Daring In The City. Jo Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ her cloth, she put it over her face, concentrating on her puffy, red eyes. The end result, after applying the cool cloth four times, was that she looked as if she had a wicked cold. At least she didn’t appear to be on death’s door, so that was an improvement.

      After brushing her hair, she dabbed a little blush on her cheeks then went to face her next big hurdle.

      Luca was standing in the kitchen, a large pizza box balanced on an ugly Formica countertop. He looked up, immediately meeting her gaze, although she hadn’t made a sound. When she reached him, he got a beer out of the fridge.

      After uncapping the bottle he handed it to her along with a paper towel.

      “Thanks.” April managed a smile. Completely drained of energy, she felt so weird she couldn’t describe it. Nothing seemed real. Not even the long bus ride yesterday—or was that today?

      God. Everything was a surreal blur.

      “Sorry. No plates.”

      “That’s fine,” she said and decided looking into his intense dark eyes was a bad idea. She turned to the shiny stainless-steel refrigerator that didn’t belong. At all. “Is that real?”

      He followed her gaze, just stared for a moment, before looking at her. Even with a confused expression, he was still smoking hot. “Are we talking about the fridge?”

      “Yeah, um... No.” Okay. Proof she should’ve stayed upstairs. “No, we aren’t,” she said, clearing her throat. “It just looks—” She took a big bite of her pizza to keep her mouth busy. Exhaustion combined with a really attractive guy was not a good mix. Had he been this gorgeous upstairs?

      Luca was tall, at least a foot taller than she was, his hair dark brown and silky. He wore it on the long side, pushed back. With his Mediterranean skin tone and last name, she guessed his family was from an Italian coastal town. Naples, maybe? His eyes were dark, his brows full, his jaw strong...but the individual parts weren’t as impressive as the whole.

      Shit, she was still staring at him.

      “You mean the fridge looks too fancy for the Formica?” he asked.

      “Yes?”

      A faint smile tugged at his mouth.

      She took a sip of beer. “So, this place is huge. I thought every apartment in New York was closet-sized.”

      “A lot of them are. I think the place looks bigger since I took down two walls. It’s going to be a nice open space when it’s all finished.”

      “Wow. A two-story apartment. Is that common here?”

      “No. I lucked out. I’ll be turning half of the upstairs into a screened-in porch. The rest will be my master suite. The porch side is blocked off, so don’t go wandering around. It’s not safe.”

      “I won’t. I’ll just stick to my little ol’ room. I should probably get a cooler or something, though,” she said, glancing around at the ladders and stacked drywall. “What did Jerkface use? Do you know?”

      “Not my brand-new refrigerator.”

      “I didn’t think so.” She studied the high-end appliance some more. “That sucker is big. You can’t have much in there.”

      “What are you getting at?” Luca folded his arms across his chest.

      A very nice chest to go with his broad shoulders. And muscular forearms. She met his gaze. “Oh, nothing. Just making an observation.”

      “Right.”

      “Obviously this is the kitchen,” she said, ignoring his skeptical tone. “What are you going to do with the rest of this area?”

      “Dining room, living room.” He nodded at the wide space between them and the windows then gestured to the right, past the staircase. “Powder room and an office.”

      “Holy cow. It’s going to be gorgeous. You’re doing all the work yourself?”

      “No. I’ll have help, but I’ll be doing most of it. My family owns a construction company, so it’s pretty much what I do.”

      April nodded. Yep, that explained the muscular arms. She glanced around, imagining what she’d do with so much space as she finished her slice of pizza, which tasted amazing even though it wasn’t that hot anymore. The beer went down great with it, too. “I hope it turns out exactly the way you imagine it will.”

      He seemed surprised, but she meant it. If there was one thing she understood it was that shit happened, even if a person planned everything down to the tiniest detail.

      “Another piece?”

      “Oh, I’m not leaving this crust,” she said, feeling slightly buzzed. “I’d heard about New York pizza and wondered if it was just a lot of hype. But, wow. For a while there, I thought I was going to be hauled off to jail without ever having a slice. I would’ve been really pissed.”

      His smile made her chest warm. For all the grief she’d given him, he was being very hospitable. She sure wished he had chairs, though. Her legs were feeling wobbly again.

      Leaning against the island, she took in the old white porcelain sink, what was left of the Formica counter and the fridge. It was really something, not a brand she recognized. Too big for one person, unless that person wanted to share. “You don’t have a microwave.”

      “I will eventually.”

      “The microwave Wes bought is probably a cheapo but you’re welcome to use it.”

      “Thanks,” he said and tipped the bottle to his mouth.

      She watched him drain his beer, as fascinated by the working of his jaw and throat as by her sudden instinct to touch him. Dragging her gaze away, she took another hasty sip of her own beer and found the bottle was empty. That might be for the best. The point of her visit hadn’t been to get buzzed or to sponge food off her landlord. She’d just wanted to make nice. And maybe do a little negotiating. She needed him to let her stay just a little bit longer, until she got settled and recovered from the shock of this scary predicament.

      “I just want you to know how much I appreciate this,” she said. “You’re being really nice about everything, and well, before I go I just...”

      The way his eyes narrowed made her rethink her approach.

      “I think I would like another slice.”

      He set her up with seconds of both pizza and beer and grabbed another bottle for himself. As she bit into her slice, she walked over to the large window that looked out onto Mott Street. “Café Roma?” she said. “Is that a good place for Italian food?”

      “Yeah. It is.”

      She looked back at him. “Since I’m in Little Italy I want to try something I wouldn’t find in St. Louis.” She’d thought he might offer some suggestions, but he stayed quiet. “It’s a very busy street, but I’m not hearing any traffic.”

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