That Kind of Special (2 page)

Trent pressed his hand into her lower back and she looked at him. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. All she could do was watch him pull his phone back out of his pocket.

“Bring the car around, Tim.” He gazed at her the whole time, and when he was done, he said, “You’re okay.”

He wasn’t asking. She pressed her hand to her forehead. His domineering attitude took up too much of her energy. That had to be the reason why she felt woozy. “Seriously? Because you’re freaking me out.”

“Good.”

She stopped when he moved her forward to the curb. “I can’t go with you.”

“Yes, you can, and you are.” He sighed deeply. “Don’t think too much. I’m only taking you home and getting you out of harm’s way. Obviously, if your boyfriend was any kind of a man, he would’ve backed off when you told him it was over.Instead, he’s passed out cold on the floor, so you’re stuck with me.”

“Ex.”

“What?” he said.

“My ex-boyfriend.”

“Thank fuck for that, at least,” he muttered.

When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “Listen. You’ll get in the car when it arrives, and when we reach your apartment building, I’ll walk you to your door. In less than ten minutes, you’ll be inside, where you can kick off your shoes and not have to worry about dealing with me any longer.”

And that was exactly what she told herself she’d do. She closed her mouth and nodded.

When the limo showed up, she climbed in. When the car stopped, she stepped out and allowed Trent to walk her through the double glass doors of the Swanson Skyrise apartment building. She even waited patiently when he paused to talk with Jackson, who worked the front desk, and kept her opinion to herself when he stressed how important it was to check everyone’s identification upon arrival. Even Trent’s, although Jackson appeared to know him, because he’d stood and saluted when they walked in.

All the way up to the seventh floor in the elevator, she kept her eyes on the numbers lighting up above the sliding doors. The sexy scent coming off Trent comforted her, and it dawned on her that he smelled of sandalwood, a scent that reminded her of her childhood spent with her parents at the coast.

“Katina?”

“Hm?” She glanced at him.

His lips twitched. “The doors are open.”

“Oh.” She hurried out, turned left down the hallway out of habit, and searched through her purse until she found her key.

She stopped in front of door 715, and he held out his hand. “Key.”

She wrapped her fingers around the key chain and hid her hand behind her back. “I can do it. Thank you for seeing me home safely.”

“Katina.” He held his hand out, palm up.

She scoffed, turning her back to him, and faced the door. He already talked her into letting him take her home. He sure as hell wasn’t opening her door too. She ducked her head and stuck her key in the lock. Surprised to find her hand shook, she stepped between him and the door, blocking his view of the inside of her apartment.

Interior decorating was her forte, but her personal space was a cluttered mess that only she understood. Besides, she didn’t want to give him anything that would make her feel lacking in her profession. No man had a right to make her feel inadequate. Ever.

She wouldn’t allow it. Just because he was rich and owned his own company didn’t matter to her. She owned her own company too. Granted, she was only starting out and hadn’t made the gazillion dollars she hoped to, but she was doing all right.

Better than her parents thought she’d do, and she would succeed. She wanted the satisfaction of building something from the ground up and having control of her future.

She stepped inside and held the door as a shield. “Thank you, again.”

His hand stopped the door from closing. “Katina.”

“Yes?”

“Lock the dead bolt.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m home, safe and sound. You can go on your way knowing you’ve done your good deed for the day, and tomorrow maybe you can help an old lady cross the street to continue spreading your goodwill.”

He moved his fingers up the door along the edge. She shifted, pushing the door almost closed without shutting his fingers inside. “Excuse me.”

“Your dead bolt is a piece of shit.”

She opened the door wider. “What?”

“I doubt if it’s ever been replaced in the last twenty years.” He removed his phone from his pocket. “That needs to be fixed.”

He paced the hallway, talking on his cell. She squeezed her thighs together, the urge to pee not going away. Unable to wait any longer, she shut the door quietly and turned the locking mechanism in the middle of the handle.

Her shoes went flying, her coat fell to the floor, and she undid her jeans as she slid her feet along the hardwood floor in the open living space and headed toward the bathroom down the short hallway off to the right. She left the bathroom door open, and relief came after she hit the toilet. She sighed, propping her elbows on her knees.

Tonight had turned out nothing like she thought it would. She hadn’t planned her breakup with Colby to come with a black eye in the morning. She ripped off a handful of toilet paper. God, Colby was going to be mad.

She stood, kicked off her jeans, flushed, and washed her hands. Wine.

The alcohol would drown Trent-whoever-the-hell-he-was-Bauer out of her system. In an hour, she’d forget all about him and his bossiness. She snorted. Really. She was not the type of woman who allowed a man to fight her battles or play her bodyguard.

She flung her shirt toward the bathroom door handle, failed at hanging it up, and jumped over the silk on the floor. Wine was in order, stat. Then she’d think about doing a load of laundry and cleaning up the place.

Halfway down the hallway, she pulled the clip out of her hair and set it on the shelf holding a picture of her parents. She ran her fingers through her hair as she walked into the kitchen.

Her scalp prickled from having her hair up all day. She stopped in front of the fridge and removed a bottle of wine. Using the goblet in the dish rack, she poured her a glass, set the bottle on the counter for later, and turned toward the open living room.

She kicked a discarded shoe out of her path, looked up, saw a solid form of a man beside the coffee table, and screamed. Her wine fell out of her hand. The goblet shattered on the floor at her feet. “W-what are you doing in my apartment?”

Chapter Two

Katina stood before him in a maroon bra. The tops of her breasts spilled over the edges. Trent’s body hardened. A pair of purple panties rode low on her hips, showing off the slight roundness of her lower stomach. Jesus, he loved that part of a woman’s body.

A real woman who had curves and softness appealed to him. He had no desire for a woman whose boobs came out of a catalog, or could brag about having six percent body fat and wear a size zero. When he held a woman in the dark or under the covers, he wanted to know without a doubt, he was touching a woman.

He hadn’t realized her hair was auburn when she had it up in a clip. His fingers curled. He had a weakness for auburn-haired women.

Katina planted her hands on her bare hips. “How the hell did you get in my apartment?”

“Proving my point about how bad an idea it is not to have a newer dead bolt installed on your door and actually using it. One that I can’t open with at least two keys in my pocket. That means anyone with half a brain could get into the apartment, and you wouldn’t even hear them.” He shrugged out of his jacket. “I’ve made a call and arranged to have someone install a dead bolt on your door, and as much as I’d love to stand here and enjoy your lovely body, it’s probably wise for you to get dressed. I wouldn’t want someone else to see you this way.”

He recognized the moment her lack of clothing came into play. She crossed her arms and blushed. He gave her another look, taking his time. Definitely, the loveliest woman he’d ever seen.

A body made for sex with the reaction of an innocent. Something about her made him want to hold on to her and protect her from others, because she had no clue about the way she affected the opposite sex. She led men to desperation, like her ex-boyfriend he’d laid out.

“Oh. My. God.” She gawked at him and mumbled, “I can’t believe you.”

“Soon as the dead bolt is installed, I’ll be on my way.” He tossed his jacket toward the leather couch.

She clamped her lips together and muffled a scream. He watched her whirl around and stomp down the hallway. The burst of anger made her ass clench and bounce in the most hypnotic way.

A door slammed. He smiled and strolled to the open kitchen to find the broom and paper towels to wipe up the spill. Halfway through sweeping up the shards of glass, he watched Katina come out of her room. He finished the job and carried the dustpan to her garbage can without saying a word.

She’d changed into jeans and a rocker T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. He took a second peek at her and laughed inside. She’d even taken the time to put on a pair of crazy socks with toes. He’d never seen such a thing, and he couldn’t help looking again.

Her gaze stayed on him, and he gave her time to get over her snit while he put everything away, found more wine, and poured them each a new glass. He held out her drink, grinning when she snatched it out of his hand. She had something to say, and he imagined it was only a matter of time before she spoke her mind.

“An hour, and I’ll be gone. You can handle sharing a drink while we wait together.” He held out his arm, motioning toward the couch.

She followed him and took a seat by the window in an armed chair, opposite of the sofa, and the farthest spot away from him she could get. “Can you forget what you saw?”

He leaned back against the cushion and stretched his legs out, grinning. “I’ve seen women with less on.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She waved her hand in front of her. “I don’t need to know about your women.”

“Then what?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I was in a hurry this morning…”

“And?”

“I didn’t take the time to see what I grabbed out of my dresser, okay?” She glanced away, stuck out her lower lip, and blew her long bangs out of her eyes. “Kill me now,” she muttered.

“You’ll have to give me another hint.” He hung his arm over the back of the couch.

“I didn’t match,” she said, letting her hair fall forward, covering half her face. “It’s one thing for me to know it, another for everyone else to know it for a fact. My life is about color coordination, putting stripes with bold reds, plaids with the Scottish tastes. I’m an interior designer, creating million-dollar rooms. People pay me to match.”

“I still don’t—”

“No one would suspect that personally, I could care less whether my underwear matches…or how scattered my own house is at the moment.” She faced him again and stuck her chin in the air, narrowing her eyes. “How I dress or the fact that there are dirty clothes in my hallway does not in any way reflect my professional career, just so you know.”

Match? He sipped the wine, buying more time to think about what she was saying. If it wasn’t about him catching her without clothes, then…

“Ah…” He nodded, looking around the room. “I don’t need you to change the inside of my house, so I’m not worried about your talents matching drapes with pillows.”

“I’m under a lot of stress. You’re not helping matters.” She glared and muttered, “Not another word.”

“Absolutely not.” He grinned.

He loved it. When most women shied away from showing their bodies, she wasn’t concerned about how much flesh she flashed his way.

Her concern over her bra and underwear not matching was the last thing he was thinking about when he saw her. Even before she’d made an appearance, her apartment, though stylish and clean, had an array of clothes, books, piles of fabric, and bags littering the main room. On first impression, he’d guessed she was laid-back and threw herself into whatever interest caught her eye.

An interior designer? He rubbed his hand over the soft, plush leather of her couch. He never would’ve guessed.

“I wish you’d go away.” She crossed her legs. “I’ve lived here for a year, and I’ve always felt 100 percent safe, and I don’t appreciate you forcing yourself on me.”

“You need a dead bolt,” he said.

“Maybe so, but you have no right to make sure I get one. You also don’t have the right to ask someone to install one for me.”

“Humor me.”

She fascinated him. Her looks had grabbed his attention when he’d punched her admirer for not respecting her wishes. Her lack of awareness over her safety demanded he take her under his protection, but this…this odd request to keep her secret begged him to find out more about her.

“The wine is good.” He held the red ambrosia under his nose and inhaled. “Have you tried Torbreck Bothie?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Yes.” He smiled. “So?”

“So, what?”

“Have you tried the wine named Torbreck Bothie?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve only recently started attending wine-tasting events with my friend Doreen. This one, I bought last weekend. I liked it, because it’s sweeter than most I’ve tried.”

“Next weekend, I’ll have Tim, my driver, pick you up and bring you to my place. I’d like you to try some Bothie… I think you’ll enjoy it. Say, eight o’clock, Saturday?”

“No”—she shook her head—”you can’t push me around and make all these decisions for me. You’re sitting in my room without an invitation, drinking my wine, and making yourself at home. If you hadn’t called your secretary and verified who you were, I’d call security on you for breaking into my apartment.”

“I told you. You need a better, more secure dead bolt. I’m getting you one, and I’ll stay here while it’s installed to make sure everything goes all right,” he said. “Besides, you left out how I punched your boyfriend for you.”

“Ex-boyfriend.” She let her head fall back and looked up at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with you.”

“I’m not asking you to. I believe I asked you over to drink my wine with me.” Damn, she was cute when she was flustered.

“I don’t know you, despite your attempt at making yourself my best friend.” She straightened, finally meeting his gaze and held it while finishing the rest of her wine. “Your name obviously means something, going by the way you order everyone around, but I repeat, I don’t know you.”