were at least fifteen keys on the ring. “Just how many doors do you need to unlock?”
“You’d be surprised.” There was one for her apartment and one for her car. The other keys had to do with her place of work. “I’m an assistant producer.” She gave him a sidelong glance as she zeroed in on the right key.
MacKenzie saw that he did not look impressed. But then, she was beginning to doubt that there was anything on the face of the earth that might actually impress the tall, dark, sexy and solemn male standing behind her.
Chapter Three
Finally finding the key for the front door, MacKenzie waited for Quade to politely ask exactly what she was the assistant producer of. But there was only silence at her back as she unlocked the door.
So she took the initiative. It wasn’t exactly a stretch for her, given her natural exuberance and impatience. “It’s for …And Now a Word from Dakota.”
Quade looked surprised by the piece of information she offered, as if it were a Frisbee that had come out of the blue and landed on his lap. “What is?”
Pulling her key out again, she opened the door. “The show where I’m the assistant producer.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, never heard of it.” And then, because he realized that probably sounded too abrupt, he added, “I’m not from around here.”
Interest sparked her eyes as she dropped the key back into the cavernous regions of her purse. “Oh, where are you from?”
Quade looked around. Her apartment was a theme and variation of his, only in reverse. And with a smattering of feminine touches to it. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I don’t when information’s volunteered.” She cocked her head, studying him. His expression was utterly impassive. What did he look like when he smiled? When he relaxed? Could he relax? He’d laughed earlier, but it had been too fleeting. By the time she’d looked at him, his smile—if it had ever appeared—had evaporated. “You’re not the curious type, are you?”
“I’d say you’ve got enough for both of us in that category.” Since MacKenzie looked as if she were waiting for some kind of a definite answer, he added, “But no, I’m not.” No, he thought, that wasn’t entirely accurate. “Not about people.”
Her eyes narrowed as she tried to follow his thoughts. “What are you curious about?”
Quade generalized, not wanting to open the door to any specifics. He found it easier that way. “Diseases.”
When he said that, she could envision him sitting in an easy chair, poring over textbooks with graphic photos. “That’s a little morbid.”
He’d never looked at it that way. To him it was his life’s work. Therein lay the irony. “Not when it comes to saving lives.”
Was he a doctor? Now that, she’d have less trouble believing. “Do you save lives?” she prodded when he said nothing.
He figured he’d been neighborly enough for one encounter. Hell, for all encounters until the end of the year. Maybe even beyond.
“Your bathroom?” he prompted, reminding her why he’d followed her into her apartment in the first place.
“Right through there.” She pointed off to the rear of the nine-hundred-square-foot apartment. “Right by the master bedroom.”
MacKenzie knew the term was a whimsical one inasmuch as it was the larger of the two bedrooms by perhaps a couple of square feet.
“Thanks,” Quade murmured, quickly making his exit before she went off on another tangent that required some acknowledgment from him.
MacKenzie stood where she was for a moment. If her new neighbor wasn’t so good-looking, he would have been a perfect blueprint for some kind of mad scientist. Withdrawn, uncommunicative. But he was good-looking and the sight of him brought posters for volleyball on the beach to mind. It wasn’t a large stretch of the imagination for her to see lean muscles beneath his T-shirt. He probably had one of those abdomens where you could count the number of ridges that went into making up what someone had told her was called a washboard stomach.
The man would be like catnip to the women in the area, she thought.
You’re swearing off everything male, from hamsters on up, remember? she reminded herself.
MacKenzie walked into her kitchen. With a shake of her head, she set down the take-out bag on the small table that was framed with four short, squat chairs.
There was no point in even thinking about him. Someone like the man presently using her bathroom undoubtedly had to be spoken for. Which was fine, because she wasn’t in the market. And even if she were in the market, she was pregnant, so that pretty much put the lid on all things social.
Still, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t be friendly. She could always be friendly. MacKenzie sighed, unconsciously running her hand through her hair. She was counting on friends to take her mind off the chaotic turn of events in her life right now.
Feeling her appetite waning even though she still hadn’t taken a bite of anything, MacKenzie took out a plate and utensils. Her hand hovered over the drawer as she wondered whether or not she should take out a setting for Quade, too.
He hadn’t said anything about staying. But feeding him his first night here would be the neighborly thing to do. On a whim, she took out an extra fork and plate.
MacKenzie heard the bathroom door open just as she finished taking the cartons out of the now-damp paper bag. Bunching the bag up, she tossed it into the garbage pail and turned in time to see Quade walk by on his way toward the front door.
He wasn’t staying, she thought and wondered where the wave of sadness came from. Was there something she could take to get her emotions to level off again?
Abandoning the kitchen, she crossed to the door. “You still didn’t say where you were from.”
He slid her a side glance. “No, I didn’t.”
“Why?” she prodded, “Is it a secret?”
Quade paused, thinking that perhaps he should have done a little research on his own rather than leaving the matter of finding him a place to live in the hands of a real-estate agency. Granted, this place was convenient, close to the laboratory and from the looks of it, rather a nice place to reside, as well.
But in truth, he didn’t require very much anymore and this apartment definitely did have its detractions, he thought, looking at the exuberant redhead with the ever-moving mouth.
“Are all the neighbors like you?”
She wasn’t sure exactly what he meant or how he meant it. “You mean inquisitive?”
Quade laughed shortly, although his lips never curved. “I was thinking of ‘nosy,’ but all right, we’ll go with your word.”
“Can’t speak for everyone,” MacKenzie allowed, “but the woman who lived here before you liked to take a healthy interest in what was going on and the people who came and
