pound of running appealed to his logical side. But right now a little part of him was enjoying the thrill of a situation outside his control.
And things could go wrong if he slept with Wren and it didn’t work out. They’d have to face each other in the hallway each day, making politely awkward small talk. There’d be guaranteed cringe-worthy moments if either one of them ever brought a date home and the other happened to see. The old Italian lady in 403 was also a huge gossip. Plus, there was a possibility that they wouldn’t be compatible in the bedroom.
“Who are you kidding, man?” he muttered to himself as he whipped off his towel and proceeded to get dressed. “There’s no way you have chemistry like that without it transferring to the bedroom.”
And, if his still-aching erection was anything to go on, his body wholeheartedly agreed. Besides, the only way he’d ever have the chance of finding the right woman was if he actually went on dates. And dinner counted as a date...didn’t it?
He pulled a fresh T-shirt over his head and fished out a pair of black boxer briefs from his bedside drawer. By the time he’d added jeans and sneakers to the mix, he’d also decided to take a bottle of wine with him.
When he knocked on her door, a thrill ran through him at the thought of seeing her again. Reality didn’t disappoint. She opened the door with a flourish and a tinkling laugh. Long blond waves tumbled over one shoulder, and she’d thrown an apron over her white tank and floor-length flowy skirt.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” she said, gesturing with a pair of tongs like a grand magician. “It’s a little sparse at the moment. But I can assure you my pizza will make up for it.”
“I have no doubt.” He stepped in and took in the surroundings, placing the wine down on the kitchen counter as she grabbed two glasses.
She hadn’t been kidding about it being sparse. Other than a small table with two chairs, a battered couch and an overturned cardboard box acting as a coffee table, the room was empty. He’d expected to at least see boxes with her belongings dotted around, but there wasn’t a single one in sight.
“It’s very...minimalist,” Wren said. She poured the wine and handed him a glass, holding her own out so they could clink them together.
The wine was good, not too sweet and not too dry. The flavor danced on his tongue, and he wondered what it would taste like on her lips. Her tongue. The fantasy rushed up, tracking along his muscles until his whole body felt coiled and tight.
This is what happens when you leave it too long between drinks.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying,” she said. “So I didn’t want to waste money on getting lots of furniture.”
Disappointment stabbed at him, but he brushed the feeling aside. There was no sense worrying about the future of their relationship when they hadn’t even had one meal together. “Not sure if you’re a fan of New York yet?”
“It’s more that I’m not a fan of long-term decisions.”
He cleared his throat. “Where did you move from?”
“Somewhere you’ve probably never heard of.” She stuck the tongs in a large silver bowl filled with a colorful salad. “I’m a small-town girl.”
“Living in a lonely world?” he quipped.
She grinned. “I appreciate a man who knows his Journey lyrics. Sadly, my life is far less fabulous than the song would have you believe.”
“Is that why you moved to New York?” He leaned against the counter and inhaled the aromas of their dinner. Fresh basil, melting cheese, a hint of something spicy.
“I’m here for work.” Her answer was carefully worded. Guarded. “But it’s not a permanent position, which suits me fine.”
Message received, loud and clear.
But he still wanted to get to know her better, even with her line in the sand. Perhaps “not permanent” was exactly what he needed right now. No pressure, no expectations. Like a dry run for reentering the dating world.
He could always come back to his life plan later.
“Are you a New York native?” she asked.
“I moved from Connecticut a few years ago. I’ve always wanted to live here, enjoy the bright lights and all that.”
“Do you like it?” She whisked the salad dressing in a bowl, then plucked a teaspoon from a drawer to do a taste test.
“I do. Especially when I have such interesting neighbors.”
She smiled, her cheeks flushing a vibrant shade of rose pink. “You mean clumsy neighbors who can’t figure out how to slice an avocado without hurting themselves?”
“Same, same.”
She moved about the kitchen with ease, her long skirt swirling around her feet with each dance-like step. There was an airiness to her, a whimsy that was so different from the serious women he was usually attracted to. She bent to open the oven and heat wafted up into the air, carrying with it the scent of her cooking.
“That smells incredible.” His mouth was already watering, and he’d had some of the best pizza in all of New York. “Don’t tell me you’re a professional chef.”
“No, just an amateur one. But I did make the base from scratch.” She slid on an oven mitt and pulled out the tray containing their dinner. “I really enjoy cooking. It relaxes me...well, when I’m not cutting myself.”
“Tell me that doesn’t happen too often.”
“Thankfully it is a rare occurrence.” She placed the tray down on the stove and Rhys could see she was relying on her uninjured hand to hold the weight.
“Do you need a hand slicing it up?”
“No, I’ll be fine. If you could take the wine to the table, that would be great.”
Moments later they were seated, steaming slices of pizza resting on large white plates in front of them. But the way Wren looked at him made him hungry for something else. A sensual smile curved on her lips.
“Eat up,” she said, gesturing with her hands. “It’s best when it’s hot.”
“I like it hot,” he said, picking up the slice and blowing at the steam shimmering off the pizza’s surface.
“I can see that.”
“Are you flirting with me?” He bit into the pizza and moaned as the hot, cheesy goodness hit his tongue.
“What if I was?” She took a bite of her slice and flicked her tongue out to catch a stray droplet of sauce. “Are you open to a little neighborly flirting?”
She folded both of her feet under her so that she sat cross-legged on top of the chair, tangling the frothy layers of her skirt around her legs. Realizing that she was still wearing her apron, she reached behind herself and untied it. As she pulled the apron over her head, her tank top rode up, revealing a slice of lightly tanned skin and smooth, flat belly.
She
