Pamela Bauer - The Man Upstairs

“Personally, I don’t see the attraction.”

Again curiosity flickered in Krystal’s eyes. “I suppose you want to thank Quinn for donating that hockey stick to the benefit the other night.” She explained, “I heard Leonie ask him for it.”

Dena saw no reason not to let her assume it was her motivation for seeing him. “Yes, I do. It was very kind of him.”

Just then Krystal’s cell phone rang. She flipped open the cover, then quickly shut it again. “Telemarketer.” She sighed. “I was hoping it was one of my guys.”

One of my guys. “You’re seeing more than one?”

She held up two fingers. “Or maybe I should say one and a half. There’s this guy at my health club and then there’s Roy…he sort of drifts in and out of my life, so he doesn’t count as a full one, although if I could get him to be a full-timer, I’d end my days of juggling.”

“Juggling?”

She laughed. “It’s not what you think.” She took another sip of beer. “Believe me, I’d rather have one serious relationship with one good guy, but until that happens, I’m doing what most men do—sampling what’s out there.”

Again her phone rang and again she opened and shut it with a sigh. “Not Roy.”

The sound of feet on the stairs alerted Dena to the fact that Quinn had returned. Krystal knew it, too, and looked at Dena and said, “You might get your chance to talk to him, after all.”

When more footsteps sounded a short while later, Dena knew Krystal was right. Within a few minutes, Quinn appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Anyone seen Leonie?”

“She’s at her class, but you can come in and talk to us,” Krystal said with the same flirtatious banter she’d used on the delivery boy. When he came closer, she said, “Ooh—what did you do to your eye?”

He smiled, as if proud of his wound. “I got popped a good one during a game.”

“You are one mean dude, Quinn Sterling,” she said with a teasing smile and a playful punch on his arm. The ease with which Krystal talked to him contradicted the impression she’d given that she’d hardly had a chance to get to know him. But then Dena realized that for people like Krystal, it only took a few minutes to become comfortable talking to someone. Quinn was no exception, even if he was a pro athlete.

Then, to Dena’s horror, she pulled Quinn by the arm and urged him to take a seat at the table. “Here. Have some pizza. It’s great for black eyes,” she said with another grin. “And you can talk to Dena.” Then she excused herself, saying, “I have to make a call. I’ll see you later.” Before Dena or Quinn could utter a word, she had flitted out of the room.

Dena looked at the man sitting across from her and wanted to get up and run after Krystal. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue sweater that clung to his broad, muscular chest.

Suddenly all the adjectives Krystal had used to describe him glared back at Dena. Wide, thick, strong, rough, tough. Her heartbeat quickened and she wished it wouldn’t.

Quinn reached over to take a slice of the pizza. “Hi, Dena.”

The smile that accompanied his greeting kept her reply simple. “Hi.” He smelled good. Another reason for her pulse to behave erratically. “Your eye still does look pretty bad.”

“It’ll take a few days for the color to disappear,” he said, his gaze never flinching from her face. “Leonie gave me some cream to put on it. Something with aloe in it, I think.” He took a bite of the pizza, and said, “This is good.”

She agreed.

Then he said, “I wasn’t really looking for Leonie.” He pulled her pink stationery from his pocket and waved it in the air.

To her chagrin, she could feel her face warm. “You were supposed to call me at work,” she said primly.

“I’d rather talk to you here in person.”

That sent another rush of heat through her.

“What is it you need to talk to me about? Do you want another stick?” He held her gaze.

“Actually, it’s a little bit bigger favor than that,” she confessed.

“Bigger, huh. A jersey?” The same teasing glint that had been in his eyes last night was there this evening, too. “Or do you need tickets?”

“No, no tickets. What I need is…” she began, wanting to steer the conversation from a flirtatious tone to a more businesslike one, but he wasn’t about to let her.

He held up his hand. “No, don’t tell me now. Have lunch with me tomorrow and we’ll discuss it.”

Lunch with him? Not a good idea, a little voice inside her head warned. “It would be easier if we could just discuss this now. I work downtown and—”

“That’s all right. So do I.”

The last thing she wanted was to be seen in a public place with a well-known hockey player. She could only imagine the attention he’d draw. He was so big…and so good-looking. “It’s really hard for me to get away for more than a quick bite during the lunch hour.”

“I have a reputation for being quick.” Again his tone was provocative, and to her dismay, it sent a tiny shiver through her.

He was one good-looking man and he knew it. It annoyed her that she wasn’t immune to his charm. She didn’t want to be attracted to any man at this time in her life, and especially not a celebrity.

Then he said, “I prefer to discuss business over food, Ms. Bailey. This is about business, isn’t it?”

She almost blushed. Almost. “Yes. Of course.”

“Then should we meet tomorrow for lunch?” Those baby-blue eyes demanded an answer.

“All right. Lunch it is.” When a gleam of satisfaction lit his eyes, she added, “My treat.”

“It’s a date,” he said, rising to his feet.

Which was exactly what Dena didn’t want it to be.

DENA DRESSED FOR WORK the next morning as she did most days—in comfortable jeans, a T-shirt and a jacket. As usual, she chose to make her fashion statement with her socks, selecting a pair that had the Paris skyline on them. She added her artist palette pin on the lapel of the blazer and felt ready to tackle the day…and Quinn Sterling.

They had agreed to meet at a coffee shop just around the corner from Delaney Design. It was also close to the Excel Center and a good place to have a professional lunch—for that was what it was going to be. It didn’t matter what she’d seen in his eyes last night. Today was business.

It was a typical winter day in Minnesota, with a strong wind making the air feel a lot colder than the temperature indicated. Dena expected Quinn to be waiting inside the lobby of the building where the coffee shop was located. He wasn’t. He stood outside in the cold, wearing a leather jacket, but no gloves and no hat—as if there wasn’t a subzero windchill factor. He was tough. It seemed that adjective popped in her mind frequently when she was around him.

When he saw her he smiled and said, “Hi, neighbor.” It was a sexy kind of grin that said he was happy to see her—and not because she lived downstairs from him.

“Hello.” She tried to make her smile one of a business nature. Under her arm she carried a portfolio, which she switched to the other arm in order to shake his hand.

He held the door for her so she could enter first the office building, then the coffee shop. She felt his hand at her back as he ushered her toward the small sign that read: Please wait to be seated.

“It’s cold out there.” She felt the need to make small talk as they waited for the hostess to seat them.

“It’s not bad for the middle of February,” he commented, then turned his attention to the young woman who greeted him by name.

“Two?” the hostess asked, eyeing Dena curiously.

“You got it,” he said with a broad smile, his hand still at Dena’s back.