Protecting What's Mine Page 2

  With my purse in hand and comfortable sandals adorning my feet, I take my time meandering down the sidewalk, simply enjoying the sights and sounds of the city. There’s such a vibrant energy here. It’s infectious. I look in shop windows, popping in one or two places to check out a few wares that catch my eye.

  Once I’m at the grocery store, I grab a small cart and pick out what I’ll need for the next few days. I try to be conscious that the walk back to my building is four blocks, I don’t want to buy too much.

  When I moved in a few days ago, Dominic took me shopping, and we filled up the fridge and cupboards. Unfortunately, a couple of things were forgotten. I buy just enough to fill two small bags, which feels manageable to carry, before retracing my steps again.

  As I stroll back to Lexington Place, I can’t deny that there is something thrilling about being smack-dab in the middle of downtown. I don’t know if it’s the noise. Maybe it’s the people, most of whom seem to be rushing to get from one place to another. You can easily spot the ones who live here- they seem unimpressed by their surroundings, as if they’ve grown used to the chaos. They’ve got earbuds shoved in or are multitasking on their phones.

  The tourists, on the other hand, are the ones with awe painted across their lit-up faces as they stare unabashedly around them, trying to take everything in all at once. The high-end shops. The exclusive hotels. The restaurants. They gaze up at the skyscrapers with bright eyes filled with wonder.

  Excitement bursts within me like an overfilled bubble.

  I love it.

  I love everything about being downtown.

  The sensory overload. The sights and sounds. The smells of different restaurants all blending together. The contrasting colors of the buildings and shops. The merchandise displayed enticingly in windows. Taxis and buses barreling down the street.

  I feel more alive at this moment than I have since my parents passed away. In no time at all, I reach the building. I’m a little disappointed to have returned so soon. I could wander around the city for hours, just soaking everything up like a greedy sponge.

  Right away, George grabs the door for me. “Found the store without any problems?”

  “None at all. Your directions were excellent. Thank you.”

  “Just remember, you can always call us if you’re unable to walk back with your groceries, Ms. Castile. It’s one of the perks of living at Lexington place.”

  “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” I can’t contain the bright smile that blooms across my face. “It’s just so beautiful out. Perfect weather for exploring the neighborhood.”

  Almost instantly an answering smile lights up his weathered face, and I know instantly that he’s a cheerful, friendly man. I have a feeling that George and I will become fast friends. Other than Dominic, I don’t know anyone else in the city.

  “That it is, Ms. Castile.”

  Jostling around one of the bags, I push the call button for the elevator. After falling in love with the condo online while still living in Seattle, Dominic contacted the manager straightaway. He scouted out the building and surrounding neighborhood, making sure it would be a safe place for me to live.

  I wouldn’t say that Dominic fought me every step of the way, but he pointed out every disadvantage of living here. I know he hoped that I would stay with him for a while, taking my time to find new living arrangements. I wasn’t averse to the idea, but after finding this place, I knew it wouldn’t be necessary.

  Visiting the condo in person was the first time in forever that I’d felt excitement pumping through my veins. I think Dominic could sense it as well, which is why he didn’t throw up too many roadblocks.

  Even though Dominic has a massive house, certainly more than enough room for us to live without being on top of each other, I craved my own space. I wanted to be close to school and The Art Institute of Chicago, where I’ll be volunteering. I’m hoping that by the time I need to land an internship, their familiarity with me will give me an edge over other candidates vying for the same position. My dream is to one-day work for them as a curator. There are other art museums in the area, and I would be grateful to land a position at any of them. But I have so many fond memories of The Art Institute.

  While most kids don’t find strolling through the corridors of a museum and learning about art to be fun or exciting, it’s always been one of my favorite pastimes. Even as a small child, I could stare in fascination at a landscape for hours at a time, studying every minute detail. I would curl up on a bench and try my hand at sketching replicas.

  Right down the street from my building is the Field Museum, the Museum of Science and Industry, Shedd Aquarium, Adler Planetarium, and The Museum of Contemporary Art. Having all of these spectacular places no more than a mile or so from where I live leaves me feeling nothing short of giddy.

  How could anyone be bored in a city like this?

  I plan on filling my days with school, volunteering, and museums when time allows.

  “Have a good day, George,” I call before stepping onto the elevator.

  “You too, Ms. Castile.”

  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 contin
ues 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 idiot 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.

  Chapter Three

  “What would you say if I throw a small party Friday evening?”

  Bringing the glass of iced tea to my lips, I take a drink while contemplating him over the rim. “Exactly how small are we talking?” Because small in my book means roughly a dozen people. More of an intimate gathering of sorts.

  Even though he shrugs all casual-like, his blue eyes sparkle with humor. Yep, he knows exactly what’s running through my brain. “Maybe a hundred. Somewhere in that vicinity.”

  I almost spit my tea across the table. “A hundred? In what universe is that considered small?”

  “Two-fifty would be large.”

  “I don’t know one hundred people.”

  “After Friday night, you will. Which is precisely why we’re throwing this shindig. We need a way to get you back out there again. And this does the job rather nicely.”

  From across the table, I make a face. I don’t think I was ever out there to begin with. “Who would you invite?” Total strangers? Randoms off the street?

  He shrugs as if the actual guest list is a non-issue. “Oh, some work colleagues. Friends of mine. People who knew your parents.”

  He must catch a glimpse of the shadows still lurking in my eyes when he brings up Mom and Dad. You’d think I would be desensitized to it by now, but I’m not. The pain still has the ability to slice through me at the most unexpected of moments. Softly he says, “I thought you might enjoy reacquainting yourself with some of their old friends.”

  I force a smile even though it feels like my throat is closing up. I appreciate what Dominic’s trying to do and don’t want to appear ungrateful. “That sounds nice.”

  He nabs my fingers and gives them a gentle squeeze. “I’m just excited that you’re here. I think a party would help you meet
some new people. It’s not going to be a big, fancy deal. We’re talking casual.”

  Although I have no desire to be thrust so quickly into the Chicago social scene, I can’t say no. Dominic has been wonderful to me these past two years. I’m grateful for everything he’s done. Without me asking, he swooped in and took care of all the responsibilities that should have fallen on my ill-equipped shoulders.

  The funeral.

  The house.

  The will.

  The inheritance.

  The insurance policies.

  Everything I had been unable to wrap my head around those first few months after the accident. Almost two years later, and he’s still dealing with all of it. The sale of this condo went through him. And he’s already settled my fall tuition bill at Northwestern.

  Deep down, I know he’s right. I may not want this party, but I need it. I need someone to force me out of the self-imposed hibernation I’ve been stuck in. It’s not like I have any friends here. The few I had, I eventually lost touch with.

  Like Chloe.

  My childhood best friend.

  It didn’t happen right away. We continued texting and FaceTiming after I moved to Seattle. And up until college, we visited one another regularly. But after my parents died, even Chloe couldn’t penetrate the deep fog that sucked me under. The yawning physical distance separating us was just too much to overcome. After a while, no longer able to put up a good front, I stopped responding to her calls and texts.

  I allowed our friendship to fall by the wayside.

  Now, almost two years later, I regret icing her out. Once I’m settled, I have every intention of getting back in touch with her. For right now though, I’m taking things one step at a time. Slow, deliberate steps that continue to propel me forward, closer to the life I envision myself living.

  Which is what this party will help achieve.

  I almost groan as that thought pierces my consciousness.

  “Okay,” I finally grumble.