Never Tempt Fate
Fran Lee
Excerpt:
Copyright 2012 Fran Lee and Ellora's Cave
Chris threw her jacket over the back of the chair and kicked
off her high heels. She had promised Mrs. Allen that she would vacuum the lobby
and polish the first floor paneling after she got off work, and the bus had
been terribly late. She tore off her silk blouse and her skirt and dragged on a
rather ugly-looking old T-shirt and a pair of well-worn Levi’s, jamming her
bare feet into her ratty old sneakers. She hurried through to the bathroom, pulling her hair up off her neck with her hands as she looked for a scrunchy
to secure it with.
She glanced at her watch after securing her flyaway mop and
hoped Mrs. Allen wouldn’t be too upset about her vacuuming after six. It
shouldn’t disturb anyone. Mrs. Abbott was as deaf as a post and Mr. Delayne
worked afternoons. They were the only ones who complained all the time. She
grabbed the utility room key off the hook by her door and hurried along the
hall to the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator. It probably wouldn’t
work anyway.
She hoped she’d made a good impression on Mr. Anderson today.
She’d worked through her lunch hour to get her office set up. The previous
person in the position had left a stack of work that dated back seventeen
months. It would take her weeks to get it all sorted out. She was hungry and
tired and she still had to do the cleaning she’d promised to do.
She hurried down the steps and through the fire door on the
first floor and headed for the utility closet across from the manager’s
apartment. She wouldn’t have a spare minute to check the paper for rentals
until after eight, and nobody liked to be bothered by phone calls that late.
She had tried valiantly to look through the ads on the bus, but standing and
hanging onto a damn strap had made it impossible.
As she dragged the ancient Kirby from the closet and plugged
it in, she wondered if she might be able to get an actual seat if she left half
an hour earlier in the morning. The trip was pretty lousy standing in the
aisle. It was a five block walk to the bus stop, then a thirty minute bus trip
on her feet, then another three block walk to the office. Her feet were killing
her. Tomorrow she would wear her sneakers and carry her heels in a shopping
bag.
She jabbed the switch on the vacuum with her toe, and when
it whirred to life she quickly and efficiently worked her way along one end of
the main hallway, then the other, before heading for the entryway and lobby.
She backed around the corner and avoided knocking the antique lamp off the hall
table, working her way toward the main entrance.
If she hurried, maybe she would be finished before Mrs.
Allen even got home.
* * * * *
The car slid to a halt before the steps leading up into the
lobby of what must have once been a rather elegant apartment building. As Jose
opened the door for him, Tonio stepped out, frowning at the untrimmed shrubbery
that half-obliterated the uneven, broken concrete of the sidewalk. The place
had been utterly neglected for what appeared to be quite some time. He knew
that his father had always insisted on his properties being kept up, but this
one had somehow been missed. He glanced
at the peeling paint on the wood around the front entryway and nodded
at his driver. “I won’t be long.”
He climbed the cracked concrete of the front steps and
removed his leather glove to push open the sadly neglected oak and glass doors.
The sound of a vacuum cleaner met his ears as he stepped inside and glanced
about, and he paused as a woman appeared around the corner from the right
hallway, her back to him as she negotiated the turn, jabbing the whirring edge
of the Kirby into the corner and under a table.
He noted how quickly she was moving, as if in a hurry, and
he wondered if this could be the manager. He glanced at the paper in his hand,
and as he lifted his eyes the darting vacuum attempted to eat the toe of his
hand-made Italian shoe. He stared down at the offending machine, irritated that
its operator had been so careless. He drew a deep breath as the vacuum was shut
off and a startled voice gasped, “Oh my God! I am so sorry!”
“No terrible damage done,” he breathed in a well-controlled
voice, lifting his eyes up the worn jeans, over a baggy T-shirt to meet a pair
of horrified green eyes, and he had to stop himself from laughing out loud. She
looked so utterly stricken that he found it difficult not to smile. He inhaled
slowly, noting the smudge of dirt across her nose and the way her mouth had
dropped open wordlessly as she stared up into his face.
He lifted one brow and asked quietly, “Mrs. Allen?”
She shook her head jerkily and stammered, “No—no—I’m not. I
mean, I’m not her. Mrs. Allen, that is.” He noted the high color staining her
cheeks and sensed that she was fighting some inner battle as she seemed to
struggle to calm herself. She tore her eyes from his face and looked down at
the scuffed shoe. “I’m really terribly sorry about that. I hope it isn’t
ruined.” He found himself trying very hard not to smile.
He glanced at the toe of his shoe and shook his head. “It’ll
survive,” he drawled. He lifted his eyes back to her face and wondered what it
was about her that reminded him of a Renoir painting. She was not what he might
call beautiful, yet there was something in the way she held herself. A touch of
sensual elegance, despite the shabby clothes and the tousled coppery hair, that
made him sense there was far more to her than met his practiced eye. His eyes
rested thoughtfully on the agitated rise and fall of her rounded breasts
beneath her well-worn T-shirt—his cock jerked to instant attention.
He unwillingly lifted his eyes from her chest, inhaled
deeply and caught the light bouquet of a delicate floral fragrance. He noted
the way her eyes would not lift above his chin when she looked back up, as if
she were afraid to meet his gaze.
“Is Mrs. Allen here?” he asked softly, noting the fresh wave
of brilliant pink that flooded her cheeks.
She seemed to force herself to smile politely and reply in a
calm tone. “She’ll be back in about an hour. Have you come to look at the
apartment?”
He lifted one dark brow again. “Yes. I’m here to see it.”
This was an excellent opportunity to look the place over. He noted the way her
face fell a little at his reply and he wondered why she seemed suddenly unhappy
to show him the apartment that was available
.
As she hesitated, he said softly, “Perhaps I should wait for
Mrs. Allen.”
She drew a shaky breath. She shrugged and shoved the Kirby
out of the way, fishing in her pocket for the key. “It’s on the third floor.
I’ll show it to you.” She seemed upset for some reason. “Come on.” She headed
for the elevator.
Tonio followed her along the faded carpet, which had
obviously once been very expensive but was now badly worn and in need of
replacement. His eyes slid over the oak paneling that had long been left
un-oiled and the dingy wallpaper of a bygone era clinging forlornly to the
walls and ceiling. This Mrs. Allen was certainly not a very good manager.
He was sure his father would never have allowed this place
to run down so. His eyes shifted once again to the woman walking ahead of him
and he was mildly surprised to notice that under those loose, unattractive
jeans and that horrible shirt there was an uncommonly well-made female body. He
let his gaze move appreciatively over the swaying bottom, recalling those
succulent breasts, then he drew himself up.
No time for those kinds of thoughts. There was far too much
to be done. She couldn’t be much over twenty-five, yet her eyes told him she
was older. Bad experiences, perhaps. He watched as she pushed the button for
the elevator, and as she turned to him with a polite smile he noted that the
smile did not quite reach her green eyes.
She cleared her throat and said,
“The elevator is pretty slow—when it works.”
He wondered why she seemed irritated with him so suddenly.
It was as if he had run over her toe! It was unusual to see antagonism in a
woman’s eyes. He was used to quite a different reaction. Her reaction to him at
first had been what he expected. What had made it change so rapidly? Why the
hell did he care? She was nothing to him, personally.
He gave himself a mental shake. She was no one—an
unimportant female working in one of his apartment buildings. Obviously paid to
clean the place and doing a very poor job of it at that. Yet the feeling that
she did not seem to find him at all attractive made him instinctively want to
test the depths of these waters. Perhaps it was simply a matter of male pride.
Then he smiled to himself. She had no idea who he was or how rich he was.
That
could be the problem.
I have a contest running from now through release day to win a copy of this book. Check out the "Contests" page on my website at http://www.franleeromance.com.
Hugs and good luck!
Fran Lee
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