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  “I’m in.”

  “Lenore will gather the info and send you an email.” He tosses his wife a wink. “Come on back to my office and give me the details on the opportunity that brought you here this early.”

  The only thing that brought me here this early was my reluctance to stay in my apartment a minute longer. The four walls offer me comfort most of the time, but some mornings, like today, the silence is deafening.

  Chapter 7

  Dexie

  I study the bag slung over the shoulder of one of my favorite people in the world. Mabel Husher burst into my life four months ago.

  She grabbed hold of my purse on the subway. I had my hand in the air to push her off of me before I was turned around.

  When I realized it was a petite, gray-haired diva gripping the leather strap, I calmed the hell down.

  All she wanted was a closer look at the navy blue handbag I was carrying and the name of the designer.

  I handed her my card, and since that day she’s bought three custom pieces from me, including the soft gray leather tote that I’m staring at now.

  I’m the worst when it comes to critiquing my handiwork. I always find a small flaw whenever I revisit a bag I worked on in the past. In the case of Mabel’s gray tote, I spot the end of a loose thread dangling near the base of one of the straps.

  “I didn’t expect to see you today, Mabel.” I step aside to allow a group of my co-workers to board the elevator that leads up to the Matiz Cosmetics corporate offices.

  I’m on my lunch break and since I didn’t have time to pack a sandwich at home, I need to grab something quick that will hold me over until quitting time.

  I stayed at Sophia’s penthouse last night after she showed up and dragged me from my ninety plus degree apartment.

  I would have been more than happy to spend the night staring at my neighbor, but Sophia was insistent that I go home with her.

  By the time I got back to my apartment this morning, the air conditioner was working and my handsome neighbor was nowhere in sight.

  “I was on my way to your office to see you.” Mabel looks me over. “I don’t know how you get away with pairing a red dress with purple shoes and a yellow bag, but it works on you.”

  It does work.

  I once bought into the idea that fashion has to follow a prescribed path, but those days are over. My style is as unique as I am and I like it that way.

  Mabel is wearing a sleek black dress and matching shoes. The brief glimpse of a red sole that I spotted as I stepped off the elevator wasn’t surprising.

  It’s only ever the best for Mabel, which is why I’m still shocked that she carries my bags around Manhattan paired with her designer clothes and shoes.

  I take her compliment with a smile. “What can I help you with?”

  I’m hoping it’s another new bag. Mabel has never balked at the price I’ve charged her. It’s expensive, but she’s the one who told me that my talent was priceless.

  “Can we sit?” She gestures at a fabric-covered bench across the lobby.

  My stomach grumbles a response, but I ignore it. “Of course.”

  I follow closely behind her, taking note of the slight limp in her gait. I have no idea how old she is, but I do know that she gets around Manhattan with the same precision and speed as someone my age.

  I settle in next to her on the bench, running my fingertip around the edge of a fading brown stain on the off-white twill fabric. It was a drip from a cup of coffee in my hand months ago that blemished the otherwise pristine cushion.

  She turns to face me. The large diamond on her ring finger catches the light as she folds her hands in her lap. “Did I ever mention my sister to you?”

  I try to hide the frown on my lips. This isn’t a promising way to open a discussion about a new handbag, but I go with it because Mabel has been good to me. “No, you haven’t.”

  “Her name is Rhoda.” She rolls her green eyes. “She’s older than me but insists she’s younger. I swear she’d have her birth certificate changed if they’d let her.”

  I bite back a laugh, hoping that she’s segueing into a purse order for her sister.

  “Rhoda has the brains.” She runs a red manicured fingernail over her chin. “I have the beauty.”

  I nod, knowing that she’s teasing. She told me soon after we met that she loved her career as the Chief Financial Officer of an energy company before she retired last year.

  “Rhoda does this thing.” Leaning closer, she lowers her voice to a whisper. “She helps people like you.”

  Like me?

  I try not to look offended since I don’t know what she’s talking about, although if I had to hedge a guess, I’d say it’s about the way I’m dressed. I’m basing that on the fact that she’s looking me over from head-to-toe.

  Maybe that compliment she just threw my way wasn’t genuine after all.

  The majority of the clothing I wear is from Sophia’s line, Ella Kara. It’s affordable enough for everyone, including me even though I rarely pay for any of it.

  Sophia uses me as a test model. She creates a new design, gives me her handmade sample and sends me out into the world to gather feedback.

  I never complain. How can I when I spend next to nothing on my wardrobe?

  She almost always has one of my bags in her hand, and I regularly wear her clothing designs.

  It’s a fashion win for both of us.

  Mabel picks up the gray tote and swings it in a tight circle. “I showed her this yesterday. She wants to meet you.”

  Maybe there is a purse order in my immediate future.

  I shove a hand in my bag to fish for my business card holder. “I’ll grab one of my cards. You can give it to her or I can take her number and call her.”

  Mabel swats my knee. “I’ve already given her your name, your number and I showed her that website you have.”

  My stomach growls a reminder that my lunch break is ticking away, so I inch our discussion forward. “Is Rhoda looking for a bag?”

  “Heavens no.” Her eyes scan my face. “She wants you to meet with her and her investor friends to discuss the future of your company.”

  Holy hell.

  I stare at her pink stained lips, playing her words over and over again in my head.

  “Someone will reach out to you soon with the details, but I wanted to tell you the good news face-to-face.” She sighs. “Show them your best work. If you do that, you’ll be sure to seal a deal.”

  I nod, my mind racing with mental images of all my recent designs. “I’ll do that.”

  “I’ll check in again once the meeting is over.” She looks down at the tote. “If I could, I’d partner with you, but my husband and I have everything tied up right now.”

  “I... I...Mabel I can’t thank you enough for this.”

  “I told you the day we met that you’d go places.” She glides to her feet. “This is your ticket to that place, Dexie.”

  She’s right. I’ve wanted to find a business partner for the past two years, but no one other than Sophia has shown any interest.

  I was touched when she offered her money in exchange for equity in my company, but our friendship is too important to me to risk losing it over a business disagreement, so I declined with a smile and an appreciative hug.

  This is different. This is a legitimate investor who can help catapult my purse business to the next level.

  “Look at the time. I have to run.” Mabel gives me a brief hug before she sets off toward the lobby doors.

  I glance down at my phone. I have a marketing meeting I need to get to in fifteen minutes. It leaves no time for lunch, but I’d trade food for a future any day of the week.

  Chapter 8

  Rocco

  As soon as I close my apartment door behind me, I toss my phone and keys on a leather chair in the corner.

  I head straight for the window that overlooks my neighbor’s apartment. It’s early evening and she’s home.

  I
spot her immediately. She’s standing next to her bed.

  Tonight she’s dressed in a white tank top and faded cut-off denim shorts. Her hair is piled high on her head. Several blonde and pink strands have fallen loose and are playing against the side of her face.

  She’s lost in thought. Her gaze is trained on an array of handbags on display on her bed.

  I take a seat next to the window. It affords me a clear view of every one of her movements, including the intermittent shaking of her head whenever she picks up a bag before placing it down again.

  Maybe she’s choosing one as an accessory for an outfit she’s planning on wearing tonight.

  The thought makes my stomach roll.

  I don’t know the woman’s name, or her relationship status but the thought of her giving her attention to another man sparks a shot of envy within me.

  She tosses a pink bag onto the bed before she turns her back to me.

  I get a perfect view of her gorgeous ass.

  It’s round and plump. The shorts she’s wearing strain to contain her generous curves.

  I move to accommodate my growing erection.

  My jeans feel too tight. I want to palm my cock. The idea of stroking it while watching her is tempting.

  She spins on her heel and faces the window.

  Her ample tits lift under her tank top as she takes in a quick breath.

  I’ve thought about her nipples, wondered what color they are, how hard they get when sucked and what sounds she’ll make when my teeth close around them.

  When.

  It’s not a question of if I’ll fuck her, but when.

  I saw the way she was staring at me the other night. The woman wants me as desperately as I want her.

  I rise to my feet and lean my hands against the window, willing the beauty to look up at me.

  My breath rushes over the glass with each of my labored exhales. Every beat of my heart is a beacon she can’t hear.

  I want her to feel my presence.

  Her chin lifts and that’s when it happens. Her dark eyes latch onto mine and a sweet, slow smile spreads over her full lips.

  ***

  Her phone interrupted us briefly.

  She looked at it twice before she finally reached over and picked it up from the bed.

  I wish to fuck I could read lips.

  I want to know what her name is and what she was saying to the person on the other end of the call. I want to know what they were saying to her that brought an even broader grin to her face.

  Hell, more than anything I want to hear her voice.

  In my mind, it’s husky and sexy. Her laugh must be intoxicating.

  She throws the phone back on the bed and squares her attention on me again.

  I know what I want so I take the lead in our silent interaction.

  I slide the T-shirt I’m wearing over my head.

  Her eyes widen when I take a step back to give her a good look at my upper body. I take care of myself. I need to. There are too many people in this world who depend on me.

  When her eyes finally trail back up to my face, I tilt my chin forward in a challenge.

  I want her shirt off.

  She points at her tank top. Her brows rise in question.

  I scratch my chin and nod.

  Her gaze darts over my building. I have no idea how many eyes are pinned to her right now.

  This is Manhattan. Most New Yorkers don’t pay close attention to anything their neighbors are doing, but when they look like the blonde beauty I’m staring at, it’s impossible not to be transfixed.

  I wait for her to shake her head in protest, but that’s not what happens.

  Her hands fall to the bottom hem of her shirt and she slides it up slowly. It’s so fucking leisurely that it feels like time has almost stopped.

  Every inch of her stomach is exposed before she stops with the fabric bunched under her tits.

  I know she’s wearing a bra. I saw the pink strap slip down from her shoulder when she was tossing a bag onto her bed.

  With a sly smile, the shirt is up and over her head.

  I move so near to the window that my lips almost touch the glass. She feels so close, yet she’s so far away. It’s too goddamn far away.

  When her arms cross over the pale pink bra, I slap my palm against the window and shake my head.

  She can’t hear anything; not the sound of my hand hitting the glass or the pounding beat of my heart.

  It’s racing.

  The need to touch her is strong.

  Her hands move slowly, trailing over the fabric of her bra until they land on her stomach.

  I want her to reach back and unhook the clasp on the bra. I want to see more.

  Her gaze drops to her body and she shivers. When she looks up, her eyes lock on mine. I fight the urge to turn and run.

  It wouldn’t take me more than five minutes to race out of my place and be at her apartment door.

  I raise my hand to my chest, pat it twice and point at her.

  She understands my silent invitation to join her, but the faint shake of her head is enough to keep me in place.

  She’s not ready for more. Yet.

  Fortunately, I’m a very patient man.

  Chapter 9

  Dexie

  I turned him down last night.

  I don’t know why I didn’t wave my hot-as-sin neighbor over when he gestured that he wanted to join me in my apartment.

  After the regrettable shake of my head, he nodded at me and was about to turn away when I blew him a kiss.

  It was an impulsive, sophomoric thing to do, but it did bring a smile to his face.

  Once he moved to turn off the light in his apartment, I leaned against the window and cursed myself for not taking the plunge.

  I’m doing it again now.

  I woke up ten minutes ago, and the first thing I did was leap out of bed and dart for my window.

  The hope that I had that he’d be standing there, shirtless with a cup of coffee in his hand, and another invitation to join me was quickly replaced with disappointment.

  I sigh heavily before I turn around and face my apartment.

  Handbags are everywhere. There are a few still on my bed. I pushed those aside before I went to sleep. Four of them are on the kitchen counter. They’re in my “maybe” pile.

  I’m no closer to deciding which purses to show the potential investors than I was last night.

  A soft knock at my apartment door draws my gaze up.

  Could it be? Is it possible that my neighbor decided to show up on my doorstep unannounced?

  I run my hands through my hair and look down at what I’m wearing.

  After I took a shower last night, I slipped into a pair of pink panties and a black T-shirt.

  Another series of raps on my door lures me closer. I take a few tentative steps before I call out, “Who is it?”

  I want to know his name. I ache to know the name of the man who was staring at me last night.

  “It’s me.”

  My hope deflates at the sound of Sophia’s voice on the other side of the door.

  “Sophia?” I ask for no reason other than to give me enough time to yank on a pair of cut-off jean shorts over my panties.

  “I have coffee and those banana chocolate chip muffins you love,” she singsongs. “Open the door, Dex.”

  I rub my hands over my face. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m glad she’s here. I need help choosing which handbags I’ll show the potential investors.

  That has to be my priority today even though all I want to do is spend this Saturday sitting on the windowsill staring into the apartment across from mine.

  ***

  Hours later, as I enter my apartment after having dinner with Sophia, my mind is racing.

  I took a call thirty minutes ago from a woman named Lenore Halston. She apologized for bothering me on a Saturday evening before she explained that she was reaching out on behalf of a group of angel investors.
r />   My hand shook as I held the phone to my ear and stared down at the linen tablecloth. I couldn’t look across the table at Sophia because I knew that I’d tear up.

  We’d spent all day talking about all the what if possibilities.

  I’ll get my chance to pitch my handbag design business in less than a week to a group of strangers. One of them may change my future.

  I glance over at the six purses that Sophia and I chose earlier. I needed her expert eye to help me wade through the sea of emotions I was feeling. She’s objective and explained the reasoning behind each of her suggestions. I agreed with two, but ultimately picked the ones that I feel best represent my brand.

  In just a few days, I’ll show those designs to the investors. With any luck, I’ll leave that meeting with a business partner.

  I walk over to the lamp and turn it on. It’s early evening, but it’s been overcast all day. The low hanging clouds have stolen all the natural light from this space.

  A clap of thunder draws my gaze to the windows.

  Time stops when I look over at the building next to mine.

  He’s there, standing in the window as rain beats down on the city.

  I stare at his face before my gaze drops to his muscular chest and the white towel wrapped around his waist.

  He must have just showered. I can’t tell from where I’m standing if his hair is wet or not. It’s pushed back from his forehead.

  I wonder what his hair feels like, what his skin smells like.

  I look at his lips and wish, more than anything that I knew what it feels like to kiss him.

  His hand drops to his waist and the top of the towel.

  “Drop it,” I whisper against the glass. “Please, drop it.”

  His hand trails up his toned stomach to his chest before it lands on his chin.

  My eyes meet his again. He smiles in a devilish way that tells me that he wants more from me.

  I understand. I’ve watched him often enough that I recognize the subtle nuances in the way he looks at me. I see the fevered desire that is there in his eyes.

  I drop my hands to the front of my short pink sundress.

  I unbutton it, taking my time to reveal the pink lace bra and panties that I put on earlier.