Читать книгу Daring In The City - Jo Leigh - Страница 11

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LUCA DIDN’T GET back to his new place until just after 8:00 p.m. It had turned blustery, and he rubbed his cold hands together as he entered the Mercury Building.

He’d told his folks about his plans. Of course they’d known he was moving out, but they were as surprised as Tony had been about his decision to put off the internship.

Naturally, they’d argued. When did they not argue? But their reaction was what he’d expected. They, like Tony, weren’t thrilled, mostly because they’d believed he wanted that architecture license more than he did. Still, two years was a long time to commit to a life that he wasn’t certain about.

At the moment, however, his family was the last thing he wanted to think about.

Finally. He had his own place. Tomorrow his bed and wide-screen TV would be delivered, which meant tonight he needed to make sure the path was clear to the stairs. The guys who’d helped him take over the scaffolding and supplies hadn’t been choosy about where things landed.

He saw that the elevator was in service again, but he took the stairs anyway, breathing in the mingled scents of the city and hints of the lives lived down the hallways of each floor. The second and third floors had three apartments each, all occupied. The fourth floor had two exceptional apartments—each of which had two levels.

And now that the annoying Wes was gone, Luca could finally start remodeling—after he got rid of all the guy’s shit. At least he’d vacated early. That was the main reason Luca had pushed up his move-in date.

Walking into his new home gave him goose bumps. Maybe it was stupid, but he’d waited a hell of a long time for this moment. It would have been great to stay over tonight, but not without a bed. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

Freedom. Silence. No surprise neighborhood women showing up at dinner. No more playing arbiter among his mother, his father and his grandmother when they got into arguments about what shows to watch on cable. No more questions about where he went at night, who he was with. Was it a girl? Was he being careful?

His first stop, the Sub-Zero fridge he’d had no business installing this soon. All that was left of the old kitchen was the sink and a section of the Formica countertop. He’d have to be careful or risk scratching the stainless steel, but this way he’d have cold beverages while he was working on the place. He’d put a case of beer in there this morning, and he grabbed one now.

After two gulps, he put in his earbuds and tuned his cell phone radio to ESPN, then got down to business putting the tools where they belonged and separating the wood from the drywall.

Hell, the remodel wasn’t even going to take that long. Three months max, he decided. He still had to knock down the wall between the master bedroom and the guest room upstairs to give him the space he wanted. But he didn’t foresee a problem with that. He figured he could get the place in decent enough shape before his date next week. It didn’t have to be perfect.

He’d met Jillian at Columbia when they’d both been studying architecture. She was currently serving her internship so she was used to the different phases of construction.

Tomorrow, after he got rid of Wes’s crap, he’d make a decision about the wall. And then he’d bring over some clothes and other personal stuff.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunch. Removing his earbuds, he placed a call for a large pepperoni to be delivered. Having a slice and drinking a beer felt like a christening of sorts. Getting laid would’ve made the inauguration perfect. He hoped next week panned out. He got itchy just thinking about it.

Ten minutes later he thought he heard the buzzer, but no way the pizza was there that fast. He yanked out his earbuds again, and just as he figured he’d been imagining things, a scream tore into his bubble like a gunshot.

He didn’t even think, just grabbed the crowbar sitting on a pile of rags, his heart racing. It occurred to him that the scream didn’t sound like a help-I’m-being-assaulted scream. Although his only experience as far as that went came from TV or movies.

He moved closer to the door. Another scream, this time louder.

Shit. It was coming from inside his apartment.

Luca glanced up the stairs. Goddamn Wes Holland hadn’t moved out. Or he had, but he’d left a woman behind.

Not taking any chances on what he might find, and cursing himself for doing his friend a favor by letting his buddy move in, he started up the staircase. As he moved stealthily down the hallway he heard her shouting, but he couldn’t make out many of the words. “Fucker” came in the clearest, followed by “bastard” and “shithead.”

The closer he got to the door, the more words he could understand, but none that explained what was actually going on. He also didn’t hear anyone shouting back.

He waited at the edge of the door, finally able to make out all of what she was saying.

“How the hell does promising to pay me back do me any good? Am I supposed to believe you, after this?”

The tears and desperation came through loud and clear.

“That was almost all of my savings. I’ve worked for years for that money, and you know it,” she said. “I hate you so much right now. You’re such a coward, you won’t even pick up. I’m so disappointed. I hope you’re happy, destroying me like this. Were you laughing at me the whole time?”

Luca assumed the woman was talking about Wes and leaving him a voice mail. Had he really run off with her money? For her sake, Luca hoped not, but it wasn’t his problem.

Leaning to his left, he risked peeking inside the room. Luckily, the woman had her back to him. Lucky for him because it was a very nice view: the woman was wearing nothing but underwear.

Very tiny underwear.

Her bikini panties were pale blue, resting high on each cheek, and tucked in between her stunning buttocks just far enough to make him catch his breath. On top, he spotted the straps of her matching bra poking out from underneath a cascade of thick auburn hair.

He wondered what she looked like from the front...

She turned quickly, probably hearing his irregular breathing.

Now her scream was definitely of the help-I’m-being-assaulted variety.

He lowered the crowbar, noticing the two large pieces of luggage behind her. “Hey, hey,” he said softly, raising his left hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She waved her cell phone at him as she grabbed the nearest thing at hand—a pillow—and held it up against her seminaked body. “I’ve already hit my panic button. The police will be here any minute.”

“Good,” he said, leaning his weapon against the door frame, trying hard to ignore the fact that she was hot. Certainly way too hot for that douche bag, Wes. “I’m anxious to hear you explain what you’re doing in my apartment.”

“Your apartment? You mean you own the one below?”

He nodded. “It’s all one unit.”

“But I have a key. And five days left on the rental agreement.”

“What agreement?”

“My...” Her pause was notable, mostly for the look of fury that passed across her face. “My ex-jerkface business partner rented this place from the—from you, I guess. But I didn’t think you lived here.”

“Huh. Well, I think you might have been misinformed by Jerkface. And by Jerkface, I’m assuming you mean Wes Holland?”

Her whole demeanor changed from fierce guardedness to utter defeat and she lowered her cell phone. “Wait a minute. How do I know you’re the real owner?”

“Wes moved out. Letting him stay here was a favor, one that he didn’t value very highly. All this crap was supposed to be gone when he left.”

Maneuvering the pillow to cover whatever she could of herself, she grabbed her backpack and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Ha. You’re wrong. This is the rental agreement. Right here.” She held it up and wagged it at him, the same way she’d done with her phone.

The truth was, he’d agreed to let the guy stay, and he had moved out early, but there’d been nothing in writing. “Hey, I’m sorry about your friend, but you can’t stay here. I’m moving in and working on the apartment. The only reason I rented to him at all was because I hadn’t gotten started on the renovation yet. And he never mentioned you.”

“But he left a note,” she said, her voice wobbling. “He was supposed to meet me at the Port Authority. Help me move in. But he hasn’t answered any of my phone calls for two days. And he emptied our joint bank account that was intended for our new business.”

Yep, two days ago—that was when Wes had moved out. Luca felt bad for her, but it still wasn’t his problem. His gut had told him the guy was a prick. Why the hell hadn’t he listened?

“I understand you must be angry,” he said, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you’ll have to leave.”

“What? Now?”

“Well, no.” It was already late, well past dark, and he couldn’t see himself throwing her out. “You can stay tonight, but you’ll have to go tomorrow.”

A couple of very white teeth tugged on her lower lip. “Look, if you could just let me stay for the next five days? By then I’ll have found somewhere else. I’ll have figured out what to do.”

“May I suggest you get on the next Greyhound back to wherever you came from?”

A single tear trickled down her cheek and she quickly turned away. “I can’t. There’s no place for me there. I’ve planned this move for a while. We had everything set up to start our business...” Her voice trailed off, ending in a muffled sob. “Fine, I’ll go,” she whispered. “It can’t be in the morning, though. I need to find a place.”

He turned to leave, but hesitated at the door while he thought about her predicament. Letting her stay a couple days would mean he’d have to put off moving in upstairs, but it wouldn’t put the reno back much. It would just be less convenient for him. But he wasn’t a jerkface, and he doubted this was some sort of con.

Technically, he owed her nothing. Luca had agreed to let Wes have the room, not her. But she was in a hell of a spot. Still, what did he know about her?

He waited for her to face him again, and when she didn’t he asked, “What’s your name?”

“April.”

“Is that your real name?”

That got her to turn around. She pinned him with a glare as she wiped her tears as quickly as she could. “Yes. April Branagan. Check me out. I’m not a criminal.” Her bravado faltered and she let out a soft whimper. “Although your neighbors might think I am.”

“My neighbors?” The hair on the back of his neck stood up. “Why?”

“I didn’t say I was a criminal. Just that they might think so.”

“Why would they think that?” More to the point, why was he bothering to ask? He should be kicking her cute little behind out the front door right now.

“It was a misunderstanding. That’s all. There was no reason to call the cops.”

“Cops? Here?”

“No, not up here. Outside.” She sniffed and dabbed at her cheek. “And only because the elevator was out of order.”

Luca was pretty sure the cops didn’t give a rat’s ass about the elevator, so he waited, staring at her as she stared back. The pillow slipped a few inches. Either she hadn’t noticed or it was a ploy to distract him, which...

Goddamn it.

Her breasts were high and looked firm. He only saw the tops plumping over her pale blue bra. Nothing else was showing. Still, he moved his gaze to safer ground.

If there was such a thing.

He hated to think he’d end up being an idiot because she was hot. Those big dark eyes weren’t even the most remarkable thing about her face. It was the odd combination of her roundish cheeks and delicate chin. Or maybe the contrast between her dark brows and warm, rosy skin...

Whatever, she was gorgeous, and his opinion of Wes Holland went down several more notches. The guy was an idiot.

“Tell me why the cops were here,” he said, holding up a hand when she started to speak. “In one sentence, and make it good if you want to stay.”

She inhaled deeply, and he had to force himself to keep looking at her face. “Because the elevator was out of service and you can see how big my luggage is, I couldn’t carry both bags up the stairs at the same time by myself so I stuffed my duffel bag in the alcove by the elevator then I came up here only to find the note that told me Wes had run off with my money, and because of that it took me longer than I’d expected to go back for my duffel, and by that time there were cops downstairs because the bag was unattended, so I had to convince them that I wasn’t a terrorist even though the tag on the bag was in my aunt’s name, but then they looked inside and found nothing but my clothes so they didn’t arrest me, thank God. And that’s it. That’s why the cops were here.”

It was a good thing she’d stopped to take a breath because her face had started turning pink from speed talking her way through that entire monologue. “All right,” he said, holding back a laugh. “You can stay. Two days. And everything goes with you.”

“Really?”

He nodded, grudgingly. At least he wouldn’t feel like a snake.

“You haven’t told me your name,” she said.

“Luca Paladino.”

Hugging the pillow, she held out her hand, and when he took it, he was reminded quite viscerally of how petite she was. Five-one at the most?

“You know, I’m tearing this whole place up. There’s going to be a lot of noise and I can’t guarantee you’ll have electricity.”

“I’ll deal with it. Thanks.” She looked down and quietly muttered, “Even though the rental agreement was for five more days.”

He took a step back into the room. “Why don’t you let me take a look at that agreement?”

She hesitated, then handed him paper.

The bastard had clearly downloaded a standard rental agreement from the internet and forged Luca’s signature. “Be aware that I’m staying downstairs, so keep the screaming to a minimum,” he said.

Her shoulders drooped, but she kept her back upright, and her reddened eyes met his gaze straight on. She knew how to school her reactions. Interesting. So maybe she was involved in some kind of con. God, he hoped not. He wanted to believe she was exactly who she purported to be: a victim of a relationship gone bad.

April studied him for several moments then said, “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“Just don’t make me the schmuck who bought a bunch of your bullshit, okay?”

Quickly wiping one finger underneath her right eye, she shook her head. “I won’t. I know far too well what that feels like. But I do have one favor to ask you.”

His stomach sank. “Don’t you mean another favor?”

She blinked. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “Could I borrow a roll of toilet paper?”

“Are you kidding?”

She waved in the direction of the bathroom. “He left me four sheets. Generous, isn’t he? Bastard.”

“That’s got to be a record low.” It occurred to him that she could’ve easily taken a roll from the downstairs bathroom. Instead she’d asked. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get it for you.”

She tried to give him a smile, but it didn’t stick.

On his way down the stairs he played devil’s advocate. It was quite possible the toilet paper situation had tipped the scales. Hell, two days was generous, considering he wanted to get a jump on the—

Ah, shit.

He’d almost forgotten about his date. With the very gorgeous and—he was quite sure of it—willing Jillian whom he’d run into at a gallery retrospective. Their date was in seven days. So yeah, April putting him behind schedule was inconvenient. Her being there wouldn’t stop him from working on the living room area, but he needed to have access to the upstairs bedroom. Two less days to get it in shape meant he’d have to hustle.

After finding a roll of toilet paper in the old vanity cabinet in the bathroom he was going to tear out, he went back to the staircase.

April appeared above him, dressed in a pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt. She was still hot.

He tossed the roll up, and she caught it handily. “Look, I’ve got a pizza coming any second. And some beer in the fridge. You’re welcome to have some.”

Even from this distance he could see she was tempted, but she hesitated. He supposed that was a good sign. Smart. She didn’t know him, either.

When she didn’t respond, he shrugged. “Suit yourself. But it’s a large pepperoni, and the beer is cold.”

He turned, leaving her to figure it out. It made no difference to him if she came downstairs. Then it occurred to him that he probably shouldn’t go back to his folks’ house tonight and leave her here on her own. But then where would he sleep?

Oh, for God’s sake, the woman was already too much trouble.