to, of course,” he added in the slow-honeyed drawl she’d come to love and despise.

  Sophie wanted to kill him. “Grant…”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  Freeing her arm from his grip, she scowled, her displeasure aimed at the actual manhandling than the part of her that regretted making the deal. “You better be as good a Boy Scout as you claimed you were,” she muttered.

  The flea market entrance ended the conversation. Seeing the crowds, Sophie had to blink. She’d known bargain hunting was popular, but she’d had no idea how much so. This place was filled with shoppers, hundreds of them, all jammed around a collection of vendors and tables. From what she could tell, a person could find almost anything if they were patient and looked hard enough. She saw pottery, clothes, tools. There was even a row of vendors selling fresh food.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been here,” Grant said.

  “Not much of a secondhand person,” she replied. At least not now that she could afford firsthand.

  “You’ve been missing out.” Reaching into his back pocket, he took out a folded vendor map. “My guy is at table W-64. Over here.”

  They wound the row of tents of vintage clothes, antiques, crafts and other items. Grant, of course, insisted on guiding her with his hand splayed annoyingly close to the small of her back. He might as well have been touching her, for the warmth it caused.

  Making matters worse was the fact it took forever for them to reach their destination. Even amidst the throng, vendors recognized Grant and would call him over to their table. Each time Sophie would find herself watching while Grant chatted them up, about items they wanted to show him, about items he might have purchased previously, or simply about innocuous topics like sports.

  “You’ve got quite the network,” she commented.

  “Have to. Half the challenge of historical r
enovation is finding the exact right piece for a job.”

  “Is that why you got into the business? For the challenge?”

  “Sort of” was his reply. A variation on “we’ll see.” “Might as well bring back to life what I can. There’s my guy.”

  Grant’s vendor was in the corner, between a vintage clothing dealer and a man selling personalized street signs. Soon as he saw them, he limped to the back of the tent and dragged out a large box of what looked like, to Sophie, a pile of lamp shades and wires. Grant knew what they were, though. He immediately knelt down and began sorting through the items. Leaning against a rack of fur coats, she watched as he examined each piece, ultimately returning or discarding based on results. Occasionally the vendor would pipe up with information, but it was obvious the show was all Grant’s.

  He was an enigma, that’s for certain. It would be so easy to write him off as a flirtatious stud, but the title didn’t completely fit. Behind the sexy smile and perfect-looking features lived a layer of deep emotion. A bleakness that held her interest in a far stronger grip than his looks. Something happened twenty-eight months ago that clearly affected him deeply. What?

  “Hard to resist, huh?”

  Sophie found a chic, perfumed woman in a strapless sundress standing next to her.

  “Nineteen-fifties. Very Audrey Hepburn.” She reached into the rack to remove the fur and blue brocade coat whose sleeve Sophie had absentmindedly grabbed hold of while watching Grant. “You want to try it on?”

  “No, thanks. I don’t do vintage clothing. I’m merely killing time waiting for my…” Oh, goodness, she was tripping over the word friend again.

  She shouldn’t. Friend is what Grant was.

  “But the color would look great on you,” the vendor persisted. Before Sophie could protest, the woman had the coat off the rack and was thrusting it in her direction. “Go on. If you like it I’ll give you a good price.”

  “No, I don’t think—” Sophie was about to press the coat back in the woman’s arms when the sun caught the gold-green thread on the brocade, making the cloth look almost metallic. She didn’t know about Audrey Hepburn, but it was pretty....

  “Okay,” she acquiesced. She might as well. If Grant heard the discussion he’d only come over and badger her until she did.

  She slipped her arms into the sleeves. The cloth smelled like mothballs and the thick extra layer made the summer heat more oppressive than ever.

  “Nice,” the woman said with a smile. A few feet away a vanity mirror rested against an old coat tree. She angled the glass so Sophie could see her reflection.

  Well, what do you know? She didn’t look as foolish as she thought. In fact, the coat actually did look…nice. More than nice. It looked good. The cape style coat swung around her knees and, when she pulled the front plackets closed, the fur collar framed her chin perfectly.

  “Wow! Sexy,” a male voice said from behind her.

  The open appreciation ran along her spine, warming her even more than the coat. “Thank you,” she said, giving her reflection another admire before slipping the coat off. She placed it back on the rack.

  Grant stepped into view. “You’re not getting it?”

  “Vintage clothing doesn’t exactly fit with my lifestyle. I can only imagine the looks I’d get walking down Wall Street.”

  “Too bad. Could have been a new you.”

  “I’ll stick to the old me, if you don’t mind.”

  “If you say so,” Grant replied. It was an innocuous enough comment. So why did Sophie suddenly feel as though she failed a test?

  Changing the subject, she asked, “Are you finished with your business already?” She noticed he held only a small plastic shopping bag. “Your bag doesn’t look big enough to hold light figures. Didn’t he have what you were looking for?”

  “Most of the stuff needed too much fixing to be worth my while. A couple of brass fixtures. Oh, and a few hinges to replace the one I saw was coming loose in your kitchen.”

  “Wait a minute. Back up. You bought a hinge for my cabinet?”

  “A couple actually. Remember I mentioned yours needed replacing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No big deal. I saw them and realized they matched your kitchen, so I grabbed them.”

  Perhaps he didn’t see it as a big deal, but to Sophie it was an unexpected, odd, kind gesture. An inexplicable warmth spread through her. “Does this mean I owe you again?”

  “We’ll see.” He cocked his head. “You ready for lunch?”

  Sophie nodded. She gave the coat another last look and felt the queerest pull. A kind of longing or feeling of desperate want.

  Don’t be silly, she told herself. It’s just an old coat.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  REMNANTS of that strange sensation dogged Sophie long after they left the flea market and resumed walking. She simply couldn’t shake the feeling she was missing out on something. It was a nagging uneasiness at the back of her brain, much like the feeling you got when you left the iron plugged in. Which was probably why she barely noticed until they sat down that the restaurant Grant had steered her toward was several blocks in the opposite direction of their apartment building. A small sidewalk bistro near Grand Army Plaza with tables shaded by linden trees.

  Grant leaned back in his chair, sunlight and shadows dappling his hair. “Isn’t this better than spending the afternoon inside doing paperwork?” he asked as a waitress served them tall glasses of iced tea she didn’t remember ordering.

  “I guess.” Now that they were seated, the briefcase full of work had resumed nagging her. How much time had she wasted? She took out her BlackBerry to check.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell, because no sooner did she find her phone then Grant’s hand reached across and closed over hers, preventing her from looking at its face.

  “Put it away,” he told her. “This is a cell phone free lunch.”

  “I’m only checking the time.”

  “Why? Got hot plans for tonight? With your friend David maybe?” He blew the paper from his straw, aiming it like a missile in her direction.

  “No, I don’t have plans with David,” she replied, batting away the paper with her free hand. “He’s on his way to Chicago for a business trip.” Actually, he had suggested last night they meet today for an early dinner, but she’d begged off claiming work. Work she hadn’t got done because her neighbor had kidnapped her.

  “If you don’t have plans, you don’t need your phone.”

  “I—” Did his grip have to be so…so solid?

  “No arguments. It’s a beautiful afternoon. Put your phone away and enjoy yourself. That’s an order.”

  “I didn’t realize you were in command,” she muttered, angry with herself over how easily she capitulated. He had this uncanny ability to get her to do what he wanted. “Do you boss all your lunch companions around like this?”

  “Only the pretty workaholics.”

  “You do realize that all you’ve succeeded in doing is making me work twice as late when we get home. Instead of being stuck inside Saturday afternoon, I’ll be working Saturday night.”

  “Unless I distract you tonight, too.”

  He could, too. Quite easily. That was the problem. “You mean to tell me a man like you doesn’t have plans on a Saturday night?” She sat back in her seat. “And you tease me about not having a life.”

  “What makes you think I don’t have plans?”

 
“You just said you’d distract me.”

  “So you do want me to distract you.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Even though the thought sent shivers down her spine. She repeated her question. “Do you have plans?” If he did, perhaps she could shake the spell he seemed to have over her.

  “The only plans I have involve enjoying the company of a very attractive woman.” He raised his glass. “I’m curious, though. What did you mean by ‘a man like me’?”

  Sophie blushed deep from both the compliment and the question. So much for breaking the spell. Keep this up and she’d have to start telling people she had a sunburn.

  “Have you seen our waitress?” she asked, ignoring the question. “I’d like to order so we can get back. I’ve been ‘distracted’ enough for one day.”

  “Honey, we’ve barely started.” With a shake of his head, he handed her a copy of the one page menu for her to review. “Someone’s got to teach you how to stop and smell the roses.”

  A job for which he clearly appeared to have volunteered. Question was why? “Why do you care?”

  He was sipping his iced tea. “What can I say? I believe in rescuing damsels in distress. I hate to see a woman spend her days locked in her office toiling away at financial figures when she could be out enjoying herself in the sunshine.”

  “I appreciate the concern.” But she didn’t fully buy the explanation. She’d caught the way his smile faltered slightly when she asked. “Is that the only reason?” she pressed.

  “You think there’s more?”

  “Uh-huh.” Definitely. The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced his flirting and continual interest in distracting her had to have a catch. She simply wasn’t that fascinating.

  Sipping her drink, she watched and waited. With the tables turned, her young companion had lost a bit of his swagger. A part of her found pleasure in that. He was cute when he squirmed. The way he fiddled with the edge of the menu. How his brow furrowed as he tried to think of a smart answer. Definitely cute. If cute came in a big, sexy, virile package.