The Man Next Door. GINA WILKINS

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      “She’s hot?”

      “Let’s just say that sprinkler systems go off when she walks down the hall.”

      “Man.”

      “Yeah. Real waste.”

      “Maybe just one date?”

      Teague chuckled and shook his head. “Not worth it. She might look hot, but she’s cold as ice. And she glares at me as if I might carry Ebola or something. I’ll just settle for looking.”

      Mike tsked sympathetically. “You want to go to Snuffy’s tonight? Might find someone there who’d let you do more than look.”

      After giving it a moment’s thought, Teague shrugged. Hadn’t he just been telling himself he needed to get out more? Do a little opposite-gender socializing? “Sure, why not? I’ve just got to wade through this paperwork first.”

      “How long’s that going to take?”

      “Four, five hours,” he replied glumly.

      Because he knew his co-worker wasn’t exaggerating, Mike nodded, stood and ambled toward the office door. “Just head over to Snuffy’s later, when you’re ready. We’ll meet up there.”

      Putting hands to keyboard, Teague ordered himself to focus on work. He’d have a good time tonight, he promised himself. Thoughts of the ice princess down the hall wouldn’t even cross his mind.

      By coincidence, Dani drove into her parking space at almost exactly the same time Agent Sexy pulled into his own space late Saturday afternoon. She locked her aging compact SUV even as he pushed the button on the remote lock to his small black sports car. They moved toward their apartment building at the same time, reaching the door simultaneously.

      Nodding pleasantly, her neighbor held the door for her.

      Tucking her large canvas tote bag under her arm, she murmured a thank-you and stepped past him. They strolled together down the hallway. Expecting the guy to take the stairs, as was his habit from what she had observed—only coincidentally, of course—Dani stopped to press the elevator button for herself.

      She was rather surprised when Agent Sexy stopped with her.

      “Long day,” he explained, as if noting the question in her expression. “Stairs just seem like too much trouble right now.”

      She nodded and glanced up at the illuminated numbers, noting that the elevator was stopped on the fourth floor. Come on, she thought. Hurry up.

      “You know, I moved in here almost four months ago, and I’ve never introduced myself to you,” he said conversationally. “I’m Teague McCauley.”

      So now she had his name. Yet something told her she would still think of him as Agent Sexy.

      “Nice to meet you,” she said, because she was expected to respond to the introduction.

      “And you are Danielle Madison,” he murmured. The ironic twist to the words made her aware that he was mocking her a little for not introducing herself in return.

      “How do you know my name?”

      “I must have heard it around somewhere,” he replied, his expression bland.

      She looked at him suspiciously. “I believe I’ll take the stairs,” she said, edging that way.

      The elevator doors opened just as she finished speaking.

      Agent Sexy—er, Teague McCauley, she corrected herself—stepped inside and held the doors for her. “Might as well ride now.”

      She thought about turning and hurrying toward the staircase. But then she remembered that she didn’t let any man intimidate her now. And besides, this guy was safe enough, she assured herself, stepping into the car and turning her back to him. He was her neighbor. An FBI agent. Nothing to worry about, as long as they kept their interactions fleeting and impersonal.

      “Got big plans for the weekend?” he asked in the tone of someone making polite small talk.

      She kept her eyes on the closed doors in front of her. “Not really.”

      “Me, either,” he said, even though she hadn’t asked. “I was thinking about going to a club or something tonight.”

      She knew he worked a lot, just from those casual observations of his activities. She doubted that he’d had a free Saturday night in the past month or more, since she’d occasionally seen him coming in late in the evenings looking as though he’d just put in a rough twelve or fourteen hours on the job. Certainly not giving the appearance that he’d been out clubbing or socializing.

      Though she avoided clubs like the plague these days, she couldn’t blame him for wanting an evening out on the town. He was youngish—early thirties, maybe? Only a few years older than herself. Certainly attractive. Looked healthy enough. He shouldn’t have any trouble at all finding companionship for the night. It occurred to her only then that she’d never seen him bring anyone home with him. No one. Not that he was home that much, really, but she’d have thought he’d have a friend over. A date. Someone.

      And then she realized that in the past year she’d lived in her apartment here, she’d rarely invited anyone inside, either. She hadn’t made many friends since she’d moved to Little Rock. Didn’t date very often, and usually chose not to extend those dates past her doorstep. Her apartment had become her refuge. Her sanctuary. Maybe Teague McCauley felt the same way about his place?

      She wondered if this conversation was leading up to him asking her out. Maybe to join him for an evening in the clubs. If so, she hoped she would be able to politely decline without making it awkward when they ran into each other in the hallway from now on.

      The elevator stopped on the third floor and she stepped out, bracing herself for him to try to delay her. Instead, he turned toward his own apartment without looking back, saying over his shoulder, “See you around.”

      “Um, yeah. See you.” Suddenly aware that she was staring after him, she hurried to her own door, chagrined at her behavior.

      Wouldn’t her brother have laughed if he’d seen that exchange? She closed herself into her tidy, if inexpensively furnished living room with a frown of self-derision. She’d honestly thought Teague McCauley, aka Agent Sexy, had been angling to ask her out. She’d wasted several minutes mentally practicing polite rejections and it turned out he hadn’t been interested after all. In fact, she thought he’d made it fairly clear that she didn’t ever have to worry about that from him. Apparently, she wasn’t his type.

      Clay, her twenty-one-year-old brother, had often accused her of vanity. Of thinking she was “all that,” as he had put it. And at the time he’d said it, he’d been right. That was back when she’d been a pampered daddy’s girl. Before her doting father dropped dead just over three years ago of a heart attack at forty-five. And before Kurt Ritchie had taken away almost all of Dani’s pride and self-respect.

      God, she’d thought she was special. Pretty. Talented. Popular. Privileged.

      What she had really been was spoiled. More needy than she’d realized. And so foolishly, СКАЧАТЬ