routine stop at the corner grocery store hadn’t dulled the sense of excitement she found doing what she loved, and if her instincts were on target, she’d captured exactly the right shots.
She juggled the bags filled with necessities while attempting to pull the apartment key out of her poncho pocket. There was so much flowing material she could barely find the opening. She understood now why the tailor had balked against sewing a pocket into the cape, but she hadn’t wanted to give up the garment in favor of her more sensible denim jacket. Given to her by her beloved grandmother, the poncho had once allowed her to hide her camera from the rest of the family who hadn’t understood her artistic obsession any more than they’d understood her.
She had escaped to another state and a huge city to be on her own, experience life and discover the real Grace Montgomery. Her likes, her whims, her future. Ironically the move alone hadn’t accomplished her goal. She’d ended up living off her trust, continuing to emulate her family because, subconsciously, she’d sought the approval she would never receive. It had taken her brother, Logan, and his recent wedding to the most real, down-to-earth woman Grace had ever met to shake Grace up and make her realize she wanted what Logan had: a life of her own choosing.
Once again, irony played a role. Though Grace had divorced herself from the snooty country club set back home, she’d kept in touch with her closest friends. Cara Hill, a woman Grace both liked and respected worked tirelessly for CHANCES, a charity that benefited underprivileged children. She was putting together a brochure and had purchased a huge layout in a high-circulation magazine aimed at enlightening the wealthy about the problems faced by people outside their social circle.
Raising substantial cash was the goal and Cara was taking a chance on an unknown photographer—on Grace—to capture that real world and the children who inhabited it. Grace refused to disappoint her. The experience could lead to more jobs and ultimately a photography career that paid the bills and left her fulfilled at the end of the day.
She felt the cold, metal key between her fingers at the same time the first brown bag toppled out of her arms and crashed to the floor. She glanced down at the white plastic bag and groaned. “It would have to be the eggs.”
“Another dinner party shot to hell?” A lazy masculine drawl sounded from behind her.
Instinct told her the sexy voice belonged to her new neighbor. Instinct and the curling warmth in her belly. She closed her eyes and held the feeling close. It matched the one she felt whenever she caught a glimpse of him out her window. The first time he’d been unloading a black Mustang packed tight with clothing and accessories. Her neighbor, Paul Biggs, an investment banker, was away on business and the super had mentioned she’d be having a new neighbor living across the hall.
He’d turned out to be a sexy new neighbor, in tight jeans and a faded blue T-shirt that clung to an incredibly sculpted body. Grace came from a world where men were soft and manicured. A specimen like him was just one of the treats of living far from home, and she’d enjoyed watching him from a distance.
Steeling herself for their first meeting, she set the rest of the bags on the floor. She turned, and although she’d glimpsed him through her window before and even snapped a few photos with her camera, she discovered nothing compared to seeing him in the flesh.
He stood across from her, one shoulder propped against the chipped wall. Once white, the dingy paint now held a gray tinge, and still her neighbor’s jet-black hair stood out in stark contrast. Tousled from an apparent jaunt outdoors, his dark hair reached his shoulders and begged for a woman’s touch.
Her touch. She swallowed hard and wondered where that notion had come from? She’d never been tempted to stroke a man’s hair before but nothing about him was like anything she’d ever encountered. He oozed raw sexiness and called to something primal and elemental inside her. Something she hadn’t known existed—until now.
He was pure male testosterone in a package that said, “Don’t mess with me.” And she was suddenly struck with how much fun it could be to do just that.
“Looks like you could use a hand. I’m Ben Callahan, your new neighbor.” His voice brought her out of her musings.
She realized she’d been staring and extended her hand. “Grace Montgomery.”
“I meant a helping hand.” He laughed, a seductive rumble that set her already raw nerve endings on fire.
Before embarrassment at her too-formal behavior could take over, he stepped forward and placed his large, warm palm inside hers. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
Heat arced between them, sizzling and hot. Ben cleared his throat, then quickly released her hand, leaving Grace to wonder if he was as unsettled by the sensations as she.
He quickly composed himself and she wished she could do the same.
“Can I help you with those packages?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I can handle them.” But she couldn’t handle him or her reaction to him as easily.
“Well, my mother taught me never to let a lady struggle, and besides,” he said with a slow grin, “I like helping beautiful women.” Without waiting for her response, he stepped around the groceries, bent down and collected her bags.
She turned toward the door, key in hand. Aware of his heat and strength behind her, she put the key into the lock and let them into her apartment.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Just put them on the kitchen counter.” She pointed to the small pass-through that led to her working kitchen.
He deposited the bags, broken eggs included, onto the butcher-block countertop and turned. “So was I right? Did you ruin another dinner party by dropping the groceries?”
Obviously he was referring to last night’s parade of women who’d come to her apartment. Once Grace realized her job for CHANCES also enabled her to capture fabulous candid shots of children, she’d begun making copies—and the parents came by once a week for coffee and free photos. Considering her privileged upbringing—that she hadn’t worked for or deserved—it was the least she could do.
Although Grace hadn’t realized Ben was monitoring the comings and goings from her place, as an expression of his interest, it would do nicely.
She shook her head. “No dinner party, now or then. Nothing more planned than an evening in front of the TV. And last night wasn’t as big a bash as you seem to think.”
“I thought I might have missed out on a good party.” Curiosity lit his features as he met and held her gaze.
Warmth trickled through her veins. “Nope. Just a few friends over. Would it soothe your ego if I said your invitation got lost in the mail?” She grinned, unable to help the smile he inspired.
He laughed. “No, but it would help if you threw a welcome-to-the-building party in my honor.”
“I…uh, think that could be arranged.” Her boldness surprised her.
As much as she enjoyed their easy banter, this meeting had thrown her badly. She inhaled deeply. His musky scent seduced and aroused—and would now linger in her apartment long after he was gone. Her life, which just yesterday had been filled with routine and concern about making it on her own, now had spark and zing. Inspiration, she thought, glancing at the man in the fitted T-shirt.
He was everything that intrigued her in the opposite sex, nothing like the kind of men who’d asked her out back home—the suit-and-tie, suck-up to Judge Montgomery type of man, who had turned her ice-cold. And though she’d been just another anonymous female in New York City, she hadn’t given much thought to dating since her move. Not after the last couple of setups courtesy of her friends had turned into boring disasters.
Nothing about Ben was boring. She took in his rugged good looks, his sexy, bad-boy posture and attitude. There wasn’t a thing about him, from his alluring scent to his heated touch, she didn’t enjoy. Why not make use of her discovery?
Professionally