Some Like It Hotter. Isabel Sharpe
she got any more weird ideas.
“Here.” She laid a NYEspresso bag on the table. “I brought you a cookie and a bag of espresso beans.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do you know I have an espresso machine?”
“Well...” She tilted her head to one side. A tattoo he hadn’t noticed before rested at the base of her neck. She stood too far off for him to tell what it was. “Don’t you?”
Ames cleared his throat. He had a reputation among his friends for being able to read women and communicate with them exceptionally well, both as friends and lovers. But with this woman he felt like a junior-high dork. “Yes. I do.”
“Then you’ll enjoy it. Very fresh, delivered this morning. Chris’s special blend—Brazil with Ethiopia for some bite.” She hoisted her hot-pink bag farther onto her shoulder and went to examine the books in his bookcase. “So where should we go? Chris and I have done the big tourist things, Empire State, Statue of Liberty, Times Square, Rockefeller Center, etc., but I would love to get to know some neighborhoods. Any favorites?”
He was out of his element here. Somehow she’d maneuvered him into feeling he’d be rude to ask her to leave. Yet he had every right to.
“You know, Eva, tonight might not be the best—”
“Jean said you weren’t busy.” She turned around holding Jamie Goode’s The Science of Wine.
“Uh...”
“Oh, I see. You just don’t want to go.” She put the book back and approached his desk, mouth bunched slightly. “That’s fine. I just thought it would be fun for both of us. Especially if you don’t get out much.”
“What makes you think I don’t get out much?”
Again that head tilt. She was close enough now he could see the tattoo was a tiny hummingbird. “Did you go out last night?”
“Not last night, but—”
“Night before?”
“No, not then, but—”
“Night before that?” She was enjoying this—her face was solemn, but her eyes were sparkling with fun.
He put his fists on his hips and glared at her.
Eva burst into laughter and shielded her face with her hands. “No, no, not the death-ray eyes. I was teasing you. Listen, I get that you’re not interested. That’s fine.”
“Okay.” He felt profound relief. And also...not. He dealt with it by picking up his pen again.
“By that I mean...” Her eyebrows lifted; the sparkle hadn’t left her eyes. “That I’m fine going out with men who aren’t interested.”
This time he laughed. She might be a crazed stalker, but she was appealing in her own eccentric way, and obviously intelligent. “You’re very determined.”
“Hmm, how funny, Chris says the same about you.”
He barely avoided blushing. “I guess she would.”
“If you want my advice...”
“Not really.”
Eva waggled her finger. “You need to give up on that. She’s not going to change her mind.”
Ames’s jaw tightened. Disappointment and embarrassment that Eva and Chris had obviously been talking about what an annoyance he was.
He’d been so sure about Chris, had pictured her in his future, and it had felt natural and right.
Yeah, well, to hell with that.
“I’m sorry, Ames. I know you...cared for her in some way.”
Her sympathy triggered an outraged testosterone rush. He did not need pity. He was not a pathetic, lovelorn geek who failed in pursuit of women, nor was he a dork who stayed home every night working.
He threw his pen down. “I guess if we’re going, we better get started.”
“Oh, good!” Eva’s face lit up. “I am in a totally adventurous mood. Where shall we go?”
“Greenwich Village,” He answered immediately, hoping he hadn’t just doomed himself to an exhausting and unbearable evening. But Greenwich Village was one of his favorite parts of New York, full of charm and the unexpected. Like Eva. She’d fit in fine there in her wild colors and crazy hair, because nobody didn’t fit in there. And he was unlikely to bump into any important clients—or potential ones—who’d wonder why he was strolling around with a circus clown.
“I’m ready.” She hoisted her pink bag, making her dozen or so bracelets slide and clatter.
He nodded and walked out from behind his desk, stopping to let her precede him to the door.
“Hey. Ames.” She suddenly looked shy, tentative, very different from her usual brassy persona. Almost sweet. Her eyes were very blue, with dark lashes enhanced by mascara but not turned gunky, which seemed to be the style for too many women. Her eyebrows were natural, nicely arched. He could see the resemblance to Chris in the fine shape of her nose and the height of her cheekbones.
“Hey, what?”
“Thanks for doing this.”
Something weird happened in his chest, a buzz of warmth that made him forgive her for interrupting his evening and making him feel like a loser—several times over. “Just don’t make me regret it.”
“Well, but...” She flung her arms out, let them drop in frustration. “That’s half the fun!”
He couldn’t help a grin. “I can still change my mind about going out.”
“You won’t.” She preceded him out of his office. “You’re not the type of man who ever goes back on a promise.”
“Where do you get all these ideas about me?”
“I’m brilliant. By the way, this condo is huge. I swear your balcony is the size of Chris’s entire apartment. You must sell a ton of wine.”
“I do okay.” Trust her to come right out and say it. Kind of refreshing, actually. “My parents bought the condo as an investment. When they retire, they’ll want to move in.”
“I’m not big on luxury. That’s Chris’s thing.” She left his office, walking with surprising grace for someone wearing clump-around boots. “I’m an own-what-you-need kind of girl.”
“Yeah?” He kept his voice neutral. He wasn’t going to defend his choices to someone who wouldn’t understand.
“But it’s easy to be that way in the Central Coast.” She turned to look at him, walking backward for a few steps. “I have mountains and ocean all around. In this city you’d need to create space wherever and however you can.”
“True.” He opened his front door to let her pass through, taken aback. She totally understood. As much as he loved New York, claustrophobia could be a problem. Unoccupied quiet space inspired an immediate ahh of relaxation, no matter where you found it. “After you.”
“Thanks.” She moved past him into the hallway, leaving a fresh, vaguely floral scent in her wake, not sweet, not overpowering.
A great smell, actually.
He locked the door and followed her to the elevator. He could have sped to catch up with her, but there was something mesmerizing about the nicely shaped sway of her pink skirt, the energetic strides of her slender legs in dark gray tights.
What was he thinking? This was crazy stalker Eva, sister of the lost woman of his dreams.
At ground level, Eva greeted Frank as if they were long-lost friends. Ames was astonished to see the generally somber doorman beam and