Her New York Billionaire. Andrea Bolter

of his long, lean torso that led down to the plaid pajama bottoms covering the lower half of his body.

      “What is it that you are doing here?”

      The lump that had balled in Holly’s throat delayed her response. She hadn’t seen a half-naked man in a very long time. And she hadn’t seen a man who looked like he did while he was busy being half-naked in...well, possibly ever.

      “I’m staying here,” she answered.

      It had been a grueling journey, and the last thing she’d expected was to have to reckon with someone once she got here.

      She blinked her eyes hard to pull herself together and tried not to panic. “I was told I could use this apartment.”

      “That must have been a mistake.”

      Mistake? What was this man talking about?

      “I’ve just arrived from Florida. My brother, Vince, works in the Miami office of Benton Worldwide Properties. This is one of the apartments they keep for visitors to New York.”

      “That is correct.”

      “Vince arranged for me to stay here. He confirmed it last week. And he called again yesterday to Benton Boston headquarters.”

      “I am Ethan Benton, Vice President of Benton Worldwide. As you can see from my...” he gestured down his chest “...state of undress, I am staying here at the moment.”

      “Okay, well, I’m Holly Motta and I was counting on using this apartment. See?” She shook the blue-painted keys. “The Boston office left the keys in my name with the doorman downstairs.”

      “I apologize for the mistake. I have just arrived tonight myself. In the morning I will look into who is responsible for this egregious error and have their head lopped off.”

      The left corner of his mouth hitched up a bit.

      Ethan Benton and his bare chest sat on a black leather sofa. Matching armchairs faced opposite, separated by a modern glass coffee table. The furnishings were spare. Two large framed photos were the only adornments on the wall. Both black and white, one was of a potted orchid and the other a maple tree.

      Bland as a plain piece of toast. A typical corporate apartment, Holly guessed, having never been in one before. Elegant, yet all business. With no personal touches.

      It was hardly the type of place where a beautiful shirtless man should be reading a newspaper. Not at all the kind of place where one brown curl of hair would fall in front of that man’s forehead as if it were no big deal. As if that wasn’t the most charming thing that a wet and exhausted young woman from Fort Pierce, Florida could imagine.

      “Again, so sorry for the miscommunication,” said the man that curl belonged to, “but you are going to have to leave. I will have the doorman hail you a taxi.”

      “Not so fast.”

      Holly snapped out of her fascination with his hair. She stomped over to one of the chairs opposite the sofa. Keeping her blue hands in the air, so as not to get paint anywhere, she lowered herself down.

      “If your corporate office didn’t have you scheduled to stay here, maybe it’s you who should leave.”

      The corner of his mouth ticked up again—which was either cute or annoying. Holly wasn’t sure yet.

      “Obviously I am not going to leave my company’s apartment.”

      Holly couldn’t believe this was happening. This morning she had taken a bus from Fort Pierce to West Palm Beach airport. Then her flight to Newark, New Jersey had been delayed. When it had finally landed she’d taken another bus to the Port Authority terminal in Manhattan. It had been raining and dark by then, and there had hardly been a taxi to be had. She’d got drenched flagging one down. The cab brought her to this address on the Upper East Side.

      And now—same as always, just when she was trying to do something for herself—someone else’s need was somehow one-upping hers.

      “What am I supposed to do?”

      “I would suggest you go to a hotel.”

      Hotels in New York were expensive. Holly had been saving money for months to make a go of it when she got here. She couldn’t use up any of her funds on a hotel stay.

      “I can’t afford it.”

      Ethan fixed a strangely searching stare on her.

      While he assessed her Holly’s eyes followed his long fingers as they casually traced the taut muscles of his chest down and then back up again. Down. And up. Down. And up.

      After seemingly giving it some thought, he reasoned, “You must know people in New York that you can stay with?”

      “No. I don’t know anyone here. I came here to...”

      Holly stopped herself. This man was a total stranger. She shouldn’t be telling him anything about her life. He didn’t need to know about her ex-husband, Ricky the Rat, her crazy mom, or any of it.

      Maybe all that chaos was behind her now. Maybe the whole world was at her feet. Or maybe there were more hard times ahead.

      Holly didn’t know. But she was going to find out.

      Hard rain continued to pelt against the window.

      An unwelcome tear dropped its way out of her eye. When she instinctively reached up to brush it away before Ethan noticed she found Cobalt Two Eleven was smeared on the back of her hand as well.

      “Are you crying?” Ethan asked, as if he were observing a revolutionary scientific function.

      “I’m not crying,” Holly denied. “It’s been a long day.”

      “Perhaps you would like use the bathroom to wash up,” Ethan offered. He pointed behind him. “It is the door on the right.”

      “Thank you.” Holly hoisted herself up without touching anything, and made her way past Ethan and his curl of hair. “By the way—I’m not leaving.”

      Behind the sofa was a small dining table made of glass and steel like the coffee table. Four orange leather dining chairs provided a much-needed pop of color. Beyond that was a teeny kitchen.

      Her brother had told her it was a very compact one-bedroom apartment. It would do quite fine. This was to be a temporary stepping stone for Holly. Either she was in New York to stay or it was merely a transition to somewhere else. Only time would tell.

      She found her way into the marble-appointed bathroom and tapped the door closed with her boot. Made a mental commitment to also slam the door shut on her intense immediate attraction to Ethan Benton...astoundingly handsome, half-naked. Although it took her a stubborn minute to stop wondering what it might be like to lay her cheek against the firmness of one of those brawny shoulders.

      Oh, no! She caught her reflection in the mirror above the sink. It was so much worse than she could have envisioned. She had Cobalt Two Eleven streaked across her face in horizontal stripes. Like a tribal warrior. Her black bangs were plastered to her forehead in sweaty points. She was a scary mess. What must this man think of her?

      Not wanting to get anything dirty, she used her elbow to start the faucet. With both hands under the running water, she saw color begin swirling down the drain. She rubbed her hands together until enough paint was removed that she could adjust the tap to make the water hotter and pick up the pristine bar of white soap.

      Eventually her hands were scoured clean—save for a little residual blue around the cuticles and under the nails. As usual. She reached for the fluffy towel hanging on the rack.

      Next, Holly wanted to get her jacket off before she tackled washing her face. She unzipped the sleek and stylish black leather jacket she had bought at the shopping mall in Fort Pierce yesterday. With Florida’s mild climate, there hadn’t been a lot of selection, but she’d needed something warm for New York. When she’d seen it, she’d known it