highly likely she still had the means to investigate.
Despite their interference, or perhaps because of it, every one of them held a special place in her heart. They really cared for her and showed it in a dozen ways. They treated her as lovingly as they might a grandchild. They offered her money, which she regularly refused, knowing they could barely make ends meet as it was. They baked, each of them complaining she was too skinny. Mostly, they kept watch. She felt as safe as she had while living at home.
They all knew she worked four days a week at La Traviata and, on most Saturdays, as a private chef for Stanley Shummer, a Donald Trump type of entrepreneur. On Sundays, she sometimes visited her family. On her days off, she most often experimented with new recipes. Having studied under a number of ’s top chefs, her goal was to one day open an exclusive restaurant that offered the very best in Italian cuisine.
What really touched her heart was that every one of her neighbors was positive she would have that restaurant and attain fame and fortune in the process. Secure in that belief, they’d convinced her to sign everything from the corner of a napkin to a coffee cup to a torn sheet of paper, swearing her signature would one day be worth a fortune.
They were so cute.
Still, despite being cute, they could be equally annoying. Lexie had plans tonight. Slightly crazy and definitely bold plans. She didn’t want the entire building to know about them.
The wine felt icy against her skin as she slipped the bottle under her loose, cotton shirt. She took a measuring cup from her cupboard then went to her phone and dialed.
“Oh hi, Mrs. Morgan, I wanted to ask you— Oh dear, something’s boiling over. Can you hold a minute?”
Lexie grinned as she gently laid down the phone and soundlessly eased herself out of her apartment. She knocked softly on her neighbor’s door. Jim answered it wearing tight jeans and a button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled to just below his elbows, while the shirt itself hung open exposing a stomach rippled with muscle and bisected by a narrow line of dark hair that widened to lightly dust a wide chest and hinted at widening again just below the navel. She couldn’t tell if he were putting the shirt on or about to take it off. It didn’t matter.
Lexie’s mouth watered. Her heart gave a hard thud then pounded against the wall of her chest.
He needed a shave.
She swallowed and forced back a low groan, more than a little amazed to feel her nipples actually tingle and her pussy grow heavy with want. Lord, help her, she’d never known this degree of attraction before. All right, there had been that time when she’d accidentally brushed against Brad Pitt in a restaurant in the city, but that probably happened to every woman who came near him.
Jim smiled.
She had no hope of ever breathing normally again as her pussy grew warmer and decidedly wet.
“Hi,” he said, and to her delight, he actually sounded happy to see her.
“Hi,” she returned weakly. She stood there knowing he was waiting for her to say something, but the jolt of lust that slammed with exquisite precision into the pit of her belly left her without a rational thing to say.
“Are you all right?”
“Ah, I don’t know.” She looked from his stomach and chest to the waistband of his jeans and then up to his warm, amused gaze. “You shouldn’t answer the door like that. You made me forget what I was going to say.”
He grinned at her obvious approval.
Finally regaining a portion of her usual common sense, she remembered the cup in her hand and whispered, “I know this sounds crazy, but would you have any sugar I could borrow?”
He grabbed her hand and responded by quickly pulling her into his apartment. He gave the hallway a brief appraisal before he closed the door with a frown. “Why are you whispering?”
“Are you busy?”
“No. Why?” he returned with his own whisper.
“Well, if you’re not busy
Despite their interference, or perhaps because of it, every one of them held a special place in her heart. They really cared for her and showed it in a dozen ways. They treated her as lovingly as they might a grandchild. They offered her money, which she regularly refused, knowing they could barely make ends meet as it was. They baked, each of them complaining she was too skinny. Mostly, they kept watch. She felt as safe as she had while living at home.
They all knew she worked four days a week at La Traviata and, on most Saturdays, as a private chef for Stanley Shummer, a Donald Trump type of entrepreneur. On Sundays, she sometimes visited her family. On her days off, she most often experimented with new recipes. Having studied under a number of ’s top chefs, her goal was to one day open an exclusive restaurant that offered the very best in Italian cuisine.
What really touched her heart was that every one of her neighbors was positive she would have that restaurant and attain fame and fortune in the process. Secure in that belief, they’d convinced her to sign everything from the corner of a napkin to a coffee cup to a torn sheet of paper, swearing her signature would one day be worth a fortune.
They were so cute.
Still, despite being cute, they could be equally annoying. Lexie had plans tonight. Slightly crazy and definitely bold plans. She didn’t want the entire building to know about them.
The wine felt icy against her skin as she slipped the bottle under her loose, cotton shirt. She took a measuring cup from her cupboard then went to her phone and dialed.
“Oh hi, Mrs. Morgan, I wanted to ask you— Oh dear, something’s boiling over. Can you hold a minute?”
Lexie grinned as she gently laid down the phone and soundlessly eased herself out of her apartment. She knocked softly on her neighbor’s door. Jim answered it wearing tight jeans and a button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled to just below his elbows, while the shirt itself hung open exposing a stomach rippled with muscle and bisected by a narrow line of dark hair that widened to lightly dust a wide chest and hinted at widening again just below the navel. She couldn’t tell if he were putting the shirt on or about to take it off. It didn’t matter.
Lexie’s mouth watered. Her heart gave a hard thud then pounded against the wall of her chest.
He needed a shave.
She swallowed and forced back a low groan, more than a little amazed to feel her nipples actually tingle and her pussy grow heavy with want. Lord, help her, she’d never known this degree of attraction before. All right, there had been that time when she’d accidentally brushed against Brad Pitt in a restaurant in the city, but that probably happened to every woman who came near him.
Jim smiled.
She had no hope of ever breathing normally again as her pussy grew warmer and decidedly wet.
“Hi,” he said, and to her delight, he actually sounded happy to see her.
“Hi,” she returned weakly. She stood there knowing he was waiting for her to say something, but the jolt of lust that slammed with exquisite precision into the pit of her belly left her without a rational thing to say.
“Are you all right?”
“Ah, I don’t know.” She looked from his stomach and chest to the waistband of his jeans and then up to his warm, amused gaze. “You shouldn’t answer the door like that. You made me forget what I was going to say.”
He grinned at her obvious approval.
Finally regaining a portion of her usual common sense, she remembered the cup in her hand and whispered, “I know this sounds crazy, but would you have any sugar I could borrow?”
He grabbed her hand and responded by quickly pulling her into his apartment. He gave the hallway a brief appraisal before he closed the door with a frown. “Why are you whispering?”
“Are you busy?”
“No. Why?” he returned with his own whisper.
“Well, if you’re not busy
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