even speculation. More times than she could count, she’d seen him practically mauling some leggy model in his doorway.
Not that she could blame them. The man radiated sex appeal. But in no way was he appropriate. Like, at all. And she was way past the irritate-Daddy-with-my-new-boyfriend phase of her life. Not that she’d ever had that. She’d been the good one. Not that that ever made her parents happy. She’d bring home an A, her mother would ask why wasn’t it an A-plus. She’d make the lacrosse team, she’d ask why she wasn’t team captain. Never mind how great she was. She wasn’t good enough. Her father, while stern was warmer. Sometimes, he’d find her after her mother had just put her through the ringer and ask if she’d done her best. When she said yes, he’d say, “Great, then I’m proud of you.”
And truth was, she’d made things easy on her parents. She didn’t buck the system. She never met a rule or regulation that she didn’t follow.
Until, of course, instead of using her economics degree she’d started her own business. Blogging about food, no less. Her lifestyle brand had really started to take off during her last year at NYU. It was one thing to post funny commentary on ingredients. It was another thing to have people pay her for those opinions.
Val shut down her laptop and climbed into bed, carefully wrapping her hair in a satin scarf. After her career choice, she was pretty sure her mother would have an aneurysm if she showed up with someone like Bennett. What did he do, anyway? An artist or photographer, she wasn’t really sure. Hell, he could have been a badass biker who ran a motorcycle club, and she’d have no clue. Really time to get to know your neighbors better.
She didn’t mean to be a recluse. Well, not really. And maybe she was a bit rigid. But it was often easier to stay in her routine than change it. She’d taken enough risk in her life, thank you very much.
Val turned over and punched her pillow, picturing Bennett’s tempting smirk. Why was the man so infuriating? Something low in her belly pulled, and she groaned against the need.
No, she would not do this. Especially not because his raw sex appeal woke up everything inside her that screamed, Hello, I’m a woman. Again she repeated all the reasons why his little proposal was a bad idea. Artist. Unconventional. White. They wouldn’t have a fundamental problem with him being white, but the fact that he was different from every single man they’d shoved at her would rankle her mother. And well, he screamed bad boy.
No way her parents were going to let him in the door. They were professors at Princeton, for the love of God. Their tenured friends would wrinkle their little upturned noses when they saw him. And that would earn another disapproving glare from her mother. Oh, how Val had become accustomed to that glare.
Outside all that, she had her own reasons. She didn’t like him, for one. For two, he was obnoxious. And arrogant. Nobody would believe she would even look at him. Much less be engaged to him.
But he kissed better than any man had the right to, and she’d promised herself she’d do something different. Try something different. And if this wasn’t a shining beacon as to why she needed to, she didn’t know what was. Who gave a flying fig what anyone thought? She wasn’t going home alone. Just once she wanted to tell everyone to shut up. She didn’t care. Bringing Bennett home would certainly do that.
Val sat up and pulled the scarf off her head. She didn’t even pause as she opened her door and charged right up to his. If she hesitated, she’d think this through. She’d worry too much. She’d think about all the bad things, all the angles. She knocked briskly three times.
Though, given the soul-shaking decibels of Joe Cocker, she doubted he heard her. When he didn’t come, she knocked again. It took him another minute before he yanked open the door...shirtless. Wearing only a pair of jeans hanging very low on his waist.
Val could only stare. Damn. She’d only ever seen anybody this good-looking naked in a magazine. She was a food blogger, and sure, she worked with models. But they didn’t need to be shirtless to pose with food. Note to self, start requiring shirtless male models. His tattoos, roped and corded around his arms and his torso, were a beautiful thing to see. She wanted to run her fingertips over them.
“Hey, sweetheart, my eyes, they’re up here.”
She snapped her gaze to his and flushed, hoping her dark complexion would conceal her embarrassment. “Okay, fine. I’ll scratch your back if you’ll scratch mine. But a couple of things first.”
“Of course there’s a catch,” he whispered. His lips tipped into a lopsided smile, and she almost forgot what the hell she was saying. She should make a no-smiling rule.
Because that smile would get her in trouble. “First, turn your music down. We might be the only ones on this floor, but seriously, I need my beauty rest. Second, we need some rules of engagement. Finally, don’t call me sweetheart.”
He leaned forward, and she involuntarily swayed toward him, his scent intoxicating her. “Whatever you say, cookie.”
Bennett studied Valentine as they sat in the café connected to their building. “You know, you can loosen up a little, right? I don’t bite or anything.” He smirked. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing. In which case I might reconsider.” He gave her what he hoped was a disarming smile. But nothing. All she gave him were dark eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Come on, Valentine. Give me something to work with here.”
When she wrinkled her nose, he had to smile. She probably didn’t realize the action made her look adorable. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell her, though.
“Sorry. This is somehow more awkward than every first date I’ve ever been on. And for me that’s saying something.”
“Look, I go on a lot of first dates.”
“Somehow that does not surprise me,” she muttered under her breath.
He opened his mouth in mock shock. “Oh, my God, was that an attempt at snark or humor? Be still my heart. I might be in love.”
That did it—a giggle escaped, transforming her normally stoic face into one that completely arrested him. Wow. Her full smile could easily be a weapon of mass destruction for men everywhere. He should call somebody about that or something. Report it. What was that campaign the MTA was putting out there? If you see something, say something? Valentine Anderson was lethal. Thing was, he was pretty sure she didn’t know it.
“Okay, well, you can call me Val. I hate the name Valentine. And these days it’s more of a curse thing anyway.”
“That’s too bad. I think it’s cute, but Val it is. So, Val, what do you say we actually go somewhere, do something? We can head uptown to the Met or to Central Park. Or we can stay down here and check out the Moore Gallery. It just opened and—”
She stammered as she interrupted him. “Y-you want to go to the Moore Gallery?”
He frowned at that. “Yeah. I love art. I am a photographer. I like to look at beautiful things.”
She put up a hand. “Sorry. I guess until yesterday, I wasn’t even really sure you were a photographer. I assumed artist, but even then, like a welding artist or glassblower or something. I kept trying to pair the loud music with you.”
“Glassblower,
