Rapunzel in New York. Nikki LoganЧитать онлайн книгу.
would think he was looking forward to it.
The stairwell door burst open behind him, snapping his head back around. Tori came through flushed, sweating and kitted out in tight running gear. Her eyes flared as they hit him and she stumbled to a halt. “You’re early.”
Her chest rose and fell heavily with each breath. He concentrated extra hard on keeping his focus high, but it wasn’t easy, given her training top was more bandage than clothing and her skin glistened with sweat along her breast line. “I had a meeting in Jersey. I figured there was no point going back downtown for only half an hour.”
He took in the way she ran her palms down her tight-fitting workout gear. She looked as though she wanted to be anywhere else than here—with him. “Sorry. Is it a problem?”
“No. I just …” She pushed her fingers through damp hair. “Come on up.”
As they turned, she threw a smile at beanie guy. “Thanks, Danny.”
Danny gave her a keen smile and Nate immediately stood straighter as a surge of territoriality hit him out of nowhere. Ridiculous. As if she’d go for the half-washed hippie type anyway.
As he headed for the elevator, he realized he had no idea what type of guy she did go for. Not his type, judging by how quickly she took offense at just about everything he did.
“You’re taking the stairs?” he said as she let him enter the elevator alone.
“I’ll meet you up there,” she said. “I’m nearly done with my workout. And you really don’t want to be locked in a small space with me right now. The rate that elevator moves I might even get there before you.”
She turned and disappeared back through the door, leaving Nate to enter the elevator alone. As it happened, he couldn’t think of anything better than being closed in a small space with Tori Morfitt—sweat or no sweat. Something about standing so close to all that radiating heat while he was buttoned up in his best three-piece. His subconscious slapped him for the pleasurable twinge that flicked through him, low and sharp.
She hadn’t meant to get caught out in Lycra, all hot and bothered.
He pulled out his phone the moment the old doors slid shut and—as he had every time he got into this elevator—he picked a spot of carpet to focus on and kept his eyes glued there rather than look at himself in the age-speckled mirrors lining the walls. This little box held all kinds of memories for him—none of them good.
“Karin?” he greeted his assistant when she picked up. “I want you to get onto Tony Ciaccetti and have him sort out the door security at Morningside.”
It was crazy that the residents of his building had to pass messages up the stairwell like a warfront. It was secure enough, just not convenient. Which hadn’t really troubled him before, but now that he saw it in action he realized how difficult it could make things, especially for older residents. Even for Tori.
Just because he’d dreaded the knell of the buzzer as child didn’t mean every tenant in the place had to suffer the consequences.
He lurched to a halt on the eighth floor and optimistically pressed Tori’s floor again. The doors opened then closed, and for one hopeful moment he thought the elevator was going to rise. But no, the doors reopened impotently, as silently judging as Tori was every time she’d mention some failing part of the building.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Karin.”
He stepped out into the hallway and disconnected his call, then turned with determination to the stairwell before daring to lift his eyes again. Today he just didn’t need the shadows of the apartment where he grew up. In the relative silence of the stairwell his ears tuned in to the steady thump of feet coming closer. He trod the two flights and held open the door with her floor number painted on it in flaking blue.
A moment later Tori appeared, sprinting heavily up the final flight. She jogged straight past him onto the tenth floor. She didn’t smell nearly as bad as she probably feared. Actually she smelled pretty good. An image of rumpled sheets twisted his gut, rough and distracting, before he shut it down.
“I’m sure someone would have told me if we’d installed a gym in the building.”
She slowed to a walk and let him catch up and spoke between heavy puffs of breath. “I run the stairs every day.”
He looked at her, frowning. Significant heat stained her perfect skin, but it didn’t detract from the fine lines of her bone-structure. “All twelve floors?”
“Three times each.”
His feet ground to a halt. Well, that explained her legs. “Why not run the streets? The parks? You have enough of them nearby.”
Her lashes dropped. “I don’t like to run alone, even during the day.” She pulled a key from a chain that hung disguised in cleavage he wouldn’t have expected to be there and opened her front door.
Nate closed it behind them. “It’s just dawned on me that you’ve been very relaxed about having me in your home. Given you don’t know me from Adam. And given your … interest … in security.”
If by interest one meant fixation …
“Relaxed? No.” Her smile was tight. “But you own the building. I figure if you had anything nefarious in mind you could get a key to any of our doors without any difficulty.” The smile mellowed into a sweet twist. “Or just kick it right in.”
His gut twanged. Here was he imagining her naked and meanwhile she was finally softening to him.
Schmuck.
“I’m not sure, but that sounded almost like … trust?”
“Or resignation to my fate.”
Her husky laughter heightened the streak of color still high in her cheeks. She stood straighter to pat a towel down the bare, glistening parts of her body. His own tightened. Just slightly. It had been a long time since any woman got anything other than designer-sweaty in front of him. Exertion just wasn’t in with the women in his social circles. Except one kind of exertion and even that was often carefully orchestrated. Yet that wasn’t what was holding his attention—at least not entirely.
It was the warmth in Tori’s eyes. He hadn’t realized before that anything had been missing from her steady gaze, but seeing it now full of light and laughter, he knew he’d miss it terribly if it vanished again.
“I’ll take trust,” he said.
They fell to silence, standing awkwardly in her neat living room, staring at each other.
“I should.” She waved her hands at her state of dress, then glanced around nervously.
She wanted to take a shower, but not while he was in her home. So trust was a measured thing, then. He crossed to the giant box dumped in the middle of her floor. If he couldn’t get absent, he’d get busy. “I’ll get your TV hooked up while you’re gone.”
“I hope that’s all box,” she said, eyeing the monolith. “I probably can’t afford the electricity for anything bigger.”
Again the vast gulf between them came crashing home to him. He hadn’t even thought about running costs for a big-screen plasma. So maybe he wasn’t still as attuned to his roots as he liked to believe. “It’s mostly packing foam. Don’t worry.”
At least he really, really hoped so.
She shifted nervously, then seemed to make a decision, and disappeared into her bedroom. He heard the spray of water and then the very definite snick of a lock being turned. At least she hadn’t consigned him to the hall as she had that first day.
He’d spent enough time in hallways for one lifetime.
He took the opportunity to look around. The floor plan was identical to the apartment he’d grown up in, two floors down, and beneath