Sky Full of Promise. Teresa Southwick
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you get upstairs through the shop?” he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder. “No. My cousin Bram—”
“The sheriff?”
“Yes. Bram and my dad checked out everything for security purposes. Since my business is expensive jewelry and a possible target for robbery, they both agreed my apartment should be inaccessible from the store. Just in case.”
“Good point. But you still have safety precautions?”
She nodded. “A security system approved by Bram and Dad. Also lots of insurance.”
“Actually, I meant your apartment,” he clarified.
“I have a separate system upstairs and lots more insurance. No need to worry your pretty head about me.” And he did have such a pretty face. But she didn’t for one minute believe he was worried about her.
She turned right at the end of the brightly lit alley and led the way up the wooden staircase on the outside of the three-story, red-brick building. At the top, she took the key ring from the pocket of her coat and unlocked the door. After flipping on the lights, she punched numbers into a keypad on the wall, waited for the all-clear beep, then closed the door.
“Home sweet home,” she said, removing her coat and hanging it on the wooden tree in the corner. “Can I take yours?”
He nodded, then shrugged out of his leather jacket and handed it to her. It was warm from his body and smelled pleasantly of cologne mixed with man.
“Thanks.” Looking around her living room, he said, “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“I like it.”
The apartment was spread out over two floors. Upstairs were three bedrooms and two baths, plenty of space for a home office and a guest room if needed. The main floor, where they now stood, was comprised of a living room, dining area off the kitchen and service porch big enough for her washer, dryer and freezer. Her sofa and matching love seat were upholstered in a floral print of green, coral and beige. A glider covered in a coordinating fabric took up a corner of the room with a brass table lamp beside it for reading.
She led the way to the kitchen through the dining room, which was decorated with an ornate oak table with the ball-and-claw feet and surrounded by four chairs. A matching hutch took up most of the one wall.
In the kitchen doorway, she stopped to flip the switch, illuminating the spotlights in the ceiling. “Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Wine? Coffee? Tea?” Me?
Please God, if there was any justice in the world she hadn’t just said that out loud.
“Beer would be great.”
“Coming right up.”
Whew! What was it about this guy that unnerved her so? Enough to invite him up to her apartment. Her personal code of conduct was three dates, minimum, before a guy got the green light to enter her personal space. She hadn’t known Dominic Rodriguez three hours and already she was breaking rules.
The refrigerator was on the far wall with a cooktop beside it. The narrow room had countertops on both sides, with a divided sink and disposal bisecting the one on the left. The window above gave her a view of the city of Black Arrow, now lit up for the night.
The heels of her low black shoes clicked on the tile as she walked to the fridge and opened the door.
She leaned over and grabbed a bottle, then straightened and shut the door. When she glanced at him, satisfaction coursed through her as his gaze quickly lifted from her backside. Then she saw an approving look steal into his eyes.
A shiver of awareness skipped up her spine, along with pleasure that he approved of what he saw. But why? She wasn’t interested in him and didn’t especially care whether or not he was interested in her. She chalked it up to ego. It wouldn’t do hers much good to catch him perusing her alphabetized spices in the rack beside the built-in oven instead. She walked the length of the kitchen to where he stood in the doorway.
“Here you go.”
Handing him the longneck, she wondered what it was about a man lazily leaning a shoulder against the wall that she found so darned masculine and appealing. He’d rolled the long sleeves of his shirt to just below his elbows, then folded his arms across his broad chest. He could be posing for an ad in a magazine. But he was no male model. He was a doctor who nipped and tucked and made people look like models.
“Thanks,” he said, saluting with the amber bottle. “Are you going to join me?”
“You wouldn’t be trying to get me drunk, would you?”
“Perish the thought. That three hundred ways to kill a man is an effective deterrent.”
“Smart man. Besides that deterrent, it’s hard for a tipsy cook to whip up a decent meal.”
Turning away from the sexy sight of him casually filling her doorway, she took a plastic-covered baking dish from the fridge and pressed buttons on the oven to preheat.
“That’s what you call ‘whipping up a meal’?”
“Sure.” She glanced to the side and tossed him a grin. “I just whipped it up this morning. Spinach-and-cheese-filled pasta with tomato sauce and herbs.”
“Sounds good.”
“It is.”
She set the timer, then threw together a salad and garlic bread. The only thing left, and she’d been putting it off because it meant breaching his space in the doorway, was setting the dining room table. Here goes nothing, she thought, gathering plates, utensils and napkins.
Sky couldn’t decide whether it was fortunate or not that she had to brush past him to get the job done. The very male scent of his cologne was unmistakable and did funny things to her stomach as she passed. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was close enough to feel the warmth of his body, making her wonder how she could have been so cold when he’d stood so very near her outside on the sidewalk just a short time ago.
She finished setting the table. “Okay, now we just have to wait until the food is heated. Want to sit in the living room? It’s about time to start digging out of that hole you got yourself in.”
“Which one was that?”
“You dig so many you can’t remember how you offend people?”
“Ordinarily, no. But since I met you—”
“To refresh your memory it was the comment about desperately needing a woman, compounded by the proposition you want to make me.”
“Ah, yes.”
Sky let him precede her into the living room. Not because she was a Martha Stewart clone concerned about her hostess reputation. She wanted him to pick a couch first so she could sit on the other one, as far away from him as possible. He chose the eight-foot sofa, so she settled herself at a right angle to him on the love seat.
“Shoot,” she said. “Why are you desperate for a woman?”
“Actually it’s your fault.”
“Don’t start in on me again,” she warned.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But I find myself without a bride.”
“What does that specifically have to do with me? Can’t you simply move on? I did—”
“What?”
“Never mind. We’re talking about you. In your situation, the best thing is to not look back.”
“My situation means dealing with my mother. Let me give you a little background and maybe you’ll understand.” He rested his elbows on his thighs, holding the bottle in both hands between his knees.
“Okay.” She sat back and crossed her legs, trying not to notice the second in his seemingly endless repertoire