[Be for Me 01.0] Breathe for Me Page 3

  The crowd of people piling into the lift with them made her swallow her reply. Wearing his shirt was worse than underwear. She saw a few sly looks, and knew just what half the people in the lift were thinking, given most hadn’t seen her in the building before. Same as what she was thinking.

  That she’d come from his bed.

  The elevator stopped on every floor of course, people taking a painfully slow time to exit. She was awkwardly aware of him standing too close because of the crowd. But even as it thinned he didn’t step away. As she was sandwiched between him and the wall, she couldn’t back away. She grew hotter and hotter as insanely inappropriate thoughts raced through her head. She stared straight ahead.

  Get a grip, Chelsea.

  It was clear he wasn’t similarly afflicted—not with the joking words he shared with another resident. The heat burned in her cheeks as he walked with her out onto her floor—his hand on her back. Oh so polite. Except for the inordinate amount of skin they were both displaying.

  As soon as the elevator doors shut behind them, she stopped and turned to face him. Oh mamma, it was damn hard to verbalize anything when confronted by that body.

  “You really don’t need to see me to my door,” she said huskily.

  He merely walked around her, strolling along the corridor before turning back to face her, right outside her apartment. His smile was shameless. “You’re wearing my favorite tee-shirt.”

  “Oh,” she glanced down and walked the last few paces to her door—where he already waited.

  Suddenly he was standing closer than he had in the elevator. She could feel the raw denim of his jeans brushing the outside of her thigh. Wicked laughter danced in his eyes. Too overwhelming.

  She looked down at his bare chest. A sprinkling of hair. Flat brown nipples that she could easily reach with her tongue. And a tan. And she’d already experienced the warmth of it, and the hard strength. It was a chest for touching, admiring, tasting. She’d have it beneath her, above her, his arms around her. He had such sensuality emanating from him—challenging her.

  A frisson of aggression rippled through her body. She’d never been challenged this way. Never met anyone so blatantly wanting with just a look and a smile.

  She didn’t want blatant. When she got back in the scene, she’d be taking it very, very easy. Not squaring off with some playboy. She lifted her chin and pulled the tee-shirt off in a quick movement, letting it dangle on the end of her finger.

  “Thanks,” she said, totally feigning moxie.

  With a grin he lifted the shirt from her crooked index finger and hooked it into his belt so it hung like a rag down the side of his leg.

  “My pleasure.” The polite rejoinder sounded way too intimate to be all that polite. It sounded dangerous. And tempting. He leaned closer, bracing his arm on her doorway—so he took up even more of her vision. Dominating.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making a move.”

  Oh my. How was that for blunt? “Isn’t there some code of ethics that stops you superhero rescue guys from getting involved with the people you save?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “There should be. Women might mistake gratitude for lu—something else.”

  “You think you’re feeling ‘something else’ for me?”

  “I… no.” Somehow she held eye contact. The way he was looking at her sent flickers of heat along every nerve cell.

  “Anyway, I didn’t really rescue you,” he said. “You’d have slid down the banister or something if you’d had to. Really it was all an excuse to get my hands on you.”

  “Oh, so you’ve no ethics then.”

  “Guess not.” He had that total ‘whaddaya gonna do about it’ look on his face.

  And it was obvious what he was going to do about it. The laughter in his eyes was wicked—and mesmerizing.

  It was a game. She got that. Except the sizzle that she felt wasn’t entirely playful. It was intense. And as she stared up at him the smile in his eyes and on his lips faded as a predatory look hardened his expression. She raised her hand. Pressed her fingertips on his mouth. To stop him? To touch him? She didn’t really know.

  He stilled beneath her touch, his eyes locked on hers. In their depths she saw it, the reflection of her fantasy. Of being with him, against this door. Right here. Now. Hard. Rough. Fast.

  She felt his breath on her fingers. Then his tongue. Curling around her middle finger. A sizzle shot up her arm. Intense, fierce desire ripped through her. She snatched her fingers away.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. Embarrassment burned all over her face. She’d been about to moan in the middle of the hallway.

  “S’okay,” he softly answered, his eyes never leaving hers. “Anytime.”

  She swallowed. The invitation hung in the small space between them. Awareness sparked between them. Sensuality oozed from the man—drawing her in.

  “What did you say your name was?” he asked, leaning that bit closer.

  She slowly shook her head. “Not Lois Lane.” She wasn’t going to fall for superhero good looks and good deeds. Nor the not-so-good deeds.

  “No?” He reached out and took her hand. “You’re going to make me work for it?”

  She leaned back against her door, glad it was behind her and able to take the bulk of her weight. But it made the temptation to part her legs all the more irresistible. Because the look in his eyes told her, captured her, swayed her.

  He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him. She was going to let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do with her. She was one of the millions and she didn’t give a damn.

  The elevator pinged. The door opened, expelling more people. His fingers tightened on hers. Suddenly he frowned—at the interruption?

  But he didn’t look to the too-loud residents. Instead he looked down—staring hard at her hand. Then she felt the way her fingers were pressed together by his. Metal pressed into her skin—hurting. Her ring. The white gold ring with the solitaire in the center. The one she hadn’t been able to bring herself to remove in the two years since she’d been given it. The two years since the accident that had ended all their plans.

  No mistaking what kind of ring it was. She swallowed. She should explain.

  “I.. um…” She pulled her hand free. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t talk about it. Nor could she pull off any real kind of flirt. Better to escape. “My keys are up by the pool,” she said quickly. “I left my bag up there.”

  “I’ll go get them.” He offered instantly, but his expression had shuttered. He stepped back.

  “No, I can do it.” She straightened up. “I can get them myself.” She’d have to get past the guys at the desk to get to the pool again, but they’d do it for her. They’d been kind to her before and she was sure they’d be okay with it.

  “Of course.” He stood still, glanced again at her ring, his muscles tense.

  She walked past him, her limp worse than ever. Belatedly she turned, determined to be polite despite the ferocious chill that was emanating from him now. “Thank you.”

  “Any time.”

  He still sounded like he meant it.

  But he didn’t sound pleased.

  Chapter Three

  One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.

  Xander pounded his feet in time with his counts but still couldn’t lose himself in the rhythm and relax mindlessly into the zone. His brain churned in a tight circle.

  The new occupant of unit 1605 had been genuinely scared when he’d found her stuck in the stairwell like a headlights-hit bunny. Her pallor, the fear in her eyes had been too much for a little unexpected fire drill. But she’d gotten distracted—he’d seen to that. To the point that she’d touched him. Then the fear had flashed back. As if she’d thought she shouldn’t have reached out. Well course she’d shouldn’t. Not with that giant rock on her finger.

  The fucking engagement ring.

  What the hell was she doing coloring up ar
ound him, her body responding so swiftly when she was engaged? It hadn’t been the chill tightening her nipples, it had been arousal. The look in her eyes had been pure sexual yearning and he—

  “Tell us about the tee-shirt girl.” Hunter interrupted his thoughts with a goading challenge.

  “Nothing to tell.” He pushed his pace a little faster, but his buddies easily stretched it out, keeping up with him.

  “What tee-shirt?” Rocco asked.

  “His Ski Summerhill one. You know. The one from last millennia,” Hunter explained. “Some leggy brunette was wearing that and nothing else during the fire alarm last night.”

  “You let a chick hijack your favorite tee-shirt?” Logan laughed. “There’s plenty to tell.”

  “There’s nothing. She was swimming in the pool when the fire alarm went off.” He frowned. He shouldn’t have asked for his shirt back. Then he’d have reason to knock on her door again.

  “After midnight?” Rocco asked.

  “You mean that paddling pool,” Logan snorted.

  “It’s not that small. There are very few apartment buildings with rooftop pools in the city, you know.” Xander answered smartly, happy to veer the conversation away from her.

  “If you were in my building you’d have a massive lap pool in the basement.” Rocco drawled.

  “I loathe indoor pools,” Xander bit back. “Especially ones locked underground.”

  “Your loss. I like the mirrors and the white, white tiles of my modernist masterpiece,” Rocco said smugly, deliberately thickening his accent.

  “Of course you like the mirrors, you’re a vain perv.” Xander growled.

  “So she was swimming at night and filling out her swimsuit nice and tight, right?”

  Damn Logan, he’d always been persistent.

  “And you made a move?” Logan added.

  “Shall we take this to the ring so I can beat the bullshit out of you?”

  Xander heard the astonished bark of laughter from his cousin. Yeah, violence wasn’t his thing and they all knew it. But he could do with some kind of fierce workout today—too much aggression was surging through his veins.

  “Why the ring? Why not here?”

  That’d be right. Hunter was always willing to take up a one-on-one violent challenge.

  “What’s her name?” Logan took them back to the topic again.

  Xander damn well didn’t know. And he itched to know everything. It wouldn’t be hard to find out some. He’d installed the security systems of their apartment complex. He could access the files of everyone in the building if he wanted to. He’d get name, references, some details. But that didn’t make it right. Spying wasn’t his thing. Certainly not stalking.

  So he’d stand down. Plenty of other women in the city to have the easy come, easy go kind of fun he liked. If Blue-eyes was taken, she was taken. He didn’t steal. He’d given that up years ago.

  But she’d bothered him the whole damn night. As far as he was concerned she was the biggest temptation ever with her hot body, her sweet but sarcastic lips and her big eyes that reflected a contrary mix of desire and independence. He’d experienced one-look-lust plenty of times. But he’d never felt it so strong. Pure allure. And it had been powerfully reciprocated. She’d wanted him to touch—wanted to touch in return—but she shouldn’t have. He’d tossed and turned all night with a cripplingly painful hard-on. So yeah, he was feeling pissy this morning. Furious with her. And himself.

  “You didn’t get what you wanted?” Hunter sounded surprised.

  “That’s why he’s thumping the pavement like he’s out for a fight.” Logan laughed.

  “Frustration.” Nodded Rocco. “Blue balls hurting?”

  “Fuck off.” Xander pushed his pace faster.

  “Come on Xan, you know you like a challenge.” Hunter again.

  Yeah. And there was the problem. Because part of Xander liked to play with fire. And everything about that new tenant was fire.

  It was only 6 a.m. but Chelsea had to escape her small apartment. She’d thought the single bedroom and small lounge were plenty big enough for her. But not this morning. She felt like a hamster without the wheel to burn the calories—bored and bursting with energy. And while the building had the amenities she wanted—specifically that outdoor pool—she wasn’t up to that yet. Heat rippled through her body as, for the five thousandth time, she recalled the moments in the stairwell. In his arms. He was incredibly good looking and charming. Devilishly charming. But so what? She wasn’t here to fool around. Except one part of her that had died almost two years ago, had roared to life.

  Libido. Lust. The urge to get jiggy.

  She blew out a breath, rationalizing during the elevator ride to the ground, to stop herself reminiscing too closely on the previous night. Having a sexual urge or two was a good sign. Progress. She was getting back to normal—her new normal. But she wasn’t acting on it. Not with the super-sized stud who lived some floors above. She’d re-enter the game at novice level, not with the World Champ of flirt’n’fuck.

  Because that’s sure as hell what he was.

  Nor did she want to enter the fray again with some guy who did the whole ‘He-man’ over-protective stuff. She could have gotten down those stairs—he’d just gotten off on the ‘rescue’ moment. So not what she wanted. She’d spent the last two years being cosseted and having everything done for her. Here she was all about doing it for herself.

  Yet here she was again doing more Kegel exercises to try to stop her body’s rising excitement at the mere thought of him. What she needed was fresh air and sunshine and then a solid day at work to keep her unruly imagination occupied.

  She walked, lifting her chin with resolve, giving the doorman a quick smile of thanks before looking out to the street—and stopped so suddenly the person behind almost barged into her.

  “Sorry,” she murmured as the woman strode past. But she barely noticed her reply.

  “You alright?” The doorman asked.

  She barely heard him either, too dazzled by the sight running past on the other side of the road. Four of them running along the opposite sidewalk, looking like a Nike ad. All of them athletic gods in shorts and tees. Hell, one was without the tee. It was—

  “Oh my,” she couldn’t contain herself.

  “I know.” The doorman stood beside her. “They do it every day.”

  Chelsea managed a sideways glance. Doorman’s nametag said he was Brad. Right now Brad was practically drooling. She didn’t blame him. And she too couldn’t resist watching them weave along the pavement.

  “I make sure I’m outside every day at this time,” Brad confided with a laugh. “Rocco doesn’t often run with them, but man…”

  “Who are they?” She asked, feigning innocence.

  One was the good doctor of course. And he wasn’t looking remotely nerdy enough to be a doctor. Too tanned, muscled, outdoorsy. She recognized one of the others as the guy who’d stayed with the older lady. The other two she’d never seen before. Now she had, she’d never forget them.

  “Xander Lawson—the tall one—is one of ours,” Brad explained. “Lives in the penthouse. While Hunter, the one with the short hair, is only in residence when he’s not off doing secret things for the military. Logan Hughes, bare-chested is next to Xander, former ski champ and current face of that new clothing line.”

  Of course, Chelsea nodded. That’d be why he looked vaguely familiar. Chelsea was more a summer Olympics girl than winter, but she’d heard of the daredevil slalom skier—mainly for his off snow antics. And now he was a model? Actually it was fully believable. While Xander could pull on a wicked smile, Logan was sinful with those sharp angles and planes of his ultra-chiselled face.

  “Back of the pack is Rocco St Clair. Owns a hotel and new club that’s currently in vogue.”

  Well of course it was. With that guy in charge? Clearly Brad’s favorite, he had the Latin edge to match his name. Any place that had these men as patrons would be popular. Four of t
hem. All magnificent specimens. But it was the one running front and center who had her eye. Smokin’ hot.

  “Highlight of my morning,” Brad admitted. “And that of every waitress in that diner. And any other woman watching.”

  Chelsea blushed and turned. “I’m not—”

  “Honey, we all are,” Brad interrupted with a wink. “I’m a taken man, with a hunk of my own to go home to, but I still appreciate perfection in all its four forms.” He sent her a coy look. “And I hear it was an interrupted night last night. No doubt you’ll be needing a coffee.”

  Doormen always knew everything, didn’t they? But surely he didn’t know about Xander and his Superman act.

  She definitely needed coffee. She’d grab one from the coffee cart outside work but it was still too early to head there. She slowly walked towards Riverside. A little exercise would be good for her leg and release the energy hit making her muscles quiver. Plus she figured Xander wouldn’t be coming back this way. He was already out of sight. So much faster than her, in so many ways.

  She kept to the side, letting the exercise freaks and early-to-workers stream past. Even this early there were plenty of people around, looking like they’d been to the park or the gym, bright-eyed tourists with cameras in hand, jaded looking teens looking like they were just heading home. The vibrancy and diversity of people inspired her. Ditto the tall buildings and green spaces. She’d been right to come to Manhattan. If she was going alone into a big city, might as well be the best on the planet. She glanced up, smiling at the buzz.

  That’s when she saw him.

  From round the block, Xander was running back again. Towards her this time. Hunter was with him but the other two had peeled away. He didn’t glare at the ground the way she did when trying to exercise. He had his head up and yeah, his gaze unerringly locked onto her.

  She stared at him as he gazed right back at her, pounding his way closer. The guy was barely sweating, there was just a sheen to his skin and while his face was an expressionless mask—all angles and planes. His eyes were fierce. How could such ice blue eyes look so hot?