Colder laughed. “Whatever works for you, Dahlia.”
I waved as I headed for the door. It was true. I wanted that house, but I couldn’t deny the pull of the man, either. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that part.
I pushed the door open, and my breath stalled. He was standing on the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly as he stared across the street at my building. The warm breeze blew his long hair around his shoulders and that strong jawline made my chest tighten.
He hadn’t left.
TWELVE
My fingers itched enough that I’d had to shove them into my jeans pockets to quiet them. The lines of The Heights were stark—both the breadth of the windows and the grandeur of the jet-colored building. Art Deco and modernism had melded into a spectacular building.
However, it was missing curves.
Something out front to soften the severity of the dark, boxy building. The Sycamore trees did a pretty good job of it, but space outside the building was prime for a—
“You didn’t leave.”
Dahlia’s voice snatched me out of the creative vortex I’d fallen into, something I hadn’t lost myself in a damn long time. The jarring reaction was enough to make me want hop back into my truck and leave her in the dust because I didn’t want to deal with that shit again. The flash of an idea wouldn’t stick around, anyway.
Because I didn’t deserve it.
My throat went dry. “You said you had something to show me.”
“Right.” She gathered her hair around her neck to lay over her other shoulder. She did that when she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.
Annoyed that I knew that, I stepped off the sidewalk into the crosswalk. She followed behind me until we hit the median, then she stood at my side. The warm breeze lifted her hair and her peach and honey scent swirled around me like a caress.
My hands fisted at my sides.
The traffic was light enough not to wait for the walk sign to flip white. She shot ahead, leaving me in the dust this time. The streetlights were as bright as a stadium and made my eyes pulse, but damn that ass of hers made a man think things.
Things I had no business thinking.
The no-nonsense sway of her hips was bad enough, but the heart shape of it was a menace. Mostly because it made my palms itch again. The memory of the adrenaline jolt when I’d dove at her, of the way she fit against me. The flecks in her eyes that reminded me of burnished gold. And fuck me, when I’d rolled her on top of me to make sure she was safe, her firm ass filled my hand like it was made for me.
No. That wasn’t happening.
I had to remind myself she had complicated stamped all over her in red ink. Hell, she’d scraped LITTLE DICK into my truck. Then came at me at my own house screaming about how to remodel my own damn house.
I should be heading back across the street.
She wasn’t stable. Possibly certifiable.
And you are stable?
There was a point.
She stopped in front of the double doors of her building and glanced over her shoulder. “Coming?”
Indecision had my foot teetering in space. If I stepped off the median and crossed the road to meet her, that was it. I had a feeling I’d never get her out of my life.
It was late and there were no cars to speak of. I should just turn the hell around and go home.
If—and it was a big if—I did entertain her proposal, I should do it at her office.
Not in her space. Alone with her again.
It didn’t seem like a good idea.
An older gentleman swung the door open. He wore a gray uniform complete with a starched collar and tie. All he needed was a monogramed doorman hat to look like he belonged at the front of a Manhattan high rise.
“Hello, Miss Dahlia. How are you on this warm evening?”
“I’m good, Murray. Callahan filled me with good food and cider.”
“Aww, that’s good. That’s good. You have a good night.”
I didn’t even realize I’d stepped off and followed her. The magnetic pull of her left me off-balance and annoyed. When I got to them, the older man tucked Dahlia behind him. “Can I help you?”
“He’s with me.” She patted the guy’s arm. “Don’t mind him. He always looks like he’s about to start a fight with someone.”
The older man narrowed his gaze at me. “He’ll need to sign in.”
I arched a brow. “Is that right, old man?”
“Don’t be a dick, Nolan. Sign the register. We are a gated apartment building, that’s all.”
