Alex (Cold Fury Hockey, #1)(101)

She should have said something. She started to, but whatever apology or alert she’d been poised to deliver died on her tongue as she stood transfixed by the hypnotic shift and flex of this man’s half-clad physique.

Because, wow. Just, wow. Talk about some ripped jeans, skin showing.

Okay, it wasn’t like she’d never seen a shirtless male before. They were everywhere, littering magazines, billboards, and TV. Chicago wasn’t suffering any shortage when it came to quality hotties. But up this close, and not just one of the guys, it caught her by surprise. Enough to stall out her brain function mid-ponder on whether she should bring her plate of “welcome to the building” cookies back later or try again to announce her presence behind him.

And now, all she could see was skin.

An abundance of it.

Dark and flushed from hours of exertion. Glistening with a sheen of sweat that beaded up even as she watched, until one fat drop slid over a hard-cut terrain of taut flesh and banded muscle before soaking into the low-slung denim at his hips.

Trim hips. On a body that was tall and broad and distracting her in a way she wasn’t accustomed to being distracted.

She should probably take off.

Dragging the rag he’d made of his shirt across his face, her neighbor gritted out a curse that had her mouth snapping closed and her chin pulling back. Not because of what he’d said—please, she heard worse on an almost hourly basis—but because of the way he’d said it. There was something altogether too revealing in that one word. Something broken and tired and raw and, yeah, she should definitely go. She’d keep the cookies.

Except, then his head swung around. “What the—?”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped on a nervous laugh, trying to pull it together in front of this guy who’d just busted her fresh off the ogle and was going to be living above her for some unspecified duration. “I just—I came up and then—there you were—and I wasn’t expecting—”

This was totally something they could laugh about, if he got with the program and gave it a shot.

Only, the flinty gray eyes that locked with hers were totally devoid of humor. Shoving his arms back into his shirt, he stalked to the door, making his big body as imposing a “Do Not Enter” sign as she’d ever encountered. “What do you want?”

Well, she had cookies. Still warm from the oven. And a pint of milk. He had spent hours moving into the apartment directly above hers. He was her new neighbor.

What did he think she wanted?

It didn’t matter. An instant on the receiving end of this guy’s glower was enough to tell her he wasn’t going to be another swell addition to her group of friends.

Not a problem. But for the sake of civility and because she was actually standing there, baked bounty in hand, she pushed into place an imitation of the smile that had been genuine when she’d started and tried again.

“Sorry to interrupt. I just stopped up to say, ‘Hey, neighbor,’?” she offered, adding one of those cheesy half-circle waves that smacked of a Karate Kid wax-on. “Tyler, right? Yeah, okay. So. I’m friends with Ford—our landlord—and he asked me to swing by. I live down in Apartment Two.”

“The girl next door,” he bit out, eyes pinching closed in what looked suspiciously like a plea for patience.

Though honestly, it couldn’t have been even a full minute since she’d first darkened his doorstep, so, seriously, what was with the attitude? Sure, she’d been looking. But the door was open. And he’d been the one stripping in front of it.

“Mmm-hmm…okay, or…umm…girl downstairs, really. But either way—”

His jaw ticced twice. “Christ, I don’t need this.”

Maggie’s wide-eyed stare shifted from the six-foot-plus stretch of hard-cut, stubble-rough, and overtly-hostile male braced against the door frame, down to the seemingly benign plate of cookies and back.

Was she missing something?

Only then the guy raked a hand through the damp mess of his hair and blew out a strained breath. “Look, Apartment Two. Whatever you’re offering, I’m not interested.”

Maggie’s chin snapped back.

No. Way.

“Whatever I’m offering?”

The hard slant of his mouth and pointed jut of his chin were as much as he had to say on the subject. More than enough to make his meaning clear.

Her mouth gaped as disbelief and outrage kicked off a turf war deep within her chest.

Did this knuckle dragger actually think he—?

And worse, was he suggesting she—?

Not in this lifetime, bub.

Sure, the guy wasn’t an eyesore. He had a built-tough body going on with all the hard-packed and high-definition to boot. But so very special? So irresistible Maggie figured her best bet for getting a jump on the competition was to make her move…with cookies at nine on a Sunday morning?

Uh-uh.

And to think, she’d felt bad for him lugging all his crap up the three flights on his own. But yeah, didn’t that make perfect sense now.

What a dick.

“So we’re clear, the only thing on offer here, Apartment Three…” Maggie tucked the milk into the crook of her elbow and folded the plastic wrap back from the plate, infusing the air around them with the pure essence of melted chocolate, toasted oats, and the rich buttery goodness of a family recipe so sacred that only three people in the world knew it.