Dark Attraction: The Corde Noire Series (4 page)

“A man always invites you for coffee to get to know you and ask you questions. If he likes what he hears at coffee, he will ask you to dinner.”

Sam felt panicky. “What if he skips the coffee and goes right to the dinner question?”

Brenda pulled her toward the back wall of windows in her living room. “They never skip coffee. It’s sort of a rule.”

“There are rules?” Sam shouted, getting anxious.

Piper spoke up behind her. “The general rule is that there are no rules. Just enjoy yourself.”

“Start going over to his place to ask for help.” Brenda tugged her down the hallway toward her bedroom. “You know, man things. Hang a picture, open my stuck cabinet drawer, fix my disposal … that kind of stuff.”

“We have a super for that. Marv,” Sam informed them.

“So what?” Piper returned. “You’re asking him.”

“But I don’t have anything that’s broken.”

“Then break something,” Piper insisted.

When they came to her oak bedroom door, Sam hesitated. “Why are we going in my bedroom?”

Brenda winked at her as her hand went to the brass doorknob. “Not to worry. We’re going to show you what to do.” She opened the door and walked inside.

Sam followed her with Piper close behind.

“Darlin’, any woman knows you can’t set your sights on a man unless you’ve got a really good plan,” Brenda said, opening her closet. “And the best plan begins with a killer outfit.”

Sam watched as the two women scrutinized her wardrobe, looking for that “fuckability factor,” as Brenda put it. Knowing Brenda’s fondness for cleavage hugging dresses that stopped short of showing her vagina, and Piper’s preference for all things pink, Sam had a sinking feeling things were about to get ugly.

It was after midnight when she finally got Brenda and Piper out her front door. They had selected three outfits they claimed were suitable for seducing Captain Morgan—none of which Sam would be caught dead in. She had appreciated their efforts, but all the eye shadow and red lipstick they had piled on her face—insisting on a makeover—only made Sam feel more foolish. Instead of telling them that she had no interest in pursuing her neighbor, Sam let them fuss over her and promised to apply all of their little tricks.

Glimpsing the disarray in her living room, Sam opted to wait until morning to clean up. Checking the lock on her door, she thought of Doug. The man was making her paranoid. As she was turning away, she heard the elevator doors open. Frozen to her spot, she listened as someone walked past her front door.

The footsteps stopped right outside her apartment, and she could see the shadow of a figure coming through the crack at the bottom of her door. Her heart pounding, she listened intently for any sound.

Instinctively, Sam knew it was him. She wanted to open her door to see if she was right, but then what? What did she tell him?

Shaking her head, she let go a long sigh. Realizing she had sighed just a little too loudly, she clapped her hand over her mouth. Unfortunately, when she did that, her elbow hit the front door, hard.

“Shit!”

Almost instantly, there was a light rapping on her door. “Sam, you okay?”

God, it was him! Now what did she do? Her mind was a total blank. All the vodka she had downed during the evening was catching up with her.

“Sam?”

She glanced down at her tight blue jeans and T-shirt, hoping she looked all right. Fumbling with the lock on the door, she decided to blame the episode on the vodka and send him on his way.

“Doug,” she chirped, sounding upbeat. “Just coming in?”

His eyes were all over her, then he grinned. “What have you been doing?”

“Oh, you know. Just hanging out with the girls.”

He nodded toward her living room. “Have they gone?”

“Yep.” She leaned against her door. “I was locking up when I heard someone in the hallway.”

He pointed to her face. “Do you usually put on so much makeup when your friends come over?”

She drew a blank. “Huh?”

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. When he held his out hand, she saw the bright red lipstick Brenda had insisted was the perfect shade for her.

“Crap!” She had forgotten about the makeup.

When she went to the mirror at the end of her entrance hall, she caught her reflection. It was worse than she had feared.

“I’m all for makeup on a woman,” he said, coming in her door. “But in moderation.” He shut the front door.

She wiped her hands over her face, her cheeks burning. “Yeah, Brenda and Piper got a bit carried away with their makeover.”

“You don’t need a makeover, Sam. You’re fine just the way you are.”

She was distracted by his tailored suit, the scent of that fantastic cologne, and his slightly tousled rich brown hair. “Are you coming from a date or something?” She wavered slightly. The rush of blood to her head, along with the vodka, made her momentarily lightheaded.

His arm went around her waist. “Have you been drinking?”

She peered up at him. “What else are you supposed to do on a girls’ night?”

“Let’s get you to the sofa before you fall down.” 

Her first instinct was to push him away. She could take care of herself, but then all the coaching her friends had pounded into her about seducing a man came to mind. Perhaps she should just go along with this damsel in distress thing.

When he set her on the floral sofa, he pulled away, leaving her with a sudden chill.

“Where do you keep your coffee?” he demanded, heading to her kitchen.

“I don’t need coffee, Captain—” She almost let it slip out. “I mean, I’m fine. I’ll just go to bed and sleep it off.”

He started rummaging around her kitchen, opening cabinets. “No, you’ll drink some coffee and sober up before I put you to bed.”

“Put me to bed? I’m not a child, Doug.”

He glanced back at her. “No, you’re not a child, but you need to be taken care of.” He opened the cabinet above her sink. “Do you even have coffee?”

She got up. “Of course, I have coffee.”

“Stay on the sofa,” he called to her. “You’re in no shape to move around.”

“Jeez, you’re bossy.” She came into the kitchen. “I’m fine.”

“You like to try a man’s patience, don’t you?” 

She went to a copper tin on the counter next to the refrigerator and lifted the lid. “Coffee.”

He rested his hip against the counter. “Why isn’t there a man in your life?”

“A man? Are we talking about living or dead?”

He crinkled his brow. “What do you mean by dead?”

Sam rubbed her hand across her forehead, chastising her slip. “Ah, never mind.”

He warily looked her over. “I’ve been living next door for over a week now, and I’ve never seen a man coming or going from this apartment.”

“Have you been spying on me?” She smirked, grabbing onto the counter as a fit of dizziness overwhelmed her. “What about you? I haven’t seen a girlfriend hanging around your place.”

He picked up the container of coffee and carried it to the coffeemaker. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He loaded the coffee and chicory blend into the top of the coffeemaker. “She moved out about six months ago.”

Hope sprang to life in her heart. The advice Piper and Brenda had given her popped into her head.

Remember to compliment him a lot. Tell him how strong he is. Pout your lips. Play with your hair when you talk to him.

She attempted to pout and comb her hand through her hair, but with all the hairspray Brenda had added her hand got caught.

He flipped on the coffeemaker while gazing at her. “Do you mind if I do something?”

“Ah….” She flipped her hair—just like Brenda had shown her. “Sure.”

Doug held out his hand. “Come with me.”

Taking her hand, he led her across the hardwood floor of her living room to the hallway. He continued along until he stopped at the first oak door he came to.

After peering inside, he pulled her in behind him. With her queen-sized bed looming before her, Sam tried not to appear nervous. He obviously brought her in here with one purpose in mind. However, when he took her into the bathroom, she became confused.

After flipping on the bright vanity lights, he reached for the faucet and then lifted her onto the vanity. She waited as he took one of her flowery hand towels and submerged it beneath the running water. Without the least bit of warning, he put the cold towel to her face and began wiping away the makeup.

“I can’t have a civil conversation with you when you are wearing that clown makeup.”

“I thought men liked makeup on women.”

He dropped the towel on the vanity. “Who told you that?”

“Brenda and Piper.” She motioned to her face. “This was their idea. I think they wanted to make me a man-magnet … or is it a man-eater?”

“Neither is appropriate for you. Be who you are.”

She gave him a short snort. “Like that has worked for me so far.”

He picked up the towel again and began wiping away her eyeshadow. “I take it that means there is no boyfriend.”

“No,” she mumbled.

“Why not just tell me that?”

She waited until he was finished with her makeup before she answered. “Because how interesting would I be if you discovered I was just a single nurse with no life outside of her job?”

He ran his finger along her round chin, sending a bolt of white heat to her groin. “I think you’d be pretty damned interesting.”

Sam gauged the light in his eyes, trying to determine if he was toying with her or genuinely interested. Maybe it was the influence of the vodka, or all the advice from her friends, but somehow she believed him.

A faint beeping noise from the kitchen intruded on their moment.

“That’s my coffeemaker.”

He put down the towel. “I gathered that.” He nodded to her bedroom. “Go sit on the bed and I’ll bring your coffee to you.”

“Doug, you don’t need to do this.”

He stepped away from the counter. “Yes, I do. You need to be taken care of, Sam, even if you don’t feel that way.”

“The question is … why do you feel that way?”

His hand brushed away a strand of brunette hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You’re delicate, helpless, and …,” his lips edged closer, “in desperate need of being cared for by a man who knows how.” 

“That’s only on the outside, Doug. On the inside, I’m very different. You’d be surprised at how different I am.”

He gazed into her eyes. “I’d better get you that coffee.”   

As he exited her bathroom, Sam sighed with longing. He really was a great-looking man. What kind of idiot woman would have moved out on him?

As the waves of dizziness came and went, she wobbled her way toward her bed. When she sat down on her gray comforter, she decided to keep her feet firmly planted on the floor.

She could hear Doug in her kitchen, clinking china dishes together. The aroma of coffee slowly drifted into her room, making her dizzy once again. Lying back, Sam rested her head on her pillow, figuring she would close her eyes for a few seconds until the dizziness went away.

*     *     *

The following morning, Sam awoke to find a cup of untouched coffee next to her bed. The previous evening came back to her, and what stood out most was Doug’s visit. She recalled some of their conversation, and the things she had done. Sam wished for the amnesia brought on by a night of excessive drinking. There was nothing worse than having a hangover the morning after, and remembering exactly how stupid you had acted the night before.

“Now the man will probably never speak to me again.”

Climbing out of bed, she immediately regretted standing. Her legs were weak, her head throbbed, and something had crawled into her mouth and died. Heading to the bathroom, the first order of business was brushing her teeth and then coffee … lots and lots of coffee.

Over the sound of running water, she swore she heard her front door open and close. Chalking up the noises to her hangover, she finished with her teeth, washed her face, and was debating on a hot shower when more commotion arose in her living room.

Perhaps her ethereal visitor was back. The dead could be so annoying. Then as the sounds continued, another thought hit her. This was New Orleans. She had seen firsthand the results of the violence that plagued the city. Her heart racing, she tiptoed to her bedroom and reached for the baseball bat she kept under her bed. She wished she had bought that gun Brenda had wanted her to get, but guns scared her. With her luck, she would only end up shooting herself instead of some would-be robber. She realized her cell phone was in her purse still in the kitchen. Shit! Why hadn’t she had landlines put in?

Because you’re on a budget, dumb ass!

Creeping along the hallway, she slowly made her way to the living room entrance. Now the sounds were coming from the kitchen. Some asshole was going through her refrigerator.

Summoning her courage, she squeezed the baseball bat. Something drifted by her nose.
Is that fresh coffee?
She was confused … what kind of robber brought coffee to a crime? Pots were clanking on her stove and the sizzle of something frying completely confounded her.

Peeking around the edge of her living room entrance, she got a good look at her intruder. Doug was in her kitchen, standing behind her cooktop. On the breakfast bar, two plates of her fancy white china had been set, along with the good silverware her Aunt Gertie had given her for graduation.

“What are you doing?” She marched into her living room, the bat still in her grip.

He pointed the spatula in his hand at her bat. “What are you going to do with that?”

“How did you get in, and why are you cooking?”

He went back to the pans on the cooktop. “I took your keys last night. I figured you would still be asleep this morning and would need a good breakfast to help your hangover.” He paused and skillfully flipped an omelet in the pan. “Did you plan on using that bat on me?”