of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Uh... Yeah. I...” I just flashed you a second ago. Sorry about that. “Uh... Thanks.” She grabbed the phone, with its shattered face and bent corner. It still lit up when she touched it. That was good, at least.
“I’m... Jackson Drake.” He extended a strong hand.
She took his hand dumbly and shook it. His palm was smooth and big. The man had big hands, bear paws almost. What was it that they said about big hands? His sharp blue eyes never left her.
“Looks like we’ll be neighbors.” A slow smile curved his lips. He had nice teeth, too. Model-white.
So he did own that whole building. What was a billionaire doing...fetching her phone? She happened to glance at his wrist and saw the gleaming Rolex there. Yep, definitely rich.
“And you are...?”
Idiot. Didn’t even tell him your name. “Chloe... Chloe Park.”
“Nice to meet you, Chloe. Do you mind if I call you by your first name? I feel like after today, we need to be on a first-name basis.” He grinned a sly, wolfish smile.
Still, her face flamed at the reference of her spilling out of her shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to having neighbors. I’m not even in the habit of shutting my blinds. That building has been abandoned for so long.”
“Don’t change on my account.” He took a slight step closer. His bare chest filled up most of her field of vision. She wondered if his skin felt as smooth as it looked. Something told her he wasn’t gay. Gay men didn’t flirt like this with her.
Chloe again lost the ability to speak. Pretty soon, he’d start thinking she was slow. Chloe felt a tingle at the back of her knees. “Park...” he said, blue eyes never leaving hers. “Is that Korean?”
“Dad’s Korean. Mom’s Irish. You know, a living representation of the melting pot. They live in Seattle, but I see them a couple of times a year...” What was she yammering on about? She always did that when she was nervous.
“Hey! Drake!” called one of the movers carrying a large box. “This going to the first floor or...?”
Jackson hesitated, seeming to want to linger. Or maybe that was just because he didn’t want to deal with moving. Moving day was always terrible, no matter how rich you were, Chloe supposed.
“Well, I see you’re busy, but, uh...thanks for the phone. It’s my lifeline.” She held up her battered phone. If her lifeline still worked, that is.
Jackson nodded. He couldn’t be more confident in his own skin, standing at her back alley door. But then, why wouldn’t he be? He was gorgeous and rich. He was probably used to women falling at his feet. Or falling out of their tops, she thought ruefully.
“Until...next time then. Chloe.” He nodded once at her, and she was held there, for a second, trapped in his ice-blue eyes. Eventually, she remembered she was a sweaty, unshowered mess and wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup—or a bra. Her girls were probably bouncing all over the place. Self-consciousness consumed her. She crossed her arms awkwardly across her chest.
“Till next time,” she squeaked, like a mouse, and retreated. Even as the alley door closed, she felt her heart pounding.
JACKSON DRAKE COULDN’T get his mind off the dark-haired beauty who’d given him a show as he drove his Maserati down North Avenue later that day. He grinned to himself. He remembered her shock and embarrassment when she’d realized she’d shown him her left breast and almost all of the right, her dark nipples puckered just the way he liked them. They came in the perfect size, natural, but not too heavy, much more than a handful. He wondered what they’d feel like against his palms. The idea of having a sexy new neighbor who often went braless was a perk he hadn’t anticipated when he’d bought the old icehouse. Drake had made a fortune in real estate, in transforming old buildings into new condos and offices. He was one of the city’s most successful large-scale flippers. A real estate magazine had labeled him a renegade, since he always bet on buildings and neighborhoods others wrote off, plus, his bad-boy look made him seem more biker gang than Fortune 500. But his facial hair grew so fast, he’d need to shave twice a day if he had even a fighting chance of being clean shaven, so he decided long ago not to fight it. Goatees and beards came easy to him.
But those who thought he looked more thug than businessman would be wrong. He prided himself on doing more research, knowing everything there was to know about a neighborhood, before he invested in it. But somehow he’d missed the intel on the sexy neighbor next door.
I would’ve finished the renovations earlier if I’d known, he mused, grinning. And maybe added more windows. He was already regretting only having one on the second floor facing the alley.
The light turned green and he gunned his car, beating the BMW in the lane next to him as he roared down the street.
He thought about her cracked phone and frowned. He made a mental note: he’d grab one of the many smartphones they kept at the office to hand out to new Realtors. It would be easy enough to replace, and besides, he was just being neighborly. He imagined what she’d do when she saw the new phone. Would her face light up with delight?
Then, almost instantly, his excitement faded a tad. He’d wondered, briefly, if it had all been an act. Most women saw the money before they saw him. He worked hard on his body, but he’d begun to think that didn’t matter in the least. Hell, if some woman wanted him for his abs it would be a welcome change of pace. Most women saw the Maserati and Rolex, and then didn’t care what he looked like. Jackson shook his head. It was why he’d all but given up hope on finding someone who actually cared about him. His last relationship had been a disaster from the get-go: she’d been a social climber disguised as a bartender—Laurie, a woman he’d caught in his bathroom, legs up on the bathroom counter, as she tried to tip the contents of a used condom inside her to impregnate herself. It was a calculated move to get child support, or 20 percent of his gross income per year until the baby turned eighteen.
Every time Jackson thought he’d become as cynical as you could be about women, he managed to find a new level. The experience had been enough to make him want to never date again. Lately, Jackson had been relying on old friends-with-benefits relationships, the kind that came with no strings, no commitments. Women who liked nice meals out, the occasional gift, and didn’t mind that Jackson would disappear for months at a time. Having money wasn’t all bad.
He’d been telling himself for years that this was exactly what he wanted: a rotation of gorgeous and willing women. Mostly, this worked just fine, until he spent Thanksgiving with his cousin and his wife and kids in the burbs and wondered what it would be like to have a family of his own: a house full of love and laughter and a little bit of chaos. It was really why Laurie’s antics had hurt him so much. He worried that he’d never find genuine love, a woman who could see beyond the money and could love the man beneath.
He steered his car to the office bearing his name—Drake Properties—and pulled into the underground parking beneath the sleek skyscraper that housed his office in the Gold Coast near downtown Chicago, aptly named for its stunning multimillion-dollar condos and its proximity to the Magnificent Mile, home to the swankiest stores in the city. He was happy to see that most of the spaces
