The Man Next Door

He’d said it was up to her what happened next.

Dani stood outside, frowning, one bare foot poised to take her back to her own room, one hand ready to knock on Teague’s door.

It opened suddenly, and Teague stood in the doorway, searching her face. “Are you coming in, or were you planning to stand there all night?”

Her terms, she reminded herself, stiffening her spine. “I was thinking about coming in,” she said. “But this is only about now. Tonight. Once we get back to Little Rock, everything will probably go back to the way it was between us.”

He shrugged, his gaze roaming down her body and back up to her face. “If tonight’s all we’ve got, then let’s not waste any more of it just standing here staring at one another.”

But he was so nice to stare at, with his tanned skin and well-defined muscles.

She reached out to him.

“Who’s wasting time now?”

GINA WILKINS

is a bestselling and award-winning author who has written more than seventy novels. She credits her successful career in romance to her long, happy marriage and her three “extraordinary” children.

A lifelong resident of central Arkansas, Ms Wilkins sold her first book in 1987 and has been writing full-time since. She has appeared on the Waldenbooks and USA TODAY bestseller lists. She is a three-time recipient of the Maggie Award for Excellence, sponsored by Georgia Romance Writers, and has won several awards from the reviewers of Romantic Times BOOKreviews.

Gina Wilkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For my aunt, the “other” Gerry –

we’ll always share a smile over that.

Chapter One

Teague McCauley was so tired his steps dragged as he made his way from the parking lot to his apartment. It was actually an effort to place one foot in front of the other. He could feel his shoulders drooping. Even his dark hair felt limp around his face.

Though he usually took the stairs, he rode the elevator up to his third-floor apartment. He was the only occupant, since most of the other residents had already left for their jobs at eight-forty-five on this Tuesday morning. It would probably be quiet during the day as he got some sleep for the first time in more than forty-eight hours. Not that it would matter. He felt as though he could sleep in a blasting zone right now.

The elevator stopped and he pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against. A few more steps, he reminded himself as the doors began to slide open, and then he could…

At the sight of the woman waiting for the elevator, he snapped instinctively to attention. He pulled his shoulders back, lifted his head and tightened his face into what he hoped was a pleasantly bland expression, nodding as he moved out of her way. “Good morning.”

She looked as fresh as a fall chrysanthemum in a bright orange top and crisp brown slacks, her long, glossy brown hair shining around her pretty oval face, her navy-blue eyes cool when she returned the greeting perfunctorily. “Good morning.”

“Have a nice day,” he said over his shoulder as he strolled away, his steps brisk.

“You, too,” she murmured, her reply as meaningless as the clichéd phrase that was all that had popped into his exhaustion-hazed mind.

He heard the elevator doors swish closed behind him, and his back sagged again, his feet almost stumbling the rest of the way to his apartment door. Yeah, he thought, fumbling with the key, you really wowed her with your witty conversation, McCauley.

Not that it would have mattered if he had come up with even the most clever line. His down-the-hall neighbor had made it very clear during the past few months that she wasn’t interested in getting to know him better. Something about the way she practically glowered at him every time she saw him, not to mention the ice that dripped from her tone every time he manipulated her into speaking to him, as he had just then, had given him a clue.

As an FBI agent, he liked to think he was pretty good at reading between the lines that way.

It was a shame, really, he thought, already stripping out of his black T-shirt as he headed straight toward his bedroom without even bothering to turn on lights in the spartanly furnished living room. She certainly was a looker. Face of an angel, body of a goddess. And all the warmth of a snow queen.

Totally out of clichés, he kicked his jeans into a corner, stripped off his socks and fell facedown onto his bed, wearing nothing but navy boxers. He didn’t have time for a relationship, anyway, he thought as consciousness began to fade.

Still a shame, though…

Dani Madison waited until she was certain the elevator doors were closed before she released the long breath she’d been holding. It was the same every time she ran into the man who lived in the apartment down the hall. Her breath caught, her pulse tripped, little nerve endings all over her body woke up and started tingling. Very annoying.

Fortunately, she rarely saw him. Maybe a half dozen times total, in the approximately four months since he’d moved in. He wasn’t home much, being gone sometimes for more than a week at a time, from what she’d observed. When he was home, it was at strange hours. Like today, just coming in when most people were leaving for work. Looking so tired she’d thought it was a wonder he was standing upright, even though he’d made an obvious, macho effort to hide his exhaustion.

He worked for the FBI. She knew that because he occasionally wore T-shirts with the letters stenciled across his chest. Sometimes he wore suits, and she thought she’d caught a glimpse of a holster beneath his jacket. Maybe that was part of the reason she found him so intriguing.

Well, that and the fact that he was absolutely, positively, heart-stoppingly attractive. Black hair worn a bit shaggy. Gray eyes that looked almost silver at times. Straight, dark eyebrows, neat, midlength sideburns, a jawline that could have been chiseled from granite, but with just a hint of a dimple in his right cheek to add a touch of softness. When he was unshaven, as he had been this morning, he had the look of a pirate or an Old West lawman. A little wild, a little dangerous—a whole boatload of sexy.

All added together, those things were enough to make her feel the need to run very hard in the opposite direction every time she saw him.

Not that he would bother to pursue her if she did, she thought, shifting her leather tote bag on her shoulder as she stepped off the elevator. Other than greeting her politely each time they passed in the hallway, he’d shown no particular interest in her. Mrs. Parsons, the nosy little old lady who lived in the apartment next door to hers, directly across from the man in question, showed more curiosity about her. Agent Double-O Gorgeous had barely even noticed her.

Exactly the way she wanted things to remain, she assured herself. She had spent the past fourteen months avoiding any complicated entanglements with men, most especially the dangerous-looking ones. And her FBI neighbor sat firmly at the very top of that list.

It had taken her more than twenty-seven years and a long, humiliating list of mistakes, but she had finally learned her lesson, she thought with a sense of accomplishment. Dani Madison was on her own, independent, self-sufficient, cautious and wisely cynical. It was going to take more than a rolling swagger and a pair of gleaming silver eyes to change her back into the naive and affection-hungry girl she had been before.

Dani hadn’t particularly wanted her date to walk her to her door the next Friday night, but he insisted on doing the gentlemanly thing and seeing her safely inside. Maybe he hoped she’d have a last-minute urge to invite him in, but that wasn’t going to happen, she thought as they stepped off the elevator. Anthony was a nice guy, in an accountant-next-door sort of way, but he set off no sparks in her at all.

Not that she was looking for sparks, really. A pleasant dinner with conversation that ranked somewhere above the entertainment level of the average television program was all she wanted from her escorts these days. Anthony had certainly provided the former, treating her to a meal in a very nice Italian restaurant. As for the latter—well, their dinnertime discussion had been only marginally more interesting than the latest episode of the medical drama she’d have watched had she stayed at home alone that evening.

Agent Sexy stepped out of his apartment down the hall just as she and Anthony reached her door. Too aware of her neighbor strolling toward the elevators, she smiled up at her companion and said briskly, “Thank you again for the meal, Anthony. I had a very nice time.”

He glanced wistfully at the doorknob in her hand. “I’ve had a good time, too. I hate for the evening to end so soon.”

“Yes, well, I have an early class in the morning and I have some preparation to do for it.”

The apartment door next to Dani’s opened a crack and a curious face peered out past the security chain. Dani knew old Mrs. Parsons had heard noises and was checking to see what was going on. The elderly woman was pleasant enough, but boredom made her intensely interested in everything that went on in the apartments around her. Seeing Dani looking back at her, she smiled sheepishly and closed the door again.

FBI guy had pushed the elevator button and was waiting patiently for it to arrive. If he was even aware of Dani and Anthony standing only a few yards away, he’d given no sign of it. Nor did Anthony seem to notice the other man as he nodded resignedly in response to Dani’s excuse for not inviting him in. “I understand. Maybe we can get together sometime next weekend? Go to a movie or something?”

“I’m not sure of my plans for next weekend. Why don’t you give me a call later in the week.”

Anthony’s expression fell even more. Maybe he’d read the lack of enthusiasm in her expression a bit too well. “Okay. So, uh, see you, okay?”

She tried to add a bit of warmth to her smile. She didn’t want to hurt the guy’s feelings. She just didn’t want to lead him on, either. “Good night, Anthony.”

He leaned over to give her a somewhat awkward kiss on the lips, which she allowed to last only long enough for courtesy’s sake. And then she drew away and opened her door. “Good night,” she said again.

“Good night, Dani.”

The elevator doors opened just as she stepped inside her apartment. She heard Anthony call out, “Hold the car, please.”

She closed her door without waiting to see if her neighbor had complied with the request.

High maintenance. Definitely the type who expected men to cater to her wishes. Exactly the kind of woman Teague preferred to avoid, even if they happened to be beautiful—which that sort generally was.

Having ridden the elevator down with his attractive neighbor’s latest dejected suitor only the night before, Teague was even more convinced now that asking her out would be a bad idea, despite the temptation to do so every time he passed her in the hallway.

He wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d chosen to wait for the elevator rather than take the stairs only because he’d been curious about how her evening with her hopeful escort would end. Or that he’d found some satisfaction in watching her send the other guy on his way.

Physical attraction, he assured himself, strolling into his office at FBI headquarters in western Little Rock Saturday morning. That was all there was to it. Any red-blooded male would be interested in Danielle Madison—for he’d learned that was her name. Apparently, she answered to the nickname of Dani, which was what her date had called her when he’d told her good-night.

He’d only bothered to find out her name for the sake of idle curiosity, of course. It was wise for a man in his line of work to have general information about those who lived close to him. So, while making an effort to discover Dani’s name, he’d learned those of the others nearest to him, as well.

There were four apartments on either side of the bank of elevators in the center of the apartment building, two apartments on each side of the hallway. His place was across from Edna Parsons, a widow who rarely left her apartment. The apartment next to his had been occupied for the past couple of months by a studious-looking woman in her midtwenties who seemed pleasant enough but wasn’t home much more than he was. The few times he’d seen her, she’d carried a heavy-looking backpack, so he assumed she was a student. Her name was Hannah Ross.

Directly across from Hannah lived Danielle Madison, the striking brunette he had mentally dubbed “The Princess” when he’d moved in and spotted her for the first time.

Hanging his jacket on the back of his chair, he settled at his desk and booted up his computer. He had a lot to do that day, entirely too much to waste any more time thinking about Danielle.

Maybe he should call one of his casual women friends this weekend. He’d been working too hard lately, hadn’t even had a dinner date in a couple of months. Like now, doing paperwork on a Saturday after being in on a sting operation until just after midnight the night before.

That probably explained why he’d spent so much time thinking about his neighbor. A simple matter of hormones too long ignored.

He couldn’t help chuckling, though, when he remembered how doleful that guy in the elevator had looked after being literally kissed off by Danielle. What a schmuck.

“So, what’s so funny? You’re the only guy I know who’d spend a Saturday in the office grinning over his paperwork.”

Looking up in response to the lazy drawl, Teague watched as his friend and associate Mike Ferguson slouched into the room. Slouching was pretty much Mike’s primary posture choice. Tall and lanky with a mop of curly hair that couldn’t decide whether it was brown or blond, he leaned, slumped, sprawled or flopped, but rarely stood at full attention. He claimed it was a lingering rebellion from his years in the military.

Teague shrugged in response to Mike’s question. “Oh, I was just thinking about this girl I know. Well, sort of know. Actually, I don’t know her at all.”

“But she still makes you smile over paperwork?” Mike dropped into a straight-backed chair—the only place to sit in the minuscule office other than Teague’s desk chair—and grinned quizzically at him. “Sounds like someone you’ll want to get to know.”

“Nah. High maintenance. Only dates drooling lap dogs.”

Mike shuddered. “Spare me from the princesses.”

“Yeah. That’s what I call her. To myself, of course.”

“She’s hot?”

“Let’s just say that sprinkler systems go off when she walks down the hall.”

“Man.”

“Yeah. Real waste.”

“Maybe just one date?”

Teague chuckled and shook his head. “Not worth it. She might look hot, but she’s cold as ice. And she glares at me as if I might carry Ebola or something. I’ll just settle for looking.”

Mike tsked sympathetically. “You want to go to Snuffy’s tonight? Might find someone there who’d let you do more than look.”

After giving it a moment’s thought, Teague shrugged. Hadn’t he just been telling himself he needed to get out more? Do a little opposite-gender socializing? “Sure, why not? I’ve just got to wade through this paperwork first.”

“How long’s that going to take?”

“Four, five hours,” he replied glumly.

Because he knew his co-worker wasn’t exaggerating, Mike nodded, stood and ambled toward the office door. “Just head over to Snuffy’s later, when you’re ready. We’ll meet up there.”

Putting hands to keyboard, Teague ordered himself to focus on work. He’d have a good time tonight, he promised himself. Thoughts of the ice princess down the hall wouldn’t even cross his mind.

By coincidence, Dani drove into her parking space at almost exactly the same time Agent Sexy pulled into his own space late Saturday afternoon. She locked her aging compact SUV even as he pushed the button on the remote lock to his small black sports car. They moved toward their apartment building at the same time, reaching the door simultaneously.

Nodding pleasantly, her neighbor held the door for her.

Tucking her large canvas tote bag under her arm, she murmured a thank-you and stepped past him. They strolled together down the hallway. Expecting the guy to take the stairs, as was his habit from what she had observed—only coincidentally, of course—Dani stopped to press the elevator button for herself.

She was rather surprised when Agent Sexy stopped with her.

“Long day,” he explained, as if noting the question in her expression. “Stairs just seem like too much trouble right now.”

She nodded and glanced up at the illuminated numbers, noting that the elevator was stopped on the fourth floor. Come on, she thought. Hurry up.

“You know, I moved in here almost four months ago, and I’ve never introduced myself to you,” he said conversationally. “I’m Teague McCauley.”

So now she had his name. Yet something told her she would still think of him as Agent Sexy.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, because she was expected to respond to the introduction.

“And you are Danielle Madison,” he murmured. The ironic twist to the words made her aware that he was mocking her a little for not introducing herself in return.

“How do you know my name?”

“I must have heard it around somewhere,” he replied, his expression bland.

She looked at him suspiciously. “I believe I’ll take the stairs,” she said, edging that way.

The elevator doors opened just as she finished speaking.

Agent Sexy—er, Teague McCauley, she corrected herself—stepped inside and held the doors for her. “Might as well ride now.”

She thought about turning and hurrying toward the staircase. But then she remembered that she didn’t let any man intimidate her now. And besides, this guy was safe enough, she assured herself, stepping into the car and turning her back to him. He was her neighbor. An FBI agent. Nothing to worry about, as long as they kept their interactions fleeting and impersonal.

“Got big plans for the weekend?” he asked in the tone of someone making polite small talk.

She kept her eyes on the closed doors in front of her. “Not really.”

“Me, either,” he said, even though she hadn’t asked. “I was thinking about going to a club or something tonight.”

She knew he worked a lot, just from those casual observations of his activities. She doubted that he’d had a free Saturday night in the past month or more, since she’d occasionally seen him coming in late in the evenings looking as though he’d just put in a rough twelve or fourteen hours on the job. Certainly not giving the appearance that he’d been out clubbing or socializing.

Though she avoided clubs like the plague these days, she couldn’t blame him for wanting an evening out on the town. He was youngish—early thirties, maybe? Only a few years older than herself. Certainly attractive. Looked healthy enough. He shouldn’t have any trouble at all finding companionship for the night. It occurred to her only then that she’d never seen him bring anyone home with him. No one. Not that he was home that much, really, but she’d have thought he’d have a friend over. A date. Someone.

And then she realized that in the past year she’d lived in her apartment here, she’d rarely invited anyone inside, either. She hadn’t made many friends since she’d moved to Little Rock. Didn’t date very often, and usually chose not to extend those dates past her doorstep. Her apartment had become her refuge. Her sanctuary. Maybe Teague McCauley felt the same way about his place?

She wondered if this conversation was leading up to him asking her out. Maybe to join him for an evening in the clubs. If so, she hoped she would be able to politely decline without making it awkward when they ran into each other in the hallway from now on.

The elevator stopped on the third floor and she stepped out, bracing herself for him to try to delay her. Instead, he turned toward his own apartment without looking back, saying over his shoulder, “See you around.”

“Um, yeah. See you.” Suddenly aware that she was staring after him, she hurried to her own door, chagrined at her behavior.

Wouldn’t her brother have laughed if he’d seen that exchange? She closed herself into her tidy, if inexpensively furnished living room with a frown of self-derision. She’d honestly thought Teague McCauley, aka Agent Sexy, had been angling to ask her out. She’d wasted several minutes mentally practicing polite rejections and it turned out he hadn’t been interested after all. In fact, she thought he’d made it fairly clear that she didn’t ever have to worry about that from him. Apparently, she wasn’t his type.

Clay, her twenty-one-year-old brother, had often accused her of vanity. Of thinking she was “all that,” as he had put it. And at the time he’d said it, he’d been right. That was back when she’d been a pampered daddy’s girl. Before her doting father dropped dead just over three years ago of a heart attack at forty-five. And before Kurt Ritchie had taken away almost all of Dani’s pride and self-respect.

God, she’d thought she was special. Pretty. Talented. Popular. Privileged.

What she had really been was spoiled. More needy than she’d realized. And so foolishly, dangerously gullible.

Maybe she’d been unknowingly slipping back into her old habits. Maybe the safe, ingratiating men she’d dated lately had made it easy to gravitate back into her old ways of thinking. If so, Teague McCauley had actually done her a favor with his lack of interest in her, she decided as she changed out of the blouse and slacks she had worn for work and into a comfortable pair of black yoga pants and a long-sleeved pink T-shirt.

Let him have his noisy clubs and eager women. She planned on a delightfully quiet evening with a good book, her favorite music and her own company. Which was exactly what she wanted, she assured herself firmly.

Someone tapped lightly on her door just as she headed for the kitchen in search of a light dinner. She froze, deciding immediately that Teague had come to ask her out after all. Maybe he’d just been giving her time to stew about his apparent indifference.

Very clever, she thought with a frown. If he thought playing hard to get was the way to pique her interest, he would just have to think again.…

“Oh. Mrs. Parsons,” she said, blinking at the little woman in the hallway outside her apartment. And didn’t she feel like a fool for the second time in twenty minutes? “Is there something I can do for you?”

The petite, white-haired woman, whom Dani had always guessed to be somewhere in her early seventies, nodded. “I’m trying to rearrange some furniture and I wonder if you’d mind giving me a hand with my bookcase. It’s a bit heavier than I thought.”

Dani had helped her neighbor before, a time or two. Bringing in groceries. Reaching something on a shelf that was over the little woman’s head. Changing a lightbulb. She never minded, figuring the woman asked as much out of loneliness as necessity. Mrs. Parsons had only one son, and he was a busy business owner who lived in Arizona, visiting only a couple of times a year. To her very vocal disappointment, he hadn’t bothered to provide her with any grandchildren.