ONE
She needed to quit daydreaming about the guy
downstairs.
Brienne Fox dropped her pen onto the table, barely hearing it
roll off the edge and clatter onto the linoleum. The half-finished grocery list
in front of her vanished from her thoughts like so much smoke. All she could
hear was the key in the door, the footsteps...and the murmur of that dark,
silken voice as he greeted what she assumed must be his cat. Not that she’d
spent too much time thinking about what might or might not be in his apartment.
Or what he did while he was in there.
Or anything.
Brie closed her eyes and dug her hands into her hair, resting
her elbows on the table and slumping a little as she castigated herself. Every
day was the same. She was a perfectly normal, well-functioning human being until
that car pulled into the driveway they shared. But as soon as she heard the
steady hum of his sleek little sedan’s engine, all of her functioning brain
cells dropped whatever they were doing to focus on one thing, and one thing
only.
Him. Or more specifically, him naked and in one of a wide
variety of compromising positions, all of which involved her.
It wasn’t exactly productive, since Alistair Locke had barely
given her the time of day the few times she’d managed to bump into him. When
speaking was almost out of the question, a torrid affair didn’t seem all that
likely.
Brie pushed back her chair, got up and wandered over to the
window to look out at the fresh tire tracks in the snow-dusted driveway.
Alistair’s car would be parked by her sand-and—salt spattered SUV, as it always
was, in the old carriage house that had been converted into a garage. Just as
she had boxes of stuff next to his in the upper level of the garage.
Unfortunately, her possessions got more time with him than she did. There was
plenty of space for two people here—almost too much.
She hadn’t been sure about renting an apartment in such an old
house, no matter how beautiful it was. She’d had visions of lousy heat,
electrical and plumbing issues, and of course, a resident ghost that would
doubtless terrorize her into leaving anyway. But the place had sucked her in,
from the high ceilings and gleaming wood floors to the big window that looked
out on the wide street lined with old trees and stately old Victorians much like
this one.
The upstairs was hers, apparently ghost-free, and she loved it.
It was the perfect hiding place for somebody like her, a working writer who
thrived on a certain amount of quiet and personal space. Of course, having
Alistair downstairs had provided a little too much
fodder for what was already an overactive imagination.
If she hadn’t been so boringly normal in every other way, she
might have been really concerned about herself instead of just uneasy. She’d
liked guys before. She’d lusted after plenty of them. But this didn’t feel
quite... normal .
Brie’s eyes rose to the sky, and she found herself momentarily
diverted. The snow clouds that had hung heavily on the horizon all day had
darkened to an ominous slate-gray, and they seemed to be moving in swiftly. They
were predicting that the massive nor’easter would start hitting by early
evening. She’d promised herself she’d get to the grocery store before the snow
started falling, just in case. With luck, the power would stay on. Without
luck...well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
And of course, Alistair had the only working fireplace in the
house in his apartment....
Brie squared her shoulders and headed back to the table to grab
the grocery list. Food first. She’d just figure the rest of it out as she went.
And along the way, it would be nice if her mind could focus its energy on
something actually productive, instead of creating scenarios with her neighbor
that involved firelight and a soundtrack loaded with songs by Enigma.
Minutes later she was headed out the door and down the stairs,
cozy in bulky boots and a heavy coat. She purposely avoided
She needed to quit daydreaming about the guy
downstairs.
Brienne Fox dropped her pen onto the table, barely hearing it
roll off the edge and clatter onto the linoleum. The half-finished grocery list
in front of her vanished from her thoughts like so much smoke. All she could
hear was the key in the door, the footsteps...and the murmur of that dark,
silken voice as he greeted what she assumed must be his cat. Not that she’d
spent too much time thinking about what might or might not be in his apartment.
Or what he did while he was in there.
Or anything.
Brie closed her eyes and dug her hands into her hair, resting
her elbows on the table and slumping a little as she castigated herself. Every
day was the same. She was a perfectly normal, well-functioning human being until
that car pulled into the driveway they shared. But as soon as she heard the
steady hum of his sleek little sedan’s engine, all of her functioning brain
cells dropped whatever they were doing to focus on one thing, and one thing
only.
Him. Or more specifically, him naked and in one of a wide
variety of compromising positions, all of which involved her.
It wasn’t exactly productive, since Alistair Locke had barely
given her the time of day the few times she’d managed to bump into him. When
speaking was almost out of the question, a torrid affair didn’t seem all that
likely.
Brie pushed back her chair, got up and wandered over to the
window to look out at the fresh tire tracks in the snow-dusted driveway.
Alistair’s car would be parked by her sand-and—salt spattered SUV, as it always
was, in the old carriage house that had been converted into a garage. Just as
she had boxes of stuff next to his in the upper level of the garage.
Unfortunately, her possessions got more time with him than she did. There was
plenty of space for two people here—almost too much.
She hadn’t been sure about renting an apartment in such an old
house, no matter how beautiful it was. She’d had visions of lousy heat,
electrical and plumbing issues, and of course, a resident ghost that would
doubtless terrorize her into leaving anyway. But the place had sucked her in,
from the high ceilings and gleaming wood floors to the big window that looked
out on the wide street lined with old trees and stately old Victorians much like
this one.
The upstairs was hers, apparently ghost-free, and she loved it.
It was the perfect hiding place for somebody like her, a working writer who
thrived on a certain amount of quiet and personal space. Of course, having
Alistair downstairs had provided a little too much
fodder for what was already an overactive imagination.
If she hadn’t been so boringly normal in every other way, she
might have been really concerned about herself instead of just uneasy. She’d
liked guys before. She’d lusted after plenty of them. But this didn’t feel
quite... normal .
Brie’s eyes rose to the sky, and she found herself momentarily
diverted. The snow clouds that had hung heavily on the horizon all day had
darkened to an ominous slate-gray, and they seemed to be moving in swiftly. They
were predicting that the massive nor’easter would start hitting by early
evening. She’d promised herself she’d get to the grocery store before the snow
started falling, just in case. With luck, the power would stay on. Without
luck...well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
And of course, Alistair had the only working fireplace in the
house in his apartment....
Brie squared her shoulders and headed back to the table to grab
the grocery list. Food first. She’d just figure the rest of it out as she went.
And along the way, it would be nice if her mind could focus its energy on
something actually productive, instead of creating scenarios with her neighbor
that involved firelight and a soundtrack loaded with songs by Enigma.
Minutes later she was headed out the door and down the stairs,
cozy in bulky boots and a heavy coat. She purposely avoided