Daring In The City. Jo Leigh

saw that the elevator was in service again, but he took the stairs anyway, breathing in the mingled scents of the city and hints of the lives lived down the hallways of each floor. The second and third floors had three apartments each, all occupied. The fourth floor had two exceptional apartments—each of which had two levels.

      And now that the annoying Wes was gone, Luca could finally start remodeling—after he got rid of all the guy’s shit. At least he’d vacated early. That was the main reason Luca had pushed up his move-in date.

      Walking into his new home gave him goose bumps. Maybe it was stupid, but he’d waited a hell of a long time for this moment. It would have been great to stay over tonight, but not without a bed. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

      Freedom. Silence. No surprise neighborhood women showing up at dinner. No more playing arbiter among his mother, his father and his grandmother when they got into arguments about what shows to watch on cable. No more questions about where he went at night, who he was with. Was it a girl? Was he being careful?

      His first stop, the Sub-Zero fridge he’d had no business installing this soon. All that was left of the old kitchen was the sink and a section of the Formica countertop. He’d have to be careful or risk scratching the stainless steel, but this way he’d have cold beverages while he was working on the place. He’d put a case of beer in there this morning, and he grabbed one now.

      After two gulps, he put in his earbuds and tuned his cell phone radio to ESPN, then got down to business putting the tools where they belonged and separating the wood from the drywall.

      Hell, the remodel wasn’t even going to take that long. Three months max, he decided. He still had to knock down the wall between the master bedroom and the guest room upstairs to give him the space he wanted. But he didn’t foresee a problem with that. He figured he could get the place in decent enough shape before his date next week. It didn’t have to be perfect.

      He’d met Jillian at Columbia when they’d both been studying architecture. She was currently serving her internship so she was used to the different phases of construction.

      Tomorrow, after he got rid of Wes’s crap, he’d make a decision about the wall. And then he’d bring over some clothes and other personal stuff.

      His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunch. Removing his earbuds, he placed a call for a large pepperoni to be delivered. Having a slice and drinking a beer felt like a christening of sorts. Getting laid would’ve made the inauguration perfect. He hoped next week panned out. He got itchy just thinking about it.

      Ten minutes later he thought he heard the buzzer, but no way the pizza was there that fast. He yanked out his earbuds again, and just as he figured he’d been imagining things, a scream tore into his bubble like a gunshot.

      He didn’t even think, just grabbed the crowbar sitting on a pile of rags, his heart racing. It occurred to him that the scream didn’t sound like a help-I’m-being-assaulted scream. Although his only experience as far as that went came from TV or movies.

      He moved closer to the door. Another scream, this time louder.

      Shit. It was coming from inside his apartment.

      Luca glanced up the stairs. Goddamn Wes Holland hadn’t moved out. Or he had, but he’d left a woman behind.

      Not taking any chances on what he might find, and cursing himself for doing his friend a favor by letting his buddy move in, he started up the staircase. As he moved stealthily down the hallway he heard her shouting, but he couldn’t make out many of the words. “Fucker” came in the clearest, followed by “bastard” and “shithead.”

      The closer he got to the door, the more words he could understand, but none that explained what was actually going on. He also didn’t hear anyone shouting back.

      He waited at the edge of the door, finally able to make out all of what she was saying.

      “How the hell does promising to pay me back do me any good? Am I supposed to believe you, after this?”

      The tears and desperation came through loud and clear.

      “That was almost all of my savings. I’ve worked for years for that money, and you know it,” she said. “I hate you so much right now. You’re such a coward, you won’t even pick up. I’m so disappointed. I hope you’re happy, destroying me like this. Were you laughing at me the whole time?”

      Luca assumed the woman was talking about Wes and leaving him a voice mail. Had he really run off with her money? For her sake, Luca hoped not, but it wasn’t his problem.

      Leaning to his left, he risked peeking inside the room. Luckily, the woman had her back to him. Lucky for him because it was a very nice view: the woman was wearing nothing but underwear.

      Very tiny underwear.

      Her bikini panties were pale blue, resting high on each cheek, and tucked in between her stunning buttocks just far enough to make him catch his breath. On top, he spotted the straps of her matching bra poking out from underneath a cascade of thick auburn hair.

      He wondered what she looked like from the front...

      She turned quickly, probably hearing his irregular breathing.

      Now her scream was definitely of the help-I’m-being-assaulted variety.

      He lowered the crowbar, noticing the two large pieces of luggage behind her. “Hey, hey,” he said softly, raising his left hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

      She waved her cell phone at him as she grabbed the nearest thing at hand—a pillow—and held it up against her seminaked body. “I’ve already hit my panic button. The police will be here any minute.”

      “Good,” he said, leaning his weapon against the door frame, trying hard to ignore the fact that she was hot. Certainly way too hot for that douche bag, Wes. “I’m anxious to hear you explain what you’re doing in my apartment.”

      “Your apartment? You mean you own the one below?”

      He nodded. “It’s all one unit.”

      “But I have a key. And five days left on the rental agreement.”

      “What agreement?”

      “My...” Her pause was notable, mostly for the look of fury that passed across her face. “My ex-jerkface business partner rented this place from the—from you, I guess. But I didn’t think you lived here.”

      “Huh. Well, I think you might have been misinformed by Jerkface. And by Jerkface, I’m assuming you mean Wes Holland?”

      Her whole demeanor changed from fierce guardedness to utter defeat and she lowered her cell phone. “Wait a minute. How do I know you’re the real owner?”

      “Wes moved out. Letting him stay here was a favor, one that he didn’t value very highly. All this crap was supposed to be gone when he left.”

      Maneuvering the pillow to cover whatever she could of herself, she grabbed her backpack and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Ha. You’re wrong. This is the rental agreement. Right here.” She held it up and wagged it at him, the same way she’d done with her phone.

      The truth was, he’d agreed to let the guy stay, and he had moved out early, but there’d been nothing in writing. “Hey, I’m sorry about your friend, but you can’t stay here. I’m moving in and working on the apartment. The only reason I rented to him at all was because I hadn’t gotten started on the renovation yet. And he never mentioned you.”

      “But he left a note,” she said, her voice wobbling. “He was supposed to meet me at the Port Authority. Help me move in. But he hasn’t answered any of my phone calls for two days. And he emptied our joint bank account that was intended for our new business.”

      Yep, two days ago—that was when Wes had moved out. Luca felt bad for her, but it still wasn’t his problem. His gut had told him the guy was a prick. Why the hell hadn’t