A scowl marred Jade's expression, narrowing her blue eyes as she caught herself tapping her pencil rather than using it. She just couldn't seem to concentrate. She scooped her fingers through her blonde hair, pursed her softly sculpted mouth and shrugged. Maybe what she needed was a short break, perhaps a snack would do the trick. Having a little chocolate would get the juices flowing. She pushed back, tucking her pencil behind her ear in an absentminded habit she had been trying to break since childhood. Jade left her sun-drenched art studio and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
Her apartment was wonderfully open; aside from the studio space, that had been the main reason she'd snapped it up so quickly. A long service bar separated the kitchen from the living area, leaving the lower level all one area. Tall windows let in light and the street noises that had kept her awake and thrilled for weeks after her arrival in the city.
She moved in well, another trait inherited from her mother. What her father called the Grandeau Grace. She had long limbs that had been suited to the ballet lessons she'd begged for as a child before she grew tired of it. Barefoot, she padded into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and considered her options.
She could whip something interesting up, she mused. She had taken cooking lessons too and hadn't become bored with them until she'd outdistanced her instructor in creativity.
Then she heard it and sighed. The music carried through the old walls, across the short hallway outside her door. Sad and sexy, she mused. Mr. Mysterious next door didn't play every day, but she'd come to wish he would. It always stirred her, those long liquid notes and the swirl of emotions behind them.
A struggling musician? she wondered. Hoping to find his break in New York. Broken hearted, no doubt, she continued, weaving one of her scenarios for him as she began to take out ingredients to whip something up. A woman is definitely behind it, of course. Some cold-blooded redhead who had caught him under her spell, stripped his soul, then crushed his still throbbing heart under her four-inched Italian heels. Just a few days ago, she'd invented a different lifestyle for him, one where he ran away from his filthy rich and abusive family as a boy of sixteen. Had survived on the streets by playing with a band striving to earn a living by the street corners in New Orleans -one of her favorite cities, then had worked his way north as that same vicious family headed by an insane uncle scoured the country for him. She hadn't quite worked out why they were scouring, but it wasn't really important. He was on the run and comforted only by his music. Or perhaps he was a government agent working undercover.
An international jewel thief, hiding from a government agent.
A serial killer trolling for his next victim.
She laughed at herself, then looked down at the ingredients she'd lined up without thinking. Whatever he was, she realized with another laugh, apparently it looked like she was making him some cookies.
His name was Vincent Leonetti. He wouldn't have considered himself particularly mysterious, Just private. It was that ingrained need for privacy that had plopped him down in the heart of one of the world's busiest cities. Temporarily, he mused, as he stood up and walked away from his piano. He'll be staying here temporarily because in another couple of months, the interior designs would be completed on his house on Connecticut's rocky coast.It was his fortress,a man could be blissfully alone for weeks for a long time in a fortress. And no one got in unless the gates were lifted. He started back upstairs, leaving behind the living room. He only used it to play the piano or to work out if he didn't feel like going to the gym a couple of blocks away.
The second floor was where he lived—temporarily, he thought again. And all he needed was a bed, a dresser, the right lighting and a desk sturdy enough to hold his laptop, monitor and the paperwork that they often generated.
Financially, he was secure, always had been. He has been away from his family for five years. He was running from his responsibilities.
He sat in the big room, a tall, muscular man with dark brown hair and emerald green eyes. His mouth was firm and unsmiling, his face was well defined making him dangerously handsome. He tuned out the street sounds that seemed to batter against the windows day and night, and let himself slip back into the soul of the man he'd created inside the clever little computer. A man struggling desperately to survive his own desires. The harsh sound of the bell made him swear. He considered snarling and waiting it out, then weighed in human nature and decided the intruder would probably keep coming back until he dispatched them once and for all.
When he looked through the peep hole he saw a pretty blondie with blue eyes.
He wondered what the hell she could want. He'd figured since she'd left him alone for nearly a week, she intended to keep right on doing so. Which made her, in his mind, the perfect neighbor. Annoyed that she'd spoiled it, he opened the door, leaned against it. "Yeah?"
"Hi." Oh, yes, indeed, Jade thought, he was even better when you get a good close-up look at his well defined face. "I'm Jade Garcia and i live next door." She offered a bright, friendly smile and gestured to her own door.
"I heard you playing a while ago. I work at home and sound travels."
If she was here to bitch about the noise, she was out of luck, Vincent mused. He played when he felt like playing. He continued to study her features; slightly turned-up nose; the sensuously ripe mouth; the long narrow feet with sassily painted pink toes.