Five shopping bags hung from my arm as I adjusted the floppy hat on my head and walked through the lobby, heels clicking on the modern concrete floor. I’d been out with Valentina this afternoon, purchasing a few final items to add to my fall wardrobe. I’d yet to tell her about Christian and the fact I’d had rough, unprotected sex with him in his car, and I wasn’t going to. She’d make something of it that wasn’t there.
The doors began to close, but at the last minute, a hand shot out and held them open. Christian stepped onto the elevator.
His gaze came up and caressed mine.
I tensed and moved to the side, giving him much more room than he needed. His heavy presence stretched about three feet in diameter, and, these days, I did my best to stay out of it. It was like a vortex of dirty thoughts and racing hearts. Not to mention, he was so sexy and annoying, the closer I got to him, the worse the desire became to sink my teeth into the muscle at the back of his arm.
We both stared at the doors as they closed, my wish heavy in the air that somebody else would step on. Nobody did.
Like I said, the apartment gods hated me.
“I don’t bite,” he said, sounding annoyed.
“Liar.”
His gaze flicked to me, and then a slow smile pulled on the corner of his mouth. It was the kind of smile seen on the bad guy’s lips after stealing the girl. Warmth rushed beneath my skin; a prickling, breathless heat traveling all the way to my toes.
“Fine. I don’t bite women in elevators.”
“Whatever makes you feel good about yourself, Officer.”
He wore a long-sleeve shirt and running pants, and the light sheen of sweat on his skin let me know he was just leaving the gym. He went every day—even the Lord’s day. It was blasphemy.
Standing slightly behind him, I took advantage of the view. I swore the man was made of nothing but broad shoulders and smooth muscle, the defined lines visible through his shirt. The sliver of a white Calvin Klein band showing above the waistband of his pants was enough to send my thoughts straight to the gutter.
I swallowed. “The sun’s still up, buddy.”
“I’ve been expecting you to file your complaint. Thing is, I get more corrupting done at night if I work out during the day. Don’t want to disappoint those good Christian women.”
The thought that he was sleeping with other women made my gut twist. Nor could I stop a rush of irritation any time Valentina even mentioned Aleksandra’s name. Her face annoyed me, and just the idea she had her French-tipped nails anywhere near Christian made my stomach burn. Gosh, maybe I was getting an ulcer. I reminded myself to make an appointment with my GP.
“I’ve yet to see you even use the gym, anyway,” he noted.
“That’s because I only run when something’s chasing me.” The doors slid open, and I stepped out, hitting him with one of my bags. “Just stay away from the pool, and everything will remain civil. Capiche?”
“Of course,” he said dryly. “Wouldn’t dare to ruin your day of lounging on a chaise with your pool boy on call.”
“Careful, Christian.” I pouted. “Keep saying sweet things to me, and I might think you like me.”
“Dormiste con ella, tú cerdo!”
Slap.
Chad blocked another incoming slap to his face by grabbing hi
s wife’s wrist. “Fue un accidente, querida!”
I scoffed.
“Un accidente? Tu polla no se deslizó dentro de ella, idiota!” Chloe slapped him with her free hand.
I jumped at the loud clap of thunder that seemed to rock the apartment building. Setting my needle and thread on the living room floor where I was sitting, I got to my feet and padded to the window. The sky was dark, though the glow of city lights caught on the menacing clouds rolling in.
Chloe and Chad were now ripping off each other’s clothes while professing their undying love for each other.
I flipped the channel.
The weatherman’s words were dubbed over in Spanish, but I didn’t even need to try and decipher what he was saying because the red cloud on his radar that was swallowing up Manhattan was clear enough.