Perfect for You (8 page)

"It's great that you're taking initiative, but there's just one problem."

"What?"

"You don't have a belly."

She shrugged. "Nobody's perfect."

"As long as you're prepared to be mocked for your pathetic belly."

"Don't forget my breasts." Freya adjusted her meager cleavage. "My breasts are even more pathetic."

"Good thing you have nice legs. That's your only saving grace."

Laughing, Freya sat down on the couch and grabbed a cookie. "I hope making fun of my body is cheering you up."

"Immensely." Eve grinned. "So what happened with the ad? I wanted to ask you earlier but with Charles..."

"Say no more." She held her hand up. "The first batch of messages was less than desirable, but I'm confident I'll find a couple guys to go out with soon."

"Have you made any progress with the web design?"

Freya wilted just a little. "I have three weeks to get together a few mockups for Charles's approval."

"Then it's good that you're taking the dance class too. At least until the right guy comes along to tempt you out of celibacy."

For some reason,
the right guy
conjured an image of Cavanaugh. She wrinkled her nose as she physically shook the picture out of her brain. "Right."

"I should get going. I have an early meeting tomorrow, and if I stay longer I'll eat all the cookies I baked for you and not be able to sleep for the sugar rush." She stood up and took another cookie with a sly grin.

Freya walked Eve downstairs and then went back to her room to strip out of her dance clothes. She was pulling on pajamas when her door buzzed again.

Wondering what Eve forgot, she pulled up the pink paisley bottoms and hurried down the stairs again. "What is it this time?" she asked as she threw the door open. "Need to make disparaging comments about my feet?"

"I've never had the chance to study your feet, and I'd hate to make any kind of judgments without fully inspecting them first." Cavanaugh bent over to stare at her feet.

She looked down automatically. She'd painted her toes Purple Rain and wore her customary silver anklet.

"So what do you say?" Cavanaugh asked, looking up as she did.

"What do I say about what?"

"Inspecting your feet. I'll be gentle, and if you're good I'll throw in a foot massage."

Glancing at his hands, she knew instinctively a foot massage given by him would be better than the best orgasm she had ever had. Which wasn't saying much actually. "I'm always good, but I think I'll pass this time."

"That's a shame. Perhaps another time." He glanced down at her feet again. His gaze felt physical, laser hot across her skin.

"To what do I owe the, um, pleasure of this visit?" she asked with a sarcastic tilt of her head.

"May I come in?"

Before she could say a word either way, he stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him.

Curiosity warred with irritation. If she wanted him to leave, he would. But now she wanted to know what his deal was. She harrumphed and led the way upstairs to the living room.

"Have a seat," she said, gesturing to her couch. She curled into the overstuffed chair facing it.

He shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it across the arm of the couch before sitting. Tonight his shirt was already unbuttoned, enough so that she could see a faint smattering of dark hair peeking through.

She was entranced by his
chest hair.
She shook her head clear. She was losing it.

As if he knew where her thoughts were focused, he undid another button on his shirt.

On purpose? She couldn't tell. Just in case, she grabbed one of Eve's cookies and stuffed it in her mouth to distract herself.

He grinned as if he knew her strategy. "I came over to see if you were busy on Saturday."

She choked. Patting her chest, she managed to swallow the rest of the cookie so she could croak, "For a date?"

"Of course not."

She frowned. Because he had a girlfriend, of course. But why was he asking her out? "Then what for?"

"For a friendly get together."

"A friendly get together?" she repeated incredulously.

"Yes. No kissing, but if you'd like to anticipate please feel free."

Her lips twitched against her will. "And if I say no?"

"It'll drive you mad not knowing what I had planned." He sat back and folded his arms behind his head.

Damn it, he was right. She hated that smug, know-it-all expression on his face. She'd wonder until she was batty with scenarios.

But he had a girlfriend, and he was a lawyer. "No."

He arched his brow. "I'm offering you adventure and you're turning it down?"

Her pulse spiked imagining the kind of adventure he'd take her on. She was positive her increased heart rate was due to the possibility of adventure, not simply because of him. "I'm turning it down."

"Another time then." Standing up, he picked up his coat.

Just like that? She gaped at him indignantly. He wasn't going to try harder?

Apparently not, because he headed downstairs. She followed mutely behind him, totally confused.

"So how is the ad coming along?" he asked as they reached the front door.

She blinked in surprise. "Um, okay."

"Anyone promising?"

Sure, if you were into freaks. She was still in debate over the transsexual. "I'm hoping something will work out."

He didn't bother to respond beyond a noncommittal grunt.

Freya reached for the doorknob when they got to the landing but was unable to open the door because Cavanaugh stood in the way. Close to her.

Too close. She wanted to inch away but forced herself to raise her chin and stand up to him. Even if her insides were quivering.

"One day you'll say yes to me," he said softly, twisting one of her curls around his finger.

She knew it was silly, but she swore she could feel his touch on every strand of hair. His breath caressed only her cheek, but for some reason her nipples reacted, jutting out shamelessly.

Weird. But promising. If Cavanaugh could get her to react this way, maybe the plan was working. Maybe everything would turn out okay.

"See you." He let go of the curl and shifted to let her open the door. Before she closed it again, he turned around and smiled—a smile that promised all manner of wicked things to come.

That's it
. Her heart thudded erratically. She slammed the door, ran upstairs to her office, and turned the computer on. Opening Photoshop, she grabbed her stylus and quickly began sketching the vision she got for the Sin City site. The first mockup would have a woman peeking in a doorway, her eyes inviting you in. She'd do another one with a man. A tall man with blue eyes.

"Perfect," she muttered, saving the first graphic. In the morning she may feel differently, but she didn't think so. The design was
hot
.

But even if this wasn't the one they liked, it didn't matter. She'd broken through her block.

Pausing mid-stroke, she frowned. She'd broken through her block, and she had Cavanaugh to thank for it.

Greg arrived home from work to find Freya on the landing. She gripped a long, colorful patchwork coat closed with one hand while she fumbled with her lock.

His first impulse was to rush to help her, but he knew she'd take exception to any aid from him. So he waited.

And he pictured her in that coat with nothing on under it except a pair of heels. Plus the ankle bracelet, of course. She'd come to him, all her secrets bared.

In his fantasy, she wanted him—bad. He could picture her nipples hard, and his head lowering to lick them. Her groan would be low and needy as his fingers inched into her to feel her wetness.

He almost groaned himself, imagining it. But he snapped out of his fantasy when he heard Freya kick the door with a curse.

"Hey." He jogged up the rest of the steps. "Sneaking out?"

"I haven't snuck out since I was fifteen when I went to Donny Robinson's house to watch the season premiere of Star Trek: The Next Generation." She wiggled the key forcefully.

He was surprised it didn't break in the lock. "I didn't know you were a Trekkie."

"I'm not. I was into Donny Robinson. Unfortunately, Donny was more into Star Trek than me."

"He obviously wasn't aware of what he was missing."

"No big loss. It was eons ago." She huffed and turned around. "I can't lock the freaking door. I've been meaning to have it changed but with work and Sin City—"

"Sin City?" He arched an eyebrow. Somehow he doubted she was into porn.

"I'm redesigning their site. Maybe." She shook her head, her brow furrowed. "And now I'm going to be late."

"Let me help you." Resisting the urge to smooth the frustration from her face, he stepped closer and pried the keys from her fingers.

"Fine. I'm in too much of a hurry to argue."

"Where are you headed?" Not to a date, he hoped. Just the thought caused unfamiliar jealousy to burst in his chest.

"Out," she said so succinctly he was surprised when she offered more information. "To a class."

He exhaled in relief. Not a man then—thank God. He slid the lock smoothly into place. "What kind of class?"

"Dancing." She grabbed the keys from his hand. "Thanks for the help. I really have to go."

The image of her dancing took root in his mind, vivid and evocative. He wanted to take her dancing. He wanted to touch her and breathe her in. He missed her, which didn't make sense at all.

Impulsively, he said, "Have dinner with me Thursday night."

"No."

"Come on. A friendly gesture between neighbors."

She blinked as if being friendly with him was a foreign concept. "Sorry, I can't. I have my cooking class Thursday."

"How about Friday?"

"I have a date on Friday." She moved to leave.

A date?

"I have to go," she called as she ran down the stairs, her coat flying behind her. "Thanks again."

He watched her race off.
A date
? He didn't know whether to admire her tenacity in making a decision and acting on it or to curse the fact that she'd already found someone to go out with.

Although how could she not? She was fabulous, and once the bastard actually met her he'd probably fall in love with her.

He gritted his teeth and shoved his way into his apartment. That wasn't acceptable. If he thought she'd be happier with another man, he would have gladly stepped aside and let her live her life.

Grumbling, he took the stairs two at a time. He wasn't willing to admit defeat—not without getting a shot at her himself. He'd just have to make sure he had the opportunity.

The thought of another man touching Freya tormented Greg all week. By the time Friday rolled around, he'd driven himself insane with all the scenarios running through his head.

It didn't help that Anna called him. "I have a study group Friday night, so it's up to you to stop this date," she'd insisted.

When he'd asked her how she proposed he do that, she told him to use his resources. Then she reminded him how empty and meaningless his life would be without Freya.

Someone needed to spank that kid.

But then he got an idea. Not the best plan he'd ever come up with, but desperate times required desperate measures. According to Anna, this qualified.

He peeked out the window. Still no sign of anyone. He'd kept lookout for the past hour because he didn't know what time her date was supposed to arrive and he didn't want to miss him. Catching him before he rang Freya's doorbell was integral to the plan. He'd left work early just to be safe.

He shook his head. He couldn't believe he was doing this. It was the last time, too. Not even telling himself that he was doing this in Freya's best interests alleviated his guilt. It was dishonest, and he didn't like it.

Just this one time, he promised himself, because he already told Anna he'd do it.

At seven, he saw a man approach the Victorian. Instinct told him this was the guy. The red roses he held were a tip-off too.

Greg ran down his stairs and threw open his front door to cut off the Freya's date before he knocked on her door.

The guy was coming up the porch steps. He had short, clean-cut brown hair and wore khaki pants with a crisp crease down each leg.

Wrong, buddy. Freya with a man who wore khakis? Greg couldn't see it. And she was so not a red roses kind of woman. She was more like daisies in an array of bright, lively colors. Even talking with her over the phone, that should have been apparent. Greg almost felt sorry for the guy for getting it so wrong.

"Hello," he greeted brightly, flashing one of his you-can-trust-me-smiles as he closed his door.

The guy acknowledged him with a nod and a brief smile as he climbed the stairs.

"Are you Freya's date?" Greg asked pleasantly as he locked his door.

The guy frowned blandly, stopping on the landing. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Do you know her?"

"I'm her neighbor." Greg pointed up to the downstairs apartment, because he was no dummy. "She's a great woman. Very intelligent and talented."

Khaki man nodded. "She seems nice."

Nice
? He had to restrain himself from snorting.
Nice
hardly did justice to Freya. Scintillating, vivid, and sexier than hell—yes. But
nice
? But he nodded in agreement. "Yes. Too bad about her family though."

The guy frowned. "Her family?"

Greg shook his head regretfully. "Yeah, it's a shame that such a
nice
person has to deal with all that. But it's none of my business." He started for the porch steps. "Well, have a great evening. I hope you have fun with Freya."

"Wait a minute." This time it was the guy who stopped
him
. "What's wrong with her family?"

"You mean aside from her sister?" He shrugged. "Not much. She hasn't been around to bum money off of Freya since she got herself a new sugar daddy."

The guy's mouth dropped open.

"She could give Heidi Fleiss a run for her money from what I understand. The rest of the family isn't so bad. I mean, aside from the various drug addictions. Usually the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but Freya is the exception that proves the rule. For the most part." He clamped a friendly hand on the guy's shoulder. "Hey, I've got to go. Have a good time."