To my lovely editor Flo, fellow member

       of the ‘I heart Daniel Brannigan’ fanclub.

      CHAPTER ONE

       ‘Every girl knows there are days for heels and days for flats. It could be a metaphor for life if you think about it. Let’s all make today a heels day, shall we?’

      SIREN red and dangerously high, they were the sexiest pair of heels Daniel Brannigan had ever seen. Silently cursing the amount of time it took to haul the cage doors into place, he watched them disappear upstairs.

      He really wanted to meet the woman in those shoes.

      Punching on the button until there was a jerk of upward movement, he tried to play catch-up in the slowest elevator ever invented. After the first of three endlessly monotonous trips, he knew the stairs were going to be his preferred mode of travel in the future. But until he had all of his worldly possessions—few that they were—carted from his truck to the fifth floor, he didn’t have a choice.

      A flash of red appeared in his peripheral vision.

       Target acquired.

      Turning in the small space, he assessed each detail as it came into sight. Thin straps circled dainty ankles, the angle of her small feet adding enough shape to her calves to remind him that he was overdue for some R & R. If she lived in the same apartment block he was moving into, it was a complication he could do without. But if the effect her shoes had on his libido was anything to go by, he reckoned it was worth the risk. He hadn’t earned the nickname Danger Danny for nothing.

      The elevator jarred to an unexpected halt, an elderly woman with a small dog in her arms scowling pointedly at the boxes piled around his feet. ‘Going down?’

      ‘Up,’ he replied curtly. Rocking forward, he nudged the button with his elbow.

       Don’t disappear on me, babe.

      The adrenalin rush of pursuit had always done it for him, as had the kind of woman it took to wear a skirt so short it made him stifle a groan when it came into view. Flared at mid-smooth-skinned-thigh, the flirty cheerleader number lovingly hugged the curve of her hips before dipping in at a narrow waist. He glanced at the fine-boned hand curled around handles of bags labelled with names that meant nothing to him, mouth curving into a smile at the lack of anything sparkling on her ring finger. On the floor below his, she turned to speak to someone in the hall. To his frustration it meant he couldn’t see her face as the elevator creaked by. Instead he was left with an image of tumbling locks of long dark hair and the sound of sparkling feminine laughter.

      Fighting with the cage again when the elevator stopped, he did what he had done on his previous trips and nudged a box forward to fill the gap. In the following moment of silence, footsteps sounded on the stairs. A trickle of awareness ran down his spine as he turned, gaze rising until he was looking into large dark eyes. Eyes that narrowed as his smile faded.

      ‘Jorja,’ he said dryly.

      ‘Daniel,’ she replied in the same tone before she tilted her head and arched a brow. ‘Didn’t occur to you anyone else might want to use the elevator today?’

      ‘Stairs are good for cardio.’

      ‘That would be a no, then.’

      ‘Offering to help me move in? That’s neighbourly of you.’ He thrust the box in his arms at her, letting go before she had an opportunity to refuse.

      There was a tinkle of breaking glass as it hit the floor between their feet.

      ‘Oops.’ She blinked.

      Oops, his ass. The fact she’d obviously made interesting changes in wardrobe while he was overseas didn’t make her any less irritating than she’d been for the last five and a half years. ‘No