It doesn’t take long to get there, but when I stop outside the modern high-rise apartment block, I have to check — and double check — that I’m in the right place. My brother has always done all right for himself, and I know that his tattoo business has taken off in the last couple of years, with multiple shops opening up across the country, but this sleek monstrosity of a building before me seems way out of my brother’s league. I glare up at the building suspiciously. Maybe he’s doing better than I thought…or maybe he’s a drug kingpin…
Cautiously, I approach the glass entryway, but before I can reach for the chrome handle, the door is opened by a man stepping out of the shadows. I jump out of my skin.
“Sweet mother of fuck sauce!” I swear loudly, clutching my chest.
“Ah, you must be Mr. Maurice’s guest.” The tall, suited man smiles at me.
“How did you know?” I ask warily, my eyes narrowing.
“Aside from the familial resemblance? You have the same delightful vocabulary, and your brother called to let me know to expect you.” He winks to show he’s joking, so I don’t take offense. It’s true, I have the mouth of a drunken sailor — one of the many reasons my mother insists I’m still single. Like I care. Why the fuck would I want to be with someone who can’t handle my colorful personality? Besides, swearing increases your physical and emotional pain tolerance. It’s science.
“Belle,” I say, realizing this guy is harmless and holding out my hand, which he shakes. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Welcome Belle, I’m Henry, the building manager. Everyone calls me Cogs, though.” I raise a brow at him. “I keep this place ticking over nicely. If you need anything at all during your stay, just call me.”
“Thanks.” I allow him to lead me over to the elevators. When one arrives, I step in, and Henry pushes the button for the top floor, scanning his security card as he does before stepping out of the elevator. He nods his goodbye to me as the doors close, and a moment later, I’m racing up toward Johnny’s new home. After seeing the sleek interior of the foyer downstairs, I’m keen to see his apartment. Although, I still don’t understand how he’s affording a place like this. His last place was alright, but the building manager certainly wasn’t greeting guests at the door. I’m also surprised to hear that Johnny called ahead of time.
The elevator reaches the top floor with surprising speed, the doors pinging open to reveal a hallway with only one door.
Holy shit, my brother lives in a penthouse? My suspicion skyrockets. Now I’m convinced there must be something shady going on. I quickly let myself into the apartment and drop my bag to the floor in the entryway, so I can have a good nose around. I cringe at the thought of the things I might find in his bedroom, though, so I won’t be snooping there. That man is a walking STD shop.
The place is amazing; all dark marble floors, white walls, and floor-to-ceiling chrome and glass. The whole penthouse is completely monochrome. The only splash of color comes from the numerous houseplants dotted around the place. He must pay someone to keep those alive. I can’t imagine my brother being responsible for any living thing, even a plant.
The room is a huge, open-plan, living space with a large white leather U-shaped couch in front of me, a glass dining table to the left, and a sleek modern white kitchen beyond that. The wall in front of me is made entirely of glass, with panoramic views out across Miami.
We’re so close to the beach that I can see the ocean. I walk closer to the window to take in the view a little better and nearly jump out of my skin when a phone rings. I hurry over to the kitchen and pick up the receiver, heart still racing from the shock. I shake my head at myself. I am way too easy to startle.
“Hello?” I ask, trying not to sound bitchy. This isn’t my phone, after all.
“Ms. Maurice?” The familiar and formal tone tells me I’m speaking to Henry from downstairs.
“Hey, Cogs, call me Belle, please. What can I do for you?” I say, more relaxed now that I know who I’m talking to.
“I just wanted to make sure everything was in order, and you were settling in alright,” he tells me, a kindness in his tone I find to be rare for this country.
“Erm, yeah, it’s fine…why?” I’m puzzled by why he’s calling already.
“Well, the alarm has sounded to say that the door to the penthouse suite was left open for several minutes now, so I was concerned that there was a problem.”
“Oh, shit!” I spin around to look at the door, which, sure enough, I have left hanging wide open. I facepalm. Stupid. “Sorry. I’ll close it now. I didn’t realize.” I swear, I’m going to get myself kidnapped one of these days.
“No worries, Ms. Maurice, I’m just here to help.”
“Belle, please,” I insist, smiling at the formality of the sweet older man.
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it, Miss…Belle.” There’s a soft click of the receiver, and then I’m alone in the silent room again.
I hurry to close the door, and that’s when I notice the other doors, six in total, spaced around the three walls of the apartment that aren’t glass. I quickly shut the front door, grab my bag, and then head to the door closest to me. It’s a bedroom that’s in relative darkness. The curtains are closed, but I can still make out that the bed is unmade, and the room is a mess. This is Johnny’s room, for sure. I’d know my brother's particular brand of clutter anywhere, not to mention the overwhelming smell of tacky cologne. I shut the door and move on.
The next room is a large bathroom, bright and airy, with an enormous tub and walk-in shower that I’m instantly dying to try out. I need to wash the day away, and this looks like the best place for exactly that.
The third door leads me to a room so neat that it’s definitely the guest room. So I put my bag down on the large bed and glance around. There’s a closet, a desk, two bedside tables with lamps, and a vase of fresh flowers. The flowers are a nice touch; they’re my favorite, white lilies. Not that I think Johnny would know that. I take a moment to appreciate their scent before taking off my leather jacket and stripping out of my jeans and tank top. There’s no one here, so I remove my underwear and head for the bathroom. On my way, I spy a voice-automated speaker, so I tell it to play rock music — on loud — before stepping into the shower. The driving beat of the song matches the pounding of the hot water as it soothes away the aches of my journey and the stress of dealing with my dipshit brother.
I grumble when I realize I didn’t grab my soap bag, so I’ll just have to use whatever’s in the shower. As luck would have it, I find an all-in-one body and hair wash and lather up with that. It smells divine; masculine, woody, sultry. I’ve never been one to faff around with hundreds of beauty products, so this all-in-one suits me just fine.
Done, I reluctantly step out of the shower and grab two towels from a pile of clean ones on the counter. I make quick work of wrapping my long hair up into the towel to dry, and then I wrap the other around my curvy body. The towel is massive, and actually hides all my bits. These are expensive. I’m totally stealing these.
I wander back into the living space just as one of my favorite songs comes on. I can’t help it; I have to dance. Whenever I hear this beat, I have to move to it. I’m getting into the groove, dancing along to the song and belting out the chorus when the sound of someone clearing their throat behind me causes me to jump and spin around. I expect it to be Johnny, but instead I’m staring up into the eyes of a tall, dark, and handsome stranger. A stranger who does not look at all happy to see me. The feeling is fucking mutual, bud.
Then he growls at me, and I nearly fucking expire at how sexy the sound is.
“Who the fuck are you?”