Protecting What's Mine

Chapter 4: Grace

Pushing the button for the thirtieth floor, I wait for the doors to close. Just as they start sliding shut, a big, masculine hand shoots out and catches the metal frame in one palm. My eyes widen with surprise as the doors immediately slide open. A moment later, a man steps inside the cabin with me. Feeling just a bit uncomfortable, I shift, knowing that I should probably say hello and introduce myself, but there's something about him that makes me reluctant to draw any attention to myself.

As soon as that thought flutters through my head, he pins me in place with dark, velvety eyes. My breath stalls as his gaze continues piercing mine. At that moment, under his sharp scrutiny, I feel frozen in place. Unable to move a single muscle. The phone he's holding chirps, breaking the thick tension that fills the small, enclosed space.

Dismissing me at once, his gaze shifts. Once his eyes relinquish their strange hold over me, I'm able to force out a relieved breath.

I realize that my legs are trembling. It feels as though I'm moments away from sliding to the floor in a heap. Having those intense, espresso-colored eyes fixated on me had everything within seizing before quickly grinding to a halt.

Rather ridiculously, my heart continues to beat wildly against my ribs.

Now that he's preoccupied with the device in his hand, I'm able to stare unabashedly at him from beneath my lashes. Hands down, he's the most gorgeous man I've ever seen.

Thick, inky black hair hits the collar of the starched white shirt peeking out from beneath a gray suit jacket. I know next to nothing about men's fashions, but even I can spot quality when I see it. And this is definitely high-end, luxurious fabric that was hand-stitched specifically for him. I'd bet every penny of my inheritance that it wasn't bought off a rack.

It fits his well-built frame perfectly, molding flawlessly to the wide breadth of his shoulders and across his chest before tapering in at his waist. Gray suit pants stretch over his muscular thighs draping to shiny black wingtips.

I've spent the last four years on a college campus. I've been surrounded by handsome boys. But that's the difference here. The guys I'm used to are, for all intents and purposes, boys. They wear snug T-shirts, long athletic shorts, and slides on their feet.

They look nothing like this.

It's like we're not even talking about the same species.

Unable to help myself, I continue gazing at him in rapt fascination.

He's just so completely... stunning. That's probably the wrong word to use to describe this man, but it fits.

There's something powerful, almost dangerous, that radiates from him in thick, heavy waves. There seems to be a darkness within him. It's a little intimidating. Okay, a lot intimidating. A hundred butterflies take flight inside the confines of my belly. Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could look away from him.

Coal black brows pinch together as he continues staring at the phone. Using his thumbs, he quickly taps out a message. I'm tempted to inch closer, just enough to catch a glimpse of what he's so intent upon.

My eyes linger on his wide hands.

For just a moment, I wonder what they would feel like skimming over my naked body. I haven't been touched in a year and a half. Before the crash, I'd had a boyfriend at college. I had liked Eric well enough. He'd been nice in the goofy, immature kind of way that twenty-one-year-old boys are. We'd been together for just about six months when the accident occurred. After my parents died, he didn't know how to deal with me.

With my overwhelming grief.

Slowly but surely, we drifted apart. I retreated within myself as a comforting numbness set in. He was unable to penetrate my cool detachment. I can hardly blame him for not knowing how to help me or for not being mentally or emotionally equipped to deal with something so heavy and intense.

I didn't know how to deal with it myself.

Only now, two years later, am I beginning to thaw.

To awaken from a long, dark slumber.

So, to feel this kind of instant, over-the-top attraction for the opposite sex...

It feels... good.

Better than good.

Amazing.

Even though nothing will come of it, I wholeheartedly welcome this impromptu infatuation running rampant through my system. For just a sliver of a moment, I want to soak it all up. I want to bask in it.

It feels so good to feel something again.

And come on... Just look at him.

If you want to have a harmless little crush on someone completely unattainable, this is the perfect man to star in your fantasies.

He's just so impeccably put together.

Polished.

Right down to the massive silver Rolex around his left wrist.

Feeling very much out of his league, I automatically glance down at my own attire. My white shorts hit mid-thigh. A summery T-shirt hugs my breasts. Black sandals that I hastily shoved my feet into just before stepping out the door are strapped to my feet. A pair of tortoise shell sunglasses are perched on top of my head. I'd been so antsy to get out and start exploring that I'd thrown my long, blond hair up into a messy bun.

In hindsight, I should have taken a bit more care with my appearance. Much akin to Dorothy no longer being in Kansas, I'm no longer living in the dorms with a bunch of other grungy college students who don't give a damn. Maybe it's time to step up my game. It's something to consider, at the very least.

Unconsciously, my eyes gravitate back to him. Once again, I'm bowled over by his good looks. By the sheer size of him. I guess that he's somewhere around six foot three. Which makes me almost a whole foot shorter, since I top out around five foot four. Five foot five with heels.

In one smooth movement, he pockets the phone before looking at me with a strange intensity that leaves me breathless. If I were thinking properly, I'd drag my eyes away. But I don't. I can't. Even though the elevator continues climbing to the top of the building, it feels as if time is at a standstill.

One side of his mouth hitches.

Not a lot. Just a bit.

It's more than enough to send my heart somersaulting, though.

His complexion is olive in tone. Nothing like my pasty whiteness. If I had to guess, I'd say he was of Italian origin.

God, but he's beautiful. That one thought continues to ring throughout my head like a bell. I'm only partly conscious of the fact that I'm once again staring unabashedly. Heat slowly creeps up my neck until it reaches my cheeks.

Finally, the elevator chimes, signaling our arrival to the thirtieth floor. I should be relieved to escape his intimidating presence. Even though my eyes are still locked on his, I hear the doors slide open. Using his hand, he holds the metal frame so that they won't close before we exit the cabin. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I realize that we're both going to the same floor.

When I make no move to leave, one perfectly sculpted brow wings up as he continues watching me with something akin to amusement. When he'd first strode onto the elevator, he'd seemed almost dark and brooding. Or maybe his swarthy good looks just lent themselves to that description. There hadn't appeared to be any light or humor within him.

That being said, he looks oddly entertained.

At my expense.

Just kill me now.

Please.

As that jarring thought slices through me, my hands tighten around the reusable grocery bags I'm holding before I flee from the elevator as if the hounds of hell are nipping at my heels.

Now that I'm no longer staring at all that male perfection, I silently berate myself for acting like a complete i***t in front of the stranger who apparently lives on the same floor as I do.

Great.

You would think that I've never come across a handsome man in all my twenty-three years. I shake my head at my own ridiculousness. I'm willing to bet that my open adoration was the perfect balm to his already massive ego. A man like that obviously knows how good-looking he is. I bet women throw themselves at him on a daily basis.

Slowing before my door, I set both bags down. Even though I resist the urge to glance over my shoulder, I know he's about ten feet behind me. I'd hoped that he would head in the opposite direction after departing from the elevator, but no such luck.

A shiver skitters down my spine as he brushes past me on the way to his condo. I almost swoon as his spicy masculine scent wraps around me. Feeling out of sorts, I press my finger on the keypad before twisting the knob. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him stop at the door next to mine. He doesn't spare me a glance before gaining entry into his own place.

Hauling the groceries inside, my entire body slumps as I lean against the door and close my eyes. I inhale one breath, then another, trying to calm everything racing madly within me.

I can't decide if I want to run into him again or not.

Probably not.

Obviously, I can't trust myself not to gawk at him like some kind of nitwit. How demoralizing is that?

So much for making a good impression on my new neighbor.