Perfect for You (7 page)

Her apology broke off when she realized it was the new downstairs neighbor.

He stared down at her, his gaze direct but his thoughts closed off. He looked like a Latin Harry Potter with those glasses, and she wanted to reach up and run her hand through his disheveled hair.

Clearing her throat, she stepped back, but not before she sniffed at him. The aroma of sweet onions clung to him. She felt a pang of hunger, only she wasn't sure if it was for food or another sort of treat.

"He's too old for you," he said, his tone heavy with disapproval.

She shook her head, confused. "What?"

He pointed at Greg's door. "He's not for you."

"No, he's for my sister, Freya, your upstairs neighbor." She made a face. "Of course he's not for me. That's just gross."

He relaxed a little, his expression softening.

Not able to help herself, she leaned in and inhaled. "Do you have food hidden on you? You smell delicious."

The corner of his mouth hitched a tiny bit. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm always hungry." As if punctuating her statement, her stomach rumbled.

"Come." He motioned for her to follow him.

She watched, dumbfounded for a moment, before hurrying to keep up with him. "Where are we going?"

"My apartment. I will make you dinner."

"Seriously?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Just dinner. You don't need to worry."

Bummer, because she wouldn't have minded him coming on to her. He had on jeans, just like the last time she'd seen him, but this time with worn boots and a white shirt open at the color. His coat was black velvet.

Hot.

He stepped aside to let her enter. She didn't hesitate, walking right in. She looked around as he turned the lights on, taking off her coat and dropping it on the leather couch, which was one of the few furnishings he had. "It's got a nice open feel," she said diplomatically.

"I just moved here," he explained.

"From?"

"New York." He took off his jacket and headed down the hall.

"Did you move here for work?" she asked as she followed him.

"Yes."

She waited for more, but he was obviously a man of few words. She shrugged. Whatever. He was pretty to look at and he was going to feed her. She had no complaints.

He went all the way to the back of the flat and flipped a light switch. The room lit up, revealing a modern state-of-the-art kitchen.

"Spiffy," she said, running her hand along the bar top.

"It's the reason I bought this apartment." Rolling up his sleeves, he took out a pot, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. Then he opened the huge refrigerator and began taking out ingredients.

She perched on a high stool, resting her chin on her hands. "You aren't originally from New York."

"I'm from Peru." He pulled out a cutting board and a huge knife.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Are you married?"

He gave her a flat look as he washed some vegetables.

"I was just wondering." She shrugged unapologetically. "You want me to answer some questions?"

"No."

"I'm not married either."

"That's because you're a child."

Anna stiffened. "I am not. I'm twenty-one."

"Exactly." He glanced at her as he set a pan on a hot burner.

She frowned at him, not sure what to say. She settled on a safe topic for the time being. "You look like you know what you're doing."

"I'm a chef."

"Cool. I can't cook at all. It's amazing that you do it for a living."

He didn't say anything. She chose to believe it was because he was focusing so hard on what he was doing. He put pasta in the boiling water and then poured oil in the other pan before throwing in the stuff he'd chopped up.

He looked so cute. His brow furrowed in concentration, and his movements were all economical and efficient.

He'd treat his woman the same way. He'd focus on her like nothing else existed, passionate and single-minded about loving her.

She was going to be his woman.

Anna nodded. It was meant to be—she didn't have a doubt. She'd have to convince him, but she could do that.

Het set a shallow bowl in front of her, piled high with pasta. The scent wafted up, reminiscent of the sweet oniony smell that clung to him, and her mouth watered. "This looks amazing."

He poured himself a glass of wine and snagged the chair next to her, angling it away from her so there was some space between them.

"Can I have some wine?"

"No," he said firmly.

No one ever gave her alcohol. She was totally old enough too. She picked up her fork. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"I ate already."

She paused before taking a bite. "You cooked just for me."

"It's what I do."

It was what he did for work, but this was different. She considered him as she lifted the forkful to her mouth. She doubted he picked up any stray from the streets to bring home.

He was as good as hers.

Then she gasped. She chewed and swallowed quickly. "Oh my God that was
delicious
."

"Thank you." He took a sip of wine, watching her calmly.

Whatever. This was the best pasta she'd ever had, and that was saying something because Freya was a great cook. She dug in, not caring that her face was probably shiny with oil.

When the bowl was empty, she stared at it in dismay.

He handed her a napkin. "Would you like more?"

"Hell yes."

She ate the second bowl just as eagerly. She would have asked for another serving except she saw that he gave her all there was.

The whole time he watched her. Normally she would have found it creepy, but somehow it was nice. Comfortable. "I have a proposition for you," she said as she finished. "You cook for me and I'll clean up."

"No." He stood up.

"Please." She batted her eyes and made the puppy face that always made her sister cave.

"No." He took her bowl and then guided her out of the kitchen with a hand on the small of her back.

His touch felt right. She grinned. She knew it. And soon she'd feel that hand all over her body.

He held out her coat so she could slip into it. "I'll walk you to your car."

"Okay," she said eagerly, not because she needed the protection but because it meant she'd be with him that much longer. "I'm this way."

He frowned when he saw the junk bucket she drove. Whatever—it was all she could afford for now. It got her around safely.

She faced him. "When do I get to see you again?"

"This will not happen again."

Yes, it would. "I have one more question for you."

He sighed. "Just one more."

"What's your name?"

He blinked at her, and then his lips curved into a slow amused smile that took her breath away. "Max Corazao."

"Anna Godwin." She held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Max Corazao."

He took her head. Before he could withdraw, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. His skin rasped against hers, making her shiver. She breathed him in. Delicious.

Happy, she stepped back. "Thanks again, Max."

She got into the car. As she pulled out, she looked in her rearview mirror, satisfied by the befuddled expression on his face.

He was totally hers.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Your ad.

Hi. I saw your ad and I thought we'd get along really well. My name is John. I'm 5'11" and I have brown eyes. I have most of my hair. I have an excellent relationship with my mom. In fact, I still live with her.

Maybe we could get coffee sometime?

--------------------------------------------

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Hey Baby

When I saw your ad on craigslist I knew we were destined to meet. So I checked with my astrologer and she said because Venus was in my first house it was a good time to contact you.

Here I am, baby.

Are you a Taurus? I feel like maybe you are. Just so you know, I'm highly compatible with Taureans.

Email me.

Blessings,

Rolf

--------------------------------------------

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Hello there.

I was so intrigued by your ad I had to email you. I don't usually do this, but there's always a first time. :)

My name is Lynn. I suppose you want to know what I look like, right? I'm just over six feet tall and slim in build. I'm not Brad Pitt, but I can hold my own.

I'm a sculptor—yes, I make a living as an artist. I also play bass in a band but that's just a hobby. I'm ashamed to say that I really love reading philosophy. :)

I expect you'll email me back, but you can't really know if you click with a person until you meet. So I'd like to propose a museum outing one afternoon. What do you say?

Lynn

--------------------------------------------

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: One more thingÉ

I guess I should tell you one other thing about me. I'm currently undergoing some changes in my life. Big changes, but good ones. I haven't had the sex change operation yet, but it's scheduled for next month.

Anyway, I hope we can get together. I have a good feeling about you.

Lynn (again)

--------------------------------------------

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: yo

you sound hot. want to hook up?

--------------------------------------------

"No." Freya hit Delete, set her laptop aside, and flopped back onto her bed.

Today at work, Charles had cornered her and given her an ultimatum: initial mockups in one month, or else. And Charles really meant it when he said "or else."

The thing was, she wasn't any closer to feeling sexy than she was a week ago. She'd had the ad on craigslist for several days, and so far she'd only attracted freaks.

If she were being honest, she'd admit that the there'd been a moment when she'd felt that spark she used to have, and it'd been at the Ethiopian restaurant with Cavanaugh.

Honesty was overrated.

It was only four days since she'd put the ad online. She needed to give it time.

Only she didn't have time.

She pounded the mattress with a fist. She was going to tap back into her sensuality if it killed her. She just couldn't depend on the ad alone.

The Thai cooking class started later this week. She'd gotten her art supplies out but facing the blank canvas had been as traumatic as facing Photoshop at work.

She needed to do something else. Something physical, to get herself moving. Something like—

She snapped her fingers in sudden inspiration. "Belly dancing!"

Scooting off the bed, she opened her dresser and sifted through it. It only took a few minutes to find what she was looking for.

A few years ago, she'd taken an interpretive dance class, not because she loved to dance but because she was assigned to design their website and wanted to get a feel for what they did. Since it seemed like the unofficial uniform for the class, she bought herself a pair of black leggings and a skintight, wide-collared crop top.

She'd gone twice before the instructor asked her to stop attending, but it wasn't her fault. Being told to be lint would crack anyone up, especially when everyone in the class seriously applied themselves to adopting lint-like qualities. Who wouldn't laugh if someone ran by, crying, "I cling, I float!"

To complete her outfit, she tied a bright scarf around her waist and checked out the results in the mirror. Not bad, really.

The front door buzzed.

She glanced at the clock. After eight on a school night—who could it be? Anna would have just let herself in.

Hurrying downstairs, Freya opened the door to find Eve standing on the porch, a covered plate in her hand. "I come bearing cookies. I baked after work."

"Uh-oh." She moved aside to let her friend in. "What happened?"

"What makes you think something happened?" Eve asked too breezily as she walked up the stairs.

"If you're baking on a workday, it's because you're upset. What did your dad do now?"

"Nothing." She set the cookies on the coffee table and curled into one corner of the couch, pouting. "Except he didn't like the copy I wrote for the
Flow
account. He said it was watered down. No pun intended."

Didn't like
probably translated into a major rant session. Charles wasn't exactly diplomatic, even with his own daughter. "He never likes the first round of copy. I don't understand why this got to you this time."

"Because he said he wished Claire was back working for him." She curled into a sad ball. "I hate it when he compares me to my sister. Of course I'm going to come up short. Claire is magic."

"I wish you'd think about leaving Evolve. You aren't happy working for your dad. Isn't it time you did something you really wanted to do? Like open a bakery."

Eve arched her fine eyebrows. "Just the way you're doing your life's purpose?"

She frowned. "It's different. I have to support Anna through college."

"And I have my father to think about." Eve sighed. "It's not easy, is it?"

"No."

"Let's not talk about any of that tonight. Eat a cookie and tell me why you're dressed like that. That's definitely a new look for you."

"I look pretty good though, don't I?" She twisted in front of a small mirror hanging in her living room.

"You'd look good wearing a garbage bag. I hate that about you," Eve said mildly as she reached for cookie.

"I'm thinking of taking a dance class." She pirouetted with a flourish.

"Great idea. Dancing is sexy. What kind of dance? Wait, let me guess." Tipping her head to one side, she studied her carefully. "All black, brightly patterned scarf... African tribal dancing?"

"Belly dancing." Freya shook her hips and shimmied across the room. "It's exotic and all about exploring sensuality. Maybe it'll give me inspiration."