The Girl Next Door. Cynthia Eden

motorcycle waited at the side of the road. He climbed on then tossed her the helmet. “Just hold on tight, and I’ll have you home soon.”

      She caught the helmet, but hesitated.

      “What?” The light from the streetlamp fell on his face. It glinted off his dark blond hair and made him look even more handsome—and dangerous. “Don’t you trust me for a little ride? Come on, we’re neighbors. It’s not like the trip is out of my way.”

      He was right. They were neighbors. They shared a brownstone—just the two of them.

      When she’d moved in four months ago, she hadn’t been sure what to expect from her male neighbor. Her landlord had told her that Cooper regularly worked out of the country, that she probably wouldn’t hear a peep from him.

      She’d heard some peeps. And so far, he hadn’t been out of the country.

      On her first day in the apartment, she’d baked him chocolate chip cookies. She had a thing about baking—it soothed her. So she’d strolled down with her cookies to say hello.

      She’d gotten a good look at him, standing in the doorway, tall and sexy, and she’d almost dropped those cookies.

      “Gabrielle?”

      She shoved on her helmet and climbed onto the motorcycle behind Cooper.

      He laughed. “You’re going to have to sit a little closer than that. And put your arms around me.”

      She’d put her arms behind herself and was currently gripping the back of the seat.

      He revved the engine. The bike kicked to life and when it shot forward, her hands flew up and wrapped around Cooper.

      She gripped him as tightly as she could.

      All muscle.

      She could feel his rock-hard abs beneath her hands. No big surprise. She’d heard him working out before. Boxing. The guy loved to punch.

      She’d seen him sporting an assortment of bruises since she’d met him, so she figured he must do more than just hit his punching bag. The guy probably fought at a local ring. The image of Cooper, bare-chested, fighting...well, that was an image that had sure floated in her mind before.

      The motorcycle zoomed through the city, flying through intersections, cutting closely around corners. At one point, Gabrielle had to squeeze her eyes shut because she was pretty certain they were going to crash and become nothing but a mangled pile of limbs.

      “We’re here.”

      Her eyes cracked open. Sure enough, they’d made it to the brownstone. Located off the main streets and nestled in one of the few, quiet corners of D.C., the brownstone stood with its porch lights blazing.

      She loved that place.

      “You can...um, release that grip on me now,” Cooper told her.

      Gabrielle realized that her nails were digging into his shirt—into him. “Sorry,” she muttered and jumped from the bike. “I’m not exactly a motorcycle fan.”

      He shoved down the kickstand, and then took his time rising from the bike. “Really? And here I thought you liked to live on the wild side.”

      What? Since when?

      “Coming in at all hours of the night,” he murmured as he brushed past her and headed up the steps that would take them inside the brownstone. “Covering the most dangerous cases in the city. You sure seem like a woman who enjoys living on the edge.”

      She wasn’t going to touch that one.

      As they paused on the narrow porch, the wind chime that she’d hung up a few days before pealed softly. The sound soothed her, at least a little bit.

      Gabrielle followed him inside. A large, curving bannister led to the apartment upstairs. Her place was up there. His apartment was downstairs, right below hers. They both had a key to the main door, and she watched as he secured that door.

      He’d gotten her home, so this was where they should part ways. Only she found herself hesitant to leave him. Maybe it was the image she still had of poor Keith Lockwood. I can still smell the blood. No, she wasn’t in a hurry to rush up those stairs and spend the night all by herself.

      Gabrielle already knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. She’d be too busy remembering the sight of that body.

      So she lingered at the foot of the stairs, studying Cooper.

      He turned toward her and cocked his head. Then his eyes, a shade of a blue that electrified her, narrowed. “You’re scared.” He stalked toward her.

      Gabrielle stiffened at the accusation. “I’m a little shaken. I found a dead body. I get to be shaken.”

      He stopped less than a foot from her. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

      “Yes, well, I’m sorry that Mr. Lockwood is dead. Maybe if we’d met earlier, if I’d just gone by his place sooner instead of waiting for our meeting time—”

      “Then you might be dead, too,” he said, cutting through her words.

      Gabrielle pushed back her hair. “He asked me to meet him. He called and said that he had a tip for me.” So much blood. “I guess someone wanted to make sure he never got the chance to deliver that tip.”

      He took her hand.

      Her breath rushed out. In four months, he hadn’t touched her. Until tonight. He’d touched her at the crime scene, and now he was touching her here.

      She hadn’t expected his touch to unsettle her so much. But it did. Awareness pulsed through her as she stared into his eyes.

      “Come with me,” he invited softly. “You shouldn’t be alone after what happened.”

      “I’m always alone.”

      He frowned.

      Wait, those words had come out wrong. That was her problem. She was good at writing. When she was talking, Gabrielle had a tendency to say the wrong thing. She cleared her throat and tried again, “What I meant was that I don’t mind being alone. It’s late, and I should be getting upstairs.”

      He used his grip on her hand to tug her toward him. “It’s late all right, but I’m betting you’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your body that sleep is the last thing on your mind.” His eyes glittered down at her. The guy easily topped six foot two, maybe six foot three, and he had the wide, broad shoulders that a football player would envy.

      When she looked up at him then, she didn’t see the danger that she normally perceived.

      She saw strength. Safety.

      “I know a thing or two about adrenaline rushes. I can help you ride it out.”

      He didn’t mean that sexually, did he? Because they were nowhere close to having a sexual relationship. No matter what a few heated dreams might have told her.

      “Come on.” He guided her toward his door. She’d never actually been past the threshold of his place, so curiosity stirred within her.

      Curiosity. It had been her downfall since she was a kid.

      He opened the door. The alarm immediately began to beep, and he quickly punched in a code to reset the system.

      “Why don’t you have a seat on the couch?” Cooper offered. “I’ll grab us both a drink.”

      Her gaze shifted around the room. Ah...there was the punching bag hanging from the ceiling in what looked like a workout room that branched from the living area.

      The hardwood floor gleamed in the apartment. A leather couch and armchair were centered around a very large TV. Typical. What wasn’t so typical...

      She didn’t see a single family photograph. Actually, there were no photographs at all in the place.

      The