of life, but she preferred her slightly scruffy neighborhood where lawns were normal and kids played on the sidewalk.
Of course being critical of Ryan’s building was a fabulous distraction, she admitted as she stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall to his condo. She’d decided to take her mother’s advice from the previous weekend and get to know the man. She’d called him and suggested they get together, and he’d offered lunch at his place.
She rang the bell. He answered right away.
He seemed taller than she remembered, but maybe her brain was fuzzy from the shock of seeing him in casual clothes. The designer suit was gone. In its place were worn and faded jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt. Both emphasized his lean strength.
His shirt was open at the collar, exposing a tanned chest and a light dusting of hair. She remembered touching him there, running her hands across his warm skin and feeling him react to her caress. Of course she’d pretty much touched him everywhere, and that memory playground was a place she wanted to avoid.
“You made it,” he said. “Come on in.”
“It wasn’t that hard to find.”
“I thought you might change your mind,” he admitted. “After last time.”
Right. Last time. Their fight in her office, because he’d proposed. Just thinking about it made her angry enough to spit, although honestly, she’d never spit in her life. But if anyone was going to make her, it was Ryan.
Still, she wasn’t here to argue with him. “You said on the phone we could pretend that never happened.”
He smiled. “You’re right. So this is me pretending. Come on in.”
He stepped back and she entered the foyer. The shock was instant. They were the only living things in a room of glass and metal.
“I think it’s important we get to know each other,” she told him, deciding it was polite to ignore the stark surroundings. “The baby isn’t going away and neither are you. So here we are.”
He smiled. “But you’d like me to go away.”
“It would uncomplicate my life.”
“Boring isn’t better.”
“I’m not talking boring,” she said. “Just a few less surprises.”
“I’ll try to keep them at a minimum. So we’re having a truce with lunch?”
“I’m willing. We’ll think of it as a spicy side dish.”
His dark gaze settled on her face. “Meaning I shouldn’t mistake your pleasant conversation for forgiveness?”
She’d hoped they could avoid discussing what had happened, but maybe that was impossible. “I’m working on it.”
“I understand. You’re not easy. I respect that.”
Despite her nervousness, she laughed. “Apparently I am easy. That’s what got me into this position.”
He took a step toward her and lowered his voice. “You’re not easy—I’m irresistible.”
“Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, leading the way through the foyer. “At least it feeds my ego, which I always appreciate.”
“I can imagine,” she murmured.
“Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”
She followed him out of the foyer and into an open living space. His unit was on the corner, so he had two walls of glass, giving him a perfect view of Hollywood, the Hollywood Hills and to the east, in the distance, the skyline of downtown.
Here the predominate color was gray, accented with wood tones and bright splashes of red and orange from a large canvas of very abstract art. The end tables and dining-area table were glass and steel. The sofa and chairs, a medium gray. The walls were a lighter shade of the same. The hardwood floors and leather ottoman provided the only hint of warmth.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She set her purse on an Ultrasuede-covered chair. “It’s, um, very modern.”
“Not your thing?”
“Not really.” And based on the little she knew about Ryan, she would guess it wasn’t his thing, either.
“I was dating a decorator when I moved in. She offered and I took the easy way out.”
Ah, so it wasn’t his style. Funny how that made her like him a little.
He led the way into the kitchen. It opened onto the rest of the room and was all hard surfaces done in gray. Concrete countertops, various shades of gray in the polished glass tile backsplash, stainless appliances.
“You need to get a couple of plants,” Julie said as she took the bar stool he offered on the far side of the island. “Something green and bushy and alive. Aren’t you afraid all this modern stuff is going to suck the life out of you?”
“It’s okay,” he said with a shrug. “It’s easy to keep clean.”
She grinned. “You would know this how?”
“The cleaning service has mentioned it a few times. That and the fact that I don’t have pets.”
“I’ll bet you mostly eat out, you’re rarely home, you don’t have big, loud parties. You’re the perfect client for them.”
He stood on the other side of the island and began removing things from the built-in refrigerator.
“How do you know I don’t have big parties?”
“Your sofa and chairs are in perfect condition. Nothing crunchy or wet has been dropped on them. Parties are messy.”
“Good point. You’re right. No parties.”
Just a parade of women, she would guess. Even ignoring his sob story about women coming on to him because of his money, Julie knew Ryan was impressive enough to entice the ladies all on his own.
He carried a package of raw chicken breasts, fixings for salad, basil, some jars and bottles she didn’t recognize and—she blinked to make sure she wasn’t seeing things—a cookie sheet with prepared bread dough on it.
Was he serious?
“You’re cooking?” she asked, trying to sound less surprised than she felt.
“I said I’d make us lunch.”
“I thought you meant reservations.”
“Would you rather go out?”
“No. This is great. Shocking, but great.”
“You don’t cook?”
