The Nights Before Christmas. Vicki Lewis ThompsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
had made him catch his breath.
The same conservative streak that caused her to imprison her hair seemed to rule her choice in clothes. Although she had a lush figure, he’d only discovered that by strategic observation. During the work week she wore business suits in neutral colors, favoring black. And on weekends her outfits were often baggy sweats and oversize shirts. She seemed determined to minimize her sex appeal.
That only made her more intriguing to Greg. When he’d finally had a chance to look into her eyes one day, he’d been hooked. He’d always been partial to blue eyes and Suzanne’s were Siamese-cat blue. But it was the intelligence shining from those eyes that nearly made him break his rule never to date someone living in this building.
Then the stockbroker, Jared, had come on the scene, saving Greg from making that mistake. Reason had prevailed. He couldn’t afford to let himself care more than superficially about any of the single women who lived here. They were all career types with what must be high-paying jobs in order for them to afford the rent.
Talking to them and counseling them about their love lives was risky enough. Yet he hated to give up the satisfaction he got from bolstering their self-esteem after their overpaid, overeducated boyfriends had screwed up the relationship. That didn’t mean he had any intention of taking it beyond friendship. He wasn’t about to get physical with these women, even though a few had come on to him.
Sure, they might want fun and games now, and they certainly tempted him, but he’d been able to put aside the physical attraction and listen carefully to what they said. Very carefully. By listening, he inevitably learned that these career-minded women would never settle for a handyman with no college education. In the end they’d either dump him the way Amelia had, or they’d try to fix him. He was not changing his lifestyle to suit someone else, not when he’d made peace with his demons and liked the path he’d chosen. Even someone like Suzanne Talbot, who seemed to be everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, wasn’t enough of a reward for him to give up the identity he’d carved out for himself.
Keeping that thought firmly in mind, he picked up the heavy wooden toolbox he’d inherited after his father died and climbed the fire stairs to the third floor. Shoot, he was such a maverick that he didn’t even like elevators. A guy couldn’t get very far in the corporate world if he didn’t like riding in elevators. Most of the cushy jobs were on the top floor, and climbing the stairs would leave sweat stains on the Armani.
When he thought of it that way, he was able to see that Amelia had done him a favor by dumping him when he’d decided to leave college and give his savings to his widowed mother. If Amelia had stuck with him, he probably would have worked his tail off to earn more money and go back to school so he could be part of her world. He’d be in the rat race for sure by now. The thought made him shudder.
He might have ended up like Jared, perish the thought, with a cell phone constantly at his ear and self-importance that wouldn’t quit. Fate hadn’t seen fit to give him a lot of material possessions, and along the way he’d discovered they weren’t important to him, anyway.
Greg didn’t keep track of all the comings and goings in the building, but he made a point of knowing what was up with Suzanne. He’d become aware soon after the fact that her stockbroker boyfriend wasn’t around anymore. A guy like that was hard to miss when he showed up, so the place was decidedly quieter without him. Cell phones and self-importance aside, Greg hadn’t liked the way Jared had seemed to intimidate Suzanne.
Plus, he seemed unable to laugh at himself, which Greg thought was a major failing, especially for a woman like Suzanne who appeared to be very sensitive. Greg had been summoned one Saturday when Jared had gone for a jog and locked himself out while Suzanne was at the grocery store. Somehow the jerk had managed to blame Suzanne for the problem.
With the overbearing stockbroker gone, Greg figured Suzanne was better off. But she might be feeling blue, and she was good friends with Terri, so Terri had probably suggested she talk with him.
Which was okay. He enjoyed the mental stimulation. The flirting was okay, too. Terri was one of the women who’d kissed him, and he’d kissed back. A guy couldn’t be blamed for enjoying a kiss now and then. But in Terri’s case, as in every case, he’d gently eased away from taking the relationship any further.
Although he told himself to stay cool, Greg rang Suzanne’s doorbell with keen anticipation.
2
GREG NOTICED RIGHT AWAY that Suzanne hadn’t changed into something more comfortable in honor of his arrival. She was still in full business dress, wearing her black suede suit like a coat of armor. A black velvet bow held her mahogany-colored hair back in a no-nonsense style.
There wasn’t a single casual thing about her as she stood in the doorway of her apartment. She’d even left on her black pumps, something he thought most women kicked off the minute they walked through the door. He wondered if she had an appointment somewhere. Maybe she didn’t intend to stay here and pour her heart out, after all. Maybe her sink really had sprung a leak.
The disappointment he felt was another warning—he should be very careful with this one. “Do you need to leave soon?” he asked. “Because I can fix the leak while you’re gone.” He grinned at her in an attempt to ease the lines of anxiety in her expression. “You don’t have to worry about the silverware. I’m bonded.”
“Uh, no, I don’t need to go anywhere.” Without returning his smile, she stepped away from the door. “Come in.”
“You looked so together, I thought you might be on your way out.”
“Not really.”
“Good.” So they’d talk. Just talk. Kissing Suzanne would be far more dangerous than kissing Terri had been.
He walked into the room and registered the white-on-white decor. She hadn’t needed anything repaired since she’d moved in, so other than a brief glimpse when he’d let the stockbroker in that Saturday about six months ago, he’d had no idea how she’d fixed up the place.
The scent of pine drew his attention to the corner where her little tree twinkled. Because he’d pegged her as an orderly person, he wasn’t surprised that the strings of lights and ornaments were hung in perfect symmetry. He pictured her squinting at the finished product to make sure that there were no bald spots or color clashes.
“I like your tree.” He gave her another smile.
“Thanks.” This time she smiled back, but she still looked very nervous.
He was impressed that she had a tree at all, though, considering that last Christmas she’d been part of a couple and this year she was alone. Apparently she wasn’t about to let that stop her from celebrating, and he was glad to discover that. Her perky little evergreen shone like a badge of courage in the corner of her living room.
He’d expected the place to be immaculate, and it was. The red pillow sitting in the middle of her white sofa was fascinating, though. From the psychology texts he’d read, that pillow in the middle of all the virginal white said something about her sexuality. An erotic nature might be hiding under the sensible surface.
But he wasn’t here to uncover her erotic nature. First he’d tighten the pipe connection that she probably loosened on purpose, and then he’d listen to her complain about her ex-boyfriend. Maybe he’d suggest ordering up some Chinese food. He’d be a shoulder for her to cry on—figuratively in this case—reassuring her that she was too good for the chump who’d left her.
Still, her appearance threw him. She didn’t look like a woman about to let her hair down.
“The pipe’s been leaking for three days.” She led the way toward the bathroom. “This is the first chance I’ve had to call you.”
Another unexpected comment. She didn’t strike him as the type to make up a story about a pipe that had been leaking for three days. That was carrying the charade a little too far. But maybe she had more imagination than the other women he’d dealt with. Or maybe