Mystery Man

Her eyebrows rose. Things were beginning to focus in the real world. Her mind lost the last thread of connection with her plot. Before she lost her bearings too far, she saved the file before she swung her chair back to face her angry neighbor.

“Nonsense,” she said. “Kurt doesn’t have a baseball. Come to think of it, I don’t think he knows how to use a bat, either.”

He threw the ball up and caught it, deliberately.

“All right, what do you want me to do about it?” she asked wearily.

“I want you to teach him not to hit balls through people’s windows,” he said shortly. “It’s a damned nuisance trying to find a glass company down here, especially one that can get a repair done quickly.”

“Put some plastic over the hole with tape,” she suggested.

“Your son did the damage,” he continued with a mocking smile. “The repair is going to be up to you, not me.”

“Me?”

“You.” He put the ball down firmly on her desk, noticing the computer and printer for the first time. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m writing a bestselling novel,” she said honestly.

He laughed without humor. “Sure.”

“It’s going to be great,” she continued with building anger. “It’s all about a—”

He held up a big, lean hand. “Spare me,” he said. “I don’t really want to hear the sordid details. No doubt you can draw plenty of material from your years in the commune.”

“Why, yes, I can,” she agreed with a vacant smile. “But I was going to say that this book is about a pompous businessman with delusions of grandeur.”

His eyebrows lifted. “How interesting.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and she fought a growing attraction to him. He really did have an extraordinary build for a man his age, which looked to be late thirties. He was lean and muscular and sensuous. He didn’t have a male-model sort of look, but there was something in the very set of his head, in the way he looked at her, that made her knees go weak.

His eye had been caught by an autographed photo peering out from under her mousepad. She’d hidden it there so that Kurt wouldn’t see it and tease her about her infatuation with her television hero. Sadly when she’d moved the mouse to save her file, she’d shifted the pad and revealed the photo.

His lean hand reached out and tugged at the corner. He didn’t wear jewelry of any kind, she noticed, and his fingernails were neatly trimmed and immaculate. He had beautiful hands, lightly tanned and strong.

“I like to watch the television series he’s in,” she said defensively, because he was staring intently at the photo.

His gaze lifted and he laughed softly. “Do you?” He handed it back and in the process, leaned close to her. “It’s one of my favorite shows, too,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, soft and deep and sensuous. “But this is the villain, you know, not the hero.”

She cleared her throat. He was close enough to make her uncomfortable. “So what?”

“He looks familiar, doesn’t he?” he murmured dryly.

She glared up at him. He really was far too close. Her heart skipped. “Does he?” she asked. Her voice sounded absolutely squeaky.

He stood up again, his hands back in his pockets, his smile so damned arrogant and knowing that she could have kicked him.

“Don’t you have a business empire to save or something?” she asked irritably.

“I suppose so. You can’t get that show down here, at least not in English,” he added.

“Yes. I know. That was the whole purpose of coming here,” she murmured absently.

“Ah, I see. Drying out, are we?”

She stood up. “You listen here…!”

He chuckled. “I have things to do. You’ll see to the window, of course.”

She took a steadying breath. “Of course.”

His eyes slid up and down her slender body with more than a little interest. “Odd.”

“What?”

“Do you mind if I test a theory?”

Her eyes were wary. “What sort of theory?”

He took his hands out of his pockets and moved close, very deliberately, his eyes staring straight into hers the whole while. When he was right up against her, almost touching her, he stopped. His hands remained at his side. He never touched her. But his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, stared right down into hers and suddenly slipped to her mouth, tracing it with such sensuality that her lips parted on a shaky breath.

He moved again. His chest was touching her breasts now. She could smell the clean, sexy scent he wore. She could feel his warm, coffee-scented breath on her mouth as he breathed.

“How old are you?” he asked in a deep, sultry tone.

“Twenty-four,” she said in a strangled voice.

“Twenty-four.” He bent his head, so that his mouth was poised just above hers, tantalizing but not invasive, not aggressive at all. His breath made little patterns on her parted lips. “And you’ve had more than a handful of lovers?”

She wasn’t listening. Her eyes were on his mouth. It looked firm and hard and very capable. She wondered how it tasted. She wondered. She wished. She…wanted!

“Janine.”

The sound of her voice on his lips brought her wide, curious eyes up to meet his. They looked stunned, mesmerized.

His own eyes crinkled, as if he were smiling. All she saw was the warmth in them.

“If you’re the mother of a twelve-year-old,” he whispered deeply, “I’m a cactus plant.”

He lifted his head, gave her an amused, indulgent smile, turned and walked away without a single word or a backward glance, leaving her holding the ball. In more ways than one.

She got the glass fixed. It wasn’t easy, but she managed. However, she did dare Kurt to pick up a bat again.

“You don’t like him, do you?” he queried the day after the glass was repaired. “Why not? He seems to be good to Karie, and he isn’t exactly Mr. Nasty to me, either.”

She moved restlessly. “I’m trying to work,” she said evasively. She didn’t like to remember her last encounter with their neighbor. Weakness was dangerous around that tiger.

“He’s gone to California,” Kurt added.

Her fingers jumped on the keyboard, scattering letters across the screen. “Oh. Has he?”