Читать книгу The Man Upstairs - Pamela Bauer, Pamela Bauer - Страница 9

IT HAD BEEN A GRUELING ROAD TRIP. Quinn was tired and his body ached. He’d been tripped, elbowed, punched and banged into the boards during the past three games, and he could feel it in his muscles and bones. In addition to a black eye, he had a bandage on his cheek and a contusion on his right quadriceps. Hazards of the trade, he told himself as he dragged his weary body up the stairs to his apartment.

Judging by the way his body felt, he would have thought there were only a couple of weeks of the regular season left, not two months. Maybe it was age catching up with him. He was, after all, on the wrong side of thirty—at least for a hockey player. But he wouldn’t think about that now. He’d just had one of the best games of his career. There was no reason to think about that.

Aware that it was close to three in the morning, he moved as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the other residents of the house. He grimaced as the stairs creaked with his weight.

It was at times like this that he wondered if he’d made a mistake moving into 14 Valentine Place. Although it afforded him plenty of privacy, he’d been reluctant to accept Leonie Donovan’s offer to rent the third floor of the house, because he worried that his irregular hours might disturb her other tenants.

She’d had no such reservations. Not that she would have expressed them if she had. Leonie had been like a second mother to him most of his life. As a teen he’d eaten just as many meals at her house as he had at his own. That’s why, when he’d been traded to the Minnesota team, she’d been one of the first people he’d contacted.

“Shane is going to be so happy you’re coming home,” she’d gushed when he’d announced his return, hugging him as if he were one of her own children.

So far he’d only seen Shane once—the day he’d moved into the house. They’d been the best of buddies as kids, but now it was evident that their lives had gone in very different directions. Shane’s life centered around his wife and son. Quinn’s life was hockey. Not that Shane wasn’t still interested in talking about the sport, but Quinn could see that the passion they’d once shared as kids was now a thing of the past.

He didn’t understand it. Nothing had ever come close to replacing the love he had for the game of hockey. There was nothing like the sound of cold, hard steel cutting through ice, the clash of sticks sending the puck gliding across the rink, and the cheers of the crowd urging him on.

Now the sound he heard was a loud thud, thud, thud. A thick glass mug that had been tucked in the side pouch of his duffel bag tumbled onto the floor, falling down the stairs like an errant hockey puck. It was a souvenir molded into the shape of a western boot. The mug had been given to him by Smitty, the young goalie who’d bet him that he couldn’t shut down the shooters on the opposing team. Quinn had won the bet and the goalie had refilled the heavy glass half a dozen times as they’d sat in the bar celebrating the team’s victory.

That had been on day one of their road trip. Today was day five and Quinn still had the mug. It had been dropped numerous times and knocked off several hotel tables, but nothing had caused it to break. As solid as a rock was how Smitty had described it, which was why he’d insisted Quinn take it home with him. It was how the goalie viewed Quinn—able to take a heck of a beating and not break.

Now the glass boot was once again tumbling along the floor. Any hope that its clumping wouldn’t awaken his neighbors vanished when a light appeared beneath a door. Quinn knew he’d disturbed someone on the second floor.

Within seconds a door opened. Staring at him with a startled look on her face was a woman. She wore a long-sleeved white T-shirt and a pair of red pajama bottoms that had tiny penguins all over them. Her blond hair hung in total disarray around her shoulders. Looking as if she’d just been awakened from a deep sleep, she stood in the doorway, her feet bare.

Leonie had told him a new tenant had moved into Maddie’s old apartment. What his landlady hadn’t told him about the woman was that she was a sight for sore eyes. Not that she was beautiful in a Hollywood sort of way, because she wasn’t. What she had was a refreshingly natural look. His mother used to use the term “plain pretty,” and he’d never understood how someone could be plain and pretty, but now he knew what she meant.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a voice still husky with sleepiness, but also carrying a note of alarm.

“I’m sorry. I was on my way upstairs and I dropped something.”

“What?”

“A mug. It’s at the bottom of the stairs,” Quinn answered, trying to figure out why it was that when she spoke he had the feeling they’d already met.

She eyed the duffel bag over his shoulder suspiciously, then she focused on his face and grimaced. “Ooh. Your eye!”

He knew his skin had darkened to a motley black and blue. “It looks worse than it feels.” He moved closer to her. “I know we haven’t met before, but you look familiar.”

Self-consciously, she pushed her hair out of her eyes, then offered him her hand. “I’m Dena Bailey.”

“Quinn Sterling.” He took the soft hand in his. It was warm.

“Oh, of course.” As if it suddenly registered who he was, she said, “Quinn Sterling, my neighbor.” A tiny smile of embarrassment made her cheeks dimple. “You donated the hockey stick.”

“I did.”

“Thank you.” She shuffled her feet either in nervousness or because the floor was cold.

“You’re welcome,” he said with a smile meant to put her at ease.

“That stick was a very popular item.”

“I’m glad.” He watched her, trying to gauge her reaction to learning his identity. He’d been a professional hockey player long enough to know that being Quinn Sterling could bring out the phoniness in a woman. So far, this woman didn’t appear to have a fake bone in her body. “How long have you lived here?”

“Not quite a month. Why?”

“I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before now.”

“I’m not here much,” she told him, then quickly added, “because of my work—I’m a graphic designer.”

Leonie may have told him that but he didn’t remember. Come to think of it, he hadn’t paid much attention when she’d talked about the new tenant and her request for an autographed hockey stick. Now he wished he had.

Dena stifled a yawn, then said, “I’m sorry. You’re really going to have to excuse me. I have to be at work at seven tomorrow and it is late.”

So much for his concern that she might be a groupie eager to get to know him. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“It’s all right.” She dismissed his apology with a flap of her hand, then started across the hall.

“Isn’t your apartment behind you?”

She paused. “Yes, but the bathroom isn’t,” she answered. “Krystal and I share.”

Bathroom. That was it. Now he knew where he’d seen her. The night of Maddie and Dylan’s wedding, she was the woman he’d seen in the men’s room at the hotel. “Were you at Dylan’s wedding?”

Briefly her eyes widened, then she narrowed them again in a slumberous pose. “Yes, I was. Were you?”

“You don’t remember seeing me there?”

She gave him a blank look. “Do you remember seeing me?”

“Oh, yeah,” he drawled, unable to keep the smile from spreading across his face. “You are not a woman a man forgets, Dena Bailey.”

He could see the compliment made her uncomfortable. She didn’t say another word but padded across the carpeted hallway into the washroom. He was tempted to wait for her, but judging by the way she’d looked at him, he didn’t think she’d appreciate finding him still there.

So instead he went downstairs, picked up the mug and headed up to his own room, knowing there would be more opportunities to talk to her. She did, after all, live right below him. It was an intriguing thought.

YOU ARE NOT a woman a man forgets. Quinn Sterling’s words echoed in Dena’s head long after she’d returned to bed. Had he spoken them because he meant he wouldn’t forget her being in the men’s room at Dylan and Maddie’s wedding? Or had he been coming on to her?

She guessed it was a little of both. That sly grin had said, “We share a secret and I wouldn’t mind making a few more discoveries about you.” Even in her half-asleep state she hadn’t missed the gleam of interest in his eyes, although she wasn’t sure why he’d be curious about her.

Not many men would find bed head and flannel pajamas a turn-on. And she certainly had sent no vibes his way. There was no reason to, especially not after watching the videotape of him in action on the ice.

Big and bad. How many times had she seen that written about him? That black eye tonight certainly made him look bad. For all she knew he could have gotten it in a bar fight. And no one could say that it was his hockey gear that made him look big. Even out of uniform he was as wide as a football player and taller than most men.

Yes, she could definitely see why some women would find him attractive. With his physical attributes he could probably make any woman a little weak-kneed—especially one who’d been awakened from a deep sleep in the middle of the night.

Not that it mattered. If she were looking for romance—and she wasn’t—it wouldn’t be with a professional athlete. She could only imagine what it would be like to date someone who was constantly in the public eye and the object of groupies.

No, someone like Quinn Sterling would be more work than the average guy. And she’d discovered a long time ago that that was what men were—work. They demanded her attention and they wanted her passion. All she wanted to be passionate about was her job. It consumed her energy, her emotions, and that’s the way she wanted it, because the payoff was an indescribable feeling of accomplishment. There was no greater satisfaction than having something she had created on display in the marketplace for the world to see. Guys would come and go in her life, but her designs had staying power.

She looked again at the clock. In less than three hours she would have to get up and go into the office. She needed to stop thinking about her encounter with Quinn Sterling and go back to sleep, even if he was one of the most attractive men who’d ever flirted with her.

The woman hasn’t been born yet who can tempt him to hang up his blades. The quote from the women’s magazine echoed in her mind. As if she’d try to get him to do anything. She bunched up her pillow and rolled over.

She closed her eyes and forced her thoughts to the advertising campaign she’d been assigned to only yesterday. If she was going to lie awake in the middle of the night, she might as well think about something that would be of use to her for her work. Quinn Sterling was not in her future. Soy nuts were. If she could think of a clever package for the honey-roasted product, she’d be one step closer to reaching her goal of making art director.

As for the man who lived upstairs…it was unlikely that she’d run into him again. She’d lived at 14 Valentine Place for close to a month and had only seen him once. He was the kind of neighbor she wanted—out of sight and out of mind.

WHEN DENA ARRIVED at work later that morning, Greg Watkins told her that Jack Kramer wanted to see her. Her heart beat faster in anticipation of the reason she’d been summoned to the creative director’s office. Always the optimist, she expected it to be good news.

“Dena, come in and sit down,” he said when he saw her, gesturing to the Scandinavian-style chair next to his desk. “I wanted to tell you how pleased I am with your work so far. You’re doing a fine job here at Delaney.”

She relaxed and smiled. “Thank you. That’s good to hear.”

“I think you’re going to be a good fit for Delaney, and what I really like is that you’re a team player. That’s exactly what we need here. It’s the reason the Aaron Jorgenson benefit was a success.”

“I’m happy I was able to do my part.”

“As were so many generous people,” he said, obviously pleased. “That’s why we’ve decided to do another fund-raiser. Has Greg told you about our next project?”

She shook her head and he continued. “We’re going to put together a calendar featuring distinguished alumni from the state’s high schools…a sort of look at the stars of Minnesota. Each month will feature a different celebrity.” He went on to name several prominent public figures who’d already agreed to be featured on the calendar. Included were a senator, a comedienne and two film stars.

“It sounds like a wonderful idea for a fund-raiser,” Dena said. “Calendars are always popular.”

He nodded in agreement. “Delaney Design will be donating the graphic designs, and we have several vendors, including a printer, who have offered to donate their services and supplies at either a reduced fee or for no charge at all. That means we should be able to put the calendar together at a very low cost.”

She nodded. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I’d be willing to volunteer my evenings.”

He held up his hand. “No need for you to do that. I’ve already had a couple of designers offer to do the layout. But I do have another way you can help me.”

Disappointment welled in her throat. So she hadn’t been called into his office because of her performance on the job.

He leaned forward, his arms on his desk. “Here’s the deal. We have most of the people we’ll be featuring on the calendar, but everyone agrees that it’s important to have the person who represents January be someone special. That’s why we’d like to have Quinn Sterling. Not only would he make a great winter picture with the hockey uniform and the skates and the whole bit, but he also attended the same high school as Aaron Jorgenson. He’s the perfect choice for the first month on the calendar, don’t you agree?” He looked at her with a grin that said he was very pleased with himself.

By now the lump that had started to fall in Dena’s stomach the minute she had heard Quinn Sterling’s name had settled like a brick in a pond. “You want me to ask Quinn Sterling if he’ll pose for the calendar?”

“He is a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say he’s my friend…” She trailed off uneasily. “We live in the same building, but to be honest, I hardly ever see him. Apparently, during the hockey season, players are on the road a lot. Is it even going to be possible to arrange a shoot with the kind of schedule he has?”

His smile faded. “Are you saying you don’t want to help with the project?” The warmth that had oozed out of him only minutes ago was replaced by a coolness that caused Dena to shift uneasily. “You don’t have to be a part of this project. This isn’t officially a Delaney Design endeavor. It’s strictly volunteer.”

Her palms grew damp. She wanted to say, I think I’ll pass on this one, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when two other designers had already committed to the project.

“Oh, no, I want to help,” she quickly reassured him. “I’m just trying to put this together in my mind. One of the concerns I have would be the use of his photo. I assume the professional athletic leagues like the NHL have contracts with their players that might make it impossible for us to photograph him in his uniform and put it on a product we want to sell.” It was her only hope and it was quickly dashed.

“Legal’s already checked into it. All the appropriate forms that need to be signed are in here.” He slid a manila folder across the desk in her direction. “We’ve worked with athletic organizations before. In fact, one of our accounts is for the Cougar bobblehead dolls.”

“We’re doing hockey player bobbleheads?”

“A limited number. That’s why I’m not concerned about this calendar licensing. Basically all you need to do is get Quinn Sterling to agree to the photo shoot, and then you can consider your job done. Greg Watkins will take it from there. So what do you say? Can I count on you?”

As much as Dena wanted to say no, she answered, “Yes, you can.”

His face softened into a grin. “Thanks, Dena. This project is very important to me. I won’t forget that you are one of the reasons it’s going to be a success.”

She smiled weakly and mumbled an appropriate response, hoping she hadn’t made a promise she couldn’t deliver. She reached for the folder. “What’s the time frame on this?”

“We’re hoping to get the calendar to the printer by the end of May, but we also know that scheduling the photo shoots is going to be tricky, especially when we’re dealing with celebrities. It’s all in there,” he said, nodding to the folder in her hands.

She didn’t open it, but said, “So, then, you’d like me to talk to Quinn Sterling when?”

“As soon as possible. You should be able to reach him at the Cougar main office if not at your apartment building.” He picked up the newspaper that had been on the side of his desk and said, “According to the sports page, the Cougars are in town this week.”

Dena could have said, Oh, Quinn Sterling’s in town all right. He has a black eye and a dangerously attractive smile. She simply nodded and said, “I’ll do my best.”

THAT EVENING a letter from Maddie was waiting for her when she arrived home from work. As she read the newlywed’s note about her honeymoon and subsequent move to France, Dena was filled with a longing for her college days when she and Maddie had been the best of friends.

They’d been as different as night and day—Maddie being a social butterfly and Dena a studious bookworm. Maddie wore her emotions on her sleeve, but Dena guarded hers carefully. She did such a thorough job of keeping them close that many people thought she lacked feelings. Maddie knew better. They’d stay up until the wee hours of the morning sharing confidences.

It was at college that Dena had discovered what it was like to have a best friend. Throughout adolescence there had been girls who were friendly to her, but none who’d ever truly understood her the way Maddie did. Now, as Dena sat in Maddie’s old apartment, holding her words in her hand, she wished that her friend was beside her, giving her moral support. She’d always managed to make life a little easier for Dena, which was exactly what she needed when it came to her assignment involving Quinn Sterling.

But Maddie wasn’t there, and this was one job Dena was going to have to tackle by herself. She went over to her desk and pulled out a sheet of stationery to write another note. If he wasn’t home when she knocked on his door, she’d leave him a note.

“Could you please call me when you have a few minutes? I’d like to talk to you. Your neighbor, Dena Bailey.” She spoke the words as she penned them. Then she put her phone number at Delaney Design under her name, thinking it was better to keep things on a business level.

As much as she wanted to get things settled, she was a bit relieved when he wasn’t at home and she could shove the note beneath his door. She was on her way back down to her apartment when she saw Krystal Graham coming up the stairs. They met at the second-floor landing.

The redhead looked up toward the third floor and asked, “Were you looking for Quinn?”

“Yes, but he’s not in.” Dena saw no point in pretending.

“Now, why am I not surprised?” Krystal drawled. “I don’t know why he just doesn’t move a bed over to the ice rink.” She shoved one hand to her hip. “You know, as cute as he is, sometimes I think it would have been better if Leonie had rented that third floor apartment to another woman.”

It certainly would have eliminated the predicament Dena found herself in at the moment. She wasn’t sure what kind of a response the younger woman expected from her and was relieved when Krystal continued.

“Hey…have you eaten dinner?”

“Not yet, but—”

“Great. You can have some of my pizza. I haven’t eaten since noon today and I’m starving. If you haven’t tried that little place around the corner, it’s really good and they deliver.” Before Dena could utter a single word of protest, the stylist had pulled her cell phone from her purse and speed-dialed the pizzeria. “What do you like on yours?”

Dena wanted to say she didn’t have time for pizza, that she’d brought work home and she needed to get it done, but the look on Krystal’s face had her saying, “Mushrooms and onions?”

“Great! Me, too,” she said with a gamin grin. “What about some Italian sausage?”

Dena nodded. “And some green olives.”

“Green olives on half,” she repeated into the phone. “And extra cheese.” When she’d finished placing the order, she snapped the phone shut and said, “This is so cool! I was hoping I’d run into you so we could have some time for girl talk. I’m sure Maddie’s told you that 14 Valentine Place is absolutely the best place for women our age to live?”

“She did brag about it a bit,” Dena admitted.

“She must have told you about watching movies in Leonie’s great room?”

Dena knew that the large living area off the kitchen was what everyone referred to as the house’s great room. Leonie had told her that it was a communal area for the tenants to use. So far Dena hadn’t taken her up on her invitation, preferring to watch television in her own apartment.

“One thing about Leonie is that she likes having people in the house,” Krystal told her. “That’s why she converted this place into apartments. You don’t need to worry that you’re imposing on her privacy if you go downstairs. She loves having us girls around.”

“I’m afraid I work most evenings,” Dena told her in an apologetic tone.

“Then I’m glad I caught you tonight. How about if I meet you in the kitchen in say…twenty minutes or so? I need to shower and change. I’ve been working in these clothes.” She gestured to the short leather skirt and sweater sticking out from beneath her jacket.

“That’s fine.”

“Great. If you get down there before me, help yourself to any of the beverages in the fridge. There’s beer and soda or bottled water…you’re welcome to whatever you can find,” she said over her shoulder as she headed toward her door.

Dena nodded and forced a weak smile, wondering if she’d made a mistake accepting Krystal’s invitation. If she was going to keep her neighbors at arm’s length, it probably wasn’t wise to be sharing a pizza with one of them, especially one who was looking for “girl talk.”

When Krystal came into the kitchen, she was wearing tight black pants and a yellow sweatshirt. She arrived at the same time as the delivery boy. Dena watched her talk to him as if he were a good friend instead of a complete stranger, envying the ease with which the younger woman carried on a conversation.

As soon as he’d gone, Krystal said, “Wasn’t he just the cutest thing? A little too young for my taste, but cute.” She set the pizza in the middle of the table, then grabbed a Corona from the refrigerator.

“I noticed you asked if he had an older brother,” Dena remarked, taking the chair directly across from her.

“Of course. A girl has to explore every possibility,” she said as she helped herself to a slice of pizza.

Judging by the number of different guys that Dena had seen outside Krystal’s door, she assumed her housemate was definitely looking at her options.

“Have you heard from Maddie?” Krystal didn’t wait for an answer but continued on. “I got a letter the other day. She said that she and Dylan had a fabulous time on their honeymoon, but I guess that should come as no surprise, right? What woman wouldn’t be in seventh heaven with a guy like Dylan, right?”

“He seemed very nice,” Dena said between bites of pizza.

Krystal sighed dreamily. “He is. The world could use a whole lot more of his kind.”

“He has brothers, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, but Shane’s married and Jason’s only twenty.”

“And the other one?”

“Oh…you mean Garret.” She looked startled that she’d forgotten to mention him. “He’s so quiet I sometimes forget that he’s a Donovan.”

“Isn’t he a doctor?”

She nodded. “He’s just finishing up his residency. He’s a sweetie, but so different from Dylan. Dylan’s big and brawny and an adventurer. He’s lived all over the world.”

“And Garret?” she prodded.

“He doesn’t have Dylan’s muscular build, but he’s not bad looking. You just never know what he’s thinking because he doesn’t talk very much.”

“He’s probably a good listener. That’s what you want in a doctor, isn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely. And you’re right. He is a very good listener.” She uncapped the Corona and took a long sip. “He’s over here a lot. He doesn’t have a washer and dryer in his place so he uses the laundry room here.”

“I haven’t seen him around, but then I haven’t met many people since I moved here,” Dena told her.

“Then you should come with me on Saturday night. A bunch of us girls are going out. We can show you which places rock and which ones don’t.”

“Thanks, but I better say no.”

Krystal shrugged. “Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know. You don’t have a steady guy, do you?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. What about an unsteady one?” she asked with a crooked grin.

Dena couldn’t help but smile back. “No, not that kind, either.”

“Would you like one…or maybe two?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

Dena chuckled. “Why? Do you have a couple to spare?”

Krystal grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do. And they’re not bad guys to have around if you just want to have some fun.” She took another sip of beer, then said, “I meet a lot of men through work.”

“Leonie said you work at the day spa and salon over on Grand.”

She nodded. “You have great hair. It’s natural, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I can tell. If you haven’t found a stylist yet, you might want to check out the salon. I mean, don’t feel like you have to come to me, but you can—if you want.”

There was something especially charming about Krystal that made Dena feel as if she needed to watch out for her. Curious, she asked, “How old are you, Krystal?”

“Twenty-seven.”

She was only a couple of years younger than Dena, yet Dena felt almost maternal toward her. It was an unfamiliar feeling and caught her off guard.

She almost said, You don’t act twenty-seven, but stopped herself. “You don’t look twenty-seven.”

Krystal frowned. “Oh, shoot, not you, too. I’m always hearing that. Do you know how many times I’ve been ID’d to get served a glass of wine?” She didn’t wait for an answer but changed the subject. “It’s not always easy to meet people when you’re new to the city, so I want you to feel free to call me anytime you’re looking to go out and have some fun. And we don’t have to go looking for guys.”

“I’m really not looking for guys.” She emphasized the word not.

“What about Quinn? You were coming down from his place earlier this evening,” she reminded her, obviously wanting to know why.

“I need to talk to him,” she said.

“Yeah, you and about ten thousand other women,” Krystal said on a chuckle. “Take a number and get in line.”

“This is for professional reasons, not personal,” Dena was quick to point out.

“If you say so.”

“It is,” Dena insisted, not liking the dubious look on Krystal’s face.

She held up her hands. “Hey—you don’t need to explain to me. I’ve got eyes. I mean, even if he didn’t have a gorgeous face, that body alone could make a girl shiver. Those wide, thick shoulders, those big strong hands, and just that rough, tough look he has about him…” She sighed and trailed off dreamily. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first girl who wanted to get to know him better.”

“I don’t want to get to know him better,” Dena said with a bit of impatience, although she knew it was probably a waste of time to try to convince Krystal she wasn’t interested in Quinn. Women like Krystal didn’t understand how any woman could look at him and not see a hottie.

“It’s probably just as well,” Krystal stated pragmatically. “I mean, being a hockey player and all, he probably has women chasing him all over town.”

“Have you seen any?” As soon as Dena had uttered the words she knew it sounded as if she were interested in his love life. “I mean, women don’t stalk him to this house, do they?”

She giggled. “No. I don’t think hockey players are quite as popular as rock stars or Hollywood celebrities.”

“Personally, I don’t see the attraction.”

Again curiosity flickered in Krystal’s eyes. “I suppose you want to thank Quinn for donating that hockey stick to the benefit the other night.” She explained, “I heard Leonie ask him for it.”

Dena saw no reason not to let her assume it was her motivation for seeing him. “Yes, I do. It was very kind of him.”

Just then Krystal’s cell phone rang. She flipped open the cover, then quickly shut it again. “Telemarketer.” She sighed. “I was hoping it was one of my guys.”

One of my guys. “You’re seeing more than one?”

She held up two fingers. “Or maybe I should say one and a half. There’s this guy at my health club and then there’s Roy…he sort of drifts in and out of my life, so he doesn’t count as a full one, although if I could get him to be a full-timer, I’d end my days of juggling.”

“Juggling?”

She laughed. “It’s not what you think.” She took another sip of beer. “Believe me, I’d rather have one serious relationship with one good guy, but until that happens, I’m doing what most men do—sampling what’s out there.”

Again her phone rang and again she opened and shut it with a sigh. “Not Roy.”

The sound of feet on the stairs alerted Dena to the fact that Quinn had returned. Krystal knew it, too, and looked at Dena and said, “You might get your chance to talk to him, after all.”

When more footsteps sounded a short while later, Dena knew Krystal was right. Within a few minutes, Quinn appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Anyone seen Leonie?”

“She’s at her class, but you can come in and talk to us,” Krystal said with the same flirtatious banter she’d used on the delivery boy. When he came closer, she said, “Ooh—what did you do to your eye?”

He smiled, as if proud of his wound. “I got popped a good one during a game.”

“You are one mean dude, Quinn Sterling,” she said with a teasing smile and a playful punch on his arm. The ease with which Krystal talked to him contradicted the impression she’d given that she’d hardly had a chance to get to know him. But then Dena realized that for people like Krystal, it only took a few minutes to become comfortable talking to someone. Quinn was no exception, even if he was a pro athlete.

Then, to Dena’s horror, she pulled Quinn by the arm and urged him to take a seat at the table. “Here. Have some pizza. It’s great for black eyes,” she said with another grin. “And you can talk to Dena.” Then she excused herself, saying, “I have to make a call. I’ll see you later.” Before Dena or Quinn could utter a word, she had flitted out of the room.

Dena looked at the man sitting across from her and wanted to get up and run after Krystal. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue sweater that clung to his broad, muscular chest.

Suddenly all the adjectives Krystal had used to describe him glared back at Dena. Wide, thick, strong, rough, tough. Her heartbeat quickened and she wished it wouldn’t.

Quinn reached over to take a slice of the pizza. “Hi, Dena.”

The smile that accompanied his greeting kept her reply simple. “Hi.” He smelled good. Another reason for her pulse to behave erratically. “Your eye still does look pretty bad.”

“It’ll take a few days for the color to disappear,” he said, his gaze never flinching from her face. “Leonie gave me some cream to put on it. Something with aloe in it, I think.” He took a bite of the pizza, and said, “This is good.”

She agreed.

Then he said, “I wasn’t really looking for Leonie.” He pulled her pink stationery from his pocket and waved it in the air.

To her chagrin, she could feel her face warm. “You were supposed to call me at work,” she said primly.

“I’d rather talk to you here in person.”

That sent another rush of heat through her.

“What is it you need to talk to me about? Do you want another stick?” He held her gaze.

“Actually, it’s a little bit bigger favor than that,” she confessed.

“Bigger, huh. A jersey?” The same teasing glint that had been in his eyes last night was there this evening, too. “Or do you need tickets?”

“No, no tickets. What I need is…” she began, wanting to steer the conversation from a flirtatious tone to a more businesslike one, but he wasn’t about to let her.

He held up his hand. “No, don’t tell me now. Have lunch with me tomorrow and we’ll discuss it.”

Lunch with him? Not a good idea, a little voice inside her head warned. “It would be easier if we could just discuss this now. I work downtown and—”

“That’s all right. So do I.”

The last thing she wanted was to be seen in a public place with a well-known hockey player. She could only imagine the attention he’d draw. He was so big…and so good-looking. “It’s really hard for me to get away for more than a quick bite during the lunch hour.”

“I have a reputation for being quick.” Again his tone was provocative, and to her dismay, it sent a tiny shiver through her.

He was one good-looking man and he knew it. It annoyed her that she wasn’t immune to his charm. She didn’t want to be attracted to any man at this time in her life, and especially not a celebrity.

Then he said, “I prefer to discuss business over food, Ms. Bailey. This is about business, isn’t it?”

She almost blushed. Almost. “Yes. Of course.”

“Then should we meet tomorrow for lunch?” Those baby-blue eyes demanded an answer.

“All right. Lunch it is.” When a gleam of satisfaction lit his eyes, she added, “My treat.”

“It’s a date,” he said, rising to his feet.

Which was exactly what Dena didn’t want it to be.