IT WASN’T EVERY morning that Dr. Sarah Grayson stepped out of her apartment and saw a couple making out.
It had happened, though.
Same man, different woman.
Nausea churned in Sarah’s belly. She ordered her eyes away, but since a nice, but somewhat bland apartment building corridor offered nothing to snag her attention, her gaze stayed put.
Making out in her hallway might be a bit of a stretch. Still, the couple stood in her rather hunky neighbor’s apartment doorway, sharing a far from innocent kiss.
Even if the kiss had been a mere lip peck, her neighbor’s lean hips wrapped in only a towel knocked innocent right out of the ball park. Home run.
Grand slam.
Sarah ran her gaze over his chiseled torso. He rated pin-up-worthy—centerfold, for sure. Part of her couldn’t blame the busty brunette for clinging to his broad shoulders. Or for totally ignoring the fact Sarah had stepped into the hallway. Common decency said they should pull apart and look a little embarrassed, right?
When Sarah’s gaze collided with piercing blue ones, her breath caught. No embarrassment in those magnificent eyes. Just pure unadulterated sexual temptation.
Good grief. He probably was a grand slam.
What eyes. A color so intense they pulled you in and made you feel as if you were drowning, made you want to drown in everything promised in the enticing blue depths.
Not Sarah, of course.
She was immune to playboys like this guy. She’d built up her defenses years ago while listening to her mother harp about the blight of good-looking, fast-talking men.
Adulthood had fortified her defenses.
Still, she wasn’t blind. Her neighbor was hot. She knew it and so did he.
Even as his lips lingered on the brunette’s, those eyes crinkled with bad-boy amusement. Probably laughing at the fact Sarah had taken up full-fledged voyeurism.
Gaze locked with hers, he pulled back from the kiss.
“Baby,” the brunette protested, still not noticing Sarah as she tugged downward on her cocktail dress skirt.
Good, the skimpy material barely covered her perfectly shaped bottom. A sticking plaster would cover more than the clingy sparkling spandex. Then again, if Sarah had curves like the brunette maybe she’d wear shrink-wrapped clothes, too.
She doubted it, but who knew? Sarah dressed to avoid drawing attention so she could focus on more important things than meaningless ogling. Either way, she’d never know because her stick-straight slender body lacked the brunette’s hourglass shape.
“Brandy, we have company,” her neighbor said, much in the way a parent would to a petulant child.
The brunette turned, flashing big almond eyes, raked her gaze over Sarah’s shapeless body beneath her heavy jacket, scarf, and hat. She dismissed Sarah’s importance and quickly turned back to towel boy.
He was better to look at than a ready-to-face-the-chill-of-a-Manhattan-November-early-morning Sarah.
Or Sarah on any morning, really.
“Jude,” the woman practically cooed.
So that was his name. Jude.
He’d tried talking to her a few times when they’d bumped into each other in the hallway, but she’d ignored him. What would be the point? She wasn’t interested in going through his revolving front door and he didn’t seem the type to want to just be friends with a woman. Plus, he made her feel uncomfortable. Not a creepy uncomfortable, just a very aware of how male he was uncomfortable.
Realizing she was standing in the apartment hallway, gawking still, Sarah turned from the couple, locked her deadbolt, and pretended she couldn’t hear Brandy begging to do anything he’d like her to do. Had the woman no pride?
Go home, girl. He used you.
Too bad Brandy’s mother hadn’t warned about men like him as Sarah’s mother had repeatedly done.
At the woman’s next words, Sarah’s cheeks caught fire. Nope, no pride whatsoever.
Sarah turned and her gaze collided with Jude’s amazing blue one again. She’d swear those eyes could see straight into her very being, knew her thoughts. Maybe they even had some type of superpower because her stomach fluttered as if it had grown thousands of tiny wings.
Nausea, she told herself. Men like him made her sick. Out all hours of the night, never seeming to work, always with a different woman. Sick. Sick. Sick.
Maybe he was a gigolo or some kind of male escort.
Her nose curled in disgust to go along with her flaming cheeks.
“I think you’ve embarrassed my neighbor.”
His voice was full of humor, which truly did embarrass Sarah. What was wrong with her? Standing in her hallway, as if frozen in place, ogling the man as if she’d never seen a bare chest.
She’d never seen one like his outside magazines and television, but that was beside the point.
She needed to get her voyeuristic self to work.
She couldn’t make out most of what Brandy replied but caught the words